"Allen Steele - Orbital Decay" - читать интересную книгу автора (Steele Allen)

to Meteorology for a look at Earth. Not that it was impossible to see
Earth any time he wished; he saw the planet every time he went on
shift. From 22,300 miles away, it was an inescapable part of life,
always there, always to be there. It was something no one could ever
forget. Yet sometimes Popeye Hooker did find himself forgetting.

There came times--while on the job, while lying awake in his bunk,
while climbing into his suit for another work shift--when he tried to
recall what standing on real ground was like, how fresh air tasted, and
found himself unable to remember.

Sometimes he could not remember Laura's face. Part of him didn't want
to remember what she looked like, and it might have been for the better
if he could not; yet Popeye had to remember Laura, for reasons he could
not comprehend. It was those instances when her face disappeared from
his mind's eye which scared him the worst. So, when he could, he would
head for the weather station to borrow a few minutes on the big optical
telescope.

Once or twice a week, although if he could have, he would have visited
Meteorology every day. But his being allowed to use the telescope at
all was a personal favor extended by the bogus meteorologists and he
didn't want to risk overstaying his welcome. The weather station was
at the south polar end of Olympus Station's hub. To reach it from the
rim, Hooker had to leave the four adjacent modules comprising the mess
deck and walk down the catwalk until he reached the gangway leading
down into the western terminus. On this particular day he had fifteen
minutes before the beginning of his second shift, so he had to hurry.

Hooker grabbed one of the two ladders in the terminus and began to
climb up through the overhead hatch into the western spoke. As he

file:///J|/sci-fi/Nieuwe%20map/Allen%20Steele%20-%20Orbital%20Decay.txt (8 of 342)17-2-2006 3:02:39
 file:///J|/sci-fi/Nieuwe%20map/Allen%20Steele%20-%20Orbital%20Decay.txt

ascended, he passed fluorescent light fixtures, fire control stations
and color-coded service panels set in the cool, curving metal walls.

Along the inside of the spoke were taped-up notices of one kind or
another: the announcement of the Saturday movie in the rec room,
reminders of deadlines for filing W-2 forms and absentee voter
registration, announcements for union meetings, and ever present
"Think--Safety First!" signs. The second ladder ran directly behind
him; another crewman passed him, heading down to the torus, his soles
clanging on the ladder rungs, echoing in the utilitarian cool. Soft
music from an occasional speaker set in the walls accompanied his
journey to the hub, the Muzak that was piped through Skycan. Hooker
gritted his teeth as, for perhaps the tenth time that day--he had lost
count, if he had ever kept it--he heard ''If I Had A Hammer'' segueing
into a syrupy version of "Yesterday." Elevator music for a place that