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

presence of the Commandant?"
Matt gulped. "Do you mean the Commandant of the Academy, sir?"
"Naturally. What do you know about him?"
"Well, sir, he's Commodore Arkwright." Matt stopped, as if the name were
explanation.
"And what distinguishes Commodore Arkwright?"
"Uh, he's blind, sir."
"Not blind, Mr. Dodson, not blind! It simply happens that he had his eyes
burned out. How did he lose his eyesight?" The cadet stopped him. "No-don't
tell them. Let them find out for themselves."
The cadet resumed eating and Matt did likewise, while thinking about
Commodore Arkwright. He himself had been too young to pay attention to the
news, but his father had read an account of the event to him-a spectacular,
single-handed rescue of a private yacht in distress, inside the orbit of
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Mercury. He had forgotten just how the Patrol officer had exposed his eyes to
the Sun-something to do with transferring the yacht's personnel-but he could
still hear his father reading the end of the report: "-these actions are deemed
to be in accordance with the tradition of the Patrol."
He wondered if any action of his would ever receive that superlative
distinction. Unlikely, he decided; "duty satisfactorily performed" was about the
best an ordinary man could hope for.
Matt ran into Tex Jarman as he left the mess hall. Tex pounded him on
the back. "Glad to see you, kid. Where are you rooming?"
"I haven't had time to look up my room yet."
"Let's see your sheet." Jarman took it. "We're in the same corridor-swell.
Let's go up."
They found the room and walked in. Sprawled on the lower of two bunks,
reading and smoking a cigarette, was another candidate. He looked up.
"Enter, comrades," he said, "Don't bother to knock."
"We didn't," said Tex.
"So I see." The boy sat up. Matt recognized the boy who had made the
crack about Tex's boots. He decided to say nothing-perhaps they would not
recognize each other. The lad continued, "Looking for someone?"
"No," Matt answered, "this is the room I'm assigned to."
"My roommate, eh? Welcome to the palace. Don't trip over the dancing
girls. I put your stuff on your bed."
The sack containing Matt's bag and civilian clothes rested on the upper
bunk. He dragged it down.
"What do you mean, his bed?" demanded Tex. "You ought to match for
the lower bunk."
Matt's roommate shrugged. "First come, first served."
Tex clouded up. "Forget it, Tex," Matt told him. "I prefer the upper. By the
way," he went on, to the other boy, "I'm Matt Dodson."
"Girard Burke, at your service."
The room was adequate but austere. Matt slept in a hydraulic bed at
home, but he had used mattress beds in summer camp. The adjoining
refresher was severely functional but very modern. Matt noted with pleasure
that the shower was installed with robot massage. There was no shave mask,
but shaving was not yet much of a chore.