"Stanislaw Lem - Tales of Pirx the Pilot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lem Stanislaw)

pellet.
Whenever it took a pass at the computer, it came over his earphones like a four-engine prop
plane. Mounted on the computer's upper frame was a backup microphone, which gave a pilot access to
the computer inside the encapsulated seat in the event his on-board phone was disconnected and he
found himself without a laryngophone. One of the many backup systems aboard the ship.
He started swearing a blue streak at the microphone, afraid that because of the static he might
miss PAL's signal. The computer was bad enough, but soon the fly began making sorties into other areas
of the cabin. As though hypnotized, Pirx let his gaze trail after it until finally he got fed up and said to heck
with it.
Too bad he didn't have a spray gun of DDT handy.
"Cut it out!"
 Bzzzzz. . . He winced; the fly was crawling around on the computer, in the vicinity of the mike.
Then nothing, dead silence, as it stopped to preen its wings. You lousy bastard!
Then a faint but steady bleeping came over his earphones:
dot-dot-dot-dash-dot-dot-dash-dash-dot-dot-dot-dash. It was PAL.
"Okay, Pirx, now keep your eyes peeled!" he told himself. He raised the couch a little, so as to
take in all three video screens at once, checked the sweeping phosphorescent radar beam, and waited.
Though nothing showed on the radar screen, he distinctly heard a voice calling:
"A-7 Terraluna, A-7 Terraluna, sector III, course one hundred thirteen, PAL PATHFINDER
calling. Request a reading. Over."
"Oh crap, how am I ever going to hear my two JOs now?"
The buzzing in his earphones suddenly stopped. A second later a shadow fell across his face,
from above, much as if a bat had landed on an overhanging lamp. It was the fly, which was crawling
across the blister and exploring its interior. The blips were coming with greater frequency now, and it
wasn't long before he sighted the 80-meter-long aluminum cylinder, mounted with an observation
spheroid, as it flew over him at a distance of roughly 400 meters, possibly more, and gradual-ly overtook
him.
"PAL PATHFINDER to A-7 Terraluna, one-hundred-eighty-point-fourteen,
one-hundred-six-point-six. Increasing linear deviation. Out."
"Albatross-4 Aresterra calling PAL Central, PAL Central. Am coming down for refueling, sector
II. Am coming down for refueling, sector II. Running on reserve supply. Over."
"A-7 Terraluna, calling PAL PATHFINDER. . ."
The rest was lost in the buzzing. Then silence.
"Central to Albatross-4 Aresterra, refuel quadrant seven, Omega Central, refuel quadrant seven.
Out."
They would pick out this spot to rendezvous, thought Pirx, who was now swimming in his
sweat-absorbent underwear. This way I won't hear a thing.
The fly was describing frenetic circles on the computer's console, as if hell-bent on catching up
with its own shadow.
"Albatross-4 Aresterra, Albatross-4 Aresterra to PAL Central, approaching quadrant seven.
Request radio guid-ance. Out."
The radio static grew steadily fainter until it was drowned out by the buzzing. But not before he
managed to catch the following message:
"JO-2 Terraluna, JO-2 Terraluna, calling AMU-27, AMU-27. Over."
I wonder who he's calling? Pirx mused, and he nearly jumped out of his straps.
"AMU --" he wanted to say, but not a sound could he emit from his hoarse throat. His earphones
were buzzing. The fly. He closed his eyes.
"AMU-27 to JO-2 Terraluna, position quadrant four, sector PAL, am turning on navigation
lights. Over."
He switched on his navigation lights -- two red ones at the side, two green ones on the nose, a