"Terry Dowling - Roadsong" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dowling Terry)

"Very well, Lady," Tom said. "I will not stop but we'll drop to 80 k's. Berengar will reach us within the
hour."

It was a waiting then, an unstated tension of compromise, the passengers and crew watching the
distances, watching the play of kites, each other, listening to the thrum of transit, the keening cables, the
roar of wheels on graded sand.
When twenty minutes of the hour remained, Shannon appeared on deck, hurried to his Captain and
whispered a message that drew all eyes since it was delivered in person.
"Go!" Tom said, and his hands moved swiftly on the controls. Rynosseros surged forward as the cells cut
in; the lines bowed and the kites momentarily trailed. Shannon returned to com.
"What, Captain?" Tamas Hamm cried, a look of fear on his narrow face.
"What is it?" Ti demanded, and Ty echoed her. Only the ecologist did not speak, though he looked
deeply worried.
Tom let Rim take the helm and turned to them all.
"Berengar has disappeared."
Ty stared in disbelief. "What! How?"
"Dropped from scan. The signal has vanished."
"Ha-Ha!" the scholar told Archimbault, the ridiculous bathos there again in the name. "A ruse to slow
us."
Both Ladies went to speak but Tom held up his hand, concentrating on helm function.
"Chargan and San-Mar know," he said, as if that answered all questions now.
Kites shifted. Down came the Sodes and Demis, up ran parafoils and drab battle-kites, another pair of
death-lamps.
Rynosseros moved at 110 k's, the road song a steady thunder in the otherwise hot silent land. Great
cloudforms marched across the sky, vast towers tilted towards the west, like monstrous kites themselves
at the end of the ship's handful of diverging tethers.
Fifteen minutes later, Tom surrendered the controls to Rim, stood back from the helm. They had speed,
defences mounted; he had done all he reasonably could. Once again he smiled, and the four passengers -
five - felt they could speak again. As if inviting conversation, young Hammon brought up a tray of kitsas
and a big pot of blended tisn, held it while Tom poured for them and passed out steaming cups.
"What now?" Archimbault said, since the Ladies withheld, and Tamas Hamm was munching one of the
spicy cakes and studying the deck-lens fitted to the stern rail, angling it along its arc.
"We run as fast as we can for the Inland Sea," Tom said.
"Could it be a scan problem?"
"It could. But Rynosseros was planned as a warship, Hugh, every system duplicated, sealed integrity. I
agree with Tamas. Ha-Ha has a strategy, has impressive tech committed to this. We'll do what we can."
"What can we do?" Ty said.
"Tamas said he went to the fortune-teller on the quay. Did the rest of you?"
"I did," the ecologist answered.
"Ladies?"
Ty smiled. "It seemed like fun. And, Ti, we had not met then but I saw you . . ."
"It was tiresome waiting on the ship," Ti said. "It was just across from the mooring."
Tom poured more tea. "What were you told?"
Ty shrugged. "Something about strange encounters. An unexpected kiss. That there would be . . . lover's
kiss on this journey."
Ti glanced sharply at her friend, at the antique Tarasin piece, at the watching ajaltas.
"Lady Ti?" Tom asked.
The Chitalice Lady lifted her head.
"That I would be displayed in glory. Something like that."
"And you, Hugh?"