"Connie Willis - Schwarzschild Radius" - читать интересную книгу автора (Willis Connie)

arm and stops me. "What are you doing here?" I shout. "Go back! Go back!"

"Go back?" he says. "The front's that way." He points in the direction he came from. But the front is not
that way. It is behind me, in the artillery headquarters. "I told you there would be a bombardment tonight.
Did yousee the doctor? Did you give him the message? What did he say?"

"So you actually held the letter from Einstein?" Travers said. "How exciting that must have been! Only
two months after Einstein had published his theory of general relativity. And years before they realized
black holes really existed. When was this exactly?" He took out a notebook and began to scribble notes.
"My esteemed colleague…" he muttered to himself. "Formulated so simply. This is great stuff. I mean,
I've been trying to find out stuff on Schwarzschild for my paper for months, but there's hardly any
information on him. I guess because of the war."

"No information can get out of a black hole once the Schwarzschild radius has been passed," I said.

"Hey, that's great!" he said, scribbling. "Can I use that in my paper?"

Now I am the one who sits endlessly in front of the wireless sending out messages to the Red Cross, to
my professor in Jena, to Dr. Einstein. I have frostbitten the forefinger and thumb of my right hand and
have to tap out the letters with my left. But nothing is getting out, and I must get a message out. I must
find someone to tell me the name of Schwarzschild's disease.

"I have a theory," Muller says. "The Jews have seized power and have signed a treaty with the Russians.
We are completely cut off."

"I am going to see if the mail has come," I say, so that I do not have to listen to any more of his theories,
but the doctor stops me on my way out of the hut.

I tell him what the message said. "Impetigo!" the doctor shouts. "You saw him! Did that look like
impetigo to you?"

I shake my head, unable to tell him what I think it looks like.

"What are his symptoms?" Muller asks, burning with curiosity. I have not told him about Schwarzschild. I
am afraid that if I tell him, he will only become more curious and will insist on going up to the front to see
Schwarzschild himself.

"Let me see your eyes," the doctor says in his beautiful calm voice. I wish he would ask Muller to go for
a hand lamp again so that I could ask him how Schwarzschild is, but he has brought a candle with him.
He holds it so close to my face that I cannot see anything but the red flame.

"Is Lieutenant Schwarzschild worse? What are his symptoms?" Muller says, leaning forward.

His symptoms are craters and shell holes, I think. I am sorry I have not told Muller, for it has only made
him more curious. Until now I have told him everything, even how Hans died when the wireless hut was
hit, how he laid the liquid barretter carefully down on top of the wireless before he tried to cough up what
was left of his chest and catch it in his hands. But I cannot tell him this.

"What symptoms does he have?" Muller says again, his nose almost in the candle's flame, but the doctor
turns from him as if he cannot hear him and blows the candle out. The doctor unwraps the dressing and