"Joseph Green - Conscience Interplanetary" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Joseph)

Interplanetary
Consciences
Joseph Green
FIRST PRINTING, DECEMBER 1974


-1-

“I’ve put us In a polar orbit, Conscience Odegaard,” said the planetary
shuttle pilot, turning around to speak to his only passenger. “Ground
Control says the blowstorm should clear up by the time we make a round.
They don’t average four a year, and it’s just bad luck that we arrived in the
middle of one. I’ll depolarize the door viewplate and let you look Sister
over direct while we wait.”
He touched a control, and the floor in the center aisle grew milky, then
transparent. The harsh, xanthic light of Capella G flooded in. Below them,
stretching endlessly to the horizons, was a vast expanse of deep blue water.
The air was crystal clear and almost cloudless.
The pilot made a few final adjustments to the attitude controls, then
relaxed and said, “The underwater continent they call Atlantis is on the
other side, and we’ll pass over the station in a few minutes.”
Allan stared with interest at the featureless surface of Capella G VIII,
the fifth planet on which he expected to set foot. Born on Earth, he had
visited Mars with his family in 2042, at the age of fourteen. He had made
the “milkrun” to the Centaurus trio, and landed on the Alpha binary’s
single minor planet, as part of his Conscience field work. As a
commissioned operative in the Practical Philosopher Corps he had left
Earth some five months earlier, and completed his first assignment on
Castor IV before reporting here. From the appearance of Sister he would
be lucky to find enough solid ground on which to step.
They were moving toward the planet’s northern pole, and the edge of
the North polar continent soon came in sight. Allan saw a narrow ledge of
ice, hugging a low and rocky shore.
“The station is under those,” said the pilot, pointing far ahead. Allan
gazed where the finger indicated, but saw only the white-tinged clouds of
the blowstorm. But at least the swirling storm winds offered a more lively
view than the placid sea below.
The Decision-Maker swam leisurely just beneath the surface, listening
to the vast pulsebeat that was the life of his people. It had been some time
since he had eaten and his eyes, obedient to that primal command, were
alert for prey. But hunting did not interfere with the more mental
functions which occupied the group part of his mind.
He angled to the surface for air, glancing briefly at the humans’
Gathering-Place while his head was above water. The round gray
buildings squatted on the ground like overlarge toadstools, well back from
the rocky shore a hundred body lengths away. He could dimly see them
through the thin snow a driving wind had brought down off the
mountains.
“The-fish-which-flys comes, Decision-Maker,” came a strong projection
from the south. It was a composite voice made by many individuals, and