"Murray Leinster - Space Tug" - читать интересную книгу автора (Leinster Murray)

At thirty-five thousand feet there was a momentary sensation as if the ship had tilted sharply. It hadn't.
"Jet stream. We just hit it," Joe said.
There was no need to say any more. The upward-climbing mass of ungainly objects had simply risen into
that rushing wind, like an invisible river, which flows sometimes five hundred miles an hour—and even
more —from west to east many miles above the Earth's surface on certain continents.
"We're picking up speed," said Mike briskly. "It was five-ten eastward. Now it's five-forty. Fifty. Sixty. .."
Joe changed nothing. He didn't need to, to gain the maximum possible bit of extra speed from the jet
stream. Mike's cracked voice reported increased speeds—the speeds the pushpots could give to the ship
and the launching cage, plus the speed the jet stream added.
At forty thousand feet they were moving eastward at the better part of a thousand miles an hour ground
speed. A jet motor cannot be directly rated, but there was almost a quarter of a million horsepower applied
to get the small space ship as high as possible with as great as possible an eastward velocity. It couldn't be
kept up indefinitely. The pushpots didn't carry enough fuel.
But they reached fifty-five thousand feet, which is where space begins for humankind. A man exposed to
emptiness at that height will die just as quickly—fifteen seconds, plus or minus two—as anywhere
between the stars. But it still wasn't quite empty space for the push-pots. There was still a very little air.
"The ground says get set to fire the jatos, Joe," Mike said.
"Right," said Joe. "Set yourselves."
Mike threw a switch and a voice began to chatter behind Joe's head. It was the voice from the
communications room atop the Shed, now far below and far behind. Mike settled himself in his special
acceleration chair. The chief squirmed to comfort in his seat. Haney took his hands from the equalizing
adjustments he had to make so that Joe's use of the controls would be exact, regardless of differences in
the thrust of the diverse pushpots.
"We've got a yaw right," said the chief sharply. "Hold it, Joe!" Joe waited for small quivering needles to
return to their proper registrations.
"Back and steady," said the chief a moment later.
"Okay!"
The tinny voice behind Joe now spoke precisely. Mike had listened to it while the work of takeoff could
be divided. Now Joe had to control everything at once.
The roar of the pushpots outside the ship had long since lost the timbre and volume of normal atmosphere.
Not much sound could be transmitted by the near vacuum outside. But there was sound enough by solid
conduction from the pushpots. The walls and hull of the space ship picked up a crawling, quivering
pulsation and turned it into a sound. Standing waves set up and dissolved and moved erratically in the air
of the cabin. Joe's eardrums were strangely affected. Now one ear seemed muted by a temporary
difference of air pressure where a standing wave lingered for a second or two. Then the other eardrum
itched. There were creepy sensations as of things touching one and quickly moving away.
Joe swung a microphone before his mouth. "All set," he said evenly, "brief me."
The tinny voice said, "You're at sixty-five thousand jeet. Your rate-oj-climb curve is flattening out. Your air
speed relative to ground is seven hundred eighty. You should fire jatos in twelve seconds."
Joe tried to settle himself. He swallowed. Then he said, "Ten . .. nine ... eight... seven ... six... five .. .four...
three . .. two ... one ..."
He stabbed the master jato switch. Monstrous jato rockets, built into each and every one of the pushpots
outside, flared chemical fumes in a simultaneous thrust. Even a small jato for jet-assisted takeoff will
weigh a hundred and forty pounds and deliver a thrust of a thousand pounds for so many seconds. In jatos
to be used at such an altitude that their poisonous effects could do no harm, fluorine-beryllium rockets
could far surpass that thrust and duration, and a jato is a disposable rocket. When all the pushpots fired all
their jatos at once ...
Joe felt himself slammed back into his seat with irresistible, overwhelming force. The vibration from the
jets had been bad. He'd hardly noticed it. Now he could feel nothing but the horrible sensations of seven-
gravity acceleration.