"John Varley - In the Hall of the Martian Kings" - читать интересную книгу автора (Varley John)

the uneven bottom of the Tharsis arm of the Great Rift Valley. The site had been chosen because it was a
smooth area, allowing easy access up a gentle slope to the flat plains of the Tharsis Plateau, while at the
same time only a kilometer from the valley floor. No one could agree which area was most worthy of
study: plains or canyon. So this site had been chosen as a compromise. What it meant was that the
exploring parties had to either climb up or go down, because there wasn't a damn thing worth seeing near
the camp. Even the exposed layering and its areological records could not be seen without a
half-kilometer crawler ride up to the point where Crawford had climbed to watch the sunrise.

He examined the dome as he walked back to camp. There was a figure hazily visible through the plastic.
At this distance he would have been unable to tell who it was if it weren't for the black face. He saw her
step up to the dome wall and wipe a clear circle to look through. She spotted his bright red suit and
pointed at him. She was suited except for her helmet, which contained her radio. He knew he was in
trouble. He saw her turn away and bend to the ground to pick up her helmet, so she could tell him what
she thought of people who disobeyed her orders, when the dome shuddered like a jellyfish.

An alarm started in his helmet, flat and strangely soothing coming from the tiny speaker. He stood there
for a moment as a perfect smoke ring of dust billowed up around the rim of the dome. Then he was
running.

He watched the disaster unfold before his eyes, silent except for the rhythmic beat of the alarm bell in his
ears. The dome was dancing and straining, trying to fly. The floor heaved up in the center, throwing the
black woman to her knees. In another second the interior was a whirling snowstorm. He skidded on the
sand and fell forward, got up in time to see the fiberglass ropes on the side nearest him snap free from the
steel spikes anchoring the dome to the rock.

The dome now looked like some fantastic Christmas ornament, filled with snowflakes and the flashing red
and blue lights of the emergency alarms. The top of the dome

In the Hall of the Martian Kings 113

heaved over away from him, and the floor raised itself high in the air, held down only by the unbroken
anchors on the side farthest from him. There was a gush of snow and dust; then the floor settled slowly
back to the ground. There was no motion now but the leisurely folding of the depressurized dome roof as
it settled over the structures inside.

The crawler skidded to a stop, nearly rolling over, beside the deflated dome. Two pressure-suited figures
got out. They started for the dome, hesitantly, in fits and starts. One grabbed the other's arm and pointed
to the lander. The two of them changed course and scrambled up the rope ladder hanging over the side.

Crawford was the only one to look up when the lock started cycling. The two people almost tumbled
over each other coming out of the lock. They wanted to do something, and quickly, but didn't know
what. In the end, they just stood there, silently twisting their hands and looking at the floor. One of them
took off her helmet. She was a large woman, in her thirties, with red hair shorn off close to the scalp.

"Matt, we got here asтАФ" She stopped, realizing how obvious it was. "How's Lou?"

"Lou's not going to make it." He gestured to the bunk where a heavyset man lay breathing raggedly into a
clear plastic mask. He was on pure oxygen. There was blood seeping from his ears and nose.

"Brain damage?"