"David Gerrold - The Trouble With Tribbles" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gerrold David)

Should have.
Didn’t.
In this situation, the supplementary channels remained bafflingly
blank. And the itch behind Korie’s shoulders became a full-blown rash,
so much so that even Captain Parsons had to scratch. She grumbled her
annoyance. “They want help, but they won’t give details. You’re right,
Commander Korie. This has to be a high-security operation.”
“Extremely high security,” Korie noted. “Way out here, a month deep
into the south end of the rift—this is the other side of nowhere—what-
ever it is they’re doing, they want it secret.”
On the forward display, the red star was already visible as a teardrop
hung against the darkness. A pinpoint flare of blue-white flamed beyond,
but the spiral streamer wasn’t apparent yet, only a soft pink glow sur-
rounding the blue-white dwarf.
“We have our bearings,” reported Tor. “Ready for the next jump.”
“Initiate,” said the captain.
The Star Wolf jumped. And jumped again. And one more time. Soon,
the object known only as IKE-34 was a wall of flame that filled half the
visible universe. It occupied a volume of space equal to the orbit of Jupiter.
Against the darkness, the blue dwarf could now be seen pulling a great
streamer of flaming gas out of the tip of the crimson teardrop. The line of

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fire curled out and around, stretching across the visible sky like a rip; as
it reached the disk-shaped well of the bright blue star, it began to spiral
inward, around and around, the colors shifting more and more brightly
as the crimson flames were gathered into the purpling corona. And yes,
the scenery was spectacular. Better than spectacular. Astonishing.
From this angle, below the red star’s south pole, it wasn’t immediately
apparent that the giant was also flattened at both poles; it was impressive
nonetheless. Despite the Star Wolf’s distance—several billion kilome-
ters—the massive size of the star created the looming perception that
they were close enough to touch it. The perspectives of space create
impossible visions, and this was one of the more impossible views. That
long-dead poet had been right. Enjoy God’s handiwork in silence. Across
the Bridge of the starship the crew worked wordlessly, but again and
again their eyes were drawn to the forward display.
Eventually, the magnitude of the view became so intimidating and
oppressive that Captain Parsons ordered the image muted down. “We
don’t need the eye of hell looking down on us,” she remarked. “We’ve
got work to do. Let’s turn that off.” She stepped down from the Com-
mand Deck, only three short steps into the well of the Operations Bay,
but a whole other domain of command and control. She took a familiar
position next to the astrogation console, just behind Tor’s left shoulder.
“How long to close with the Norway?”
“Fifty-six hours. Coming in across the pole brings us in a lot fast-
er—but the Norway’s in the plane of the ecliptic—a ‘Missionary Orbit.’
Coming up from under, we’ll have to accelerate constantly to catch up,
correcting all the way in, and decelerate only in the last few hours. Tricky,
not impossible.”