"Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle - Fallen Angels" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

The other man raised his shaggy eyebrows. "Not many spacemen stop
here these days."
"Spaceman. I was born on Earth. Kansas."
The white-haired man grunted. "I don't think you're in Kansas anymore,
Toto. He set a black bag on the deck and opened it. Alex twisted his head to
look inside.
"Are you a doctor?"
"No, I'm a plumber. Lie still. Of course, I'm a doctor. Will Waxman,
M.D. We're not irresponsible, you know. We knew you might be hurt; so I
came along."
"Sorry."
"It was the house call that probably fooled you," he said, unfastening the
space suit.
Alex watched him reach inside the bag and pull out a stethoscope. The
black bag didn't float away like Newton said it should. It stayed put.
Gravity field. He would have to remember that. Things wouldn't behave
naturally groundside. His reflexes would be all wrong. He wondered how
worry, though. Lungs aren t punctured. Well tape you up, and in a few
weeks you ought to be good as new."
Alex grunted. Good news from all over. What the hell; he was due for
some good news. "Doc, how's Gordon? Have you looked at him yet?" The
stilyagi was his responsibility. He was the captain; and if it hadn't been for
his stupid pride, Gordon would be sitting warm and snug and conscious
back in Freedom.
"Gordon? Ah, your copilot. I checked him first. Concussion. No broken
bones, no bleeding, no shock. Your people upstairs say there's nothing
wrong internally, but we'll be careful until we can get you to a clinic. How
does the arm feel?"
"What? Oh, a little numb. Is it broken?"
Waxman ran his hands down the left arm, squeezing gently. When he
reached the wrist, Alex sucked his breath in. Waxman nodded. "Sprain, I'd
say. We'll tape that, up, too. Sherrine, could you help me here with his
ribs?"
A woman came around from behind the pilot's seat. Her parka was
unzipped and its hood was thrown back, revealing the loveliest woman
Alex had ever seen. Tall and thin, even under layers of sweaters, with
prominent, fragile bones. "Hi. Sherrine Hartley," she said in a low, throaty
voice.
"Alex MacLeod." He managed to reach up to take her hand despite the
gravity. It was a hell of an effort, but worth it; but he couldn't hold it up
long. She patted his hand with a firm but gentle touch.
"Welcome to Earth."
"Meeting you makes it almost worth the trip."
She blushed, as if unused to hearing such compliments. How could that
be, Alex wondered? A woman as tall and gangly as Sherrine must hear
them every day. He studied her as she helped the Doc tape him up. She
leaned close into his face as she ran the tape behind his back. How did men
the motors he had heard earlier. Both sledges and snowmobiles were
festooned with miscellaneous items of equipment and jerry cans exuding a
chemical smell.