"Bud Sparhawk - Primrose and Thorn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sparhawk Bud)

The relative calm following the storm was a blessing. Rams had managed to be blown only a couple
hundred kilometers south of his planned track through a combination of his skill and considerable luck.
All he had to do now was intercept the CS-42 track and pray that the storm hadn't forced her too far
from the projected track in his computer.

Rams checked the sail one more time and then prepared to come about. It was time to head on a
northerly leg. He buckled himself to the deck and released the hold-downs on the wheel. He felt a throb
reverberate though the deck as the rudder cut into the dense soup, far below. He imagined it to be
Primrose's heartbeat.

The hull began to sound a deep resonant note that echoed throughout the ship. "Damn harmonics," Rams
swore. He retracted the keel until the sound disappeared. Left alone, the wind blowing across the keel
would set up a destructive harmonic that could destroy the ship.

"Ready, girl," he whispered, turning the wheel ever so slightly to starboard. He put one hand on the
port-side jib release and waited. Primrose rolled to the perpendicular and then shook as her prow came
through the eye of the wind.

Rams hit the port-side release and switched on the starboard-side jib winch. In his mind's eye he could
see the mainsail whipping across the deck, slamming the traveler to rest on the opposite side as it turned
its port side to weather.

There was a clatter of chain against the pressure hull that stopped when the loose jib finally stretched
taut. Primrose heeled and started to pick up speed on the downwind leg. Rams held the wheel loosely,
searching for balance until he was confident that the ship had once more found her line. Only then did he
lock the wheel into place and relax.

He unbuckled the restraints and started to pour the last cup of tea from his thermos when he stopped.
Something was out of the ordinary, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Rams examined the instrument
panel. Everything seemed to be in order; no red warning lights that would scream that the hull had been
breached, no flashing indication that the rigging was damaged, no alarm telling him that some
life-threatening life support system was malfunctioning. What could it have been?

Then the infrared display flashed again. Rams started in surprise. There, on the screen, was a white
blobтАФa heat indication where there should be nothing but empty sky. A glance at the camera indicator
told him that the blob was off his starboard bow, just at the edge of the imager's range.

Quickly he released the wheel and spun Primrose about, pulling the jib tight and letting it backwind, just
as Jake had taught him. The winds buffeted the ship for a few seconds, rocking it from side to side until,
finally, the motion subsided. The ship was close-hauled into the wind, the pressure on the reversed jib
equal to the pressure on the loose main, and both constrained by the kilometers of keel beneath him.

He carefully turned the aft camera around, trying to find another indication of that heat signature. Several
times he thought that he had it, but was mistaken. Stare at a screen of random noise long enough and you
are likely to see anything you want. He continued to search.

Then he had it. A definite heat source, and quite close too. The object was moving at about the same