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

through the passenger's clothing, to supplement the whopping load of tranq
already packed into the "midday" meal. "Here goes," Captain Yosef said. Before
SIPACUM could initiate the jump this time, the hull of Starqueen resounded
with a faint yet ringing clang and six several meters and telits went
wild. "Abort," SIPACUM said. "Evaluating damage from missile." "What?" the
mate sounded as if he'd been goosed. "Oh Lady Booda's bleeding cervix!" Trinn
Yosef moaned. "Another flaining pi-rat! Why can't TGW spread a little flea
powder?" He flicked on the inship comm. "Report!" Starqueen's Defense
Systemry, which was strictly that, could baste, fry, and bake any ship in the
Galaxy. As a matter of course SIPACUM had long since advised that two small
craft-presumably pilot boats or private yachts, maybe lost miners-were in the
neighborhood; i.e., within a hundred thousand kloms of the liner.* It
certainly had not occurred to Trinn Yosef that either or both might be in the
area by design. Or that one or both might presume to annoy him! After all,
Starqueen's DS fitting had been well publicized and as usual the media had
fallen for the glamor and given the Line and the * 100,000 kilometers: about
60,000 miles, Old Style 16 ship billions in free advertising. Superior
weaponry was supposed to be a deterrent, wasn't it? Well, Trinn thought
grimly, so is execution . . . "Forward cargo section holed," SIPACUM reported
blandly. "Conversion delayed until hull integrity is restored. Is return fire
desired?" "You're sure it wasn't a mistake?" Captain Yosef asked. The signal
was so close that the comm blasted it out at a volume that drowned SIPACUM's
reply and threatened eardrums. "Starqueen! Prepare to be boarded." "Hmp!
That's what I call a-" "Never mind," Trinn Yosef snapped. "Give the bastard a
direct answer. And when you fire, hold the beam an extra half-sec. Melt the
sisterslicer into a solid globule we can haul along as a trophy!" If he
swatted one fly hard enough maybe the other would go away and let him get on
with his business of hitting the Tachyon Trail. He still hoped to pick up one
of those lost days, at least. With the unipolymer plasteel and cyprium of its
hull sublimated away, the metal of that audacious bastard out there might
almost pay for the hole it had shot in him. The hole that was self-healing
right now. The con-cabin was quiet. Lights dimmed momentarily as one of the
many arms of SIPACUM main drew energy from the ship's drive, stored it in
enormous capacitors, and released a bolt sizzlingly powerful enough to rock a
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moon. An instant later Captain Yosef's straight, short-cropped hair stood on
end. The con-cabin's air crackled with ionization. Coronas formed on the ends
and sharp corners of every object. "Musla's . . . balls!" the mate gasped, and
it was the first time Yosef had ever heard him shaken. 17 Yosef was
astonished, if not shaken. He had hardly expected a yacht (which SIPACUM
clearly showed was the attacker) to be equipped with energy weapons. Usually
the pleasure-craft used drives not large enough to charge the devices. He had
a sudden deep-stomach feeling of having erred. "I.D.!" he demanded. "If you
are a duly constituted policer ship, ID yourself immediately. We are a
passenger liner-and loaded with passengers!" His hair lifted again as another
bolt hit Starqueen. "Damage sustained in peripheral DS," SIPACUM unemotionally
reported. Captain Yosef slammed a fist onto the console with force enough to