"Martin H. Greenberg - Space Stations" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenberg Martin H)

insignificant history."
"Really?" Drexler said, regarding Bob coolly. "Which part do you
consider to have been significant? The thirty glorious years it spent as a
prison for the Archipelago? The fifteen it did duty as a jabriosis quarantine
center? Or the twenty-two it's now spent as a tourist attraction?"
Bob took a deep breath, his mental argument center loading Defense
Pattern Alpha—
 "All right, Drexler, you've made your point," Cummings put in quietly.
"It's not Ranger Epstein's fault that Space Fort Jefferson never got to serve
in its primary capacity. Not really Space Fort Jefferson's fault either."
Drexler snorted in a sedate, government-issue sort of way. "Maybe if the
designers had had the foresight to build particle shielding into the hull,
they'd have gotten some actual use out of it."
Bob sighed. He got so tired of going over this same territory with people
who'd never bothered to check their history. "Particle weapons hadn't even
been developed when they started building the station," he said.
"He's right," Cummings agreed, tapping the plaque he'd been studying.
"Construction began in 2082. The first successful test of a particle weapon
wasn't until 2089."
"The shielding they put in was more than enough to handle anything
known at the time," Bob added. "If Xhong hadn't made his technical
breakthrough when he did, Space Fort Jefferson would have been a perfect
defender of the Ceres-to-Earth shipping route."
"Perhaps," Drexler said. "But part of a designer's job is to anticipate
future trends and incorporate them into his plans."
"But we didn't come here to discuss history," Cummings interrupted
diplomatically. "We need to give the station a quick once-over for any
possible danger to Space Force One and its escort. Just routine, of course."
"After all, we wouldn't want a section of hull to fall off and float into
their path," Drexler said under his breath.
Cummings sent him a strained look. "For what it's worth, I understand the
commentators will be giving some of the station's history during the
approach," he said. "I know it's not a Presidential visit, but at least it's
something for your trouble."
"Yes, sir," Bob said, nodding. "I'm sure we all appreciate it."
Cummings nodded in return. "Now, if you'll take us to the main control
complex...?"
"Of course," Bob said, swallowing his annoyance and gesturing through
the door. "This way, please."
A full self-guided tour of the station, including a reading of all the
information plaques, was timed to take about five hours. Adding in a lunch
break—carry-on bubblepack or back aboard your own ship; the visitors'
cafeteria hadn't been open for ten years—the whole thing was a pleasant
day's touristing.
Cummings and Drexler didn't bother with the plaques, and they weren't
interested in lunch. But unlike standard tourists, they also insisted on seeing
the rangers' living quarters, workshops, and storerooms.
 It was nearly four hours before Cummings pronounced himself satisfied
that Space Fort Jefferson was safe enough for President Ukukho to come
within five miles of. What Drexler thought he kept to himself.