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

brothers or sisters, Matt?" The talk wandered along, with Kelly encouraging
Matt to talk. The questions were quite personal, but Matt was sophisticated
enough to realize that "Mr. Kelly" was probably a psychiatrist; he stammered
once or twice but he tried to answer honestly.
"Can you tell me now why you want to be in the Patrol?"
Matt thought about it "I've wanted, to go out into space ever since I can
remember."
"Travel around, see strange planets and strange people- that's
understandable, Matt. But why not the merchant service? The Academy is a
long, hard grind, and it's three to one you won't finish, even if you are sworn
in as a cadet- and not more than a quarter of the candidates will pass muster.
But you could enter the merchant school-I could have you transferred today-
and with your qualifications you'd be a cinch to win your pilot's ticket before
you are twenty. How about it?"
Matt looked stubborn.
"Why not, Matt? Why insist on trying to be an officer of the Patrol? They'll
turn you inside out and break your heart and no one will thank you for your
greatest efforts. They'll make you over into a man your own mother wouldn't
recognize-and you won't be any happier for it. Believe me, fellow-I know."
Matt did not say anything.
"You still want to try it, knowing chances are against you?"
"Yes. Yes, I think I do."
"Why, Matt?"
Matt still hesitated. Finally he answered in a low voice. "Well, people look
up to an officer in the Patrol."

7
 Mr. Kelly looked at him. "That's enough reason for now, Matt. You'll find
others-or quit." A clock on the wall suddenly spoke up:
"Thirteen o'clock! Thirteen o'clock!" Then it added thoughtfully, "I'm
hungry."
"Mercy me!" said Kelly. "So am I. Let's go to lunch, Matt."
II
ELIMINATION PROCESS
MATTES INSTBUCTIONS told him to mess at table 147, East Refectory.
A map on the back of the sheet showed where East Refectory was;
unfortunately he did not know where Matt was-he had gotten turned around
in the course of the morning's rat race. He ran into no one at first but august
personages in the midnight black of officers of the Patrol and he could not
bring himself to stop one of them.
Eventually he got oriented by working back to the rotunda and starting
over, but it made him about ten minutes late. He walked down an endless line
of tables, searching for number 147 and feeling very conspicuous. He was
quite pink by the time he located it.
There was a cadet at the head of the table; the others wore the coveralls
of candidates. The cadet looked up and said, "Sit down, mister-over there on
the right. Why are you late?"
Matt gulped. "I got lost, sir."
Someone tittered. The cadet sent a cold glance down the table. "You. You
with the silly horse laugh-what's your name?"