"Lem - Seventh Voyage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lem Stanislaw)

But before I could get up off the floor we fell into a new vortex
and the terrible acceleration flattened us against the ceiling.
The dreadful pitching and heaving didn't let up once throughout that
night from Tuesday to Wednesday. Then, when things had finally
quieted down a little, the volume of the General Theory of
Relativity came flying across the cabin and hit me on the forehead
with such force, that I lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes I
saw broken dishes and a man sprawled among them. I immediately
jumped to my feet and lifted him, shouting:
"Get up! Are you all right?"
"I think so," he replied, blinking. "From what day of the week are
you?"
"Wednesday," I said, "come on, let's get that rudder fixed while we
have the chance."
"But where's the Monday me?" he asked, sitting up. He had a black
eye.
"Gone," I said, "which means that you are he."
"How is that?"
"Well, the Monday me on Monday night became, Tuesday morning, the
Tuesday me, and so on."
"I don't understand."
"Doesn't matter--you'll get the hang of it. But hurry up, we're
wasting time!"
Saying this, I was already looking around for the tools.
"Just a minute," he drawled, not budging an inch. "Today is Tuesday.
Now, if you are the Wednesday me, and if by that time on Wednesday
the rudder still hasn't been fixed, then it follows that something
will prevent us from fixing it, since otherwise you, on Wednesday,
would not be asking me now, on Tuesday, to help you fix it. Wouldn't
it be best, then, for us not to risk going outside?"
"Nonsense!!" I yelled, losing my temper. "Look, I'm the Wednesday
me, you're the Tuesday me..."
And so we quarreled, in opposite roles, during which he did in fact
drive me into a positive fury, for he persistently refused to help
me fix the rudder and it did no good calling him pigheaded and a
stubborn mule. And when at last I managed to convince him, we
plunged into the next gravitational vortex. I was in a cold sweat,
for the thought occurred to me that we might now go around and
around in this time loop, repeating ourselves for all eternity, but
luckily that didn't happen. By the time the acceleration had
slackened enough for me to stand, I was alone once more in the
cabin. Apparently the localized existence of Tuesday, which until
now had persisted in the vicinity of the sink, had vanished,
becoming a part of the irretrievable past. I rushed over to the map,
to find some nice vortex into which I could send the rocket, so as
to bring about still another warp of time and in that way obtain a
helping hand.
There was in fact one vortex, quite promising too, and by
manipulating the engines with great difficulty, I aimed the rocket
to intersect it at the very center. True, the configuration of that