Prohibition of Interference. Book 1. Макс Глебов

projection displayed a list of failed systems in front of me. Nothing fatal has happened yet – the most important components of the fighter are duplicated, sometimes repeatedly, but a couple more of these gifts and the damage will become critical.

      I changed thrust vector sharply and went sideways, making the Split S maneuver, so I lost another few hundred meters of distance, but dodged another wave of missiles. A little longer and the anti-aircraft guns will start hitting me, and then – that's exactly the end, and missiles at this distance are much more effective.

      And then something changed in the picture of the battle, and I did not immediately understand what it was. I didn't really care about what was happening on the surface of the Moon, or anywhere else for that matter, except for the small patchsection of space where my fighter was doing a death dance. Meanwhile, a lot has changed. The cruiser tried to change course sharply toward outer space, and then shuddered violently several times, cracked and began to fall apart.

      “Seven, can you hear me?” The interference disappeared, but I could hardly hear Colonel Niven's voice, it was so weak.

      “I hear you, Number One. Observing the destruction of the rebel cruiser. The debris is captured by the gravitational pull of the Moon and falls to the surface.”

      “I'd like to congratulate you on your victory, Lieutenant, but there's nothing to congratulate you on – everyone lost in this fight. The base is gone, you have nowhere to go back to. I've got a couple of minutes left, it's all going to collapse here.”

      As if to confirm the Colonel's words, I heard a rumble and a shriek from the communications system. Nevertheless, a few seconds later, Niven was back in touch.

      “Most likely, no one will come here for years to come, maybe never. The civil war in the central worlds of the Republic has taken on far greater proportions than those you have been told. Chaos ensues, and no one will remember this far-flung base for decades to come,” the Colonel coughed heavily, “I don't care anymore, but you have no reason to die. If it had been like before, I would have introduced you to the Order of the First Consul – you've earned it. Except, I'm afraid, there will be no one to write the recommendation or put a resolution to it. I authorize you to land on the planet and lift the ban on interference in the lives of the natives. People there are just like us, and maybe even better, given what's going on in the Sixth Republic right now. Hopefully, with your help, they can avoid what we got into, if, of course, you see fit to help them do so. Part of the network of scientific satellites survived in orbit. I've already given your machine's computer the access codes to it. That's all I can do for you. Goodbye, Seven.”

      The Colonel's last words were barely audible, and after a few seconds I heard the rumble of the collapsing ceilings in my headphones again, and the signal was gone for good.

      I disobeyed the Colonel and landed on the surface of the Moon, but I couldn't find a single intact entrance to the base. I found nothing but piles of debris and many meters of rubble. The rebels even managed to destroy the Fifth Anti-Space Defense Battery, which finished off the enemy cruiser, before being annihilated. If there were any survivors on the lower levels of the base, I couldn't help them. After standing over the ruins of the base for a few more minutes, I returned to the fighter and started the engine.

      After circling the Moon, I steered the fighter toward the planet. Half of the blue balloon was in shadow, and I adjusted my course slightly to enter the atmosphere over the day's hemisphere. I was neither a historian nor an expert on evolving civilizations, but my year at the station and my close acquaintance with a very pretty research assistant awakened my interest in this subject, and I even picked up some knowledge. It's a good thing Letra left for the central worlds a month ago, and I was so worried… Who knows how her fate turned out in the chaos of the rebellion, but at least she's not now lying under tons of moon soil and slab debris in the ruins of the lunar base.

      Down there, according to the local chronology, the 20th century was approaching its midpoint. Electricity, oil, mechanical and electrical engineering, the internal combustion engine, automobiles, tanks, propeller aviation, the recent great war and the next one, by all indications even larger and more destructive, already knocking at the door…

      Hello, my new home!

      Chapter 2

      I faced an unfriendly welcome from the atmosphere. A space fighter is not designed to fly in a dense gas environment, especially if it has combat damage. Of course, fighters are quite capable of landing on planets in an emergency, but in doing so they exhibit the gracefulness of an ancient flatiron and overstress the engines by operating in extremely erratic modes, which leads to their rapid deterioration and sometimes failure.

      I tried to pilot my flying machine as carefully as possible, but already at an altitude of 60 kilometers above sea level the fighter's computer started beeping angrily, reporting new damage caused by the abnormal use of the march and maneuvering engines. Holes in the thin armor, punctured by the strike elements of rebel missiles, prevented the oncoming airflow from flowing normally around the fighter, which, at my speed, severely overheated the hull and the technical compartments directly beneath it, where important communications ran. The fighter was losing control. The computer was giving a very disappointing prognosis. I could count on no more than a couple of minutes of more or less controlled flight, and then the fighter would just start to fall apart.

      Now the vast forests of the eastern part of the largest continent on the planet stretched below me. When I was putting the fighter into the atmosphere, I was planning to land much to the west. More populated areas began there, but it was still possible to hope to land unnoticed. Now I had no choice, so as I descended a little more, I ordered the computer to eject the escape pod.

      A sharp jerk, an excessive overload, which caused my seeing red, a brief loss of consciousness… After all, the ejection system of a space fighter is not at all designed for throwing out of a capsule with a pilot in the dense layers of the atmosphere. The roar of the disposable braking engines, the crackle of the breaking tree trunks, the violent impact that shook the capsule and knocked me unconscious again. However, the battle suit quickly brought me to my senses by injecting the necessary cocktail of stimulants into my bloodstream.

      I don't know what happened to the computer that ejected with me in the escape pod, but for some reason it switched into voice communication mode. Although, maybe it was stipulated by some regulations and instructions, I do not remember.

      “Lieutenant Irs,” it sounded from the helmet's earpieces, “you made an emergency landing on the planet Earth. The escape pod is damaged on impact with the surface. Hull integrity is compromised. The life support test failed. There is no damage to the communication system. The power plant is functioning normally. External conditions are suitable for life. Your body condition is satisfactory.”

      “Where did the fighter crash?”

      “I have no way to pinpoint the exact location of the fall. The fighter crashed and partially burned up in the dense layers of the planet's atmosphere. Individual pieces of debris reached the surface ten to 30 kilometers west of the landing point of the escape pod,” answered the computer and projected on the visor of my helmet a map of the surrounding region with the area of debris dispersion.

      “Excellent,” I couldn't resist a caustic comment. The computer nonchalantly ignored my words.

* * *

      So, what do we have as an asset? Well, first of all, a livable planet inhabited by not-so-wild people. That last statement is a bit of a stretch, of course, but considering the circumstances, Lieutenant, I wouldn't be too picky if I were you.

      I know the basic aboriginal languages, thanks to Letra and her hypnolinguistic equipment. I remember local history rather superficially, but I have a pretty good idea of what has been going on here for the last hundred years, and the computer, if anything, will always tell me, so in this respect, I hope there will be no problems with naturalization.

      What else? I also kept some of the technical stuff, that this world is still 200 years away from. First and foremost, of course, is the computer that survived the landing and the remnants of the network of satellites in orbit. With a functioning communications system, that's a lot. Also, there are personal weapons, although I probably shouldn't, on second