"Andre Norton - Astra 02 - Star Born [4.1]" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

little way downstream and took up a similar post. The runners were shy, not easy
to approach. And they would come more readily if Sssuri were alone.
Here the murmur of the stream was loud, rising above the rustle of
the wind-driven grass. And the night was coming fast as the sun, hidden by the
cliff wall, sank into the sea. Dalgard, knowing that his night sight was far
inferior to that of the native Astran fauna, resignedly settled himself for an
all-night stay, not without a second regretful memory of the snug camp by the
shore.
Twilight and then night. How long before the runners would make
their appearance? He could pick up the sparks of thought which marked the coming
and going of hoppers, most hurrying off to their mud-plastered nests, and
sometimes a flicker from the mind of some other night creature Once he was sure
he touched the avid, raging hunger which marked a flying dragon, though they
were not naturally hunters by darkness.
Dalgard made no move to contact Sssuri. The merman must be left
undisturbed in his mental quest for the runners.
The scout lay back on his miniature island and stared up into the
sky, trying to sort out all the myriad impressions of life about him. It was
then that he saw it…
An arrow of fire streaking across the black bowl of Astra’s night
sky. A light so vivid, so alien, that it brought him to his feet with a chill
prickle of apprehension along his spine. In all his years as a scout and
woodsman, in all the stories of his fellows and his elders at Homeport—he had
never seen, never heard of the like of that!
And through his own wonder and alert alarm, he caught Sssuri’s added
puzzlement.
“Danger—” The merman’s verdict fed his own unease.
Danger had crossed the night, from east to west. And to the west lay
what they had always feared. What was going to happen now?
2. PLANETFALL
RAF Kurbi, flitter pilot and techneer, lay on the padded shock cushion of his
assigned bunk and stared with wide, disillusioned eyes at the stretch of stark,
gray metal directly overhead. He tried to close his ears to the mutter of
meaningless words coming from across the narrow cabin. Raf had known from the
moment his name had been drawn as crew member that the whole trip would be a
gamble, a wild gamble with the odds all against them. RS 10—those very numbers
on the nose of the ship told part of the story. Ten exploring fingers thrust in
turn out into the blackness of space. RS 3’s fate was known—she had blossomed
into a pinpoint of flame within the orbit of Mars. And RS 7 had clearly gone out
of control while instruments on Terra could still pick up her broadcasts. Of the
rest—well, none had returned.
But the ships were built, manned by lot from the trainees and sent
out, one every five years, with all that had been learned from the previous job,
each refinement the engineers could discover incorporated into the latest to
rise from the launching cradle.
RS 10—Raf closed his eyes with weary distaste. After, months of
being trapped inside her ever-vibrating shell, he felt that he knew each and
every rivet, seam, and plate in her only too well. And there was no reason yet
to believe that the voyage would ever end. They would just go on and; on through
empty space until dead men manned a drifting hulk—