"James P. Hogan - Craddle of Saturn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hogan James P)

"We are about to commence a high-acceleration test. For your own safety, my orders are to warn you
off-limits."

"We're paralleling you outside the posted limit. Just taking a ringside seat. Don't mind us. Let's
get on with the show."

Ricardo cut in again: "We've got another incomingтАФmilitary priority band prefix."

"This is General Burgess, Space Command Ground Control Center, and I demand to speak toтАФ"

Joe shook his head in the background behind Keene's console. "We're gonna be too busy here for
this. I'm throwing this one to you, Warren."

"Sure, switch him through. We'll handle it," Fassner said from the Space Dock. It had been
expected. Ricardo clicked entries in a table on one of his auxiliary screens, and the irate
general was consigned off to a string of comsat links around the planet.

"APU to Amspace 16R. You have been warned in accordance with regulatory requirements. Be advised
that your continued proximity to this operation will not be taken as indicative of a desirably
cooperative attitude. Negative consequences may result. This is APU, out." The window vanished.

"Negative consequences, guys," Keene repeated. "That's itтАФit's all over for us. They'll find some
bug in our parking lot that needs to be protected now. Close down the head office."

"Where do they get those guys?" Ricardo asked as he scanned his displays and made adjustments. "I
mean, do they have to be programmed to talk like that? . . ." His voice trailed off, and he leaned
forward. "Okay, this is it. We're registering their exhaust plume on thermal: preboost profile."
As Ricardo spoke, the APU's image sprouted a tail of white heat, growing rapidly to extend several
times the length of the vessel.

"Full burn," Joe's voice confirmed. "We're looking at about, aw . . . two gee initial. Downrange
radar is tracking." The Air Force spaceplane was accelerating away, commencing its test. While Joe
continued reading off time checks and numbers, Keene rechecked his own panel to make sure all the
NIFTV's systems were ready, then turned his eyes again to the image shrinking and foreshortening
on the main screen. Advanced propulsion, he thought to himself scornfully. Pure hydrogen and
whatever they called the latest oxidizer, it was still chemicals. NASA, circa 1960s, repackaged in
an Air Force suit, its adequacy a giveaway of what it was intended for: a high-altitude police
cruiser to patrol the envisaged one-world state. NIFTV had the potential to bring the Solar System
into Earth's backyard, but the powers that Earth's destiny depended on weren't interested. If the
day ever arrived when their one-world order looked like becoming a reality, that, Keene vowed,
would be when he'd leave it all and go out to join the Kronians. But with enterprises like Amspace
still able to find backers, there was hope yet.

Fassner, having evidently passed the general on to someone else, reappeared on the beam from Space
Dock. "Okay, that's looking good now. Let's go after 'em."

"On standby at Fire-Ready," Keene confirmed.

"Go, engine. Take it up to eighty," Joe ordered.