"Andrew J. Offutt - Spaceways 19 - King of the Slavers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

Serendip. SIPACUM obligingly brought up the simulation on its main screen: the
twin dots that were Serendip and Starwolf- lately Ruy Diaz, in the Great
Five-Year Race. Less than a hundred thousand kilometers away bulked the big
mass of Starqueen-a ship twice the size of either of the two lurking in
wait. "Closer to you," Manjanungo said. "Want to move back five degrees off
opposite, and when you're in position I'll move in from here?" "Firm,"
Sibanda's voice crackled into his con-cabin. "Actuating scrambler." "Scrambler
actuated here." "And here. To our mutual good fortune then,
Captain!" "Indeed," Manjanungo said, and his lacy white shirt-cuffs flashed
against the black of his coat as he off-commed. He and a silent Intaglio
watched Tigress move away on the simulation screen. Javad and Jenk were at
their DS posts, standing by Defense Systemry that, not unusually, would
shortly be employed in an aggressively non-defensive role. Topaz, having
displeased, would ride out the operation in the master's cabin, strapped to
the ring-equipped wall. Manjanungo of Jorinne was smiling. What Sibanda of
Serendip did not know was that Kenyo-the former Manhar Uls-was on his way at
speed in the excellent spacer he had stolen from his former employer,
CongCorp. Three ships would be even better against Starqueen than two ... and
after 14 that, Manjanungo mused, his eyebrows coolly lifted, after that,
two-to-one odds will change Captain Si-banda's notions about splitting the
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take! Captain Trinn Yosef of Archducal Lines' Starqueen had been delayed
nearly a week, thanks to an overbooking snarl that had left several would-be
passengers stranded on Ghanj. Some of them vowed personal vengeance. The
nobles promised lawsuits and pressure. On top of that came delays because the
thrice-be-damned ministell-pinching Ghanjis had taken half an eternity to
repair a beacon-which had not one damned thing to do with Starqueen's
departure lane anyhow. What called Captain Yosef, as he watched passengers and
crew devour groceries, was that any ne'er-do-well stepson of a noble Ghanji
lordling's younger brother would walk away from more small change than the
beacon repairs would have cost. Now it would come out of Saf Yosef's share. At
last came the day and the hour: "SIPACUM loaded," the mate
advised. "Ready?" The chief steward's haggard face appeared on the display. "I
think so, sir." And the face instantly disappeared. The "jump into subspace"
(conversion of Starqueen and everything and everyone on it to tachyons in
order to race out past the stars at a velocity faster than that of light
itself) was the usual bitch. It was violently disorienting even for an
experienced spacefarer. As usual, the identity problems of some passengers
demanded that they demand to be on their unrestrained feet. Beautiful. When
they ended up bleeding and vomiting from double bank shots off this or that
(bulkheads/walls/seats/the bar/other passengers/etc), machismo invariably
trans- 15 lated into whiplash and a "You should have forced us" attitude.
Stewards stayed busy. Yosef could sympathize with the poor dogs of stewards.
On the other hand, he had problems of his own. Stewards had been racing about
the ship for over two hours, buttoning down passengers and coaxing those who
resisted. The ancient offer of "free drink" helped in some cases. In others, a
steward provided the final solution: a discreetly administered shot right