"Gordon Gross - Communion (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gross Gordon)

"Stardust to MON," I hail the controller. Glim's daily voice exercises may not
have improved the raspy quality of my voice, but they ensure that my vocal
cords
do not weaken and atrophy over long voyages.

"MON, Mooney here," comes the answer.

"Request permission to land."
"Do you have your Trans-immigration request?"

I transmit our files to his system.

"Residence petition, Institute ratings, and immunology records seem in order,"
Mooney's voice comes over the corn after a few moments. "You are on manual
approach. No fancy CyberNav equip here." No questions as to why there are two
of
us in a one-person scout. Or why telepaths would arrive without the pomp and
circumstance of a full cruiser-class cybership. Perhaps our reputation
precedes
us?

"Affirmative, not a problem," I reply. "Give me the coords."

The computer blinks as it receives the data and vectors. A course appears in a
luminescent web superimposed over MON on the view screen.

"Coming in now, half blast." I tell him.

"Confirmed. See you on the ground."

The landing goes relatively smoothly (read: I didn't blow us up); after all, I
was a navigator before my Great, if late, Discovery. We touch down a bit on
the
heavy side, though. Glim shoots a sidelong smile at me.

It's been better than seven years since I've had to land anything besides you,
I
say. And any respectable planet has at least rudimentary CyberNav.

Did I say anything?

You were thinking it, Glim.

I just thought you were making sure I was awake.

I power down the control chairs' gravity nets, and we make our way to the
hatch.
Glim looks cool and unruffled, the Diplomat training a warrior of his blood
and
rank receives holding him in good stead. I could use a shower and a change of