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

"Sorry I got started," said Emerson, "but it looks as though tonight's going to
be a complete write-off."
 Emerson was working on a special survey of the sky, and only good observing
conditions were suitable for his work.
"Bert, you're a lucky fellow. It looks as though you're going to get another
early night."
"I'll keep on for another hour or so. Then if there's no improvement I'll turn
in."
"Soup, bread and jam, sardines, and coltee," said Andy. "What'll you have?"
"A bowl of soup and cup of coffee, thanks," said Rogers.
"What're you going to do on the 200-inch? Use the jiggle camera?"
"Yes, I can get along tonight pretty well. There's several transfers that I want
to get done."
They were interrupted by Knut Jensen, who had walked the somewhat greater
distance from the 18-inch Schmidt.
He was greeted by Emerson.
"Hello, Knut, there's soup, bread and jam, sardines, and Andy's coffee."
"I think I'll start with soup and sardines, please."
The young Norwegian, who was a bit of a leg-puller, took a bowl of cream of
tomato, and proceeded to empty half a dozen sardines into it. The others looked
on in astonishment.
"Judas, the boy must be hungry," said Jim.
Knut looked up, apparently in some surprise.
"You don't eat sardines like this? Ah, then you don't know the real way to eat
sardines. Try it, you'll like it."
Then having created something of an effect, he added:
"I thought I smelled a skunk around just before I came in."
"Should go well with that concoction you're eating, Knut," said Rogers.
When the laugh had died away, Jim asked:
"Did you hear about the skunk we had a fortnight ago? He degassed himself
near the 200-inch air intake. Before anybody could stop the pump the place was
full of the stuff. It sure was some hundred per cent stink. There must have been
the best part of two hundred visitors inside the dome at the time."
"Lucky we don't charge for admission," chuckled Emerson, "otherwise the
Observatory'd be sunk in for compensation."
"But unlucky for the clothes cleaners," added Rogers.
On the way back to the 18-inch Schmidt, Jensen stood listening to the wind in
the trees on the north side of the mountain. Similarities to his native hills set off
an irrepressible wave of homesickness, longing to be with his family again,
longing to be with Greta. At twenty-four, he was in the United States on a two-
year studentship. He walked on, trying to kick himself out of what he felt to be a
ridiculous mood. Rationally he had no cause whatsoever to be dispirited.
Everyone treated him with great kindness, and he had a job ideally suited to a
beginner.
Astronomy is kind in its treatment of the beginner. There are many jobs to be
done, jobs that can lead to important results but which do not require great
experience. Jensen's was one of these. He was searching for supernovae, stars
that explode with uncanny violence. Within the next year he might reasonably
hope to find one or two. Since there was no telling when an outburst might occur,
nor where in the sky the exploding star might be situated, the only thing to do