"Timothy Zahn - Night Train to Rigel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zahn Timothy)

Most people probably never even wondered about it. In fact, at this point in
their journey, most people didn't even know the tracks were there. The first
thing everyone noticed when they first entered the Tube was the Coreline.
The official rundown on the Quadrail described the Core-line as an optically
coruscating pipe inside the Quadrail Tube of unknown composition and purpose,
which was rather like describing a bird of paradise as a flying thing with
colors. Ten meters in diameter, glowing and sparkling and flashing with every
color in the spectrum including deep infrared and ultraviolet the Coreline was
like a light show on caffeine overdose. At apparently random intervals
the pattern changes increased in speed and intensity, and most people swore
they could see the thing writhing like an overtensioned wire getting ready to
snap. The loose wire meshwork that encased the Coreline another dozen meters
out added to the illusion, looking like a protective safety screen put there
to protect passengers from shrapnel if and when the thing finally blew.
Fortunately, sensor measurements had long since proved that the writhing was
just another optical illusion. Those same measurements had also confirmed that
the aptly named Coreline did indeed run along the exact geometric center of
the Tube.
And that was all the sensors revealed. Most of the experts agreed that the
Coreline was the key to how the Quadrail system operated all except those who
insisted it was the fourth rail, of course but that was as far as anyone had
ever gotten. No scanning equipment compact enough to fit through the Tube's
hatches had enough power to penetrate the Coreline's outer skin to see what
kind of equipment was tucked away inside, and the more powerful warship-class
sensors couldn't penetrate the outer wall of the Tube itself. Information
stalemate, in other words, which was exactly how the Spiders liked it.
"Welcome, traveler," a flat voice said in my ear.
Speak of the devils. Adjusting my expression to neutral, I turned around.
A Spider was standing behind me, a gray half-meter-diameter sphere hanging
beneath an arching crown of seven segmented legs, the whole thing softly
reflecting the Core-line's ongoing light show. The whole thing was about twice
my height, with the sphere hanging half a meter above my eye level, which
marked this particular Spider as a maintenance drudge. That alone was
noteworthy; usually it was the smaller conductors who did whatever
communicating the Spiders deemed necessary. "Welcome yourself," I replied
wittily. "What can 1 do for you?"
"Where is your luggage?" it asked.
I looked back at the mass of bags being ferried up from
the shuttle, some of them starting to roll away as their owners keyed their
leashes. "Over there somewhere," I said, pointing. "Why?"
"Please bring it here," the Spider said. "It must be inspected."
I felt my stomach tightening. In all my previous trips aboard the Quadrail the
only times I'd seen anyone's luggage pulled for inspection was when the
Spiders' unobtrusive sensor array had already decided there was something
inside that violated their contraband rules. "Certainly," I said, trying to
sound calm as I tapped the leash button, hoping fervently that the bags
wouldn't embarrass me by dying halfway.
For a wonder they didn't, successfully maneuvering their way around the rest
of the luggage to where the Spider and I waited. "Shall I open them?" I asked.
"No." The Spider stepped over them and shifted to a five-legged stance, deftly