"E. E. Doc Smith - Lensman 3 - Galactic Patrol" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith E. E. Doc)

velocity of almost two thousand feet per second though they were at the instant
of
impact, yet those five husky bodies came from full speed to an instantaneous,
shockless, effortless halt at contact, for the drop had been made under complete
neutralization of inertia тАУ "free," in space parlance. Inertia restored, the
march was
resumed -- or rather continued -- in perfect time with the band. Five left feet
swung out,
and as the right toes left the floor the second rank, with only bare inches to
spare,
plunged down into the space its predecessor had occupied a moment before.
Rank after rank landed and marched away with machinelike precision. The
dread
door of Room A opened automatically at the approach of the cadets and closed
behind
them.
"Column right -- March!" Kinnison commanded inaudibly, and the Class obeyed
in clockwork perfection. "Column left -- March! Squad right -- March! Company --
Halt!
Salute!"
In company front, in a huge, square room devoid of furniture, the Class
faced the
Ogre -- Lieutenant-Marshal Fritz von Hohendorff, Commandant of Cadets. Martinet,
tyrant, dictator -- he was known throughout the System as the embodiment of
soullessness, and, insofar as he had ever been known to show emotion or feeling
before any undergraduate, he seemed to glory in his repute of being the most
pitilessly
rigid disciplinarian that Earth had ever known. His thick, white hair was
roached fiercely
upward into a stiff pompadour. His left eye was artificial and his face bore
dozens of
tiny, threadlike scars, for not even the marvelous plastic surgery of that age
could repair
entirely the ravages of space-combat. Also, his right leg and left arm, although
practically normal to all outward seeming, were in reality largely products of
science and
art instead of nature.
Kinnison faced, then, this reconstructed potentate, saluted crisply, and
snapped.
"Sir, Class Five reports to the Commandant."
"Take your post, sir." The veteran saluted as punctiliously, and as he did
so a
semi-circular desk rose around him from the floor -- a desk whose most striking
feature
was an intricate mechanism surrounding a splint-like form.
"Number One, Kimball Kinnison !" von Hohendorff barked. "Front and center -
-
March ! . . . . . The oath, sir."
"Before the Omnipotent Witness I promise never to lower the standard of the
Galactic Patrol," Kinnison said reverently, and, baring his arm, thrust it into