"James Van Pelt - Lashawnda at the End" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pelt James Van)

Lashawnda at the End
James Van Pelt


We landed in steam. It billowed from where we touched down, then vanished into the dry, frigid air.
From that first moment, the planet fascinated Lashawnda. She watched the landing tape over and over,
her hand resting on her dark-skinned cheek, her oddly blue eyes reflecting the monitorтАЩs light. тАЬI never
believe weтАЩll land safely, Spencer,тАЭ she said.

Lashawnda liked Papaver better than any of the rest of us. She laughed at the gopher-rats that stood on
their hind legs to look curiously until we got too close. She reveled in the smaller sun wavering in the
not-quite-right blue sky, the lighter gravity, the blond sand and gray rocks that reached to the horizon, but
most of all, she liked the way the plants in the gullies leaned her direction when she walked through them,
how the flat-leafed bushes turned toward her and stuck to her legs if she brushed against them. Wearing
a full contamination suit despite the planetтАЩs thin but perfectly breathable atmosphere didnтАЩt bother her.
Neither did the cold. By midday here on the equator the temperature might peak a few degrees above
freezing, but the nights were incredibly chilly. Even Marvin and BeatitudeтАЩs ugly deaths the first days here
didnтАЩt affect her like it did everyone else. No, she was in heaven, cataloging the flora, wandering among
the misshaped trees in the crooked ravines, coming up with names for each new species.

When we lost our water supply, and it looked like we might not last until the resupply ship came round,
she was still happy.

Lashawnda was a research botanist; what else should I have expected? For me, a commercial
applications biologist, Papaver represented a lifetime of work forteams of scientists, and I was only one
guy. After less than two weeks on the planet, I knew the best I got to do was to file a report that said,
тАЬGreat possibilities for medicinal, scientific, and industrial exploitation.тАЭ Every plant Lashawnda sent my
way revealed a whole catalog of potential pharmaceuticals. Thesecond wave of explorers would make all
the money.

Lashawnda was dying, but was such a positive person that even in what she knew were her final days,
she worked as if no deadly date was flapping its leaden wings toward her. ThatтАЩs the problem in living
with a technology that has extended human life so well: death is harder. It must have been easier when
humans didnтАЩt make it through their first century. People dropped dead left and right, so they couldnтАЩt
have feared it as much. It couldnтАЩt have made them as mad as it made me. Her mortality clung to me like
a pall, making everything dark and slow-motion and sad.

Of course, the plants stole our water. We should have seen it coming. Every living creature weтАЩd found
spent most of its time finding, extracting, and storing water.

Second Chair pounded on my door.тАЭGet into a suit, Spencer,тАЭ she yelled when I poked my head into the
hallway. тАЬEveryone outside!тАЭ A couple of engineers rushed by, faces flushed, half into their suits. тАЬIтАЩm
systems control,тАЭ said one as he passed. тАЬThereтАЩs no way I should risk a lung full of Papaver rot.тАЭ

When I made it out of the airlock, the crisis was beyond help. Our water tanks stood twenty meters from
the ship, their landing struts crunched beneath them just as they were designed to do. TheyтАЩd landed on
the planet months before we got here, both resting between deep, lichen-filled depressions in the rock.
Then the machinery gathered the minuscule water from the air, drop by drop, so that when we arrived the
tanks were full. A year on Papaver was enough. Everyone surrounded the tanks. Even in the bulky suits I
could see how glum they were, except Lashawnda, who was under the main tank. тАЬItтАЩs a fungus,тАЭ she