Книга только для ознакомления
. Jeri never again compared aloud the performances of Mata and Thorby and gave only brief comments on Thorby's results: "Better," or "Coming along," and eventually, "You're getting there." Thorby's morale soared; he loosened up and spent more time socially, playing spat ball with Mata rather frequently.
Toward the end of journey through darkness they finished the last drill one morning and Jeri called out, "Stand easy! I'll be a few minutes." Thorby relaxed from pleasant strain. But after a moment he fidgeted; he had a hunch that he had been in tune with his instruments. "Junior Controlman . . . do you suppose he would mind if I looked at my tape?"
"I don't think so," Mata answered. "I'll take it out; then it's my responsibility."
"I don't want to get you in trouble."
"You won't," Mata answered serenely. She reached back of Thorby's console, pulled out the strip record, blew on it to keep it from curling, and examined it. Then she pulled her own strip, compared the two.
She looked at him gravely. "That's a very good run, Thorby."
It was the first time she had ever spoken his name. But Thorby hardly noticed. "Really? You mean it?"
"It's a very good run . . . Thorby. We both got hits. But yours is optimum between 'possible' and 'critical limit' -- whereas mine is too eager. See?"
Thorby could read strips only haltingly, but he was happy to take her word for it
|
