"Robert A. Heinlein - Have Space Suit Will Travel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

I sat up suddenly as I realized that Oscar was gone. A light cheerful
voice said, "Hi, there!"
I snapped my head around. A kid about ten years old was seated on the
floor, leaning against a wall. He -- I corrected myself. Boys don't usually
clutch rag dolls. This kid was the age when the difference doesn't show much
and was dressed in shirt, shorts and dirty tennis shoes, and had short hair,
so I didn't have much to go on but the rag dolly.
"Hi, yourself," I answered. "What are we doing here?"
"I'm surviving. I don't know about you."
"Huh?"
"Surviving. Pushing my breath in and out. Conserving my strength.
There's nothing else to do at the moment; they've got us locked in."
I looked around. The room was about ten feet across, four-sided but
wedge-shaped, and nothing in it but us. I couldn't see a door; if we weren't
locked, we might as well be. "Who locked us in?"
"Them. Space pirates. And him."
"Space pirates? Don't be silly!"
The kid shrugged. "Just my name for them. But better not think they're
silly if you want to keep on surviving. Are you 'Junebug'?"
"Huh? You sound like a junebug yourself. Space pirates, my aunt!" I was
worried and very confused and this nonsense didn't help. Where was Oscar? And
where was I?
"No, no, not a junebug but 'Junebug' -- a radio call. You see, I'm
Peewee."
I said to myself, Kip old pal, walk slowly to the nearest hospital and
give yourself up. When a radio rig you wired yourself starts looking like a
skinny little girl with a rag doll, you've flipped. It's going to be wet packs
and tranquilizers and no excitement for you -- you've blown every fuse.
"You're 'Peewee'?"
"That's what I'm called -- I'm relaxed about it. You see, I heard,
'Junebug, calling Peewee,' and decided that Daddy had found out about the spot
I was in and had alerted people to help me land. But if you aren't 'Junebug,'
you wouldn't know about that. Who are you?"
 "Wait a minute, I am 'Junebug.' I mean I was using that call. But I'm
Clifford Russell -- 'Kip' they call me."
"How do you do. Kip?" she said politely.
"And howdy to you, Peewee. Uh, are you a boy or a girl?"
Peewee looked disgusted. "I'll make you regret that remark. I realize I
am undersized for my age but I'm actually eleven, going on twelve. There's no
need to be rude. In another five years I expect to be quite a dish -- you'll
probably beg me for every dance."
At the moment I would as soon have danced with a kitchen stool, but I
had things on my mind and didn't want a useless argument. "Sorry, Peewee. I'm
still groggy. You mean you were in that first ship?"
Again she looked miffed. "I was piloting it."
Sedation every night and a long course of psychoanalysis. At my age.
"You were -- piloting?"
"You surely don't think the Mother Thing could? She wouldn't fit their
controls. She curled up beside me and coached. But if you think it's easy,
when you've never piloted anything but a Cessna with your Daddy at your elbow