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

"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."

"I can't see why anyone would." The cadet eyed the pile with distaste. "Lug it back to the station and ship it home. Or throw it away."

The youngster looked blank. "You'll have to, eventually," the cadet went on. "When you make the lift to the school ship, twenty pounds is your total allowance."

"But- Well, suppose I do, who's to help me get it to the station?"

"That's your problem. If you want to be in the Patrol, you'll have to learn to cope with problems."

"But-"

"Shut up." The cadet turned away. Matt and Tex trailed along.

Five minutes later Matt, naked as an egg, was stuffing his bag and clothes into a sack marked with his serial number. As ordered, he filed through a door, clutching his orders and a remnant of dignity. He found himself in a gang refresher which showered him, scrubbed him, rinsed him, and blew

him dry again, assembly-line style. His instruction sheet was waterproof; he shook from it a few clinging drops.

For two hours he was prodded, poked, thumped, photographed, weighed, X-rayed, injected, sampled, and examined until he was bewildered. He saw Tex once, in another queue. Tex waved, slapped his own bare ribs, and shivered. Matt started to speak but his own line started up.

The medicos examined his repaired leg, making him exercise it, inquired the date of the operation, and asked if it hurt him. He found himself admitting that it did. More pictures were taken; more tests were made. Presently he was told, "That's all. Get back into line." ,

"Is it all right, sir?" Matt blurted out.

"Probably. You'll be given some exercises. Get along."

After a long time he came into a room in which several boys were dressing. His path took him across a weighing platform; his body interrupted electric-eye beams. Relays closed, an automatic sequence took place based on his weight, height, and body dimensions. Presently a package slid down a chute and plunked down in front of him.

It contained an undergarment, a blue coverall, a pair of soft boots, all in his size.

The blue uniform he viewed as a makeshift, since he was anxious to swap it for the equally plain, but oyster white, uniform of a cadet. The shoes delighted him. He zipped them on, relishing their softness and glovelike fit. It seemed as if he could stand on a coin and call it, heads or tails. "Cat feet"-his first space boots! He took a few steps, trying to walk like the cadet he had seen earlier.