"Jack Williamson - Nitrogen Plus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Jack)

Earth.
***
That did look bright. Testing sea water, Elena found free oxygen. She planted
seed in a patch of dry silt by the stream, had us dig an irrigation ditch, took holos for
my uncle as they sprouted and grew. She served us a feast of ripe red tomatoes and
golden cantaloupe and fresh green corn, and begged the pilots to move our ship
farther inland.
The copilot hunched to something like a shudder. “If you’d seen those
mummies in the survey craft—”
“Let’s leave that till later,” the pilot urged her, more tactfully. “A skipship’s
not a taxi. We need a level spot like this beach for any safe landing, not any sort of
forest. We should have an oxygen atmosphere by the time we get back, and vehicles
for surface exploration.”
She wanted to study the planet in its native state, before the liberated oxygen
could change it. If we couldn’t move the ship, she was going inland on foot.
“Up those cliffs?” The pilot shook his head. “With your gear to carry? I
wouldn’t try.”
“Give me a chance,” she urged him. “I had a glimpse as we came down.
Something—” We were off the ship, standing in our camp on the beach. She
stopped to shake her head at the banks of snow white crystals above us. “I can’t
imagine what, but it’s not too far. The oxypack should last to get me up there and
back again, with time enough to spare.”
She had told me she was pregnant. I begged her to think of the child, but the
challenge of the planet meant more to her than anything. She showed the pilot a letter
of authority from my uncle. He agreed to wait for her, with a warning that he could
mount no rescue effort if she ran into trouble.
She thanked him, hugged me, and tramped away across the silicon frost,
stumbling sometimes under the weight of the oxypack on her back. We watched till
she was finally gone beyond a bend in the canyon wall. After a sleepless night, I told
the pilot I wanted to follow.
“Forget it.” He set his gray-stubbled jaw, scowling at me. “Your responsibility
is to your uncle. And, if you’ll excuse me, she’s more fit than you are. She knows
the hazards. The best we can do is hope she gets back on her own.”
She didn’t. We waited till her oxypack was surely dead. The pilot said we had
to go. Whatever the copilot had felt for her, he seemed happy enough at the final
feast he made us out of her garden. The pilot poured what was left of the wine.
“Don’t blame yourself.” He tried to ease my self-reproach. “We all tried to
warn her.”
We went home to Earth.
***
None of my friends or other relatives had been immortal, and Atlantica had
become a strange and lonely place for me. My uncle had grown his hair longer,
changed to a lilac cologne, found a stranger tailor. Yet he was always the imperious
eternal. His smooth moon face still flushed red at any opposition or delay, but the
diamonds had him oozing charm.
“They’ll double my worth,” he exulted. “And make you immortal.”
I was to stay on Earth as head of the new corporation set up to exploit the
planet. The pilot was to command the expedition and become the governor. He
launched the project with a lavish banquet for his dazzled investors. There were
toasts to him, to the pilot, to me. In the glow of the wine, I did feel almost immortal.