"Baldwin, Bill - The Helmsman 02 - Galactic Convoy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Baldwin Bill)

raised whitecaps out on Elsene Bay. It carried with it the clean fragrance of
green vegetation-tempered by frequent whiffets of hot metal and fused logics
from the frantic wartime construction below.
The object of Brim's attention-emerging from the water-front clutter of
bowing, swinging shipyard cranes-was the flattened teardrop shape of a
half-finished starship hull that rested on a tangle of rusting construction
stocks: I.F.S. Defiant Imperial hull designator CL.921, and the first ship in a
whole new class of light cruisers. As such, she was new in many ways-and subject
to all the ills of each. The morning's waveguide Incident was only one-albeit
the most serious-of a hundred-odd irregularities and disorders uncovered since
the starship's keel was laid. In spite of her great promise for the future,
Defiant was starting life as a most troublesome ship....
While Brim mused, he overheard the voice of Lieutenant Xerxes O. Flynn
joking with Ursis. Flynn was Defiant's medical officer-the position he had
previously filled aboard I.F.S. Truculent. Ho was short, fair, and balding, with
a reddish face and a quick smile. "I say, Nikolai Yanuarievich," he said, "do
you suppose yonder Principal Helmsman has become Inpatient to fly already? He
shows up this time every day to watch them build our ship."
"Well, Doctor," observed the Bear, "either impatience guides his actions-or
a well-known compulsion to single-handedly confound the League of Dark Stars. As
we say on the Mother Planets, 'When the mountain dances with ice maidens, cold
wand comes quietly at the hearth.'" He grinned suddenly. "One imagines anything
is possible of persons who spend most waking hours flying a simulator-even
Helmsmen.
Brim turned to grin at his old shipmates, fellow survivors of Regula
Collingswood's battle-shattered destroyer I.F.S. Truculent. "You're both right,"
he asserted, "I do spend most of my time flying 'The Box.' But I am clearly not
the only one impatient to get back into space-or the war. In fact, I personally
know a certain Great Sodeskayan Boar who spends most of his time checking
starship plans-and I'm sure he has the same thing in mind. Besides, it's rarely
lonesome here on the balcony, as you both well know." He chuckled. "I understand
people are starting to call it 'Point Defiant.'"
"Actually," Flynn admitted, "I might just prefer a battle zone if I had my
choice-some place where I could occasionally contribute to the war effort by
treating disorders more serious than meem hangovers." He shook his heed. "That
one task seems to occupy most of my duty time while we wait for those bloody
civilians to build our ship."
Ursis laughed as he charged the bowl of his Zempa pipe with Hogge'poa. "You
must never underestimate your contribution here, my dear Doctor," he asserted,
tamping the weed with a professional countenance. "Hangovers are important on
worlds like Eleandor-Bestienne. Especially since meem-and the drinking
thereof-remains the principal diversion." He nodded sagely while he puffed a
glow into the bowl of his pipe. "You will soon enough be up to your elbows in
battle blood again."
Flynn nodded. "That's why I drink meem," he said wrinkling his nose as a
cloud of smoke momentarily enveloped his face. "And they're my own hangovers, by
the way."
While the two continued their salty banter in the lengthening shadows, Brim
returned his attention to the stocks. For the thousandth time, he traced
Defiant's convexed upper deck as it gently arced from a pointed bow and peaked a