Jupiter Project

Начало книги

Maybe I should start off with a big, gaudy description. You know—Jupiter’s churning pinks and browns, the swirling white ammonia clouds like giant hurricanes, the spinning red spots. That kind of touristy stuff.

Except I don’t feel like writing that kind of flowery crap. I’m practical, not poetic. When you’re swinging around Jupiter, living meters away from lethal radiation, you stick to facts. You get so vectors and grease seals and hydraulic fittings are more important than pretty views or poetry or maybe even people.

That’s always been my trouble—people. The way I see it is, there are always going to be some types you can’t get along with. That’s something you’ve got to face. Maybe it’s chemistry. Or as the psychers put it, “orthogonal personality constellations.” Bullshit, I’d say. But then, I’m no expert.

I tend to solve my “group dynamics adjustment” problems by going to the low-g gym. Work off the tension. We’re supposed to be psychologically in synch out here, with everybody packed into the Can, but even the psychers admit there’s always some friction somewhere. I find that working up a good sweat does wonders for my sociability index, and takes the edge off my voice. Not that I’m any great athlete; Matt Bohles will never show up in the Olympics. But at seventeen I wasn’t going to turn into a slab or flab, either, even if I did live in a steel box.

Читать дальше →