"Kim Stanley Robinson - Red Mars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

competitive undercurrent, a constant subtle feeling that they were each
alone, and that in case of trouble they were liable to be abandoned by the
rest, and yanked out of the group.
The selection committee had thus created some the very problems it
had hoped to prevent. Some of them were aware of this; and naturally they
took care to include among the colonists the most qualified psychiatrist
they could think of.
So they sent Michel Duval.

-+=*=+-

At first it felt like a shove in the chest. Then they were pushed
back in their chairs, and for a second the pressure was deeply familiar: one
gee, the gravity they would never live in again. The Ares had been orbiting
Earth at 28,000 kilometers per hour. For several minutes they accelerated,
the rockets' push so powerful that their vision blurred as corneas flattened,
and it took an effort to inhale. At 40,000 kilometers per hour the burn
ended. They were free of the Earth's pull, in orbit to nothing but the sun.
The colonists sat in the delta V chairs blinking, their skin flushed,
their hearts pounding. Maya Katarina Toitovna, the official leader of the
Russian contingent, glanced around. People appeared stunned. When
obsessives are given their object of desire, what do they feel? It was hard
to say, really. In a sense their lives were ending; and yet something else,
some other life, had finally, finally begun. . . . Filled with so many
emotions at once, it was impossible not to be confused; it was an
interference pattern, some feelings cancelled, others reinforced.
Unbuckling from her chair Maya felt a grin contorting her face, and she
saw on the faces around her the same helpless grin; all but Sax Russell,
who was as impassive as an owl, blinking as he looked over the readouts
on the room's computer screens.
They floated weightlessly around the room. July 20th, 2026: they
were moving faster than anyone in history. They were on their way. It
was the beginning of a nine-month voyage—or of a voyage that would last
the rest of their lives. They were on their own.
# # #
Those responsible for piloting the Ares pulled themselves to the
control consoles, and gave the orders to fire lateral control rockets. The
Ares began to spin, stabilizing at four rpm. The colonists sank to the
floors, and stood in a pseudogravity of .38 gee, very close to what they
would feel on Mars. Many man-years of tests had indicated that it would
be a fairly healthy gee to live in, and so much healthier than weightlessness
that rotating the ship had been deemed worth the trouble. And, Maya
thought, it felt great. There was enough pull to make balance relatively
easy, but hardly any feeling of pressure, of drag. It was the perfect
equivalent of their mood; they staggered down the halls to the big dining
hall in Torus D, giddy and exhilarated, walking on air.
In Torus D's dining hall they mingled in a kind of cocktail party,
celebrating the departure. Maya wandered about, sipping freely from a
mug of champagne, feeling slightly unreal and extremely happy, a mix that
reminded her of her wedding reception many years before. Hopefully this