"Alan Dean Foster - Transformers - Ghosts of Yesterday" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

on the side of the silently waiting ship: GHOST 1. A concise designation whose full meaning anyone not
intimately involved with the highly secret project would have been unable to grasp.

There was a small sign, almost an afterthought, on the main entrance to Mission Control.


ALPHA BASESECTOR SEVEN


Not very informative, that signage. Deliberately so. Not that any unauthorized pedestrians were likely to
wander in off the frozen Arctic Ocean and inquire as to its meaning. At least one element of the
forthcoming furtive launch would have been familiar, however. Already decades old, the traditional
countdown could not be improved upon.

"T minus thirty seconds and counting. SS Ghost reports all systems good to go." Fighting the chill wind,
outdoor observers made last-minute checks of their instruments.

"T minus twenty-five seconds. T minus fifteen seconds. Guidance systems online. Drive system initiation
five, four, three, two, one, zero."

The sound that emerged from the stern of the strange ship was silkier than that produced by the
liquid-oxygen-based propellant that powered the Saturn V. This ship was propelled by an entirely
different combination of reactants. It showed not only in the different pitch of the engines but also in the
fact that there was less fire and smoke. Something radically new was lifting this ship aloft. Something
special, secret, and derived from sources outside of and unknown to NASA's exclusive group of
scientists and engineers.

"Propulsion system is a go. We have liftoff." Even the controller's voice differed markedly from that of his
counterpart at Kennedy. It was as if he was not only an engineer but something more as well. A member
of a branch of government whose interests included specialties and endeavors beyond the exploration of
space.

"Ghost One is off," the man declared coolly. "Thirty-two minutes, sixteen seconds past the hour, we have
liftoff of Ghost One." A moment later he added, "The tower is cleared."

From the remarkable, rapidly accelerating craft a male voice responded, "Roll program engaged."

Within the tightly sealed structure, so very different from mission control in Florida, a technician seated at
his monitor declared, "Captain Walker is reporting that Ghost is into the roll-and-pitch program."

Watching his own screen, the tech next to him murmured softly, "If all preparatory calculations prove out,
that should put Ghost One on a heading and departure well away from Apollo Eleven."

Standing between them, an older man let his attention wander from one monitor to the next. He was
nodding to himself as he spoke. "So far, so good. While the world is transfixed by Apollo, our ship will
slip away unnoticed." He smiled. "Like a ghost through the atmosphere. Every telescope on Earth will be
watching the moon rocket." Straightening, he called across to another technician. "Inform headquarters
the baby bird that hatched last year has finally spread its wings. Send the relevant details
maximum-encrypted."