"Stanislaw Lem - Eden" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lem Stanislaw)

I

Because of a miscalculation, the craft dipped too low and hit the atmosphere with an earsplitting
scream. Lying flat in their bunks, the men could hear the dampers being crushed. The front screens
showed flame and went black; the cushion of incandescent gas at the bow was too much for the outside
cameras. The control room filled with the stench of hot rubber. Under the force of the deceleration, the
men temporarily lost their vision, their hearing. This was the end.
No one could think. No one had the strength, even, to inhale. Breathing was done for them by
the oxypulsators, forcing air into them as into straining balloons. Then the roar abated. The emergency
lights went on, six on either side. The crew stirred. Above the cracked instrument panel, the warning
signal showed red. Pieces of insulation and Plexiglas rustled across the floor. There was no roar now,
only a dull whistle.
"What --" croaked the Doctor after spitting out his rubber mouthpiece.
"Stay down!" warned the Captain, who was watching the one undamaged screen.
The ship somersaulted, as if hit by a battering ram. The nylon netting that enfolded them twanged
like the string of a musical instrument. For a moment everything was poised upside down, and then the
engine began to rumble.
Muscles that had tensed in anticipation of the final blow relaxed. The ship, atop a vertical column
of exhaust flame, slowly descended; the nozzles throbbed reassuringly. This lasted several minutes. Then
the walls throbbed; the vibration increased -- the turbine bearings must have worked loose. The men
looked at one another. They knew that everything depended now on whether or not the vanes would
hold.
The control room suddenly shook, as though a steel hammer were striking it furiously from the
outside. The last screen became covered with a cluster of circles; the convex phosphorescent shield
darkened. The faint light of the emergency lamps cast enlarged shadows of the men on the sloping walls.
Now the engine howled. Beneath them there was a grating, a breaking; then something split with a shrill
sound. Jolted repeatedly, the hull was like a blind and lifeless thing. They held their breath in the
darkness. Their bodies suddenly were flung against the nylon cords, but did not strike the shattered
panels, which would have torn the mesh. The men swayed like pendulums. . .
The ship seemed to move in an avalanche. There were distant, dull reverberations. Lumps of
earth that had been thrown up slid along the outer hull with a feeble sound.
All motion stopped. Beneath the men, something gurgled. The gurgling became louder, more
rapid -- the sound of water leaking -- and there was a repeated, penetrating hiss, as though drops were
falling, one by one, on heated metal.
"We're alive," said the Chemist. In total darkness, he could not see a thing. He was hanging in his
nylon bag fastened on four sides by cords. The ship had to be lying on its side: otherwise the berth would
have been horizontal. There was a crackle, and the pale glimmer of the Doctor's old lighter.
"Roll call," said the Captain. A cord on his bag snapped, causing him to rotate slowly, helplessly.
He reached out through the nylon netting and tried unsuccessfully to grab a knob on the wall.
"Here," said the Engineer.
"Here," said the Physicist.
"Here," said the Chemist.
"I'm here," said the Cyberneticist, holding his head.
"And here, that's six," said the Doctor.
"All present and accounted for. Congratulations." The Captain's voice was calm. "And the
robots?" There was no reply.
"Robots!!"
Silence. The lighter burned the Doctor's fingers; he put it out. "I always said we were made of
better stuff."