Никанор Стариков – The Snipe’s Flight (страница 2)

The man looking at me was stranger, but … suitable. I was twenty five years old, but I looked on all thirty. Height about hundred seventy eight centimeters, as I in youth, but the body which was brought much more down, sports and strong. Not the muscleman, and it is rather runner on average distances: big shoulders, but without excess weight, muscle appeared under gray fabric of overalls accurately, without excesses. The person with correct, even a little aristocratical lines which, however, spoiled (or decorated?) couple of small scars: one thin thread over the right eyebrow, another – hardly noticeable on chin. «Working marks of Sergey Mironov» – I have assumed. Hair are thick, chestnut, randomly falling on forehead. And eyes … Blue. Bright, cold, as winter sky. In them there was neither shadow of pain, nor fatigue. There was caution. And unrestrained interest. The interest of the wolf who has got to new pack. «Well, Sergey Vasilyevich, – has addressed I reflection mentally, in the old manner. – Let’s get acquainted».

In ten minutes I have left latrine and have gone to the command bridge. The door with hissing has driven off aside, having opened panorama from which at me, for moment has intercepted breath. The bridge of «Scythian» was the small, filled-in muffled blue light. In the center there was big black leather chair of the captain, massive, with the cracked upholstery in which sat to me back of people. Before it there was main projection screen now showing the scheme of the ship and the counter of the return time before flying away. On each side there were three working consoles drowned in metal panels with flickering holograms and physical buttons, probably, in case of failures. Suddenly memory has prompted to me that the team consists from five people and one robot synthetics. My new memory gave names and positions, but not characters. Time to fill to me these gaps has come.

I have looked at the captain. Boris Lavrov known as the Beard. He sat in chair, having turned away from all, and muttered something in audio communication. The man under sixty, strong, as oak stub. His well-known beard, gray-haired and dense, resembled overgrown bush more. Weather-beaten face, with grid of deep wrinkles, especially around eyes which have been blinked now, studying indications. On it there was worn brown leather jacket which is put on over overalls – obviously personal mascot. From memory has emerged: the former military pilot of the Galactic Fleet of the Russian Empire, is fired for insubordination to the idiotic order. Flew on the Scythian twenty years. It is severe, but is fair, hates paper work. The in board if not to climb with councils for ship-handling.

I have translated the look to the right. There was the first pilot and the specialist in communications. Wow, woman. By the ship? And how stereotypes? And chick-pea of what is I. I in the future. Memory to me was quickly prompted, what is her name, by Alice Korshunova. High, thin, with sharp features and hairstyle under the boy of color of voronov covered about twenty eight years. Her long fingers flitted over the touch panel, adjusting something. The look concentrated, almost fanatical. I managed to get from memory scraps that she the brilliant graduate of civil academy of the Russian Empire, has run away from the prestigious passenger cruiser on this zhestyanolyot in search of the real flights and adventures. It is reticent, sarcastic, with the ship on first-name terms. Intellectual. Means, she is potentially valuable ally if to find with it common language.

Near it there was flight engineer. Gennady Sysoyev or just Gena. That that shouted at me in my compartment. Stocky, powerful, with hands of the smith and the person who, apparently, has forever stiffened in expression of slight irritation. By sight he was about forty years old. Now he dug in the open ceiling hatch from where sparks poured and the vile swearwords rich with technical terms and demotic expressions flew. There was also its file in my memory: the technical genius, can repair the hyper engine piece of chewing gum and blue insulating tape, but here its reports are continuous nightmare for accounts department. Rough, but clever fingers. The old friend of the captain, they together were at war. It is necessary to come into contact with him, but it is careful.

Shooter/attack plane. Vladislav Kozhin known as Kim. He sat on folding seat at back wall, cleaned something sorted, most likely, some weapon. By sight thirty or thirty five years. It is wide in shoulders, with shortly short-haired hair and quiet, almost dead-pan of the mercenary. The smooth movements perfected. The former soldier of the military case, has become mercenaries after its division was left without support and only he has survived. It is silent, speaks, only on business. Looks at all including on the captain, appraisingly, as on potential threat or the purpose. Professional. It is very dangerous. But its loyalty can be bought – not money, but respect for his skills and clearness of objectives.

And at last sintetik KI-7. Developed in three thousand hundred sixth. Similar synthetics were not any wonder now. They have joined human community for a long time and helped us with different spheres. Beginning from medicine, finishing with fighting. He asked to address him by the name of Ki. Stood at the distant terminal, not movably as statue. His body was humanoid, but without attempts to imitate the person: opaque gray composite, the head it is deprived of hair, with hardly planned features where two blue photoreceptors instead of eyes shone. It was thinner and higher than the person. Synthetics in this era as my memory prompted, was not either slaves, or the risen cars. They were the reasonable persons created for specific tasks with the limited, of course, but legitimate rights enshrined in the general galactic charter. In my opinion, they even had the labor union. KI-7 was responsible for navigation calculations, logistics and the analysis of data. It is logical, pedantic. Perhaps, the most objective crew member.

– Mironov! – the captain has bellowed without turning around. – Have you there in mirror admired? Your Gravikomp as?

Everything, except the concentrated Alice, for second have transferred to me look. The old instinct has not brought me and has worked ideally. I have got into Sergey’s role. Not with captation, but yours faithfully, which is demanded by the senior on rank and experience.

– Captain. Has carried out full diagnostics. The anomaly was in the phase equalizer, local failure. Has corrected. System in green zone. Are ready to flying away.

I spoke with confidence, putting persuasiveness which has learned for years of interrogations and recruitments in voice. Lavrov, at last, has turned in my party. His small, prickly eyes chinks studied me.

– Heard, you in hangar rolled. Has hit?

– The captain has broken from ladder. Accident. Will not repeat any more.

He has hemmed, and in it hmykaniye there was something like approval. The person recognizing mistake was appreciated above here, than the one who hides it.

– All right. Take the place at the second console. You will help Alice to verify navigation data and with the cargo declaration.

I have nodded and have passed to the console. Alice has glanced at me, her fingers have not stopped.

– Mironov. Packages three and seven show divergence in weight for 0,003%. Check on manual of gravikomp, it is its error or mistake in the declaration.

– Well, – I have answered, and my dexterous fingers have already stretched to the interface.

It was the most reliable way not to think of event metaphysics – to bury in specific, clear objectives. My new fingers were remembered, appear, that it is better to do, than my consciousness. Holograms responded on contacts, lines of data flowed on the holographic screen as familiar lines. The divergence in 0,003% was the chronic error of gravikomp of «Scythian» included in the logbook three more raids back. I have noted it in the report. Alice, having obtained data, only has hardly considerably nodded – the highest form of praise in its execution. Meanwhile the countdown on the main screen inevitably ate minutes. By the ship the start fever familiar to me on old army times before large operation has begun, only instead of ural there was starprobe vehicle here.

– Gene, pressure in highways of tertiary contour! – the captain has bellowed, keeping the eyes glued on the report.

– Normal, boss! – the muffled voice has reached from the hatch. – But docking coupling on the last legs. I said that it needs to be changed!

– Let’s replace. Do not grumble. After delivery it is surely replaceable. Kim, look and check external sensors.

Vlad, without having uttered words, has postponed clean weapon and has disappeared in corridor, moving with silent, predatory grace. I used turmoil finally to develop the area. With the permission of Alice I have received from her nod, this time angrier I have left from the bridge under the pretext of final check of gravitational traps in cargo compartment.