"E.Voiskunsky, I.Lukodyanov. The Crew Of The Mekong (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

oilfield in the Caspian Sea, had been developed at Privalov's Oil
Transportation Research Institute. It was an ingenious scheme that involved
winding forty kilometres of pipes onto a gigantic wheel lying in the water
just off the shore and then gradually unwinding the line and towing it to
the Neftianiye Reefs. Meanwhile the oil extracted there was being shipped
out in tankers.
Privalov's plan had been approved, although many people thought it too
risky.
During the past week the pressure of affairs at the Institute had
prevented Privalov from visiting the pipeline site. Running into Yura and
Nikolai at the bazaar had been a piece of luck for him.
A gentle northerly breeze carried the boat smoothly seawards. As he lay
on his chest at the edge of the deck, Privalov reflectively observed the two
resilient bow-waves formed by the boat. The Mekong seemed to be folding the
water apart rather than cutting through it.
The water was resisting. Surface tension. Privalov raised himself on
his elbows and looked at Nikolai seated at the tiller.
"Now listen," he said. "If strong enough, the surface tension of a
liquid could replace a pipe." "I don't get it, Boris," said Nikolai. Yura,
sitting on the other side with Val, moved his head, tightly bound in a red
kerchief, from under the stay-sail and stared inquisitively at Privalov.
"You don't get it?" Privalov reached over to his trousers, brought out
his cigarette case and lit up. "Take an underwater pipeline. The oil is
separated from the sea by the wall of the pipe. If we could make its surface
tension strong enough, oil would flow in a separate stream, its own surface
tension acting as a sort of film, or casing, and then you wouldn't need a
pipe. See?"
"That's fabulous!" Nikolai exclaimed. "A pipe-less pipeline! But how
could you increase the tension?"
Privalov lay back. "It's all out of this world," he said, screwing up
his eyes against the sun.
"Out of this world?"
"Well, yes. Surfaces have specific properties that no one is able to
control. Forget it. The whole thing's just a daydream."
Privalov fell silent. He did not utter another word until their
destination came into sight.
The sailboat rounded the yellow tongue of the cape and headed for
shore. They had to drop anchor about a hundred metres from the beach because
the bay was too shallow for them to proceed any further. Privalov shaded his
eyes with his hand and studied the structures on the beach. They were
surrounded by barbed wire.
"Might think we were in a desert," he muttered. "I had a feeling
there's something wrong. Well, let's take a swim and go back home."
It was mid-afternoon by the time they lifted anchor and set out on the
return trip. Nikolai lay on the deck beside Privalov, his hand on the
stay-sail sheet, watching a big white passenger ship overtake them. Yura was
now at the tiller. Val was perched beside him.
"Yura," she whispered. "Do you know if Nick has a girl friend?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?"
Val laughed. "Oh, I couldn't. I'm afraid of him." After a pause she