"Forward, Robert L - Rocheworld 01 - Rocheworld (The Flight of the Dragonfly) 5.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forward Robert L)

"How many more loads to go?" Red asked.
"That was the last one," said the guard, looking up with awe at the legendary billionaire. Red looked at the guard, and smiled inwardly. It seemed to be a characteristic of the personality that would work for Brinks. The guard was not as tall or as Irish as she was, but her makeup and hair-style were as close to a copy of Red's as the beauticians could get.
"OK. Everybody out!" ordered Red. Mycroft and the Brinks guards went outside and the door slammed shut on one of the largest fortunes in the world.
* * * *
It was nearly an hour later when a call came from one of the perimeter gate guards.
"There's a guy here who says his name is Fred Fortune from the Ford Foundation. It sounded phony to me so I alerted the local police, who are on their way. I'm reporting in case he's a diversion and some other trick is being tried somewhere else."
A voice spoke from the door to the warehouse. It was Red Vengeance. "Believe it or not, that's his real name. I asked him to come here tonight. Please tell the guards to let him in."
Fred Fortune was escorted to the Brinks command post.
"Do you have it, Fred?" Red asked.
Fred hesitated, looking at the strangers. Fortunately, two of them seemed to be in police uniforms. "Yes," he finally replied, "Do you have the check?"
Fred's question was the culmination of a tense evening for Red Vengeance. She started to laugh, and the sight of Fred's discomfiture at her undignified behavior just sent her into further hysterical fits of laughter. The guards and Mycroft had initially joined Fred in their bewilderment over Red's behavior, but after a few seconds Mycroft suddenly broke into a fit of giggles himself. "...a CHECK!" he finally exploded, and with that the billionaire and the account executive fell helplessly to the floor in a paroxysm of laughter and tears.
* * * *
"I'm very sorry for my rude behavior, Fred," Red finally apologized. "I've been under quite a strain lately."
"Has this been a joke?" asked Fred quizzically. "If so, I don't think it's very funny."
"No!" said Red seriously. "I really _am_ going to give the Ford Foundation sixty billion dollars. Do you have the Blake?"
"Yes," said Fred, taking a small leather case out of his coat pocket. He opened it up to show a small round gold coin. Red reached for the case, and as she took it she spoke to the Lieutenant.
"Open the door to the warehouse," she said. As the door opened, Fred Fortune looked in and his eyes widened.
"Now you can see why your request for a check brought on my fits of laughter. There is your sixty billion -- in CASH! Is it a deal?"
Fred nodded, too numb from the sight of the money to reply.
Red started to leave, then turned at the door. "Watch out for the newly-printed bills, Fred, they can cause paper cuts when you roll in them."
Red opened the small leather case that she still held, stuck a green-lacquered fingernail under the small gold coin, and levered it out of its niche in the case. She looked at both sides closely, threw the leather case away, then buttoned the coin into one of her breast pockets. Fred looked askance at the cavalier treatment of a mint-quality numismatic gem.
"What are you going to do with it?" he asked. "You certainly can't sell it for what you paid for it."
"I'm not going to sell it," said Red, "I'm going to keep it -- as a good luck charm. I'm going to need all the good luck I can get where I'm going." She walked outside, Fred and Mycroft following in her footsteps.
"...going?" echoed Fred.
"Haven't you heard?" said Red. "I'm taking a tour, Mycroft."
"A tour?"
"The grandest tour the human race can devise!" she said. "I'm going to the stars! And this gold coin is going along with me to keep me company. Soon there will be one of them shining by sunlight, and one shining by starlight."
She thought about that for a moment, then reached back into her amply-filled pocket and took out the flat disk of gold. A green-enameled thumb flicked the disk upward toward the stars, where it crossed the beam of a laser perimeter fence. There was a momentary flash of red-gold light, echoed by an alarm from some distant guard post. Red chuckled throatily as she caught the coin. She folded herself into her Sword and drove away -- free forever from her avaricious drives.
* * * *
The next batch is really a rubber stamp choice as far as I am concerned," said Dr. Wang. "We need at least two computer types that understand the systems built into _Prometheus_, the planetary landers, and the atmospheric aircraft. GNASA's top choice for the hardware side is the astronaut and aerospace engineer, Shirley Everett. She was chief engineer for the design and test of the airplane we will use and was also involved in the building of our lander. For the software side of things, the GNASA experts's first choice is David Greystoke. He wrote most of the programs for the computers on the various craft."
"Haven't heard of him," said Jinjur. "A typical computer-nerd, I suppose. Yet the name sounds familiar."
"'Visions Through Space'," said George, trying to help.
"_That_ David Greystoke?" said Jinjur. "But he's a sonovideo composer."
"Just one of his many talents," said Dr. Wang. "And we'll be privileged to have him illuminating our humble abode with delicate sights and sounds on our long voyage together.
* * * *
The computer console screen was alive with writhing brightly-colored abstract forms that roiled and curled in deep blues and lavenders, while scintillating sparks of orange and white marched over and under the billowing waves of color. The display stopped suddenly, then started over again with the lavender shades just a bit less red in color.
Watching the screen critically was a tiny, thin, quiet young man with orange-red hair -- a computer leprechaun. The long fingers on his neat hands played over a specialized input panel as they controlled the computer generated images on the screen. He finished the sequence, saved it in a computer file, then combined it with several others. He pushed his glasses up on his long thin nose, sat back in his console chair, and watched the performance as the computer played the whole sequence back from its memory.
As the artistic computer-animated show was reaching its conclusion, some white letters appeared in the upper part of the screen.
MAIL FOR DAVID GREYSTOKE
David noticed the words, but waited for the end of the file before saying, "Read mail."
The screen blanked and a short letter scrolled its way rapidly down the screen and hung there. David's eyes widened as he read the message. He gave a quiet smile of satisfaction and reached for his sonovideo panel. As the realization of the meaning of the message sunk into his body, his soul was reaching out through his fingers to create a new optical masterpiece, a moving view of the splendor of the heavens as seen from the bridge of a starship leaving the solar system and stretching for the stars.
As the starship approached a distant deep-red point of light, the ship grew wings -- long, thin gossamer wings. The winged spaceship-turned-dragonfly circled the star, then swooped in to land on a small planet with a tenuous breath of atmosphere. It was all imagination, but the magic of the motion through the imaginary air gave a reality to the dragonfly as it settled slowly to the surface of the indigo planet.
* * * *
"At least three of the planets in the Barnard system have an atmosphere," said George. "Including the strange double-one. We're going to need some good pilots."
"I've got one," said Jinjur. "You. Unless you've lost your flight instructor's rating."
"But I'll have to sleep sometime," said George.
"There's no question about the other pilot," said Jinjur. "Arielle Trudeau wins it hands down. Y'know, after that exploit where she single-handedly landed a crippled shuttle with two dead pilots, I always thought she was the best aerospace pilot in the world. As for the rest of the crew, I don't see why we don't just go along with the choices of the Space Administration experts. Let's call a meeting."
"We'll be missing a few people," said George. "Sam Houston and Richard Redwing are both busy on Callisto. Rather than coming all the way back in, they'll meet us at our training base on Titan. The hydroponics expert, Nels Larson, and the computer expert, David Greystoke, are already on _Prometheus_ checking out the systems they designed. The solar astrophysicist, Linda Regan, is stationed on Mercury. We'll pick her up there when we visit the Mercury laser transmitter base. The rest should make it to the meeting. The three astronauts should be on their way back now if they aren't already on Earth."
* * * *
Two women sat side by side in the Super-Shuttle cockpit. The one in the pilot seat was small and fair, almost delicate in appearance. She sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap. The flickering dark-brown eyes under the short, curly light-brown hair scanned the board and flight display, missing nothing in their vigilant watch over the nerve center of the multi-ton spacecraft.