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Buckman dropped into Bury’s guest chair, limp as a physician’s display skeleton. His eyes were red; his eyelids drooped at half-mast. His breathing was too loud. The stringy muscle tissue along his bare arm drooped. Bury wondered what an autopsy would show if Buckman were to die at this moment: exhaustion, malnutrition, or both?

Bury made a difficult decision. “Nabil, some coffee. With cream, sugar, and brandy for Dr. Buckman.”

“Now, Bury, I’m afraid that during working hours— Oh, well. Thank you, Nabil.” Buckman sipped, then gulped. “Ah! That’s good. Thank you, Bury, that ought to wake me.”

“You seemed to need it. Normally I would never adulterate good coffee with distilled spirits. Dr. Buckman, have you been eating?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You haven’t. Nabil, food for our guest. Quickly.”

“Bury, we’re so busy, I really haven’t time. There’s a whole solar system to explore, not to mention the jobs for the Navy—tracing neutrino emissions, tracking that damned light—”

“Doctor, if you were to die at this moment, many of your notes would never be written down, would they?”

Buckman smiled. “So theatrical, Bury. But I suppose I can spare a few minutes. All we’re doing now is waiting for that signal light to go off.”

“A signal from the Mote planet?”

“From Mote Prime, yes, at least it came from the right place. But we can’t see the planet until they turn off the laser, and they won’t. They talk and talk, and for what? What can they tell us if we don’t speak a common language?”

“After all, Doctor, how can they tell us anything until they teach us their language? I presume that’s what they’re trying to do now. Isn’t anyone working on that?”

Buckman gave a feral snarl. “Horvath has all the instruments feeding information to Hardy and the linguists. Can’t get any decent observations of the Coal Sack—and no one’s ever been this close to it before!” His look softened. “But we can study the Trojan asteroids.”

Buckman’s eye took on that look, the focus on infinity. “There are too many of them. And not enough dust. I was wrong, Bury; there’s not enough dust to capture so many rocks, or to polish them either. The Moties probably did the polishing, they must be all through those rocks, the neutrino emissions are fantastic. But how did so many rocks get captured?”

“Neutrino emissions. That means a fusion technology.”

Buckman smiled. “One of a high order. Thinking of trade possibilities?”

“Of course. Why else would I be here?” And I would be here even if the Navy had not made it clear that the alternative was a formal arrest… but Buckman wouldn’t know that. Only Blaine did. “The higher their civilization, the more they’ll have to trade.” And the harder they’d be to cheat; but Buckman wouldn’t be interested in such things.

Buckman complained, “We could move so much faster if the Navy didn’t use our telescopes. And Horvath lets them! Ah, good.” Nabil entered, pushing a tray.

Buckman ate like a starved rat. Between mouthfuls he said, “Not that all the Navy’s projects are totally without interest. The alien ship—”

“Ship?”

“There’s a ship coming to meet us. Didn’t you know?”

“No.”

“Well, its point of departure is a large, stony asteroid well outside the main cluster. The point is, it’s very light. It must have a very odd shape, unless there are gas bubbles all through the rock, which would mean—”

Bury laughed outright. “Doctor, surely an alien space craft is more interesting than a stony meteorite!”

Buckman looked startled. “Why?”


The slivers turned red, then black. Clearly the things were cooling; but how had they become hot in the first place?

The Engineer had stopped wondering about that when one of the slivers came toward her. There were power sources inside the metal bulks.

And they were self-motivated. What were they? Engineers, or Masters, or senseless machinery? A Mediator on some incomprehensible task? She resented the Mediators, who could so easily and so unreasonably interfere with important work.

Perhaps the slivers were Watchmakers; but more likely they contained a Master. The Engineer considered running, but the approaching bulk was too powerful. It accelerated at 1.14 gravities, nearly the limit of her ship. There was nothing for an Engineer to do but meet it.

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На мягких лапах между звезд
На мягких лапах между звезд

Ох как непросто быть попаданцем – чужой мир, вокруг всё незнакомо и непонятно, пугающе. Помощи ждать неоткуда. Всё приходится делать самому. И нет конца этому марафону. Как та белка в колесе, пищи, но беги. На голову землянина свалилось столько приключений, что врагу не пожелаешь. Успел найти любовь – и потерять, заимел серьёзных врагов, его убивали – и он убивал, чтобы выжить. Выбирать не приходится. На фоне происходящих событий ещё острее ощущается тоска по дому. Где он? Где та тропинка к родному порогу? Придётся очень постараться, чтобы найти этот путь. Тяжёлая задача? Может быть. Но куда деваться? Одному бодаться против целого мира – не вариант. Нужно приспосабливаться и продолжать двигаться к поставленной цели. По-кошачьи – на мягких лапах. Но горе тому, кто примет эту мягкость за чистую монету.

Данильченко Олег Викторович , Олег Викторович Данильченко

Фантастика / Самиздат, сетевая литература / Боевая фантастика / Космическая фантастика / Попаданцы