"Hubbard, L Ron - Battlefield Earth- FULL" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hubbard L. Ron)

And they were proud of it!
For a while, before and after World War II, I was in rather steady association with the new era of scientists, the boys who built the bomb, who were beginning to get the feel of rockets. They were all science fiction buffs. And many of the hottest scientists around were also writing science fiction on the side.
In 1945 I attended a meeting of old scientist and science fiction friends. The meeting was at the home of my dear friend, the incomparable Bob Heinlein. And do you know what was their agenda? How to get man into space fast enough so that he would be distracted from further wars on Earth. And they were the lads who had the government ear and authority to do it! We are coming close to doing it. The scientists got man into space and they even had the Russians cooperating for a while.
One can't go on living a naive life believing that everything happens by accident, that events simply follow events, that there is a natural order of things and that everything will come out right somehow. That isn't science. That's fate, kismet, and we're back in the world of fantasy. No, things do get planned. The Golden Age of science fiction that began with Campbell and Astounding Science Fiction gathered enough public interest and readership to help push man into space. Today, you hear top scientists talking the way we used to talk in bull sessions so long ago.
Campbell did what he set out to do. So long as he had his first wife and others around him to remind him that science was for people, that it was no use to just send machines out for the sake of machines, that there was no point into going into space unless the mission had something to do with people, too, he kept winning. For he was a very brilliant man and a great and very patient editor. After he lost his first wife, Dona, in 1949- she married George O. Smith- and after he no longer had a sounding-board who made him keep people in stories, and when he no longer had his old original writing crew around, he let his magazine slip back, and when it finally became named Analog, his reign was over. But The Golden Age had kicked it all into high gear. So Campbell won after all.
When I started out to write this novel, I wanted to write pure science fiction. And not in the old tradition. Writing forms and styles have changed, so I had to bring myself up to date and modernize the styles and patterns. To show that science fiction is not science fiction because of a particular kind of plot, this novel contains practically every type of story there is-detective, spy, adventure, western, love, air war, you name it. All except fantasy; there is none of that. The term УscienceФ also includes economics and sociology and medicine where these are related to material things. So they're in here, too.
In writing for magazines, the editors (because of magazine format) force one to write to exact lengths. I was always able to do that- it is a kind of knack. But this time I decided not to cut everything out and to just roll her as she rolled, so long as the pace kept up. So I may have wound up writing the biggest sf novel ever in terms of length. The experts- and there are lots of them to do so- can verify whether this is so.
Some of my readers may wonder that I did not include my own serious subjects in this book. It was with no thought of dismissal of them. It was just that I put on my professional writer's hat. I also did not want to give anybody the idea I was doing a press relations job for my other serious works.
There are those who will look at this book and say, УSee? We told you he is just a science fiction writer!Ф Well, as one of the crew of writers that helped start man to the stars, I'm very proud of also being known as a science fiction writer. You have satellites out there, man has walked on the moon, you have probes going to the planets, don't you? Somebody had to dream the dream, and a lot of somebodies like those great writers of The Golden Age and later had to get an awful lot of people interested in it to make it true.
I hope you enjoy this novel. It is the only one I ever wrote just to amuse myself. It also celebrates my golden wedding with the muse. Fifty years a professional- 1930-1980.
And as an old pro I assure you that it is pure science fiction. No fantasy. Right on the rails of the genre. Science is for people. And so is science fiction.
Ready? Stand by. Blast off!
L. Ron Hubbard
October 1980


- Part I -
Chapter 1

УMan, У said Terl, Уis an endangered species. У
The hairy paws of the Chamco brothers hung suspended above the broad keys of the laser-bash game. The cliffs of Char's eyebones drew down over his yellow orbs as he looked up in mystery. Even the steward, who had been padding quietly about picking up her saucepans, lumbered to a halt and stared.
Terl could not have produced a more profound effect had he thrown a meat-girl naked into the middle of the room.
The clear dome of the Intergalactic Mining Company employee recreation hall shone black around and above them, silvered at its crossbars by the pale glow of the Earth's single moon, half-full on this late summer night.
Terl lifted his large amber eyes from the tome that rested minutely in his massive claws and looked around the room. He was suddenly aware of the effect he had produced, and it amused him. Anything to relieve the humdrum monotony of a ten-year[1] duty tour in this gods-abandoned mining camp, way out here on the edge of a minor galaxy.
In an even more professional voice, already deep and roaring enough,
Terl repeated his thought. УMan is an endangered species. У
Char glowered at him. УWhat in the name of diseased crap are you reading?Ф
Terl did not much care for his tone. After all, Char was simply one of several mine managers, but Terl was chief of minesite security. УI didn't read it. I thought it. У
УYou must've got it from somewhere, У growled Char. УWhat is that book?Ф
Terl held it up so Char could see its back. It said, УGeneral Report of Geological Minesites, Volume 250, 369. УLike all such books it was huge but printed on material that made it almost weightless, particularly on a low-gravity planet such as Earth, a triumph of design and manufacture that did not cut heavily into the payloads of freighters.
"Rughr, " growled Char in disgust. УThat must be two, three hundred Earth-years old. If you want to prowl around in books, I got an up-to-date general board of directors' report that says we're thirty-five freighters behind in bauxite deliveries.У
The Chamco brothers looked at each other and then at their game to see where they had gotten to in shooting down the live mayflies in the air box. But Terl's next words distracted them again.
УToday, У said Terl, brushing Char's push for work aside, УI got a sighting report from a recon drone that recorded only thirty-five men in that valley near that peak. У Terl waved his paw westward toward the towering mountain range silhouetted by the moon.
УSo?Ф said Char.
УSo I dug up the books out of curiosity. There used to be hundreds in that valley. And furthermore, У continued Terl with his professorial ways coming back, Уthere used to be thousands and thousands of them on this planet. У
УYou can't believe all you read, У said Char heavily. УOn my last duty tour-it was Arcturus IV-'
УThis book, У said Terl, lifting it impressively, Уwas compiled by the culture and ethnology department of the Intergalactic Mining Company. У
The larger Chamco brother batted his eyebones. УI didn't know we had one. У
Char sniffed. УIt was disbanded more than a century ago. Useless waste of money. Yapping around about ecological impacts and junk like that. У He shifted his bulk around to Terl. "Is this some kind of scheme to explain a nonscheduled vacation? You're going to get your butt in a bind. I can see it, a pile of requisitions this high for breathe-gas tanks and scoutcraft. You won't get any of my workers. У
УTurn off the juice, У said Terl. УI only said that man-'
УI know what you said. But you got your appointment because you are clever. That's right, clever. Not intelligent. Clever. And I can see right through an excuse to go on a hunting expedition. What Psychlo in his right skull would bother with the things?Ф
The smaller Chamco brother grinned. УI get tired of just dig-dig-dig, ship-ship-ship. Hunting might be fun. I didn't think anybody did it for-'
Char turned on him like a tank zeroing in on its prey. УFun hunting those things! You ever see one?Ф He lurched to his feet and the floor creaked. He put his paw just above his belt. УThey only come up to here! They got hardly any hair on them except their heads. They're a dirty white color like a slug. They're so brittle they break up when you try to put them in a pouch. У He snarled in disgust and picked up a saucepan of kerbango. УThey're so weak they couldn't pick this up without straining their guts. And they're not good eating. У He tossed off the kerbango and made an earthquake shudder.
УYou ever see one?Ф said the bigger Chamco brother.
Char sat down, the dome rumbled, and he handed the empty saucepan to the steward. УNo, У he said. УNot alive. I seen some bones in the shafts and I heard. У
УThere were thousands of them once, У said Terl, ignoring the mine manager. УThousands! All over the place.У
Char belched. УShouldn't wonder they die off. They breathe this oxygen-nitrogen air. Deadly stuff. У
УI got a crack in my face mask yesterday, У said the smaller Chamco brother. УFor about thirty seconds I thought I wasn't going to make it. Bright lights bursting inside your skull. Deadly stuff. I really look forward to getting back home where you can walk around without a suit or mask, where the gravity gives you something to push against, where everything is a beautiful purple and there's not one bit of this green stuff. My papa used to tell me that if I wasn't a good Psychlo and if I didn't say sir-sir-sir to the right people, IТd wind up at a butt end of nowhere like this. He was right. I did. It 's your shot, brother.У
Char sat back and eyed Terl. УYou ain't really going hunting for a man, are you?Ф
Terl looked at his book. He inserted one of his talons to keep his place and then thumped the volume against his knee.