"Steven E. McDonald - Event Horizon" - читать интересную книгу автора (McDonald Steven E)

Far away and then closer in the mind's eye, close enough to see the patterns
of mighty winds. Neptune stood against the star-scape, blue majesty in the
starry bowl of heaven.

This was nightmare, then, not dream; terror rather than release. This was
something to be accepted more easily these days, now that time had dulled
sensation and numbness was a way of life. The slate had not been erased, but
there was no longer a need to feel anything, and that was good.

More movement now, plunging helplessly towards Neptune, drawn in. Again,
the scientific mind attempted rescue, considering atmospheric components, wind
speeds, planetary mass. The silent stream of facts and figures did not cause
the terror to recede this time, and a scream rose, only to be lost in the cold
silence of space. A fragmentary rational thought: this was normal, this was
the way it should be.

Once again, movement ceased. Painfully blue, rife with the energies of its
monstrous winds, Neptune filled the sky. This had become a familiar image,
from a time when a hole had been torn in the heavens and lives hurled into it.
No sacrifice seemed enough to propitiate this angry god.

There was a dark spot against the blue. Drifting, turning, moving closer
now, close enough to make out the outlines of a vessel, sharp and clear,
another familiarity in this unfamiliar terrain. Angles formed of titanium,
steel, and plastic. Not a small ship, this drifting spacecraft; it had never
been intended as a compact craft. A Gothic complexity from end to end, it
reflected the passion and strangeness of its designers and builders, the inner
world of its primary creator.

The forward motion did not relent now. Closer and closer, then into the
metal, into freezing darkness and then into blue light that washed through
windows that had no need to be there. There was no gravity, no life-support,
the only light coming from the cold brilliance of Neptune. Lights flashed and
twinkled bluely all around, moving slowly and gracefully through the air,
slivers and splinters of metal, glass, and ice released by some unknown
catastrophe. This was the Gravity Couch Bay, lined with tall glass and steel
containers, modern Man's version of Sleeping Beauty's coffin. No one slumbered
in those coffins now, nor were any of the myriad instruments operational.

In a dark blur, motion continued. Flashing red scattered the overwhelming
blue of Neptune. This was the bridge, crowded with instruments, the air filled
with particles of dust and ice. Neptune filled the thick quartz windows,
illuminating the corners and crevices. The only relief from the frozen
blueness consisted of a single red light, flashing on and off, a bright,
bloody interruption, the sigil of an emergency beacon at work.

Other lights flickered now, as though the ship were aware of an intruding
presence aboard. Shadows chased around the bridge, vanished again, washed away
by the glare.