"G. Stanley Weinbaum - The Best of Stanley G Weinbaum" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weinbaum Stanley G)

The other three stared at him sympathetically - Putz, the engineer, Leroy, the biologist, and Harrison,
the astronomer and captain of the expedition. Dick Jarvis was chemist of the famous crew, the Ares
expedition, first human beings to set foot on the mysterious neighbor of the earth, the planet Mars. This,
of course, was in the old days, less than twenty years after the mad American Doheny perfected the
atomic blast at the cost of his life, and only a decade after the equally mad Cardoza rode on it to the
moon. They were true pioneers, these four of the Ares. Except for a half-dozen moon expeditions and
the ill-fated de Lancey flight aimed at the seductive orb of Venus, they were the first men to feel other
gravity than earth's, and certainly the first successful crew to leave the earth-moon system. And they
deserved that success when one considers the difficulties and discomforts - the months spent in
acclimatization chambers back on earth, learning to breathe the air as tenuous as that of Mars, the
challenging of the void in the tiny rocket driven by the cranky reaction motors of the twenty-first century,
and mostly the facing of an absolutely unknown world.
Jarvis stretched and fingered the raw and peeling tip of his frostbitten nose. He sighed again
contentedly.
'Well,' exploded Harrison abruptly, 'are we going to hear what happened? You set out all shipshape
in an auxiliary rocket, we don't get a peep for ten days, and finally Putz here picks you out of a lunatic
ant-heap with a freak ostrich as your pal! Spill it, man!'
'Speel?' queried Leroy perplexedly. 'Speel what?'
'He means 'spiel',' explained Putz soberly. 'It iss to tell.'
Jarvis met Harrison's amused glance without the shadow of a smile. 'That's right, Karl,' he said in
grave agreement with Putz. 'Ich spiel es!' He grunted comfortably and began.
'According to orders,' he said, 'I watched Karl here take off toward the North, and then I got into
my flying sweat-box and headed south. You'll remember, Cap - we had orders not to land, but just scout
about for points of interest. I set the two cameras clicking and buzzed along, riding pretty high - about
two thousand feet - for a couple of reasons. First, it gave the cameras a greater field, and second, the
under-jets travel so far in this half-vacuum they call air here that they stir up dust if you move low.'
'We know all that from Putz,' grunted Harrison. 'I wish you'd saved the films, though. They'd have
paid the cost of this junket; remember how the public mobbed the first moon pictures?'
'The films are safe,' retorted Jarvis. 'Well,' he resumed, 'as I said, I buzzed along at a pretty good
clip; just as we figured, the wings haven't much lift in this air at less than a hundred miles per hour, and
even then I had to use the under-jets.
'So, with the speed and the altitude and the blurring caused by the under-jets, the seeing wasn't any
too good. I could see enough, though, to distinguish that what I sailed over was just more of this gray
plain that we'd been examining the whole week since our landing - same blobby growths and the same
eternal carpet of crawling little plantanimals, or biopods, as Leroy calls them. So I sailed along, calling
back my position every hour as instructed, and not knowing whether you heard me.'
'I did!' snapped Harrison.
'A hundred and fifty miles south,' continued Jarvis imperturbably, 'the surface changed to a sort of
low plateau, nothing but desert and orange-tinted sand. I figured that we were right in our guess, then,
and this gray plain we dropped on was really the Mare Cimmerium which would make my orange desert
the region called Xanthus. If I were right, I ought to hit another gray plain, the Mare Chronium in another
couple of hundred miles, and then another orange desert, Thyle I or II. And so I did.'
'Putz verified our position a week and a half ago!' grumbled the captain. 'Let's get to the point.'
'Coming!' remarked Jarvis. 'Twenty miles into Thyle - believe it or not - I crossed a canal!'
'Putz photographed a hundred! Let's hear something new!'
'And did he also see a city?'
'Twenty of 'em, if you call those heaps of mud cities!'
'Well,' observed Jarvis, 'from here on I'll be telling a few things Putz didn't see!' He rubbed his tingling
nose, and continued. 'I knew that I had sixteen hours of daylight at this season, so eight hours - eight
hundred miles - from here, I decided to turn back. I was still over Thyle, whether I or II I'm not sure, not