Nimisha's Ship
- Автор: Маккефри Энн
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «Nimisha's Ship». Краткое содержание книги:
When Nimisha takes an experimental ship on a solo test flight, something goes horribly awry, marooning her light-years from home on a planet as deadly as it is beautiful. Now the ruthless members of a rival branch of the Rondymense family are given the chance they've been waiting for: to reclaim the Ship Yards by any means necessary.
Only Nimisha's ingenious child, Cuiva, stands in their way. But for how long? For just when her daughter needs her most, Nimisha is in a precarious situation herself--and unable to help. But Nimisha has never given up in her life--and she's not about to start now . . .
Globan felt his heart pounding with excitement. To be here when it happened had been the ambition of everyone who had served the long, tedious hours on the Nimisha watch, as the Fleet officially called it.
"Helm," he said, following the standard procedure he'd never thought he'd have to originate, "dispatch a pulse back to Coyne III, with these coordinates for the wormhole."
Meterios shot him a furious glance and then recovered herself as she realised he was fulfilling his duties and initiating an operating procedure in which he had previously been well drilled.
"Aye, sir. Pulse dispatched," Helm responded.
"Probe ready for launch," Meterios said.
"Probe activated and ready, sir," Helm responded.
"XO, are those wormies getting to their pods?" Meterios asked.
"We're not supposed to be so close to it," was the annoyed response to Meterios's query. "We're supposed to be far enough away for observation."
"Observe the phenomena from your escape pod, Dr. Qualta," Globan said, recognising the voice of the senior astronomer on the Wormhunter.
"Helm," Meterios said, "get as close as you can to the station and forward of it."
Globan was not at all sure he liked being a sacrificial offering to anything. He also doubted by what means the captain thought to protect the much more vulnerable space station.
Dr. Qualta had left the comunit open and he could hear noises, metal and other clackings. "Move it, Dr. Qualta," he said into his comunit, knowing the propensity of the older woman to procrastinate. "Don't haul anything in with you," he added, rating a startled glance from Meterios.
"Oh yassssus," the captain cried, her voice rising to a near squeak.
Globan gulped, wishing he could get that much out of his mouth as first a whiteness appeared in black space where none had been. It widened slowly, approximating a grinning toothless maw. That's what those who had seen wormholes called it: a maw.
"Hold steady. Helm," Meterios said, trying to keep her voice even.
"Probe's launched," Helm said. They could already see the flare of its rockets as it streamed across the all-too-short distance between the Acclarke and the widening lipless smile of the wormhole.
"Full reverse, Helm," Meterios said.
"Full reverse already engaged, sir," was Helm's calm reply.
"Then why are we moving forward, Helm?"
"The engines are fully engaged, Captain," Helm said. "The wormhole is powerful."
"Gods above," some crewman said, "look what's happening to the station!"
Meterios abruptly signalled Globan to look while she tried her best to increase the resistance of the Acclarke to the superior force drawing it steadily into the wormhole.
"The station's breaking up, Captain."
"Launch, you worm-watchers, launch." Meterios screamed.
"The order has been given." Helm said even as Globan reached for the intercom. "This unit is operating on emergency override, Captain."
The captain nodded, accepting the fact that an AI's reflexes and preprogrammed procedures had taken over control of the ship.
She and Globan watched as the individual pods shot out of the now-twisting structure of the space station, its interlocked units breaking up into shards and flying debris. Several of the pods even seemed to be making headway from the disaster area. Then they, like the heavier Acclarke, were inexorably drawn toward the phenomenon. Globan realised he was grasping the armrests and leaning as far back in the safety net as he could, being pushed even further into the padding by the increased velocity with which the ship was being pulled in.
"Net in, net in!" the captain yelled. "If they aren't netted in, they'll be pulp," she murmured and groaned, unable to close her eyes as they entered the maw. "Helm, can you establish the position of the piggyback?"
"It is operational, sir, and some distance ahead of us."
"I hope the shagging thing works," Globan muttered. He had so hoped for some action on this duty. Well, he was getting far more then he had ever expected. The Fiver had been missing for over five years now. In fact, the rescue mission aboard the Five B ought to be nearing its destination, half a galaxy away-a distance they were about to take by shortcut. At least he hoped they would end up where Lady Nimisha and the Fiver had. Of course, there was absolutely no assurance that they would. They could well be number twenty on the Missing Ship list.
This wasn't an easy ride. Even with the refined devices incorporated into the Acclarke, as well as the faster response time of an AI helmsman, they were still bounced and dropped and dribbled along a corridor that seemed to contract and expand in no regular pattern. Now and then Globan could see the riding lights of the poor wormbusters in the pods; the behaviour of light in the worm-hole was as capricious as the diameter of its gullet, just so long as it had no stomach, Globan thought. Except for the flashing of prongs and spears of rock or unknown debris, the Acclarke was travelling too fast for either occupant of the bridge to discern any details of the innards of the wormhole. The pods were being bounced back and forth like so many balls. He didn't think even the most efficient netting could save lives. What a hideous way to die!
The gravitational pressure eased far more abruptly than it had begun. Globan realised that he was dizzy from holding his breath, and then they were flung forward again at such a high velocity that he thought his skin would peel off his bones.
"Return probe just passed us, sir," Helm's dispassionate voice reported.
Globan managed to turn his head enough so he could see Nesta Meterios's pressure-flattened face. She didn't appear as comforted as he was that the probe device was working. Unless, of course, the entrance maw closed before it could exit. Its engine was the most powerful Rondymense had ever constructed, driving a slender package at IS drive speeds. But would it be powerful and fast enough to exit on the right side, leaving a view that could be identified by other searchers?
As abruptly as they had been swallowed, they were spat out into black space. The wormhole pouted once more, as if it hadn't liked the taste of them at all, and closed up. There was no sign whatever that that particular portion of space had ever been breached.
"A standard beacon, two points starboard, Captain," Helm reported in its unemotional baritone, "has been identified as similar to the type used by Lady Nimisha's Fiver. It is still pulsing a Mayday and has data to be downloaded."
"Download by all means, Helm," Captain Meterios said in a breathy voice, but she was back down in the contralto register. "Damage report? Crew?"
Each station reported; some of the six voices sounded shaky.
"Prepare to retrieve the station's pods," she said in such a bleak voice that Globan knew she shared his doubts that they'd find any survivors. "Helm, engage retrieval pattern."
"How many should there be?" Globan asked, releasing his safety net while scanning their immediate vicinity for the blinking lights that an inhabited escape pod should be emitting.
"Twelve," the captain replied, licking pale lips in a shock-white face.
He wondered how he looked and then realised that his mouth was dry as dust. He had no idea how long that incredible journey had taken.
He released his harness. "I'll check casualties."
"Do," Meterios said. "Helm, easy as you go to the first pod on the starboard. It's nearest."
"Aye, sir."
Globan entered the day room-which also held the medical facility-just as the man in the towel led in a yeowoman with a broken arm and face scratches.
"You're not in uniform," Globan said, taking charge of the injured yeowoman and jerking his head toward the crew quarters. He pretended not to hear the muttered response. "When you are, bring the captain a mug of stim."