"James White - Lifeboat" - читать интересную книгу автора (White James)

Chapter XVII. 81
Chapter XVIII. 86
Chapter XIX. 92
Chapter XX. 97
Chapter XXI. 107



Chapter I.
The departure lounge was half full since the coach had left on its first trip
to the ship, but it had not grown any quieter. Excitement, impatience and
natural anxiety had combined to raise the noise level of every conversation
until the background music and its intended soothing effect were obliterated.
Ignoring the low and sinfully soft couches scattered around the large, cool
room, the remaining passengers for Eurydice clustered about the exit ramp like
jet travelers bucking for a seat by a window.
None of them were watching Mercer directly. Relieved, he dropped his eyes to
the papers which he had not been studying for the past half hour and wondered
if replacing them in his briefcase would be a signal for passengers to come
surging over to introduce themselves or ask questions. He already knew all of
their names, having memorized the passenger list, since his job would consist
largely of looking after them.
But right now they were still strangers-for the simple reason that he did not
know which face went with any given name. He decided to savor his last
remaining moments of introversion before he had to join the ship.
Mercer had no sooner made this decision and was beginning to feel pleasantly
guilty about it when a pair of small feet moved into the area of floor covered
by his downcast eyes and stopped a few yards in front of his chair. He looked
up slowly.
Black sneakers, black slacks, black tunic and long-visored cap, which carried
an improbable quantity of insignia and plastic scrambled eggs. The uniform had
probably been a good fit last Christmas, but now it was a little short and
tight. Even though the body overfilling the uniform was sturdy and
well-nourished, the face had the pinched, big-eyed look of the
over-imaginative, intelligent and probably highly nervous type. Mercer did not
have to read the identity patch on his chest to know that this was Robert
Mathewson, because there was only one ten-year-old boy on the passenger list.
They stared at each other for a long time, with Mercer feeling as tongue-tied
as the boy looked. This was ridiculous, he told himself irritably as the
silence began to drag and both their faces shifted deeper into the infrared.
This was, after all, his first social contact with a passenger, and one this
young should be easy- good practice for him, in fact.
Clearing his throat, he said, "I didn't know that we had been assigned a cadet
for this trip, but I can certainly use your help-" "Bobby, I told you not to
wander off!" said a voice from behind him. It was a feminine, harassed voice,
belonging, Mercer saw as he turned, to the boy's mother.
She was very young, dark-haired and with a face subtly distorted by tension
and worry, so that he could not decide whether it was pretty or downright
lovely. She rushed on, "You were told not to talk to strangers and that means
not making a nuisance of yourself to the ship's officers. I'm sorry about