"Larry Niven - Crashlander (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

left, the laser cannon; to the right, a set of curved side tubes leading to inspection points for
the gyros, the batteries and generator, the air plant, the hyperspace shunt motors. All was in
order -- except me. I was clumsy. My jumps were always too short or too long. There was no room to
turn at the stern end, so I had to back fifty feet to a side tube.

Six hours to go, and still I couldn't find the neutron star. Probably I would see it only for an
instant, passing at better than half the speed of light. Already my speed must enormous.



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Were the stars turning blue?

Two hours to go -- and I was sure they were turning blue.

Was my speed that high? Then the stars behind should be red. Machinery blocked the view behind
me, so I used the gyros. The ship turned with peculiar sluggishness. And the stars behind were
blue, not red. All around me were blue-white stars.

Imagine light falling into a savagely steep gravitational well. It won't accelerate. Light can't
move faster than light. But it can gain in energy, in frequency. The light was falling on me
harder and harder as I dropped.

I told the dictaphone about it. That dictaphone was probably the best-protected item on the
ship. I had already decided to earn my money by using it, just as if I expected to collect.
Privately I wondered just how intense the light would get.

Skydiver had drifted back to vertical, with its axis through the neutron star, but now it faced
outward. I'd thought I had the ship stopped horizontally. More clumsiness. I used the gyros. Again
the ship moved mushily, until it was halfway through the swing. Then it seemed to fall
automatically into place. It was as if the Skydiver preferred to have its axis through the neutron
star.

I didn't like that.

I tried the maneuver again, and again the Skydiver fought back. But this time there was
something else. Something was pulling at me.

So I unfastened my safety net -- and fell headfirst into the nose.

***

The pull was light, about a tenth of a gee. It felt more like sinking through honey than
falling. I climbed back into my chair, tied myself in with the net, now hanging facedown, and
turned on the dictaphone. I told my story in such nit-picking detail that my hypothetical
listeners could not but doubt my hypothetical sanity. "I think this is what happened to the
Laskins," I finished. "If the pull increases, I'll call back."