"Michael Flynn - Wreck of The Rivers of Stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flynn Michael)

She fought her way clear of the jumble of struts and returned to the ring corridor. The hall curved away
from her in both directions, dimly lit by the few red self-powered lights that had not yet failed. An ill
sort of passageway. One seemed perpetually on the verge of turning a corner, yet never actually doing
so. тАЬShip,тАЭ she called again; and again there was no answer.

Surely not all the pickups had failed in this ring. She made her way clockwise, her long, gangly legs
scissoring, leaping her from wall to bulkhead like some strange, huge insect. An observer might have
been startled at how graceful she became, arms and legs pushing and grasping and turning in half-
conscious motion. Indeed, Bigelow Fife, watching from the shadows, marveled at the unexpected
beauty. The spaceborn moved through free fall with the grace of swans in flight.

WongтАЩs next call to Ship was answered with a far-off hiss as Ship tried vainly to hear and respond.
Wong sighed like a reed pipe and her hands and feet splayed and found holds invisible to those not born
to it. To all appearances she came to a dead halt in mid-flight. It would be too late by now. Hand was
less than dust.

Bigelow Fife spoke. тАЬMay I help?тАЭ

Fransziska Wong turned to see a stranger. He was a dim shape in the gloomy corridor and for a moment
she thought that this man too had been abandoned in place when the G-ring was sealed off. One last
Martian emigrant, who had forgotten to disembarkтАж.

тАЬYou must be the passenger,тАЭ she said.The River did ferry an occasional passenger. There were always
those too impatient to await the next liner.



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His slight bow was at once courtly, gracious, and supercilious, as if he found their encounter secretly
amusing. тАЬBigelow Fife, at your service.тАЭ What services he offered went unspoken. He had a small
mouth and small gray eyes, but those eyes darted like striking birds, missing nothing, plucking meaning
if it so much as showed its head. They seemed to be two living things, those eyes, perched in twin niches
in his skull. тАЬYour captain died, I heard. YouтАЩve come off to be by yourself for the remembering of him.тАЭ

Wong ran an arm across her face. тАЬI didnтАЩt know him long.тАЭ

тАЬOh, itтАЩs not the length that matters, but the depth.тАЭ

The comment surprised her and she gave the man a more careful look. Stocky, but somehow ethereal, as
if his bones were cast of aerogel. His tight, enhanced briefs gave modesty both a nod and a nudge;
otherwise: sandals and a headband to contain his longish hair completed his garb. His pale skin was one
to which the sun could be never more than an enemy. Obviously, a Lunatic. тАЬHe was a good man,тАЭ
Wong heard herself say. тАЬA good captain.тАЭ

тАЬI didnтАЩt know the fellow.тАЭ And thus is simple truth simply cruel. Those darting eyes noticed her flinch
and, reconsidering his words, Fife said, тАЬForgive me. I met him only the once when he offered me a
transit on this lovely ship, but as a fellow man, naturally his death saddens me. I gather it was sudden.тАЭ