"Donald E. Wollheim - The Secret of the ninth Planet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wollheim Donald A)

So again at night, Burl, his father, and Gonzales took counsel. They were
debating which way to proceed next; Mark Denning reasoning that they should go
further inland, following tales natives had told; Gonzales urging that they
retrack their path and proceed northward toward the regions where Inca ruins
abounded.
For the past week Burl had not been able to get radio reception. The static had
increased as they had gone eastward over the mountain, but not a word of news or
any human voice came through. The Moon was rising on the horizon as Burl sat
playing with the antenna. Finally he gave up and switched it off.
The discussion had died away and the three men were quiet. The Indian guides had
retired to their own campfire, and one of them had taken out his pipes and was


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blowing a soft, plaintive tune.
Burl stared at the full Moon in silence, wondering if he would ever have a
chance to walk its surface, or if his own future was to lie in probing mankind's
past rather than surveying the grounds of his future. As he watched, he thought
he saw a faint light among the brightening stars where none had been before.
He squinted, and, sure enough, he saw that one tiny white light was swinging
more and more toward the center of the sky. He pointed it out to his father and
Gonzales. "Too fast to be a celestial object," he said. "Is it one of the space
platforms or a sputnik?"
The two men gazed at it in curiosity. Suddenly it seemed to grow brighter and
sharper and to twist toward them in its path.
"Look!" gasped Burl, but the others were already on their feet.
The light plunged down. There was a sudden outburst of yellow flame that caused
the three to duck instinctively, and brought the Indians to their feet with
yells. The glare brightened until they could see that something was just above
them. The fire vanished as swiftly as it came, but a white spot of light
remained.
"It's a parachute!" Burl shouted. "It's a rocket or something, braking to a stop
above us, and coming down by parachute!"
In the pale light of the full Moon they saw that something metallic and
glistening hung from the white mushroom of a parachute. There was a clanging
sound as it hit the rocky earth with a soft, sighing whoosh. The cloth of the
parachute settled.
They ran across the dry stone of the valley floor, but Burl's long, athletic
legs outdistanced the others. He reached it first.
It was a cylinder of metal, about three feet long and a foot in diameter.
"It's the nose of a message missile-- dropped from a guided missile," Burl
announced. "And-- look!" He dramatically pointed the beam of his flashlight upon
its side.
There, written in black, heat-resistant paint, were the words-- To the Denning
Andes Expedition, from U.S. Air Force Base, California Region. By Guided Missile
Post by Moon Base control, Ptolomaeus Crater. Official. Open Without Delay.
CHAPTER TWO-- The Valley of Stolen Sunlight
FOR A moment all three were silent with amazement. "From California-- and Moon