"Niven, Larry - Rammer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

The computer was acting vaguely funny.

He had a hell of a time tracing the problem. There was a minute break in one superconducting circuit, so small that
some current was leaking through anyway, by inductance. Bastards. He donned his suit and went out to report.

The guard heard him out, consulted with the other man, then told Corbett, "You did good. Now finish with the topping off procedure. We fix the other things."

"There's something wrong with my suit too."

"New suit aboard now."

"I want some time with the computer," said Corbett. "I want to be sure it's all right now."

"We fix it good. When you top off fuel you leave."

That suddenly, Corbett felt a vast sinking sensation. The whole moon was dropping away under him.

They launched him hard. Corbett saw red before his eyes, felt his cheeks dragged far back toward his ears. This ship would be all right. It was built to stand electromagnetic eddy currents from any direction.

He survived. He fumbled out of his couch in time to watch the moonscape flying under him, receding, a magnificent view.

There were days of free fall. He was not yet moving at ram-speeds. But the State had aimed him inside the orbit of Mercury, straight into the thickening solar wind. Protons. Thick fuel for the ramfields and a boost from the sun's gravity.

Meanwhile he had several days. He went to work with the Computer.

At one point it occurred to him that the State might monitor his computer work. He shrugged it off. Probably it was too late for the State to stop him now. In any case, he had said too much already.

He finished his work at the computer and got answers that satisfied him. At higher speeds the ram fields were self-reinforcing-they would support themselves and the ship. He could find no upper limit to the velocity of a ramship.

With all the time in the world, then, he sat down at the control console and began to play with the ramfields.

They emerged like invisible wings and he felt the buffeting of badly controlled bursts of fusing hydrogen. He kept the fields close to the ship, fearful of losing the balance here, where the streaming of protons was so uneven. He could feel how he was doing-he could fly this ship by the seat of his pants, with RNA training to help him.

He felt like a giant. This enormous, phallic, germinal flyingthing of metal and fire! Carrying the seeds of life to worlds that had never known life, he roared around the sun and out. The thrust dropped a bit then, because he and the solar wind were moving in the same direction. But he was catching it in his nets like wind in a sail, guiding it and burning it and throwing it behind him. The ship moved faster every second.

This feeling of power-enormous masculine power-had to be partly RNA training. At this point he didn't care. Part was him, Jerome Corbett.

Around the orbit of Mars, when he was sure that a glimpse of sunlight would not blind him, he opened all the ports. Th sky blazed around him. There were no planets nearby and all he saw of the sky was myriads of brilliant pinpoints, mostly white, some showing traces of color. But there was more to see. Fusing hydrogen made a ghostly ring of light around hi ship.

It would grow stronger. So far his thrust was low, somewhat more than enough to balance the thin pull of the sun.

He started his turn around the orbit of Jupiter by adjusting the fields to channel the proton flow to the side. That helped his thrust, but it must have puzzled Pierce and the faceless State. They would assume he was playing with the fields, testing his equipment. Maybe. His curve was gradual-it would take them a while to notice.

This was not according to plan. Originally he had intended to go as far as Van Maanan's Star, then change course. That would have given him 2 X 15 = 30 years' head start, in case he was wrong, in case the State could do something to stop him even now. Fifteen years for the light to show them him change in course; fifteen more before retaliation could reach him. It was wise; but he couldn't do it. Pierce might die in thirty years. Pierce might never know he had failed-and that thought was intolerable.

His thrust dropped to almost nothing in the outer reaches of the system. Protons were thin out here. But there were enough to push his velocity steadily higher and that was what counted. The faster he went, the greater the proton flux. He was on his way.

He was beyond Neptune when the voice of Pierce the checker came to him, saying, "This is Peerssa for the State, Peerssa for the State. Answer, Corbett. Do you have a malfunction? Can we help? We cannot send rescue but we can advise. Peerssa for the State, Peerssa for the State-"

Corbett smiled tightly. Peerssa? The checker's name had changed pronunciation in two hundred years. Pierce had slipped back to an old habit, RNA lessons forgotten. He must be upset about something.