"Liaden Universe - 04 - Plan B" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miller Steve)

"I ain't a pilot," Miri protested, thinking that scouts were the best there was. Thinking that Val Con was a scout. Thinking that it had to be a glitch in the machine somewhere. ThinkingЕ

"It can be arranged," Val Con was saying, "to have groundwork laid for piloting lessons while you are sleep-learningЧa matter of appending the program to your study of the Code. It is only a preparatory program, of course, but I can teach you the math and the board-drills."

"Sure," Miri said, absently.

"Good. Would you like some tea?"

"Huh?" She shook out of her reverie, looked at the paper againЧwritten in Liaden, she noticed, then, but was beyond being surprised. "Tea'd be fine, thanks. Gotta take my vitamins anyway."

"Yes." He went to the menu board and she followed. "I suggest you use the Rainbow tonight, cha'trez, to anchor today's learning. Tomorrow you should be able to do all three sessions."

"All threeЧ!" She glared at his back and then sighed, recalling another bit of learning. "Guess if I'm gonna have this melant'i stuff to take care of, I'd better get the rules right." She took the cup out of his hand.

"Genius, huh?" She shook her head. "Tell you what, though, bossЧI don't feel the least bit smart."

DELGADO

BJORNSON-BELLEVALE COLLEGE OF ART AND SCIENCES

"Е coffee, flapjacks and VOO-oo-OO!" The voice wavered unmelodically, though with evident sincerity, from edge-orbit across the general beam and into the tiny professorial office. The man at the desk glanced over his shoulder at the beam-set, frown flickering into a smile as he recognized Number Three-Fifty-Eight singing his way into port, if not into the heart ofVail Runner's satiric mistress, as he did precisely at the professor's midnight, every night.

"Speak to me, beautiful captain!" the singer urged against the background chatter of half-a-hundred ships, from port to the fringe of the third world out; and in blithe disregard of the possibility that there might be any number of beautiful captains within hearing.

"Sorry, Three-Five-Eight. Thought you were in the middle of breakfast." The woman's voice was cool, with an undercurrent of amusement, precisely as always. The professor smiled again and turned back to the screen and the thesis he was grading.

A singularly disappointing document, truth told; even though the author had not been one from whom he had hoped great things. However, one liked to know that alittle learning had taken place, even in the least promising of scholars. Ah, well, they were both at the mid-term. Perhaps guidance might yet produce thought.

So thinking, he brought his wandering attention more firmly back to the thesis, seeking the most profitable means of providing guidance. Behind him, Three-Fifty-Eight pled his case with the cool-voiced lady, one tile in a familiar, comforting mosaic of voices. The professor listened with half-an-ear, then with even less, as the key to guidance presented itself and he gave it his full attention.

ATTENTION! ATTENTION!

It snarled across the familiar mosaic like an angry boot heel. The professor had already spun in his chair, dark eyes intense on the squat receiver as if he would see through it to the ship that carried so urgent a message.

ATTENTION! ALL JUNTAVAS EMPLOYEES, SUPPORTERS, DEPENDENTS, ALLIES SHALL FROM RECEIPT OF THIS MESSAGE FORWARD RENDER ASSISTANCE, AID AND COMFORT TO SERGEANT MIRI ROBERTSON, CITIZEN OF TERRA; AND SCOUT COMMANDER VAL CON YOS'PHELIUM, CITIZEN OF LIAD; TOGETHER OR SINGLY; REDIRECTING, WHERE NECESSARY, YOUR OWN ACTIVITIES. REPEAT: AID AND COMFORT TO MIRI ROBERTSON AND/OR VAL CON YOS'PHELIUM IMPERATIVE, PRIORITY HIGHEST.

MESSAGE REPEATSЕ

That quickly it was done, gone; leaving nothing but dead beam for a heartbeatЧfor twoЕ

"What the hell was that!" The irrepressible Three-Fifty-Eight.

"Courier ship," snapped someone else and, "You should've seen that brother go! Third planet kick-off, skimmed in, dropped it and gone!"

Five days out. The professor eased out of his chair, went with wary, silent grace across the room to the little receiver, staring at it as if it had suddenly become something quite else.

"Scout Commander Val Con yos'Phelium," he whispered, extending a hand to touch the power-off. "Scout Commander Val Con yos'PheliumЕ"

He turned, paced the length of the tiny officeЧfive of his stridesЧand the widthЧfive moreЧuntil he came again to the desk and the work awaiting him. A hand slipped into one pocket; emerged Чand he stood staring down at the flat gleam of a ship's key, incongruous in his soft, scholar's palm.