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

There was no doubt; a glimmer of light filtered down. Bruce found himself pounding Sam and shouting. He stopped and said, УSam, old boy, did lever say what patrol IТm from?Ф
УNo. Why?Ф
УBadger Patrol. Watch me dig!Ф He tore into it. Shortly sunlight poured into the hole and reflected dimly around the cavern. Bruce shoveled until he could see a straight rise from the base of the pile clear to the edge of the morning glory high above them. He decided that the opening was wide enough to tackle.
He hitched himself to Sam with the full length of all the glass ropes and then made a bundle of SamТs pack save air and water bottles, tied a bowline on SamТs
uninjured foot, using the manila line and secured the bundle to the end of that line. He planned to drag Sam out first, then the equipment. Finished, he bound on skis.
Bruce touched helmets. УThis is it, pal. Keep the line clear of the sand.Ф
Sam grabbed his arm. УWait a minute.Ф
УWhatТs the matter?Ф
УBruceЧif we donТt make it, I just want to say that youТre all right.Ф
УUh . . . oh, forget it. WeТll make it.Ф He started up. A herringbone step suited the convex approach to the hole. As Bruce neared the opening he shifted to side-step to fit the narrow passage and the concave shape of the morning glory above. He inched up, transferring his weight smoothly and gradually, and not remaining in one spot too long. At last his head, then his whole body, were in sunshine; he was starting up the morning glory itself.
He stopped, uncertain what to do. There was a ridge above him, where the flakes had broken loose when he had shoveled away their support. The break was much too steep to climb, obviously unstable. He paused only a moment as he could feel his skis sinking in; he went forward in half side-step, intending to traverse past the unstable formation.
The tow line defeated him. When Bruce moved sideways, the line had to turn a corner at the neck of the hole. It brushed and then cut into the soft stuff. Bruce felt his skis slipping backwards; with cautious haste he started to climb, tried to ride the slipping mass and keep above it. He struggled as the flakes poured over his skis. Then he was fouled, he went down, it engulfed him.
Again he came to rest in soft, feathery, darkness. He lay quiet, nursing his defeat, before trying to get out. He hardly knew which way was up, much less which way was out. He was struggling experimentally when he felt a tug on his belt. Sam was trying to help him.
A few minutes later, with SamТs pull to guide him, Bruce was again on the floor of the ca\Тe. The only light came from the torch in SamТs hand; it was enough to show that the pile choking the hole was bigger than ever.
Sam motioned him over. УToo bad, Bruce,Ф was all he said.
Bruce controlled his choking voice to say, УIТll get busy as soon as I catch my breath.Ф
УWhereТs your left ski?Ф
УHuh? Oh! Must have pulled off. ItТll show up when I start digging.Ф
УHmmm .. . how much air have you?Ф
УUh?Ф Bruce looked at his belt. УAbout a third of a bottle.Ф
УIТm breathing my socks. IТve got to change.Ф
УRight away!Ф Bruce started to make the switch; Sam pulled him down again.
УYou take the fresh bottle, and give me your bottle.Ф
УButЧФ
УNo СbutsТ about it,Ф Sam cut him off. УYou have to do all the work; youТve got to take the full tank.Ф
Silently Bruce obeyed. His mind was busy with arithmetic. The answer always came out the same; he knew with certainty that there was not enough air left to permit him again to perform the Herculean task of moving that mountain of dust.
He began to believe that they would never get out. The knowledge wearied him; he wanted to lie down beside the still form of Abner Green and, like him, not struggle at the end.
However he could not. He knew that, for SamТs sake, he would have to shovel away at that endless sea of sand, until he dropped from lack of oxygen. Listlessly he took off his remaining ski and walked toward his task.
Sam jerked on the rope.
Bruce went back. УWhatТs got into you, kid?Ф Sam demanded.
УNothing. Why?Ф
УItТs got you whipped.Ф
УI didnТt say so.Ф
УBut you think so. I could see it. Now you listen! You convinced me that you could get us outЧand, by Jimmy! youТre going to! YouТre just cocky enough to be the first guy to whip a morning glory and you can do it. Get your chin up!Ф
Bruce hesitated. УLook, Sam, I wonТt quit on you, but you might as well know the truth: there isnТt air enough to do it again.Ф
УFigured that out when I saw the stuff start to crumble.
УYou knew? Then if you know any prayers, better say them.Ф
Sam shook his arm. УItТs not time to pray; itТs time to get busy.Ф
УOkay.Ф Bruce started to straighten up.
УThatТs not what I meant.Ф
УHuh?Ф
УThereТs no point in digging. Once was worth trying; twice is wasting oxygen.Ф
УWell, what do you want me to do?Ф
УYou didnТt try all the ways out, did you?Ф
УNo.Ф Bruce thought about it. УIТll try again, Sam. But there isnТt air enough to try them all.Ф
УYou can search longer than you can shovel. But donТt search haphazardly; search back toward the hills. Anywhere else will be just another morning glory; we need to come out at the hills; away from the sand.
УUh. . . look, Sam, where are the hills? Down here you canТt tell north from next week.Ф
УOver that way,Ф Sam pointed.
УHuh? How do you know?Ф
УYou showed me. When you broke through I could tell where the Sun was from the angle of the light.Ф