"Larry Niven - Wait It Out" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

But the environment of the motor was terribly cold. The two factors might compensate, or
Suddenly dials went wild. Something had cracked from the savage temperature differential. Jerome used the
damper rods without effect. Maybe they'd melted. Maybe wiring had cracked, or resistors had become
superconductors in the cold. Maybe the pile-but it doesn't matter now.
I wonder why I can't remember the fear.
Sunlight

And a logy, dreamy feeling. I'm conscious again. The same stars rise in formation over the same dark
mountains.
Something heavy is nosing up against me. I feel its weight against my back and the backs of my legs. What
is it? Why am I not terrified?
It slides around in front of me,-questing. It looks like a huge amoeba, shapeless and translucent, with darker
bodies showing within it. I'd guess it's about my own weight.
Life on Pluto! But how? Superfluids? Helium 11 contaminated by



complex molecules? In that case the beast had best get moving; it will need shade come sunrise. Sunside
temperature on Pluto is all of 50┬░ Absolute.
No, come back! It's leaving, flowing down toward the splash crater. Did my thoughts send it away? Nonsense.
It probably didn't like the taste of me. It must be terribly slow, that I can watch it move. The beast is still
visible, blurred because I can't look directly at it, moving downhill toward the landing vehicle and the tiny
statue to the first man to die on Pluto.
After the fiasco with the Nerva-K, one of us had to go down and see how much damage had been done. That
meant tunneling down with the flame of a jet backpack, then crawling under the landing skirt. We didn't talk
about the implications. We were probably dead. The man who went down into the bubble cavity was even
more probably dead; but what of it? Dead is dead.
I feel no guilt. I'd have gone myself if I'd lost the toss.
The Nerva-K had spewed fused bits of the fission pile all over the bubble cavity. We were trapped for good.
Rather, I was trapped, and Jerome was dead. The bubble cavity was a hell of radiation.
Jerome had been swearing softly as he went in. He came out perfectly silent. He'd used up all the good words
 on lighter matters, I think.
I remember I was crying, partly from grief and partly from fear. I remember that I kept my voice steady in
spite of it. Jerome never knew. What he guessed is his own affair. He told me the situation, he told me
goodbye, and then he strode out onto the ice and took off his helmet. A fuzzy white ball engulfed his head,
exploded outward, then settled to the ground in microscopic snowflakes.
But all that seems infinitely remote. Jerome stands out there with his helmet clutched in his hands: a statue to
himself, the first man on Pluto. A frost of recondensed moisture conceals his expression.
Sunrise. I hope the amoeba

That was wild. The sun stood poised for an instant, a white pointsource between twin peaks. Then it streaked
upward-and the spinning sky jolted to a stop. No wonder I didn't catch it before. It happened so fast.



A horrible thought. What has happened to me could have happened to Jerome! I wonder-
There was Sammy in the Earth-return vehicle, but he couldn't get down to me. I couldn't get up. The
life system was in good order, but sooner or later I would freeze to death or run out of air.
I stayed with the landing vehicle about thirty hours, taking ice and soil samples, analyzing them,
delivering the data to Sammy via laser beam; delivering also high-minded last messages, and feeling