"Robert A. Heinlein - Between Planets" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

man says that when it's time to be counted, the important thing is to be man
enough to stand up." He looked at Don's face, then went on, "What you do about
it is up to you. You know I've got a birthday coming up next month?"
"Huh? Yes, so you have."
"Come then, I'm going to sign up for pilot training. That's why I wanted to
know what you planned to do."
"Oh."
"But it doesn't make any difference-not between us. Anyhow, you're going to
Mars."
"Yes. Yes, that's right."
"Good!" Jack glanced at his watch. "I've got to run-or they'll throw my chow
to the pigs. Sure you're not coming?"
"Sure."
"See you." He dashed out.
Don stood for a moment, rearranging his ideas. Old Jack must be taking this
seriously-giving up Yale for pilot training. But he was wrong-he had to be
wrong.
Presently he went out to the corral.
Lazy answered his call, then started searching his pockets for sugar. "Sorry,
old fellow," he said sadly, "not even a carrot. I forgot." He stood with his
face to the horse's cheek and scratched the beast's ears. He talked to it in
low tones, explaining as carefully as if Lazy could understand all the
difficult words.
"So that's how it is," he concluded. "I've got to go away and they won't let
me take you with me." He thought back to the day their association had begun.
Lazy had been hardly more than a colt, but Don had been frightened of him. He
seemed huge, dangerous, and probably carnivorous. He had -- never seen a horse
before coming to Earth; Lazy was the first he had ever seen close up.
Suddenly he choked, could talk no further. He flung his arms around the
horse's neck and leaked tears.
Lazy nickered softly, knowing that something was wrong, and tried to nuzzle
him. Don raised his head. "Goodbye, boy. Take care of yourself." He turned
abruptly and ran toward the dormitories.

II
"MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN"

THE SCHOOL copter dumped him down at the Albuquerque field. He had to hurry to
catch his rocket, as traffic control had required them to swing wide around
Sandia Weapons Center. When he weighed in he ran into another new security
wrinkle. "Got a camera in that stuff, son?" the weighmaster had inquired as he
passed over his bags.
"No. Why?"
"Because we'll fog your film when we fluoroscope, that's why." Apparently X-
ray failed to show any bombs hidden in his underwear; his bags were handed
back and he went aboard-the winged-rocket Santa Fe Trail, shuttling between
the Southwest and New Chicago. Inside, he fastened his safety belts, snuggled
down into the cushions, and waited.
At first the noise of the blast-off bothered him more than the pressure. But
the noise dopplered away as they passed the speed of sound while the