"Heinlein, Robert A - Destination Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

“She wanted me to say that the syndicate would object to yOur going. Don’t worry; I didn’t agree.”
Corley looked at him levelly. “I’ve always intended to go. She knows that.”
“That’s my boy! Red?”
Bowles heaved himself to his feet. “Shucks, Jim, I didn’t bust that physical much—just overweight.”
“You’re in. I don’t want an eager young beaver as co-pilot anyhow.”
“‘Co—pilot?’”
“Want to rassle me for skipper? Red, I’ve meant to gun this crate myself ever since the day—Lordy, four years ago!—when you brought Doc to see me with a satфhelful of blueprints.” He drew a breath and looked around. exultantly.
Bowles said, “Let’s see. You for pilot; I’m co-; Doc is chief. That leaves nobody but the radarman. You can’t possibly train a man in the electronics of that ship by tomorrow morning.”
Barnes shrugged. “Hobson’s choice—it has to be Ward.” He named the chief electronics engineer of the project.
Bowles turned to Corley. “Does Ward hanker to go?” Corley looked thoughtful. “I’m sure he does. We haven’t discussed it.” He reached for the phone. “I’ll call his quarters.”
Barnes stuck a hand .j~ the way. “Not so fast. Once the word got out, the Commission has twenty-four hours in which to stop us.”
Bowles glanced at his watch. “Twenty-one hours.”
“Long enough, anyhow.”
Corley frowned. “We can’t keep it secret. We’ve got to load that ship. I’ve got to reach Dr. Hastings and get our ballistic calculated.”
~“One thing at a time.” Barnes paused, frowning.
“Here’s the plan: we’ll tell everybody that this is just a. dress rehearsal, but complete in all details, road blocks, rations, reporters, check-off lists, the works. Doc, you get the power plant ready. Red, you’re in charge of loading. Me, I’m going into Mojave and phone Hastings. Then I’ll phone the University and arrange for the big computer.”
“Why drive twenty miles?” Corley protested. “Call from here.”
“Because these wires are probably tapped—and I don’t mean the F.B.I.! Aside ffom us three and Ward, Hastings is the one man who must know the truth— when he figures that ballistic, he’s got to know it matters.”
Barnes reached for his hat. “Doc, you can call Ward now—here I go.”
“Wait!” said Bowles. “Jim, you’re going off half cocked. You can at least find out from here where Hastings is. You may have to fly down to Palomar and get him.”
Barnes snapped his fingers. “I am half cocked, Red. I forgot the most important item—the reason why I can’t use my plane myself; I need it for the Resident Inspector.” He referred to the project representative of the Atomic Energy Commission.
“Holmes? Why does he need your plane?”
“To get lost in. I’m going to persuade Ned Holmes to go to Washington and make one last plea for us to be allowed to test our engine here. He’ll do it; turning us down wasn’t his idea. Our boy Andy will fly him in my plane—and Andy will be forced down in the desert, forty miles from a phone. Very sad.”
Corley grudged a smile. “Sounds like kidnapping.”
Barnes looked innocent.
“Of course Holmes will put the Commission’s seal on the power pile before he leaves.”
“And we’ll break it. Any more objections? If not, let’s get Andy, Holmes, and Ward, in that order.”
Admiral Bowles whistled. “Doc,” he said, “that engine of yours had better work, or we will spend the rest of our lives in jail. Well, let’s get busy.”

II

The morning was well worn by the time Jiiii Barnes drove back to the construction site. The company guard
at the pass gate waved him through; he stopped nevertheless. “Howdy, Joe.”
“Morning, Mr. Barnes.”
“I see the gate is open. Any orders from the front office?”
“About the gate? No. Somebody called and said today was dress rehearsal for the Big Boy.” The guard hooked a thumb toward the ship, two miles away.
“That’s right. Now listen; this dress rehearsal must be letter perfect. Keep that gate locked. Clear with me, or Admiral Bowles, or Doctor Corley himself before unlocking it.”
- “Gotcha, Mr. Barnes.”
“Just remember that there are people who would do anything to keep that ship over there from leaving the ground—and they don’t necessarily have foreign accents.”
“Pon’t worry, Mr. Barnes.”
But he did worry; corking up the gate still left fourteen miles of unguarded fence.
Oh, well—it was a risk that must be accepted. He drove on past the living quarters, through the circle of shops. The area swarmed with people, on foot, in trucks, in jeeps. Trucks were lined up at the entrance to the bull pen surrounding the ship itself. Barnes pulled up at the administration building.
In Corley’s office he found Bowles, Corley himself— and Corley’s wife. Corley looked harassed; Mrs. Corley was quite evidently angry. “Greetings, folks,” he said. “Am I butting in?”
Corley looked up. “Come in, Jim.”
Barnes bowed to Mrs. Corley. “How do you do, ma’am?”
She glared at him. “You! You’re responsible for this!”
“Me, Mrs. Corley? For what?”
“You know very well ‘what’! Oh you.. . you. . .“ She caught her breath, then gave vent to one explosive word: “Men!” She slammed out of the room.
When the door had closed behind her, Barnes let his
eyebrows seek their natural level. “I see she knows. You shouldn’t have told her, not yet, Doe.”