"13 Sentinels 01 - The Devils Hand" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinney Jack)

If Lisa's new space was compact, tidy, and familiar, Rick's was large and impersonal. Constructed concurrently with its Earthside counterpart, the command, control, and communications center was an enormous room more than two hundred feet square and almost half as high. A fifty-by-fifty-foot screen dominated the bulkhead opposite Rick's command balcony with its half-dozen consoles and monitors. Below, a horizontal position board was surrounded by more than twenty individual duty stations, and adjacent to this forward, a bank of as many stations tied to the central display screen. Along the port bulkhead were peripheral screens, tech stations, and banks of sophisticated instrumentality, with a great Medusa's head of cables, feeders, and power relays running floor to ceiling.
"Quite a sight, isn't it, Admiral?" said someone off to Rick's right.
Rick turned, aware that he had been staring openmouthed at the room, and found T. R. Edwards regarding him analytically from the command balcony railing. "Uh, impressive," Rick returned, underplaying his amazement. He had of course been here often enough, but still struggled in unguarded moments with the enormity of his responsibility.
"`Impressive.'" Edwards laughed, approaching Rick now. "Interesting choice. I think I would have said `awesome,' or 'incredible,' or even `magnificent.' But then, I didn't spend three years in space on the SDF-1, did I? Did you think the Grand Cannon impressive, Admiral? You did get to see it, didn't you?"
"Actually, I didn't, General," Rick said, wondering what Edwards was getting at. "I only saw it in ruins...where it belonged in the first place."
Edwards grinned. "Oh, of course. I forgot. You were the one who rescued the Hayes woman, uh, the admiral."
Rick caught a reflection of himself in Edwards's faceplate, then looked directly into Edwards's good eye. "Something bothering you, Edwards?"
Edwards took a step back, motioning to himself with elaborate innocence. "Me? Why, no, not at all. I suppose I'm just a bit overcome by this room of ours." Edwards folded his arms and stood at the rail, a prince on a battlement. He turned to Rick and grinned. "Has anyone ever had a finer War Room, Admiral?"
Rick's lips were a thin line. "I prefer Situation Room. I thought I made that clear at the briefings."
"Forgive me," Edwards said, throwing his hands out apologetically. "Situation Room." He swung round to the view again. "What an impressive Situation Room."

Belowdecks, Jack Baker cursed-the RDF, his commanders, his luck, himself ultimately. It was because of that oversight in the simulator, he decided. That was what had done it, that was what had turned off Hunter and Sterling. And that handwritten invitation to the reception-ha! Richard A. Hunter indeed. Richard Anti-Baker Hunter was more like it. Or why else wouldn't he have pulled the assignment he wanted? Skull Squadron...that was where the fun was. Even Ghost would've done the trick, although he did have some reservations about that General Edwards. But, hell! to be stuck with Commander Grant! Grant was all right, of course, but his unit was ground-based, for cry'nout loud. And what kind of action could a guy expect to see on land on a mission like this! And what was an ensign doing there? Temporary duty or not, it just didn't make any sense, no sense at all.
"I shoulda gone to college," Baker muttered as he shouldered his way through a group of enlisted ratings to report in.
Most of his Expeditionary Force mates in the mecha hangar were marveling at the two transports that were central to the battalion's strength-the GMU, and the dropship that conveyed it planetside-but to Jack the devices were just modular nightmares: overworked, underpowered, and unimportant. Veritechs were what made it happen. One pilot, one mecha. Plenty of speed, range, and firepower, and nothing to drag you down. Nothing extraneous in mind or body, as Jack was fond of quoting, often fantasizing about what those early Macross days must have been like, pushing the envelope and azending! Yeah!
These...monstrosities, on the other hand, were about as sleek as an old-fashioned tank. Course there were plenty of good things inside-Hovertanks, Logans, and such-but he would have to get himself transferred to the Wolff Pack if he ever hoped to ride one of those.
Jack decided to circle the GMU and see if he couldn't find something, something he could get excited about. The thing was huge, maybe five hundred feet long, with eight one-hundred-foot-high globular wheels affixed to massive transaxles, banks of superspot running lights, hidden particle-projection cannon turrets, and multiple-missile launch racks. Up front were two retractable off-loading ramps, and up top, behind blast deflectors, two external command stations positioned on either side of the unit's real prize: an enormous pulse-cannon, which, like a fire engine's tower ladder, could be raised and rotated.
Jack was still appraising the unit five minutes later when Karen Penn suddenly appeared on one of the ramp walkways. The body-hugging RDF jumpsuit did things for her figure that the dress hadn't, and Jack's scowl gave way to a wide-eyed look of enchantment.
Karen saw him, smiled, and waved. When she was within earshot she called brightly, "Hey, Baker, what are you doing here?"
Jack smiled back and cupped his hands to his mouth. "Luck of the draw!"

"I am beside myself," Dr. Lang confided to Exedore as the two men completed their prelaunch inspection of the fortress's spacefold generators and Reflex drives. They were the same ones that had once powered Breetai's flagship, but Lang's Robotechnicians had spiffed them up a bit. It had long been the professor's wish to cannibalize one of the spacefold generators just to take a peek at its Protoculture core, but he knew this would have to wait till a time when fold systemry could be spared. Presently, however, Protoculture remained the most precious substance in the universe, and Lang's teams had yet to discover the philosophers' stone that would enable them to create it. So chips and sealed generators were transferred intact from ship to ship or mecha to mecha. But even with all the energy cells the RDF had managed to salvage from the Zentraedi warships that had crashed on Earth, the supply was hardly inexhaustible.
How had Zor created the stuff? Lang was forever asking himself. He understood that it had something to do with the Flowers Exedore spoke of-the Flowers of Life. But Lang had never seen one, and how in any case had Zor gone from Flower to Protoculture? It was one of the many questions he hoped the Masters would answer once peace negotiations were out of the way. And then there were all the unresolved puzzles centering around Zor himself. But for the time being Lang was content with his own minor triumphs.
"It's more than I ever hoped for."
Exedore might have recognized the look on Lang's face as one often observed on the faces of children on Christmas mornings. The Zentraedi ambassador picked up on Lang's tone of anticipation as well.
"Well, can you imagine how I must feel, Doctor, to be going home after so many years?"
Lang looked at Exedore as though noticing something for the first time. "Yes, yes, I see what you mean, my friend. And in a strange way I, too, feel as if I'm returning home."
Exedore thought he grasped Lang's meaning, and shook his head. "No, Doctor. You will see that Tirol is not for you. Earth is your home, and ever shall be."
"Perhaps," Lang said with a glint in his eye. "But we have seen more radical reshapings in the past few years, have we not?"
Exedore was about to reply when a tech interrupted the conversation to inform Lang that all systems were go and the bridge was awaiting confirmation.
"Well, give the admiral what she wants, Mr. Price," Lang declared. "The moment has arrived."

A murmur of excitement swept through the crowds waiting in the shuttle boarding area. Suddenly people were moving in haste toward the viewports and breaking into spontaneous applause.
"Now's our chance!" Minmei said over her shoulder to Janice.
From the forward seat of the EVA craft where she and Janice had been hiding for the past few hours, Minmei could just discern the rounded, main-gun booms of the SDF-3 nosing into view from the satellite's null-gee construction hold.
"Now, Janice, now!" Minmei urged.
Janice bit her lower lip and began to activate a series of switches across the craft's instrument panel. Displays came to life one by one, suffusing the small cockpit with whirring sounds and comforting amber light. Abruptly, the small ship lurched forward as a conveyor carried it toward the launch bay.
Minmei searched for some indication that they had been spotted, but it appeared that even the techs' attention had been diverted by the unannounced emergence of the fortress. And before she could complete the silent prayer she had begun, the craft was lauched.
Minmei had nothing but confidence in her partner's ability to pilot the craft and position it in close proximity to the SDF-3; she had seen Janice do far more amazing things during their two-year friendship.
She frequently recalled the first time Dr. Lang had introduced her to Janice. He talked about Janice as though she were God's gift to the world; and later on Minmei understood that Lang's hyperboles were not so far off the mark. Minmei felt that Janice was somewhat cool and remote-the only man in her life was that Senator Moran, and it seemed a strange sort of relationship-but Janice could fly, fight, absorb, and retain incredible amounts of information, speak a dozen languages, including Zentraedi. Her considerable talents notwithstanding, however, it was Janice's voice that Lang had raved about; about how she and Minmei could complement each other in the most perfect way imaginable. And not solely for purposes of entertainment. What Minmei's voice had achieved with the Zentraedi, Minmei and Janice's combined voice could replicate tenfold. And should the Robotech Masters decide to send a new wave of bio-engineered warriors to Earth in the SDF-3's absence, that defensive harmony might very well prove the planet's saving grace.
Our songs are weapons, Minmei heard Janice saying.
Minmei was no stranger to grandiose dreams or grandiose purpose, and she had readily agreed to keep Lang's secret. Janice, too, agreed, and the two women had become close friends as well as partners. But after two years of that, dreams were suddenly a new priority, and Lang's concerns seemed paranoid now. So as the EVA craft began to approach the slow-moving fortress, Minmei told Janice to hold to a parallel course.
"But we can't remain here, Lynn. The ship is going to fold in a matter of minutes."
"Just do it for me, please, Janice."
Janice was quiet for a moment; then she said, "You have no plans of returning to the satellite, do you?"
Minmei swung around in her seat and reached for her friend's hand. "Are you with me?"
Janice saw the commingling of fear and desperation in Minmei's blue eyes, and smiled. "Do I have a choice?"
Minmei looked down on Earth's oceans and clouds, and completed her prayer.

"Engineering confirms attainment lunar orbit," Blake updated. "We are go for launch, Admiral."
Lisa turned in her chair to study a peripheral monitor screen. There was a steady bass rumbling through the entire ship that made it difficult to hear statements voiced on the bridge. But at the same time Lisa was aware of the background blare of klaxons and alert sirens ordering all hands to their launch stations.