"Alan Dean Foster - The Tessellated Tetrahexahedral Yellow Rose of Texas" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

One of the women started. "Pardon, sir," Matthews queried, "three thousand and irregular?"
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




"I know," Mobler concurred. "That's much too slow, and the approach path is cockeyed all to hell. Let's
have some confirmation."

Abruptly the room looked like an anthill before an impending thunderstorm. Those not among the two
designated to confirm the impossible sighting were hard pressed to attend to their own tasks. The level of
noise in the room rose alarmingly, but Mobler couldn't blame them.



Eventually, disbelieving reassurance came from both additional stations that the track was legitimate, that
both the speed of reentry and the zigzagging descent path were correct. Mobler turned back toDavis's
screen and saw to his dismay that the tiny blip, the cause of all the commotion, was still there.

Almost absently he ordered, without turning, "Matthews, Garcia, Abramawicz. Taking into account all
shifts in path, I want the best prediction of a touchdown site you can come up with. I've a hunch this baby
isn't going to burn up."

"What do you think it is, sir?"Davisasked wonderingly. But the lieutenant was busy nearby, speaking into
a rarely used phone.Davisstrained to overhear, found he could make out the local half of the
conversation.

"No, sir," Mobler was telling someone softly, "three thousand. No, no change in angle of descent, not
yet, anyway." A pause, then, "They're certain? That's what I hoped, too, sir. Yes, I'll wait." He turned
slightly, saw every eye in the room locked on him.

"It's not Soviet or Chinese," he announced in response to the many unspoken questions. An almost
audible sigh rushed through the room. "Absolutely no launchings in the past. ninety-six hours, and all
orbital devices accounted form number and mass." He turned his attention back to the phone, listening
intently.

"Yes, sir . . . I agree, sir. The angle is much too sharp for that speed. It's coming straight down,
comparatively. No, sir," he added after a glance atDavis. "It's still intact. Yes, sir, I know it doesn't make
any sense." A longer pause, and Mobler leaned to his right to study a chart hanging on the wall.

"No, sir, it's not one of ours. Impossible. The last re-entry we had was OGO eighteen, the geosurv
satellite, and it burned up on schedule two and a half weeks ago. Nothing of ours, or theirs, for that
matter, is set to come down for at least three more months.

"Yes, sir, we're working on a possible crash site now. It shows indications of shifting its path from time
to time. There's a straight line in there somewhere, though . . . assuming it doesn't go ahead and burn up,
after all. Just a second, sir."

Mobler looked back down the room toward the three technicians whose assignment he was plotting. He