"Edward M. Lerner - Part I of IV - A New Order of Things" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lerner Edward M)

he'd seen the like on statues in museums throughout Spain and Greece--incongruously paired with pale
blue eyes and blond, almost white hair. The latter part of his heritage had vigorously asserted itself as
sunburn the first day of his vacation. It brought with it a random snippet of memory, something about mad
dogs and Englishmen.

The sunburn itched. The skin under his hour-old cast itched. Most of all, his curiosity bump itched. That
he had been able to do something about.

From his villa balcony, a panorama of sky and sand and the Mediterranean Sea glowed in shades of blue
and white not to be seen on Mars. Art closed his eyes, the better to take in his mind's-eye view. Across
the visualized table of a virtual office an avatar awaited. The infosphere representation of Bhai Banda
Singh, secretary-general of the Interstellar Commerce Union, was impeccably tailored and dignified in
bearing. Bhai's control was first-rate; for all Art knew, his boss was wearing pajamas and drinking hot
cocoa.

In the unseen real world, waves lapped soothingly on the beach. Art took a deep breath. "We have a
situation." As though shouting TEOTWAWKI hadn't already conveyed that. "About two hours ago,
radio volume from Barnard's Star jumped by a factor of thousands. The message body is encrypted, but
it's wrapped in standard InterstellarNet protocol and addressed to the Snake trade agent." Barnard's
Star lay in the constellation Ophiuchus, the Serpent Holder--which made its natives, colloquially, the
Snakes. The time was long past when Snake was considered politically incorrect. It was the notion of
being held or handled, in fact, which offended the aliens. Their name for themselves--and reserved for
themselves--was Hunters. "A funny thing ... between bursts of the new, loud message, we're still getting
signal at the usual power level." That pretty well encapsulated the news flash that had cost Art his first ski.

Behind the thoughtful expression of his avatar, the ICU's secretary-general was doing the math. The dim
red dwarf sun known as Barnard's Star was six light-years distant. Radio signals attenuate with the
square of the distance. The bursts were thousands of times stronger than the background signal. If the
new transmitter was comparable in strength to the old one, then.... "We have guests on our doorstep.
How close are they?"

The calculation had a big margin of error, but bosses have prerogatives. "Triangulating bearings taken
from Earth and the moon, my team says less than fifty billion kilometers." That put the transmitter far
outside the solar system--but also more than ninety-nine percent of the way here from Barnard's Star.
Radar would need days to confirm and refine the numbers.

Art tried and failed to reach an itch with a pencil, while--he hoped--his uninjured avatar sat professionally
still at the table. Fortunately, the nanodocs should have the bones knitted within days. How did people
ever wear casts for weeks? "Item number two is a call from Pashwah," who was the Snakes' artificially
intelligent trade agent to humanity. Then Art shared the part of Pashwah's call his boss could not have
deduced, that had cost him his second ski and, damn the itch, a broken arm. "The starship is badly
damaged.

"There is a crew on board, and they need our help."
****
CHAPTER 2

InterstellarNet's existence discouraged the observation of several nearby stars. Measurements by the
locals were invariably better and cheaper than scrutiny from afar, so telescopes were reserved for stars
too inconsiderate to have scientists who sent reports.