"Heinlein, Robert A - Nothing Ever Happens On The Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

Bruce gave him air and noted that the blood-oxygen reading was still okay. He untangled the ski, straightened out SamТs legs, and waited. When SamТs eyes fluttered he touched helmets. УSam, can you understand me?Ф
УYeah. Sure.Ф
~You,,canТt stay on your feet. IТll carry you.Ф
No.
УWhat do you mean, СNoТ?Ф
УNo good. Rig a toboggan.Ф He closed his eyes.
Bruce laid SamТs skis side by side. Two steel rods were clipped to the tail of each ski; he saw how they were meant to be used. Slide a rod through four ring studs, two on each ski; snap a catchЧso! Fit the other rods. Remove bindingsЧthe skis made a passable narrow toboggan.
He removed SamТs pack, switched his bottles around in front and told him to hold them. УIТm going to move you. Easy, now!Ф The space-suited form hung over the edges, but there was no help for it. He found he could thread a rope under the rods and lash his patient down. SamТs pack he tied on top.
He made a hitch by tying a line to the holes in the tips of the skis; there was a long piece left over. He said to Sam, УIТll tie this to my arm. If you want anything, just jerk.Ф
Okay.
УHere we go.Ф Bruce put on his skis, brought the hitch up to his armpits and ducked his head through, forming a harness. He grasped his ski poles and set out to the south, parallel to the cliff.
The toboggan drag steadied him; he settled down to covering miles. Earth was shut off by the cliff; the Sun gave him no estimate of hour. There was nothing but blackness, stars, the blazing Sun, a burning desert underfoot, and the towering cliffЧnothing but silence and the urgency to get back to base.
Something jerked his arm. It scared him before he accounted for it. He went back to the toboggan. УWhat is it, Sam?Ф
УI canТt stand it. ItТs too hot.Ф The boyТs face was white and sweat-covered.
Bruce gave him a shot of air, then thought about it. There was an emergency shelter in SamТs pack, just a rolled-up awning with a collapsible frame. Fifteen minutes later he was ready to move. One awning support was tied upright to the sole of one of SamТs boots; the other Bruce had bent and wedged under SamТs shoulders. The contraption looked ready to fall apart but it held. УThere! Are you okay?Ф
УIТm fine. Look, Bruce, I think my knee is all right now. Let me try it.Ф
Bruce felt out the knee through the suit. It was twice the size of its mate; he could feel Sam wince. He touched helmets. УYouТre full of hop, chum. Relax.Ф
Bruce got back into harness.
Hours later, Bruce came across tracks. They swung in from northeast, turned and paralleled the hills. He stopped and told Sam.
УSay, Sam, how can I tell how old they are?Ф
УYou canТt. A track fifty years old looks as fresh as a new one.
УNo point in following these?Ф
УNo harm in it, provided they go in our direction.Ф
УRoger.Ф Bruce went back to towing. He called hopefully over the radio every few minutes and then listened. The tracks cheered him even though he knew how slim the chance was that they meant anything. The tracks swung out from the hills presently or, rather, the hills swung in, forming a bay. He took the shorter route as his predecessor had.
He should have seen what was coming. He knew that he should keep his eyes ahead, but the need to watch his instruments, the fact that he was leaning into harness, and the circumstance that he was following tracks combined to keep his head down. He had just glanced back at Sam when he felt his skis slipping out from under him.
Automatically he bent his knees and threw his skis into a Уsnowplow.Ф He might have been able to stop had not the toboggan been scooting along behind. It plowed into him; boy, skis, and toboggan went down, tangled like jackstraws.
He struggled for footing, felt the sand slip under him. He had time to see that he had been caughtЧin daylight!Чby that lunar equivalent of quicksand, a morning glory. Then the sifting dust closed over his helmet.
He felt himself slip, slide, fall, slide again, and come softly to rest.

Bruce tried to get his bearings. Part of his mind was busy with horror, shock, and bitter self blame for having failed Sam; another part seemed able to drive
ahead with the business at hand. He did not seem hurtЧand he was still breathing. Heisupposed that he was buried in a morning glory; he suspected that any movement would bury him deeper.
Nevertheless he had to locate Sam. He felt his way up to his neck, pushing the soft flakes aside. The toboggan hitch was still on him. He got both hands on it and heaved. It was frustrating work, like swimming in mud. Gradually he dragged the sled to him-or himself to the sled. Presently he felt his way down the load and located SamТs helmet. УSam! Can you hear me?Ф
The reply was muffled. УYeah, Bruce!Ф
УAre you okay?Ф
УOkay? DonТt be silly! WeТre in a morning glory!Ф
УYes, I know. Sam, IТm terribly sorry!Ф
УWell, donТt cry about it. It canТt be helped.Ф
УI didnТt mean toЧФ
УStow it, canТt you!Ф SamТs voice concealed panic with anger. УIt doesnТt matter. WeТre gonersЧdonТt you realize that?Ф
УHuh? No, weТre not! Sam, IТll get you outЧI swear I will.Ф
Sam waited before replying. УDonТt kid yourself, Bruce. Nobody ever gets out of a morning glory.Ф
УDonТt talk like that. We arenТt dead yet.Ф
УNo, but weТre going to be. IТm trying to get used to the idea.Ф He paused. УDo me a favor, BruceЧget me loose from these confounded skis. I donТt want to die tied down.Ф
УRight away!Ф In total darkness, his hands in gloves, with only memory to guide him, and with the soft, flaky dust everywhere, unlashing the load was nearly impossible. He shifted position, then suddenly noticed somethingЧhis left arm was free of the dust.
He shifted and got his helmet free as well. The darkness persisted; he fumbled at his belt, managed to locate his flashlight.
He was lying partly out and mostly in a sloping mass of soft stuff. Close overhead was a rocky roof; many
feet below the pile spilled over a floor of rock. Sideways the darkness swallowed up the beam.
He still clutched the toboggan; he hauled at it, trying to drag Sam out. Failing, he burrowed back in. УHey, Sam! WeТre in a cave!Ф
УHuh?Ф
УHang on. IТll get you out.Ф Bruce cautiously thrashed around in an attempt to get his entire body outside the dust. It kept caving down on him. Worse, his skis anchored his feet. He kicked one loose, snaked his arm in, and dragged it out. It slid to the base of the pile. He repeated the process, then rolled and scrambled to the floor, still clinging to the hitch.