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

accompanying it was a clear image of a small, sleekly streamlined winged
ship.
He swam to the surface and turned his eyes to the sky. The ship was not
visible through the flying snow. He called for strength from all people in
his immediate area, received it, and projected. He found the ship
immediately, now almost overhead. And yes, the human Decision-Maker
he had been expecting was inside.
As the shuttle moved inland the concealing clouds fell behind. Allan saw
great mountains rearing craggy heads in an immense annular formation,
the dominant feature of this continent. A thin sheet of ice covered most of
the lower land between the peaks, sparkling and glittering in the sunlight.
It made Allan think of a gigantic diamond in a Tiffany setting. Then they
were over the great sea once more.
“There’re the first peaks of Atlantis,” said the pilot after a few minutes,
pointing again. Allan saw three small islands floating like green jewels on
the blue water, the last two curving sharply away to the left. Then the view
was monotonous until they reached the southern polar continent, where
the mountains seemed taller and the icecap even thinner.
Allan sat back and relaxed, knowing he had seen the planet’s entire land
area. Capella G VIII could become visually dull in short order. He
wondered what it would be like to be stationed here.
 In a little over an hour the shuttle was approaching the station again,
and this time they were cleared to land. The pilot was good, the
touchdown scarcely jarring the small craft when its’ four legs contacted
the ground. The cleared area was far too small for a horizontal rolling
landing, but the versatile shuttle could also come down vertically, riding a
tail of flame.
Two people were waiting when Allan descended the outside ladder. A
big, smiling man in cold-weather clothes helped him loosen his helmet.
The fresh air was so cold he almost strangled on his first breath.
“I’m Station Manager Zip Murdock, Conscience Odegaard,” said the big
man in a hearty voice. “And this is Phyllis Roen, our biologist.”
The tiny woman by the big man’s side, small even in the bulky
cold-weather gear, said, “I’m afraid I’m responsible for getting you here,
Conscience Odegaard. Zip and the others don’t feel a question even exists.”
Murdock glanced up at the cargo hatch, where the pilot was already
rigging the small crane. “They don’t need us for the unloading. Let’s go
inside and get you settled, and then Phyllis can bring you up to date on
our problem—if we have one.”
The sun had moved behind a high cirque in the west, and deep shadows
were creeping across the field. Allan started with them toward the
foamfab buildings, which huddled at the base of a rocky ridge
two-hundred meters inland. From the rise to the sea the ground had been
cleared of loose rock, the debris forming two rough walls of stone on each
side. The half of the cleared area nearest the beach was used for the
landing field.
They had taken only a few steps when there was a loud yell of warning
behind them. Allan turned, to see that the scene had suddenly and
dramatically changed. From behind the rock walls near the water, and
from the sea itself, fist sized rocks were appearing and flying toward the