"Michael McCollum - Duty, Honor, Planet" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCollum Michael)

Then we start operations two days from now. You put our plan into action."
"Order acknowledged, Mr. Secretary-General."

Heugens sighed. Now that the decision had finally been made, the burden on his shoulders felt lighter
than it had in days.

"How about a glass of sherry before heading back?" asked his visitor.

"A whiskey'd go down better."

"Then whiskey it is!"

#

The Earth was a blue-white jewel poised against the jet-black canvas of open space. Occasionally a
patch of brown or green, or gray would poke through the all-encompassing white bands of clouds that
girded the globe and obscured the familiar outlines of the seas and continents.

Friedrich Stassel gazed absently at the viewscreen at one end of the mess hall and noted the trailing
terminator was near the western salient of Africa. He hurriedly gulped down the last of his tea. Two
quick bites finished off the last of his toast and peach marmalade. It was late and he was due on duty in a
few minutes.

Unnoticed by Stassel, Major N'Gomo, the Station Executive Officer, stepped through the messhall hatch
and surveyed the crowded room with sharp eyes. He spotted the young German and moved quickly
through the clutter of tables and subdued conversation to stand beside him. Stassel looked up to see a
set of flashing white teeth set in a face of darkest ebon.

"The Commandant would like to see you, Fred," the Ghanaian said.

"Yes sir," Stassel replied. He looked quizzically at N'Gomo, but the Exec's face was an aloof mask as
always. No one could ever tell what went on behind those yellow tinged eyes. Stassel gathered up his
tray, standing slowly to keep the cup and silverware in place in the one-third gravity of the space station,
and headed for the main hatch. As he passed the disposal chute, he stuffed the utensils into its gaping
maw with a clatter of steel on steel.

The Commandant's office was ninety degrees spinward around the Station's rim from the officer's mess.
Stassel quick stepped his way around the rising curve of the Alpha Deck corridor, hurrying as fast as the
in-station traffic laws would allow. He chewed his lower lip and wondered about the summons as he
walked, mentally reviewing all of his activities for the last week. Had he committed an offense serious
enough to warrant being called on the carpet by the Commandant himself? Offhand, he could not think
of anything.

Of course, just because you did not know about it was no sure indication of a clear conscience as far as
General Heinemann, the Commandant, was concerned. More than one officer had walked jauntily into
Heinemann's office, only to emerge a whipped man. Rumor was that the Commandant could see through
steel bulkheads up to a centimeter thick. Stassel had no reason to doubt it.

Outside the Commandant's office, Stassel stopped to check his uniform in the mirror provided for just