"Heinlein, Robert A - Space Cadet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

"Me, too," agreed Oscar Jensen.
"It's a dirty shame," Pierre said, softly.
"What is, Pete?" Jarman demanded.
"That their luck didn't hold. You can see it was an almost perfect landing-they didn't just crash in, or there would have been nothing left but a hole in the ground."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Say, there's a stairway down^ over on the far side-see it, Matt? Do you suppose we could look through her?"
"Maybe," Matt told him, "but I think we had better put it off. We've got to report in, you know."
"We had all better check in," agreed Jensen. "Coming, Pete?"
Armand reached for his bag. Oscar Jensen pushed him aside and picked it up with his own. "That's not necessary!" Armand protested, but Oscar ignored him.
Jarman looked at Pierre. "You sick, Pete?" he asked. "I noticed you looked kind of peaked. What's the trouble?"
"If you are," put in Matt, "ask for a delay."
Armand looked embarrassed. "He's not sick and hell pass the exams," Jensen said firmly. "Forget it."
"Sho', sho'," Tex agreed. They followed the crowd and found a notice which told all candidates to report to room 3108, third corridor. They located corridor three, stepped on the slideway, and put down their baggage.
"Say, Matt," said Tex, "tell me-who was Kilroy?"
"Let me see," Matt answered. "He was somebody in the Second Global War, an admiral, I think. Yeah, Admiral 'Bull' Kilroy, that sounds right."
"Funny they'd name it after an admiral."
"He was a flying admiral."
"You're a savvy cuss," Tex said admiringly. "I think I'll stick close to you during the tests."
Matt brushed it off. "Just a fact I happened to pick up."
In room 3108 a decorative young lady waved aside their credentials but demanded their thumb prints. She fed these into a machine at her elbow. The machine quickly spit out instruction sheets headed by the name, serial number, thumb print, and photograph of each candidate, together with temporary messing and rooming assignments.
The girl handed out the sheets and told them to wait next door. She abruptly turned away.
"I wish she hadn't been so brisk," complained Tex, as they went out. "I wanted to get her telephone code. Say," he went on, studying his sheet, "there's no time left on here for a siesta."
"Did you expect it?" asked Matt.
"Nope-but I can hope, can't I?" -
The room next door was filled with benches but the benches were filled with boys. Jarman stopped at a bench which was crowded by three large cases, an ornate portable
refresher kit, and a banjo case. A pink-faced youth sat next to this. "Your stuff?" Tex asked him.
The young man grudgingly admitted it. "You won't mind if we move it and sit down," Tex went on. He started putting the items on the floor. The owner looked sulky but said nothing.
There was room for three. Tex insisted that the others sit down, then sat down on his bag and leaned against Mart's knees, with his legs stretched out. His footwear, thus displayed, were seen to be fine western boots, high-heeled and fancy.
A candidate across from them stared at the boots, then spoke to the boy next to him. "Pipe the cowboy!"
Tex snorted and started to get up. Matt put a hand on his shoulder, shoving him back. "It's not worth it, Tex. We've got a busy day ahead."
Oscar nodded agreement. "Take it easy, fellow."
Tex subsided. "Well-all right. JusJ: the same," he added, "my Uncle Bodie would stuff a man's feet in his mouth for less than that." He glared at the boy across from him.
Pierre Armand leaned over and spoke to Tex. "Excuse me-but are those really shoes for riding on horses?"
^Huh? What do you think they are? Skis?"
"Oh, I'm sorry! But you see, I've never seen a horse."
"What?"
"I have," announced Oscar, "in the zoo, that is."
"In a zoo?" repeated Tex.
"In the zoo at New Auckland."
"Oh-" said Tex. "I get it. You're a Venus colonial." Matt then recalled where he had heard Oscar's vaguely familiar lisp before-in the speech of a visiting lecturer. Tex turned to Pierre. "Pete, are you from Venus, too?"
"No, I'm-" Pete's voice was drowned out.
"Attention, please! Quiet!" The speaker was dressed in the severely plain, oyster-white uniform of a space cadet. "All of you," he went on, speaking into a hand amplifier, "who have odd serial numbers come with me. Bring your baggage. Even numbers wait where you are."
"Odd numbers?" said Tex. "That's me!" He jumped up.
Matt looked at his instructions. "Me, too!"
The cadet came down the aisle in front of them. Matt and Tex waited for him to pass. The cadet did not hold himself erectly; he crouched the merest trifle, knees relaxed and springy, hands ready to grasp. His feet glided softly over the floor. The effect was catlike, easy grace; Matt felt that if the room were suddenly to turn topsy-turvy the cadet would land on his feet on the ceiling-which was perfectly true.
Matt wanted very much to look like him.
As the cadet was passing, the boy with the plentiful baggage plucked at his sleeve. "Hey, mister!"
The cadet turned suddenly and crouched, then checked himself as quickly. "Yes?"
"I've got an odd number, but I can't carry all this stuff. Who can I get to help me?"
"You can't." The cadet prodded the pile with his toe. "All of this is yours?"
"Yes. What do I do? I can't leave it here. Somebody'd steal it."