"Denning, Troy - Forgotten Realms - MoonShae 3 - Darkwell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Denning Troy)

So much for kifish psych.
But the son moved. Jik was still looking at her.
"How my ship?" he asked, very quiet, very civilized. She would not have been that restrained, under similar circumstances.
"Hilfy, give his station that comflow on receiving only."
"Aye," Hilfy said. "It's in."
"That's scan two," Pyanfar said, meaning seat assignment; and he gave a short, more than decent nod of his dark head and went to belt in, wincing a bit as he sat down. He spoke quietly to Geran; and Pyanfar found her claws clenched in the upholstery: she released her grip, carefully; and turned her seat around again.
2313.
"We're on count," Haral said. "Aja Jin reports ready. We're on."
"Stand by."
''We going to show the hakkikt punctuality?''
She considered the potential for provocation. Considered the kif. And considered another possibility as she put their engines live. There was another set of switches by her hand, safety-locked by a whole string of precautions which they had a program now to bypass. Input three little codes and that set of key-slots would light. And The Pride would have a last chance to take out a space station full of kif, a handful of innocent methane-breathers; a doublecrossing allied ship that held one of two plans for a mahen hegemony over the Compact; a kif who was very close to having a kifish hegemony, and who with cold intent, threatened the whole hani species. Half the whole problem in the Compact was sitting right here at this station, with the solution within reach of her hand; and for one ship to take out half the problems in the immediate universe was not a bad trade, as trades went.
It also assured by default the immediate success of their rivals, whose intentions were also mahen and kifish hegemonies, maybe a human one, a methane-breather action, and the immediate collapse of the stsho and then the han into the control of one or the other hegemonies. Which meant years of bloody fighting. Not taking into account humanity, which was already at odds within its own compact, and whose ships they knew were armed.
Take out one set of contenders here or make Jik's throw for him and play power against power.
She was not even panicked in contemplating that sequence of bypasses. She felt only a numb detachment: she could give it, and only Haral would know; Haral would look her way with a slight flattening of the ears and never pass the warning to the crew. Just a look that said: / know. Here we go.
Perhaps Haral was thinking the same thing about now, that it was one last chance, while their nose was still into the station's gut and they were an indisputable part of station mass. Haral went on flicking switches, the shut-down of certain systems no longer necessary, along with the check of systems-synchronization and docking jets.
2314.
"We break on the mark," Pyanfar said in the same tone in which they threw those checkout sequences back and forth. "Advise them down the line. Advise station."
"Aye," Haral said. "Hilfy."
"I got it," Hilfy said.
The minute ticked down.
2314.46.
"On mark," Pyanfar said. "Grapple."
Clang. The station withdrew its grip.
Thump. They withdrew their own as the chrono hit 2315; and Pyanfar hit the docking jets. Precisely. And hard. G shifted, momentum carrying them in a skew the jets corrected, and more so, as The Pride left the boom and the hazard of collision with the kifish ship down-wheel from them.
Another G shift, no provision for groundling stomachs, as she sent The Pride axis-rolling on a continual shove of the docking jets.
"Show those bastards," Haral muttered beside her. AsThe Pride finished her roll with never a wasted motion, precisely angled the jets and underwent outbound impulse.
"Aja Jin's cleared on mark," Geran said. "Precisely." Pyanfar flicked her ears, rings jingling, and her heart picked up.
Show these bastards indeed. That was a fancy new engine rig The Pride carried, the ratio of those broad jump vanes to her unladed mass was way up since Kshshti; and any kif who saw The Pride and Aja Jin move out in close tandem, would remark the peculiar similarity between their outlines, give or take the cargo holds which were firmly part of The Pride and which were stripped off the hunter-ship's lean gut and spine.
"Tahar's away."
Routine out to startup. The mains cut in on mark; Aja Jin was on the same instant, and Tahar, playing the same insolent game.
It was quiet on the bridge. No chatter, none of the talking back and forth between stations that was normal, all of them , kin and all of them knowing their jobs well enough to get them done through all the back-and-forth. They were not all kin on this trip. And none of them were in the mood. Only she looked over at Haral, the way she had looked a thousand times in The Pride's voyages; it was reflex.
Haral caught it and looked back, a little dip of one ear and a lift of her jaw, a cheerfulness unlike Haral's dour business-only blank.
Same face she might have turned her way if she had decided to blow the ship. Pyanfar made a wry pursing of her mouth and gave the old scoundrel the high sign they had once, in their wilder days, passed each other in bars.
They had a word for it. Old in-joke. Meet you at the door.
She drew a wider breath and flexed her hands, reached across and put the arm-brace up, when they would need it.
She had never been so outright scared in her life.
"Coming up," Haral said finally. But she knew that. The numbers kept ticking off to jump. They took the outbound run with less haste than they could use, on the mark the kif gave them. There was a little leisure, a little chance for crew to stand up and stretch and flex minds as well as bodies; but no one left the bridge. Not even Geran.
She's asleep, Geran had said when Pyanfar offered her the chance to leave scan and take a fast walk back to Chur's cabin while they were inertial and under ordinary rotation. So that was that. Pyanfar gnawed her mustaches and offered no comforts; Geran was not one to want two words on a topic where one had said it, and she was focussed down tight; took her little stretch by standing up beside her chair, and kept her eye still to her proper business; answered Jik's rare comments with a word or two.
"Tully," Pyanfar said, "get ready."
"I do," he said. He had his drugs with him, the drugs that a human or a stsho needed in jump. He prepared to go half to sleep in his chair, sedated so heavily he could hardly stay upright.
Interesting to contemplate-a horde of human ships, all of them that automated. Like facing that many machines.
Set to do what? React to buoys and accept course without a pilot's intervention?
Defend themselves? Attack? A horde of relentless machines whose crews had committed themselves to metal decisions and a computer's morality, because their kind had no choice?
Stsho did that, because stsho minds also had trouble in jumpspace; but stsho were nonviolent.
Gods, so gods-be little he says, so little he's got the words for.
"Tully. Are human ships set to fire when they leave jump?"
He did not answer at once.
"Tully. You understand the question?"
"Human fire?"
"Gods save us. Do their machines- fire after jump? Can they?"