"Fred Hoyle - The Black Cloud" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hoyle Fred)

In addition to the MS., I am leaving you an envelope containing a roll of
punched paper tape. I beg you to guard this tape with the greatest care until you
come to understand its significance.
Sincerely,JOHN McNEIL




Chapter One
OPENING SCENES


It was eight o'clock along the Greenwich meridian. In England the wintry sun
of 7th January, 1964, was just rising. Throughout the length and breadth of the
land people were shivering in ill-heated houses as they read the morning papers,
ate their breakfasts, and grumbled about the weather, which, truth to tell, had
been appalling of late.
The Greenwich meridian southward passes through western France, over the
snow- covered Pyrenees and through the eastern corner of Spain. The line then
sweeps to the west of the Balearic Islands, where wise people from the north
were spending winter holidays - on a beach in Minorca a laughing party might
have been seen returning from an early morning bathe. And so to North Africa
and the Sahara.
The primary meridian then swings towards the equator through French Sudan,
Ashanti, and the Gold Coast, where new aluminum plants were going up along
the Volta River. Thence into a vast stretch of ocean, unbroken until Antarctica is
reached. Expeditions from a dozen nations were rubbing elbows with each other
there.
All the land to the east of this line, as far as New Zealand, was turned towards
the Sun. In Australia, evening was approaching. Long shadows were cast across
the cricket ground at Sydney. The last overs of the day were being bowled in a
match between New South Wales and Queensland. In Java, fishermen were
busying themselves in preparation for the coming night's work.
Over much of the huge expanse of the Pacific, over America, and over the
Atlantic it was night. It was three a.m. in New York. The city was blazing with
light, and there was still a good deal of traffic in spite of recent snow and a cold
wind from the north-west. And nowhere on the Earth at that moment was there
more activity than in Los Angeles. The evening was still young there, twelve
o'clock: the boulevards were crowded, cars raced along the freeways, restaurants
were still pretty full.
A hundred and twenty miles to the south the astronomers on Mount Palomar
had already begun their night's work. But although the night was clear and stars
were sparkling from horizon to zenith, conditions from the point of view of the
professional astronomer were poor, the 'seeing' was bad - there was too much
wind at high levels. So nobody was sorry to down tools for the midnight snack.
Earlier in the evening, when the outlook for the night already looked pretty
dubious, they had agreed to meet in the dome of the 48-inch Schmidt.
Paul Rogers walked the four hundred yards or so from the 200-inch telescope
to the Schmidt, only to find Bert Emerson was already at work on a bowl of soup.
Andy and Jim, the night assistants, were busy at the cooking stove.