"Dan Simmons - Orphans of the Helix" - читать интересную книгу автора (Simmons Dan)

"But we have to remember," said the red-band male, "that our goal was to avoid contact with
possibly troublesome human outposts on our way out of known space."
Res Sandre, the green now in charge of engineering, smiled. "I believe that we made that
general plan about avoiding Pax or Ouster or Aenean elements without considering that we would
meet up with humans -- or former humans -- some eight thousand light-years outside the known
sphere of human space."
"It could still mean trouble for everyone," said Patek Georg.
They all understood the real meaning of the red-band security chief's statement. Reds in the
Spectrum Helix devoted themselves to physical courage, political convictions, and passion for art,
but they also were deeply trained in compassion for other living things. The other eight
understood that when he said the contact might mean trouble for "everyone," he meant not only the
684,291 sleeping souls aboard the ship, but also the Ousters and Templars themselves. These
orphans of Old Earth, this band of self-evolving human stock, had been beyond history and the
human pale for at least a millennium, perhaps much longer. Even the briefest contact could cause
problems for the Ouster culture as well.
"We're going to go in and see if we can help ... and replenish fresh provisions at the same
time, if that's possible," said Dem Lia, her tone friendly but final. "Saigy├┤, at our greatest
deceleration figure consistent with not stressing the internal containment fields, how long will
it take us to a rendezvous point about five thousand klicks from the forest ring?"
"Thirty-seven hours," said the AI.
"Which gets us there seven days and a bit before that ugly machine," said Oam Rai.
"Hell," said Dr. Sam, "that machine could be something the Ousters built to ferry themselves
through the heliosphere shock fields to the red-giant system. A sort of ugly trolley."
"I don't think so," said young Den Soa, missing the older man's irony.
"Well, the Ousters have noticed us," said Patek Georg, who was jacksensed into his system's
nexus. "Saigy├┤, bring up the windows again, please. Same magnification as before."
Suddenly the room was filled with starlight and sunlight and the reflected light from the


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braided orbital forest ring that looked like nothing so much as Jack and the Giant's beanstalk,
curving out of sight around the bright, white star. Only now something else had been added to the
picture.
"This is real time?" whispered Dem Lia.
"Yes," said Saigy├┤. "The Ousters have obviously been watching our fusion tail as we've entered
the system. Now they're coming out to greet us."
Thousands -- tens of thousands -- of fluttering bands of light had left the forest ring and
were moving like brilliant fireflies or radiant gossamers away from the braid of huge leaves,
bark, and atmosphere. The thousands of motes of light were headed out-system, toward the Helix.
"Could you please amplify that image a bit more?" said Dem Lia. She had been speaking to
Saigy├┤, but it was Kem Loi, who was already wired into the ship's optic net, who acted.
Butterflies of light. Wings a hundred, two hundred, five hundred kilometers across catching the
solar wind and riding the magnetic-field lines pouring out of the small, bright star. But not just
tens of thousands of winged angels or demons of light, hundreds of thousands. At the very minimum,
hundreds of thousands. "Let's hope they're friendly," said Patek Georg. "Let's hope we can still
communicate with them," whispered young Den Soa. "I mean ... they could have forced their own
evolution any direction in the last fifteen hundred years."
Dem Lia set her hand softly on the table, but hard enough to be heard. "I suggest that we quit