"Donald Malcolm - The Unknown Shore" - читать интересную книгу автора (Malcom Donald)

The ship rose on its anti-gravs. Its detectors swept space. Still nothing.
When it reached a distance of 100,000 miles from the satellite, the
installation was detonated by radio beam.

After they had travelled a quarter-of-a-million miles, the hooter warned
them that it was one minute to O-space. Sixty seconds. The count had
begun and nothing could slow it down or speed it up. Sixty seconds.

With eighteen seconds to go and the generators practically at full
power, another warning signal, keyed to the detectors, keened throughout
the ship. Something had appeared from behind the bulk of the planet, and
was less than 200,000 miles away, approaching fast from the starboard
side. The Enemy.


CHAPTER TWO
The people aboard the hospital ship waited helplessly. Time seemed
almost to stop and each second seemed like an hour. If they could slip into
O-space before the Enemy firedтАж

The seconds ticked by like the drumroll before an execution. Six, five,
four, three, twoтАж

The generators operated at peak power, wrenching the ship into
O-space. At the same instant the Enemy missile struck. The effect,
fortunately, was minimized by the stresses of the O-space field, but the
ship was damaged, and the generators were knocked out of phase with the
world lines of the field.

Instead of the calculated jump, the ship bucked like a wild stallion. One
minute it would drive at many times the speed of light, then it would drop
into normal space, then kick back into O-space again. How long the crazy
performance lasted, no one would ever know.

Surgeon-Commander. Rangone awakened with a splitting headache
and a premonition of disaster. In the dim emergency lighting, he stared
around him. No one else stirred. He released the cocoon lever, then braced
himself to get out. His hands felt a hot stickiness. Experience told him
what the substance was. Wiping the blood from his fingers, he freed
himself and stood up a bit groggily. The poor light, flickering as it did,
aggravated his headache. He sat down on the couch until he felt some
strength flowing back into his limbs. There was a crumpled mess on the
floor beside the wall-couch. The wall itself was badly splotched. He bent
down to examine the body that was now obviously beyond help. A tab
glinted. A marine, by the looks of things.

He found his way to Brandt's cocoon, opened it, and tried in vain to
shake the Commandant awake. It would be better, he decided, to get rid of
the body before anyone else woke up. He hoped there was only one. Even
surgeon's stomachs have to give sometime. Perhaps the emergency