"C M Kornbluth - Theory Of Rocketry" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kornbluth C M)

"By a whisker," Foster said regretfully. "Nothing can be done about it except what I'm doing."



"He's an aeroengineer?"



"He can do anything," Foster said positively. "And he has!"



A picture of the elder Foster was forming in Mr. Edel's mind-young Fireball grown taller, solider and
grizzled, the jaw firmed and controlled, the voice more powerful and sure. And, unquestionably, leather
puttees.



Foster's card said he had no mother, which made it more understandable. This fine boy was hard
material honed to an edge, single-purposed. Did he have a young Hap Arnold here in his office? A Curtis
LeMay? They had to come from somewhere, those driving, wide-ranging leaders and directors of
millions. The slow-rolling conquest of space needed such men, first to navigate and pilot so no navigator
or pilot would ever be able to snow them, then to move up step by step through research to command,
then to great command.
 "I'll bet on you, Foster," he said abruptly. "We can't let the—the future English teachers outpoint you
with their snap courses. You'll do me a term paper on ... on Henry V. First, read it. Read hell out of it
and take notes. Get in touch with me when you think you're ready to talk it over. I happen to be a
bachelor; I have time in the evenings. And talk it over with your father, if you can persuade him to read
along with you."



Foster laughed. "I'm afraid Dad's much too busy for Shakespeare, but I'll try. Thanks, Mr. Edel." He
left.



Mr. Edel, with considerable trouble, found a pad of forms in his desk which covered Enrichment
Projects, English, Adviser's Permission for. He filled one out for Foster, looked it over and



said, surprised, "Again, damn it!" He had checked the box for "Permission denied." He tore up the
form—it was discolored anyway from being so long on the top of the pad—and meticulously made out
another, checking the various boxes with exquisite care.