"Ben Bova - Jupiter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bova Ben)

"And after the four years is over we can apply to have a child," Grant said.

"A boy," said Marjorie.

"Don't you want a daughter?"

"Afterward. After I learn how to be a mother. Then we can have a daughter."

He smiled in the darkness of their bedroom and kissed her and they made love. It was a safe time of Marjorie's cycle.

They both graduated with high honors; Grant was actually first in his class. Marjorie received her Public Service commission with the Peacekeepers, as expected. Grant, though, was shocked when his orders sent him not to the Farside Observatory on the Moon but to Research Station Thomas Gold, in orbit around Jupiter, more than seven hundred million kilometers from Marjorie at its closest approach to Earth.













"...WHICH SIDE YOU RE ON"





Grant's father counseled patience.

"If that's where they want to send you, they must have their reasons. You'll simply have to accept it, son." I Grant found that he could not accept it. There was no patience in him, despite earnest prayers. His father had been a meek and accepting man all his life, and what had it gotten him? Obscurity, genteel poverty, and condescending smiles behind his back. That's not for me, Grant told himself.

Despite his father's conciliatory advice, Grant fought his assignment all the way up to the regional director of the New Morality's Northeast office. "I can't spend four years at Jupiter," he insisted. "I'm a married man! I can't be that far away for four years! Besides, I'm an astrophysicist, and there's no need for my specialty at Jupiter. I'll be wasting four years! How can I work on my doctorate when there's no astrophysics being done there?"

The regional director sat behind a massive oak desk strewn with papers, tensely upright in his high-backed chair, his lean, long-fingered hands steepled before him as Grant babbled on. His name was Ellis Beech. He was a serious-looking African American with dark skin the color of sooty smoke. His face was thin, long with a pointed chin; his eyes were tawny, somber, focused intently on Grant without wavering all through his urgent, pleading tirade.

At last Grant ran out of words. He didn't know what more he could say. He had tried to control his anger, but he was certain he'd raised his voice unconscionably and betrayed the resentment and aggravation he felt. Never show anger, his father had counseled him. Be calm, be reasonable. Anger begets anger; you want to sway him to your point of view, not antagonize him.

Grant slumped back in his chair, waiting for some reaction from the regional director. The man didn't look antagonized. To Grant's eyes, he looked as if he hadn't heard half of what Grant had said. Beech's desk was cluttered with paper, from flimsy single sheets to thick volumes bound in red covers; his computer screen flickered annoyingly; he was obviously a very important and very busy person, yet his phone had not beeped once since Grant had been ushered into the warmly paneled, carpeted office.

"I was supposed to go to Farside," Grant muttered, trying to get some response out of the brooding man behind the desk.

"I'm fully aware of that," Beech said at last. Then he added, "But unfortunately you are needed at Jupiter."

"How could I be needed-"

"Let me explain the situation to you, young man."