"Sean McMullen - A Greater Vision" - читать интересную книгу автора (McMullen Sean)

nothingness of thick mist, and the air was cooling rapidly.
***
 From an observation galley high on the hull Wirana looked out over the rapidly dispersing fog to the
moonlit cliffs and trees that had been snatched away from the Spaniards. Mudati was standing beside
her.
"He got within sight of them, yet he never knew," she said.
"Does that make you feel better?"
"History will record that he completed the voyage without knowing it, and all the world will know in
centuries to come. That was the least that I could give my fellow explorer."
"So that was the reason for your delay."
"I gave the man immortality as an explorer. It might not make up for what Nunga is doing to him, but
it's something."
"You may have lost immortality for yourself. There was a lot of truth in Nunga's reports on you. The
Elders want no foolhardy adventurers on the Jupiter expedition."
"Exploration without risk does not exist. Crew the Wondibingi with sensible bureaucrats and they'd
never risk leaving lunar orbit. I took a considered risk, based on experience."
"Just between you and me, Wirana, a majority of Elders believes that too, but at the inquiry please
stress that you delayed for so long because of the magnitude of the moral issues at stake. Okay? Now,
let's go down and meet Admiral Colombo."
"But he'll be dead!"
"Don't you even want to look upon the man that you fought for? Don't you want to see him in the
flesh?"
"No more than I'd want him to see me on the toilet."
***


They had sailed over the edge of the world, they were falling and doomed. Some began to pray, some
fought each other blindly, but this did not last long. It became hard to breathe, and within minutes there
was not a man left conscious.
Bartolome de Torres awoke shivering, cold sand beneath his naked body, waves washing around his
legs. He sat up, surveyed a beach strewn with naked white bodies, some stirring. There were seven or
eight dozen of them. The sky was dark, but there was a glow on the horizon. He looked up. Jupiter and
Mars were high, so it had to be morning. He was on land, land beyond what seemed to be the edge of
the world. He was naked, not a ring, not a boot.
He rose to his knees and began to pray, giving thanks for the deliverance that he had prayed for so
fervently in that terrible region of cold and dark. Others were awake now, some praying, some cursing,
and suddenly someone cried out "Look, look, the rock!"
Bartolome turned to follow the pointing finger. Gibraltar! An unmistakable form, there could be no two
landmarks like it, yet... he glanced at the sky again. Mars and Jupiter were still close together, the moon
was a mere sliver. No more than five days could have passed since they had sailed off the edge of the
world, yet they had been sailing west for more than a month!
He had died. He had been stabbed in the throat by a crazed shipmate. He felt his throat: a little
sensitive, but no wound. Abruptly he cried out as he realised that his teeth were no longer hurting. For the
first time in years his teeth were not hurting. Someone nearby cried out that his gout was gone. A miracle,
a whole succession of miracles! The crews of all three ships had been brought back to life and cured of
all ills.
They had evidently been discovered by seaweed gatherers before anyone had revived, for a squad of
cavalry was approaching, followed by a crowd on foot. Spanish armour, Spanish saddles, and they were
hailing them in Spanish. He sat down heavily in the sand. They had been returned to Spain.
"We are all naked before God," said the man beside him, "and here we are naked."