"Niven, Larry - The Coldest Place" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

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THE COLDEST PLACE





In the coldest place in the solar system, I hesitated outside the ship for a moment. It was too dark out there. I fought an urge to stay close by the ship, by the comfortable ungainly bulk of warm metal which held the warm bright Earth inside it.
"See anything?" asked Eric.
"No, of course not. It's too hot here anyway, what with heat radiation from the ship. You remember the way they scattered away from the probe."
"Yeah. Look, you want me to hold your hand or something? Go."
I sighed and started off, with the heavy collector bouncing gently on my shoulder. I bounced too. The spikes on my boots kept me from sliding.
I walked up the side of the wide, shallow crater the ship had created by vaporizing the layered air all the way down to the water ice level. Crags rose about me, masses of frozen gas with smooth, rounded edges. They gleamed soft white where the light from my headlamp touched them. Elsewhere all was as black as eternity. Brilliant stars shone above the soft crags; but the light made no impression on the black land. The ship got smaller and darker and disappeared.
There was supposed to be life here. Nobody had even tried to guess what it might be like. Two years ago the Messenger VI probe had moved into close orbit about the planet and then landed about here, partly to find out if the cap of frozen gasses might be inflammable. In the field of view of the camera during the landing, things like shadows had wriggled across the snow and out of the light thrown by the probe. The films had shown it beautifully. Naturally some wise ones had suggested that they were only shadows.
I'd seen the films. I knew better. There was life.

2 THE COLDEST PLACE


Something alive, that hated light. Something out there in the dark. Something huge . . . "Eric, you there?"
"Where would I go?" he mocked me.
"Well," said I, "if I watched every word I spoke I'd never get anything said." All the same, I had been tactless. Eric had had a bad accident once, very bad. He wouldn't be going anywhere unless the ship went along.
"Touchщ," said Eric. "Are you getting much heat leakage from your suit?"
"Very little." In fact, the frozen air didn't even melt under the pressure of my boots.
"They might be avoiding even that little. Or they might be afraid of your light." He knew I hadn't seen anything; he was looking through a peeper in the top of my helmet.
"Okay, I'll climb that mountain and turn it off for a while."
I swung my head so he could see the mound I meant, then started up it. It was good exercise, and no strain in the low gravity. I could jump almost as high as on the moon, without fear of a rock's edge tearing my suit. It was all packed snow, with vacuum between the flakes.
My imagination started working again when I reached the top. There was black all around; the world was black with cold. I turned off the light and the world disappeared.
I pushed a trigger on the side of my helmet and my helmet put the stem of a pipe in my mouth. The air renewer sucked air and smoke down past my chin. They make wonderful suits nowadays. I sat and smoked, waiting, shivering with the knowledge of the cold. Finally I realized I was sweating. The suit was almost too well insulated.
Our ion-drive section came over the horizon, a brilliant star moving very fast, and disappeared as it hit the planet's shadow. Time was passing. The charge in my pipe burned out and I dumped it.
"Try the light," said Eric.
I got up and turned the headlamp on high. The light spread for a mile around; a white fairy landscape sprang to life, a winter wonderland doubled in spades. I did a slow pirouette, looking, looking . . . and saw it.
Even this close it looked like a shadow. It also looked like a very

LARRY NIVEN 3

flat, monstrously large amoeba, or like a pool of oil running across the ice. Uphill it ran, flowing slowly and painfully up the side of a nitrogen mountain, trying desperately to escape the searing light of my lamp. "The collector!" Eric demanded. I lifted the collector above my head and aimed it like a telescope at the fleeing enigma, so that Eric could find it in the collector's peeper. The collector spat fire at both ends and jumped up and away. Eric was controlling it now.
After a moment I asked, "Should I come back?"
"Certainly not. Stay there. I can't bring the collector back to the ship! You'll have to wait and carry it back with you."
The pool-shadow slid over the edge of the hill. The flame of the collector's rocket went after it, flying high, growing smaller. It dipped below the ridge. A moment later I heard Eric mutter, "Got it." The bright flame reappeared, rising fast, then curved toward me.
When the thing was hovering near me on two lateral rockets I picked it up by the tail and carried it home.

"No, no trouble," said Eric. "I just used the scoop to nip a piece out of his flank, if so I may speak. I got about ten cubic centimeters of strange flesh."
"Good," said I. Carrying the collector carefully in one hand, I went up the landing leg to the airlock. Eric let me in.
I peeled off my frosting suit in the blessed artificial light of ship's day.
"Okay," said Eric. "Take it up to the lab. And don't touch it."
Eric can be a hell of an annoying character. "I've got a brain," I snarled, "even if you can't see it." So can I.
There was a ringing silence while we each tried to dream up an apology. Eric got there first. "Sorry," he said.
"Me too." I hauled the collector off to the lab on a cart.
He guided me when I got there. "Put the whole package in that opening. Jaws first. No, don't close it yet. Turn the thing until these lines match the lines on the collector. Okay. Push it in a little. Now close the door. Okay, Howie, I'll take it from there . . ." There were chugging sounds from behind the little door. "Have to wait till the lab's cool enough. Go get some coffee," said Eric.