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

three quarters of the planet’s energy for close to a hundred years.
And if the RS 10 was not successful, there would be 11, 12,
more—flaming into the sky and out into the void, unless some newer and more
intriguing experiment developed to center public imagination in another
direction.
Raf’s eyes closed wearily. Soon the gong would sound and this period
of rest would be officially ended. But it was hardly worth rising. He was not in
the least hungry for the concentrated food. He could repeat the information
tapes they carried dull word for dull word.
“Nothing to see—nothing but these blasted walls!” Again Wonstead’s
voice arose in querulous protest.
Yes, while in overdrive there was nothing to see. The ports of the
ship would be sealed until they were in normal space once more. That is, if it
worked and they were not caught up forever within this thick trap where there
was no time, light, or distance.
The gong sounded, but Raf made no move to rise. He heard Wonstead
move, saw from the corner of his eye the other’s bulk heave up obediently from
the pad.
“Hey—mess gong!” He pointed out the obvious to Raf.
With a sigh the other levered himself up on his elbows. If he did
not move, Wonstead was capable of reporting him to the captain for strange
behavior, and they were all too alert to a deviation which might mean trouble.
He had no desire to end in confinement with Morris.
“I’m coming,” Raf said sullenly. But he remained sitting on the edge
of the pad until Wonstead left the cabin, and he followed as slowly as he could.
So he was not with the others when a new sound tore through the
constant vibrating hum which filled the narrow corridors of the ship. Raf
stiffened, the icy touch of fear tensing his muscles. Was that the red alarm of
disaster?
His eyes went to the light at the end of the short passage. But no
blink of warning red shown there. Not danger—then what—?
It took him a full moment to realize what he had heard, not the
signal of doom, but the sound which was to herald the accomplishment of their
mission—the sound which unconsciously they had all given up any hope of ever
hearing. They had made it!
The pilot leaned weakly against the wall, and his eyes smarted, his
hands were trembling. In that moment he knew that he had never really, honestly,
believed that they would succeed. But they had! RS 10 had reached the stars!
“Strap down for turnout—strap down for turnout—” The disembodied
voice screaming through the ship’s speecher was that of Captain Hobart, but it
was almost unrecognizable with emotion. Raf turned and stumbled back to his
cabin, staggered to throw himself once more on his pad as he fumbled with the
straps he must buckle over him.
He heard rather than saw Wonstead blunder in to follow his example,
and for the first time in months the other was dumb, not uttering a word as he
stowed away for the breakthrough which should take them back into normal space
and the star worlds. Raf tore a nail on a fastening, muttered.
“Condition red—condition red— Strap down for breakthrough—” Hobart
chanted at them from the walls. “One, two, three” —the count swung on numeral by
numeral; then—”ten —Stand by—”