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Southern Cross Dina Rogovskaya

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Title: Southern Cross

About the book "Southern Cross" by Dina Rogovskaya

Dina Rogovskaya is a famous contemporary writer. Her book The Southern Cross is a wonderful piece of space fiction, in which incredible adventures are closely intertwined with a detective story. Numerous dramatic intricacies, along with intriguing incidents and insurmountable obstacles that arise in the way of heroes, fuel our interest, not allowing us to get bored even for a second.

A captivating plot full of intriguing events, original and unforgettable characters, a captivating atmosphere of narration, along with an elegant literary style and rich authorial language, create all the conditions for reading and re-reading this wonderful novel more than once. After all, he simply cannot leave indifferent any fan of modern action-packed prose.

In her book, Dina Rogovskaya tells about the period of active exploration of outer space, when galactic expeditions have long been a thing of the past, and the future promised only the infinity of our Universe. The solar system is already well explored, and those who have the opportunity are increasingly choosing to make perilous journeys in order to discover new worlds and resources.

Clashes between clans, space battles, evil pirates, cunning smugglers and secret agents - all this amazing fantastic dimension full of intricate adventures, we observe through the prism of perception of its main character, a girl named Francis Morgan, who falls into the epicenter of events first of all because of his professional duty. She has her own code of honor, often horrifying to those around her, as well as her own principles, which also do not differ in peacefulness.

Dina Rogovskaya in the book "Southern Cross" presents to our attention a stunningly thought-out fantasy world in which you can meet the most diverse characters. Against the backdrop of an amazing space environment, we have to follow the development of truly shocking events: space battles, tribal wars, cunning intrigues and revelations of insidious plans. And in the center of all this chaos is an extraordinary young woman, who is characterized by courage, an extraordinary mind, and an enviable composure. Labor duty forces her to intervene in all these cosmic feuds, and she will have to show all her best qualities to the maximum in order to stop the lawlessness reigning around. However, she also has her own characteristics, with which it is sometimes difficult to reconcile others. Before us is a fascinating space odyssey, which will be interesting to read at any age.

Dina Rogovskaya

South Cross

The release of a work without the permission of the publisher is considered illegal and is prosecuted by law.

I don't remember the last time I was here. Probably after college. Yes, probably…

I wandered along the long gallery along the wall, on which the portraits of my great ancestors hung. They were truly great, they made history. In the moonlight, their faces looked especially ominous. Whom only among them was not! Real thugs, convicts, "bloody" generals, dictators, conspirators, usurpers... A bunch of sociopaths. One is scarier than the other. The last one is my father.

When I looked at his portrait, I was doused with the usual cold. I hate him and always have.

I was his curse. I was his only legitimate child and I was a girl. He brought my mother from the clinic, where she died from nervous and physical exhaustion. All the endless pregnancies after me were unsuccessful. After her death, he married two more times, choosing wives for himself, like breeding mares, collecting a complete medical history on them. But even here he failed - all their pregnancies ended either in miscarriages, or premature births, or the child was stillborn. And I was here. Before your eyes. Every day. And no infection took me. I knew that he had four illegitimate sons by four different women. But only I could inherit the Morgan empire.

I stood and looked into his eyes in the portrait. Yes, here she is, me. I'm standing here. Your daughter. And everything that has been built for so many centuries is now in my hands. You deserve it, dad. I am all you deserve.

I stood with my hands behind my back out of habit and my feet shoulder-width apart, and looked at my father like a sergeant at a private. I don't need your empire. I leave everything to my uncle. You hated him, maybe even more than me, although that's hardly possible. You hated everyone from my mother's clan. I'll leave everything to him, but I'll take some. I couldn't help smiling. I have never had such a beating heart before! Only when I was first in space, but even then I didn't experience the excitement that I felt today, going through the papers in my father's personal safe.

At first I didn't even know what it was. But when it dawned on me… I have to explain. A few hundred years ago, it was fashionable for people who already had everything to give, believe it or not… STARS. Yes Yes. There were even special certificates that contained the full specification of the luminary known at that time. Now I held in my hands a certificate for the luminary in the "Box of Diamonds", a nebula in the constellation of the Southern Cross. When my hands stopped trembling and I was able to think again, I made a decision. I'll fly there.

“I will fly there,” I said aloud and handed the paper to my uncle.

He looked up from his folder. After reading the document, he looked at me doubtfully.

- Are you sure?

– Absolutely.

“You will get as much money for this expedition as you need.

“Of course, this is my money,” my worse half grinned, while my better half hoped that my uncle did not dream of getting rid of me in this way once and for all.

From my ancestors on my father's side, I inherited almost all of their vices, I hope that almost all, and not their absolute set. Including cynicism and desperate adventurism bordering on madness. Very often, I just felt my blood boil, and I was drawn somewhere beyond the horizon like a magnet. So after college, I went to the flight academy. I didn't become a salon lady. My father was furious, and I was in seventh heaven when I opened the envelope from the academy, where I was informed of my enrollment. Flight Academy!!! The dream of any sane teenager at the time of galactic flights, and even such an insane person like me, even more so.

The release of a work without the permission of the publisher is considered illegal and is prosecuted by law.

© Dina Rogovskaya, 2017

© AST Publishing House LLC, 2017

Part 1
Earth

I don't remember the last time I was here. Probably after college. Yes, probably…

When I looked at his portrait, I was doused with the usual cold. I hate him and always have.

“I will fly there,” I said aloud and handed the paper to my uncle.

He looked up from his folder. After reading the document, he looked at me doubtfully.

- Are you sure?

– Absolutely.

“You will get as much money for this expedition as you need.

“Of course, this is my money,” my worse half grinned, while my better half hoped that my uncle did not dream of getting rid of me in this way once and for all.

From my ancestors on my father's side, I inherited almost all of their vices, I hope that almost all, and not their absolute set.

Including cynicism and desperate adventurism bordering on madness. Very often, I just felt my blood boil, and I was drawn somewhere beyond the horizon like a magnet. So after college, I went to the flight academy. I didn't become a salon lady. My father was furious, and I was in seventh heaven when I opened the envelope from the academy, where I was informed of my enrollment. Flight Academy!!! The dream of any sane teenager at the time of galactic flights, and even such an insane person like me, even more so.

My ancestors were not only without measure vicious and cruel, but also intelligent. The Lord, or whoever dealt with me there, when he turned away, having misfired with my sex, provided me not only with iron health, but also contained in me, perhaps, all the intellectual potential of previous generations. Thanks to what I succeeded in everything, no matter what I undertook. I squeezed everything I could out of the lecturers in the theoretical classes and brought the instructors to the practical to white heat. Soon I studied our poster fighter, and behind it the shuttle up and down to the last board.

And when we moved from simulation to real flying… I fell in love with a fighter jet. This is power, speed ... There is nothing more beautiful than the moment when such a colossus leaves the ground, obeying your hands on the helm ... This is pure, absolute delight. I flew, enjoying every minute in the sky, honing takeoffs and landings, aerobatics. I loved my plane, sensitive to all my actions, soaring above the clouds, and, blinded by the sun, I was on top of the world ...

Then we were transferred to shuttles. I remember how breaking through the atmosphere, I ended up in space. It was delight cubed.

They say newcomers to space have panic attacks, but not me. I wanted to fly further. There, behind the solar crown. But my instructor was with me, who knew me as flaky and owed his premature gray hair to me, but he tried to teach me everything that he brilliantly knew how to do himself.

- Cadet Morgan, down! he commanded harshly.

I reluctantly complied and have been raving about space ever since. Our flights were like those of a pigeon tied by its paw - a stretched rope always interrupts its flight and does not allow it to fly further. And I wanted to go further.

And now I have this precious certificate in my hands.

For several decades now, the owners of such papers have been flying to their stars, as they say, to check their property. A new round of the Gold Rush has begun. Someone found some unique minerals, someone valuable ore. Their production was being established, since the technology had already been developed and tested. Stations were built.

By this time the ships had ceased to fly linearly. A network of hyperspace passages was created, connecting more than a dozen visible constellations. People gave stars all over the sky. How absurd it must have been then, and how priceless this certificate was now!

But where to start?

“You need to apply to a special committee at NASA,” my uncle read my thoughts, “such expeditions take place with their mandatory representation on board.

I nodded and realized that before the start I have at best six months. Patience is the virtue that I have developed in myself for many years, using all my iron will for it. Patience, I told myself. And putting the certificate aside, I took up other papers, I didn’t want to give my uncle a chance to rob me.

* * *

Fortunately, as I said, I was not the first to come to NASA to claim my rights to the star. (It sounds crazy even now, what did it look like then?) However, by this day there was already a hierarchy of cabinets, seals of various calibers and an endless number of forms that had to be filled out. The fact that I was a military pilot with a permit to fly into space made life easier for me where the name did not save.

I had to shove all my ambitions and emotions away and sit in various waiting rooms for a week of my life. I even managed to avoid their medical examination, which is necessary for permission to fly - the conclusion of military doctors was still worth something.

Finally, the elderly general handed me the long-awaited license to purchase the ship ... and the second sheet.

- And what's that? I asked a little more annoyed than I should have.

“These are the captains for your expedition.

"I'll be the captain of my ship." I felt my eyes narrow, like my great-grandfather's in the "monster" gallery.

- You need a captain with experience in intergalactic flights. Here is a list of those who are currently on Earth and ready to fly. Conduct an interview, hire one of them and then you can buy a ship. Do you understand, Captain Morgan?

Military bearing took over, automatically stretching to attention, I answered:

- Yes, sir.

Going out into the corridor, I took out the phone, I already knew who I would hire. I immediately snatched his name from the list while still in the office. Richard Belford, 41, married with two children. I have always trusted my intuition, and I have always been partial to this name - Richard. There is something infinitely reliable and noble in him. I hoped that my intuition would not fail me this time. And I was not mistaken.

An hour later, we met with him at the platform on which the ships rose. From his look, I realized that he was far from the media and my face was unfamiliar to him. Okay, this gives me a head start.

“Have you been given the technical specifications of the ship necessary for such a flight, ma'am?”

- Dali, but I can choose the ship myself - I went to the site.

- I must approve your choice, the documents must be my signature.

“You put it in,” I walked, ignoring the clerk mincing behind me.

“Hi, George,” I heard and turned around.

– George? I looked at the dark-skinned kid.

The captain shook his hand and said to me:

- I fly with my team. This is my mechanic.

- Oh really? What don't I know yet? Who else will fly on my ship? I asked venomously.

So, is there room for me on my ship?

“I am the pilot on my ship. My eyes narrowed dangerously again.

- You are the second pilot in my team.

I closed my eyes and held back my rage. After a couple of seconds, I curbed the emotions that overwhelmed me and continued on my way. The clerk struggled to keep up. On another day, I would play dumb and listen to him for ten or fifteen minutes, and then ask a couple of "naive" questions. I love watching their reactions. But today I wasn't in the mood, so I just shoved the poor guy away and rushed to the end of the playground.

I did not see how, following the trajectory of my movement with their eyes, the captain and the mechanic quickly looked at each other, putting the clerk on his feet, and rushed after me.

I knew what I wanted. I always knew that at the first opportunity I would buy it. Here he is! At first I saw only the side, but now it was all in front of me. Pollux-class starship, this last one, the sixteenth. And even though I knew that even from a new one, half of the worthless parts would have to be thrown out of it and I would have to sort out the engine myself, I wanted it.

Are you sure, miss? the captain asked.

Without turning my head, I handed him my ID.

— US Air Force Captain Francis Morgan. I'm sure sir. Put your signature, - I could not take my eyes off the black, matte surface of the ship.

- Francis Morgan...

I realized that he heard about me. I wonder what exactly. I looked at the clerk.

“I'm taking this one,” I said.

Would you like to take a test flight? – stuttering, asked the boy.

“I won’t even start the engines,” I signed the documents on the tablet handed to me and the check, “deliver it to the fifth dock.” Sign the papers, captain.

Captain Belford chuckled and signed all the papers. The mechanic silently watched the procedure, but I knew that they both approved of my choice. On that we parted.

In the evening I drank in the gallery. It seems to have become a habit. Tomorrow I will begin a new period of my life. I will board my ship.

One of my ancestor, that one... No, that one over there... Yes, to hell with him. He was sent to hard labor for murder. So, he escaped and sailed across the ocean in a boat. Yes, he fled from Australia, and sailed to South America, where he lived for six months in the holy confidence that he had reached Africa. Then, of course, he moved to North America. Such a strong uncle, albeit an illiterate one. But illiteracy did not prevent him from finding oil in the south and gold in the north of the country already in the States. He became the first Morgan. And I am the last ... Such a glorious family of hangmen and convicts will stop on me ...

I looked at the wall next to the portrait of my father. Place for a portrait of his son. His heir. I found myself smiling rather ominously at my thoughts. My portrait will hang here. Francis Morgan. The first of the clan to cross space.

I saluted my father with a glass of his most expensive whiskey, and for the first time I felt at ease.

* * *

I spent the next month in the engine room of the Pollux. He had two powerful engines. George Sparks, our on-board mechanic, oversaw the repair work. I got in the way under his feet. He ordered me to take care of the left engine and, making sure that I myself, without his help, was able to bring a team of repairmen to mass suicide, took up the right engine.

There was not a single detail, nut or board that would not pass through my hands. The workers were not shy in expressions, watching me picking where they had just finished their work. I tightened loose bolts, loosened tight rims and straps, checked each board and each element if the board was “dead”.

“Penguins are brainless, so you are gone,” flew from my lips.

I noticed everything - cracks in bushings and pipes, low-quality metal in the cooling system. Everything was removed, ordered again, carefully checked, returned, checked again, and only then put back in place.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted, I slept like a log at night, and in the morning I was already in place, before the repairmen. George and I kept in constant contact and immediately informed each other about the defects found, and therefore our work was more or less mirrored.

After a month of such a race, the engines were in order. After a trial autonomous run, we gladly got rid of the repairmen.

The captain supervised the work on the ship itself and has already done a considerable amount of work there. The life support systems and the waste disposal system were checked and revised. Electrical and pneumatic compartments on the first deck. All hatches and bulkheads were debugged.

When I sought out Richard Belford among the workmen, all he said to me was:

- Go to the cabin, where Michael brings the control panels to life.

So many questions at once! Are we already on "you"? What is Michael? And what the hell is going on on my ship?!

However, I was there in a few minutes. Falling levers, unfinished contacts, broken indicators and panels, false light signals (red zone instead of green and vice versa), all this was the norm in ships that left the assembly line. Half of the blocks and relays were assembled on the coast of the Indian Ocean, and they were initially incapacitated.

I love this kind of work. Find the problem and fix it. And, of course, now I will not be up to my neck in machine oil, only in small holes from welding ...

When I entered the cabin, I did not see anyone.

“Hey,” I said.

Someone rolled out on a cart from under the dashboard on the left.

- Who are you?

“The captain sent to you,” I said, trying to make out a man in goggles, “I came to help. What have you already done?

- I'm fiddling with this block, - he pointed to the left wing of the huge control panel, - there is still a center and that side, choose what you like best.

At least I wasn't asked to run out for coffee, plus whoever you are.

- Excuse me, Michael...

- Seinfield. Michael Seinfeld, first pilot.

Seinfeld... Something familiar... Yes! His name is to interplanetary what Michael Jackson's name is to pop musicians!

- And you? He looked at me through welding goggles.

“Francis Morgan, co-pilot and owner of the ship—I like to label my property.

He raised his glasses and sat down. So my name means something to him too. I wonder what. About inheritance, about my blue blood or about a brilliant pilot with a slightly dumb reputation ...

- Captain Morgan? he asked.

- Yes sir.

He stood up and held out his hand to me.

- I'm glad to finally meet you. - The grip was strong, but mine was not sickly either. - Heard a lot about you.

- What exactly?

You recently lost your father.

Yep, legacy comes first.

“And you are a brilliant pilot.

Pilot next, well, okay.

– I will be glad to work with you.

Oh really?! Cynicism and skepticism are a family trait that is passed down from generation to generation, reinforced or weighed down by life experience.

“Wonderful, I’m there,” I waved my hand to the other end of the hall and, picking up my set of tools, proceeded to my new workplace.

The work fascinated me. Breakdowns and malfunctions were at every turn. What are they getting paid for anyway? Flimsy contacts, elements hanging on parole on boards, semiconductors that died during production.

I worked and thought that we would fly out in the best case in six months. But every day of work brought me closer to the long-awaited goal.

I was still tired, but that did not stop me from making a request to NASA and getting the most detailed maps of the Southern Cross at that time. A couple of calls, and they turned the Hubble in the right direction. Yes, I like to use privileges, otherwise what is all this for? All this way from the first Morgan to the last? So that I, their descendant, would not get lost in space.

The Southern Cross reigned in my mind. Pictures, maps, titles. "Casket with diamonds", Coal bag. Dark spot in the Milky Way. Dust that absorbs starlight. What kind of dust is this?

And the stars? Becrux, Acrux (there are two of them, by the way!), Gacrux, Decrux… What kind of language is that with such eerie sounds… or sound combinations? I don’t even know how to call it correctly… What is it? Greek? And what the hell is an exoplanet?! These meteor showers… Crucids? Yes they. How do they get there? Or where?

All these questions swirled in my head. My search engine periodically fell into a coma, but after a couple of strong blows, it continued to work, extracting all the information I needed from the network, which I processed over the next day.

I worked on the ship quickly and efficiently. During lunch breaks, we talked a little with Michael. Just like with George, it was business talk, consultations, troubleshooting, and nothing personal.

I don't need star disease boys. I suffer from it myself. Sometimes I caught myself that his face was strange, subtly familiar to me. Of course, I saw his photo in the press, but it was a familiar facial expression. Somewhere I saw him live. Long enough. But we were not represented. When could it be? I have always had a phenomenal memory for faces and events. But I didn't remember him. My head was so overloaded with information that I pushed the question aside for the time being, deciding that I would deal with it later.

In general, strange, but he was even pleasant to me. He did not flirt, did not climb with help, recognizing my professionalism with silent respect. I famously managed with tools, burners, soldered perfectly. In a word, my hands worked no worse than my head. But with all our talents, it took us another month to debug the console.

When we met at the main monitor and got it up and running, we shook hands and reported our triumph to the captain. In response, he immediately dispersed us on the shuttles. There were two. They were located above the engines and closer to the middle of the ship. On the diagrams, they were listed as 1 and 2. Michael and I spoke on the radio.

“I have a cracked dashboard that hurts my fingers,” I said, following the barely visible thin line with my eyes.

The captain intervened in our conversation.

- Which shuttle? he clarified.

“On the Castor… First, sir,” I amended quickly, but they had already heard.

Yes, I named the shuttle Castor, it seemed to me quite appropriate.

– I will order a panel for the disinfection chamber, I will also order for the shuttle. Do you need a panel, Michael?

- No, I'm all right, sir.

“All right, I’m off,” there was a click, and the captain left the conversation.

“Did you name the ship Castor?” Michael asked me.

“My Ferrari is called Leopold, so what? I muttered.

“I will have to name mine too, he cannot remain second,” Michael said seriously and continued, “we have Castor and Pollux ... What remains for me?

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

There were two twins, somehow the names were not saved for the third ...

Maybe Junior? - I heard in my earpiece.

“Mhh,” I muttered.

- What are you doing?

“I’m unscrewing an obliquely screwed nut on one very important fastener,” I said, groaning after each word, at the end of the phrase the nut flew off and recoiled from the wall of the cabin. - Damn it! I finally found her eyes.

- Yeah, - I picked up the nut, - the thread is completely torn off, I need to put another one. I don’t have any,” I said, rummaging through my tools. Do you have George?

- Yes, it does.

- I will come…

So another month or so passed. Jammed and buggy everything from hydraulics to mechanics.

“How are we going to check the landing gear, George?” I asked, taking advantage of the fact that the mechanic was fiddling with the engine on my shuttle.

"I'll check them myself," the mechanic said sternly.

And I was hoping to fly! During this time, I completed the required minimum sorties, so as not to lose the category. As if reading my mind, George said as he tightened another bolt:

“You're still flying, miss.

From the said phrase and his honey-velvet baritone, for a moment I felt like an absurd southern woman in impossibly puffy skirts. I shook my head and led myself into the shuttle's airlock, where everything had to be checked, from doors to space suits.

Two were needed for space suits. Michael quickly put me in one and did some testing. And here's what I've done. I had not done this before, for some reason it remained unworked, although it was strange. In a word, I coped, but I was extremely dissatisfied with myself. After testing the suit, I helped Michael out.

“You're too hard on yourself,” he said, freeing himself from the suit, “a man cannot be able to do everything.

The release of a work without the permission of the publisher is considered illegal and is prosecuted by law.

© Dina Rogovskaya, 2017

© AST Publishing House LLC, 2017

Part 1
Earth

I don't remember the last time I was here. Probably after college. Yes, probably…

When I looked at his portrait, I was doused with the usual cold. I hate him and always have.

“I will fly there,” I said aloud and handed the paper to my uncle.

He looked up from his folder. After reading the document, he looked at me doubtfully.

- Are you sure?

– Absolutely.

“You will get as much money for this expedition as you need.

“Of course, this is my money,” my worse half grinned, while my better half hoped that my uncle did not dream of getting rid of me in this way once and for all.

Then we were transferred to shuttles. I remember how breaking through the atmosphere, I ended up in space. It was delight cubed.

- Cadet Morgan, down! he commanded harshly.

And now I have this precious certificate in my hands.

But where to start?

“You need to apply to a special committee at NASA,” my uncle read my thoughts, “such expeditions take place with their mandatory representation on board.

* * *

Finally, the elderly general handed me the long-awaited license to purchase the ship ... and the second sheet.

- And what's that? I asked a little more annoyed than I should have.

“These are the captains for your expedition.

"I'll be the captain of my ship." I felt my eyes narrow, like my great-grandfather's in the "monster" gallery.

Military bearing took over, automatically stretching to attention, I answered:

- Yes, sir.

An hour later, we met with him at the platform on which the ships rose. From his look, I realized that he was far from the media and my face was unfamiliar to him. Okay, this gives me a head start.

“Have you been given the technical specifications of the ship necessary for such a flight, ma'am?”

- Dali, but I can choose the ship myself - I went to the site.

- I must approve your choice, the documents must be my signature.

“You put it in,” I walked, ignoring the clerk mincing behind me.

“Hi, George,” I heard and turned around.

– George? I looked at the dark-skinned kid.

The captain shook his hand and said to me:

- I fly with my team. This is my mechanic.

- Oh really? What don't I know yet? Who else will fly on my ship? I asked venomously.

So, is there room for me on my ship?

“I am the pilot on my ship. My eyes narrowed dangerously again.

- You are the second pilot in my team.

I did not see how, following the trajectory of my movement with their eyes, the captain and the mechanic quickly looked at each other, putting the clerk on his feet, and rushed after me.

Are you sure, miss? the captain asked.

Without turning my head, I handed him my ID.

— US Air Force Captain Francis Morgan. I'm sure sir. Put your signature, - I could not take my eyes off the black, matte surface of the ship.

- Francis Morgan...

I realized that he heard about me. I wonder what exactly. I looked at the clerk.

“I'm taking this one,” I said.

Would you like to take a test flight? – stuttering, asked the boy.

“I won’t even start the engines,” I signed the documents on the tablet handed to me and the check, “deliver it to the fifth dock.” Sign the papers, captain.

Captain Belford chuckled and signed all the papers. The mechanic silently watched the procedure, but I knew that they both approved of my choice. On that we parted.

In the evening I drank in the gallery. It seems to have become a habit. Tomorrow I will begin a new period of my life. I will board my ship.

I saluted my father with a glass of his most expensive whiskey, and for the first time I felt at ease.

* * *

“Penguins are brainless, so you are gone,” flew from my lips.

After a month of such a race, the engines were in order. After a trial autonomous run, we gladly got rid of the repairmen.

When I sought out Richard Belford among the workmen, all he said to me was:

- Go to the cabin, where Michael brings the control panels to life.

So many questions at once! Are we already on "you"? What is Michael? And what the hell is going on on my ship?!

I love this kind of work. Find the problem and fix it. And, of course, now I will not be up to my neck in machine oil, only in small holes from welding ...

When I entered the cabin, I did not see anyone.

“Hey,” I said.

Someone rolled out on a cart from under the dashboard on the left.

- Who are you?

“The captain sent to you,” I said, trying to make out a man in goggles, “I came to help. What have you already done?

- I'm fiddling with this block, - he pointed to the left wing of the huge control panel, - there is still a center and that side, choose what you like best.

At least I wasn't asked to run out for coffee, plus whoever you are.

- Excuse me, Michael...

- Seinfield. Michael Seinfeld, first pilot.

Seinfeld... Something familiar... Yes! His name is to interplanetary what Michael Jackson's name is to pop musicians!

- And you? He looked at me through welding goggles.

“Francis Morgan, co-pilot and owner of the ship—I like to label my property.

He raised his glasses and sat down. So my name means something to him too. I wonder what. About inheritance, about my blue blood or about a brilliant pilot with a slightly dumb reputation ...

- Captain Morgan? he asked.

- Yes sir.

He stood up and held out his hand to me.

- I'm glad to finally meet you. - The grip was strong, but mine was not sickly either. - Heard a lot about you.

- What exactly?

You recently lost your father.

Yep, legacy comes first.

“And you are a brilliant pilot.

Pilot next, well, okay.

– I will be glad to work with you.

Oh really?! Cynicism and skepticism are a family trait that is passed down from generation to generation, reinforced or weighed down by life experience.

“Wonderful, I’m there,” I waved my hand to the other end of the hall and, picking up my set of tools, proceeded to my new workplace.

I worked and thought that we would fly out in the best case in six months. But every day of work brought me closer to the long-awaited goal.

The Southern Cross reigned in my mind. Pictures, maps, titles. "Casket with diamonds", Coal bag. Dark spot in the Milky Way. Dust that absorbs starlight. What kind of dust is this?

I worked on the ship quickly and efficiently. During lunch breaks, we talked a little with Michael. Just like with George, it was business talk, consultations, troubleshooting, and nothing personal.

“I have a cracked dashboard that hurts my fingers,” I said, following the barely visible thin line with my eyes.

The captain intervened in our conversation.

- Which shuttle? he clarified.

“On the Castor… First, sir,” I amended quickly, but they had already heard.

Yes, I named the shuttle Castor, it seemed to me quite appropriate.

– I will order a panel for the disinfection chamber, I will also order for the shuttle. Do you need a panel, Michael?

- No, I'm all right, sir.

“All right, I’m off,” there was a click, and the captain left the conversation.

“Did you name the ship Castor?” Michael asked me.

“My Ferrari is called Leopold, so what? I muttered.

“I will have to name mine too, he cannot remain second,” Michael said seriously and continued, “we have Castor and Pollux ... What remains for me?

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

There were two twins, somehow the names were not saved for the third ...

Maybe Junior? - I heard in my earpiece.

“Mhh,” I muttered.

- What are you doing?

- Yeah, - I picked up the nut, - the thread is completely torn off, I need to put another one. I don’t have any,” I said, rummaging through my tools. Do you have George?

- Yes, it does.

- I will come…

So another month or so passed. Jammed and buggy everything from hydraulics to mechanics.

“How are we going to check the landing gear, George?” I asked, taking advantage of the fact that the mechanic was fiddling with the engine on my shuttle.

"I'll check them myself," the mechanic said sternly.

And I was hoping to fly! During this time, I completed the required minimum sorties, so as not to lose the category. As if reading my mind, George said as he tightened another bolt:

“You're still flying, miss.

“You're too hard on yourself,” he said, freeing himself from the suit, “a man cannot be able to do everything.

“You can,” I said, putting the suit back in its place.

“It's all a matter of experience.

I pulled the bulkhead behind which the suits hung, one, two.

- Jammed! Damn, is this damn ship going to shut down on the first try?! - I cracked my palm on the bulkhead.

- Move away, - Michael took up the bulkhead, and she obediently rode through the grooves, - you are annoyed.

- I'm very angry, - I was always honest with myself in my emotions, - I can't make it to the airfield, but the track is open all night.

- Track? What are you talking about?

- Track. They let me drive a Ferrari at night, let off steam.

He nodded understandingly. He's actually quite intelligent, this Michael Seinfeld.

“But I didn’t ride mine. It's in the hangar...

- What do you have? I quickly asked.

"Orion," he waved.

Recently, it has been fashionable for new models to give the names of constellations.

- Oh ... "Orion"? I murmured.

Even I haven't been able to buy it yet. They put me on the waiting list!

- Well, yes…

And you don't ride it? My eyebrows went up.

- Once.

– Nek… Are you normal? I asked.

He turned, but when he saw my face, he decided not to enter into a long discussion. I was crazy at the moment, and even I knew it.

- In Beauford.

- The best tracks! - that's it, my tower was completely demolished. - Did you finish here? Go!

- I have plans...

“Call her back, you have an urgent flight,” I was already rushing along the corridors of the ship to the exit.

He did not lag behind, deftly maneuvering between the workers.

“I can't cancel this meeting,” he said, finally catching up with me.

I felt the muscles in my face regroup and waited for a reaction.

“Today I can’t, honestly. - Sincere regret and a guilt complex that I skillfully formed, now put the squeeze on - individual muscles of my face tensed a little more, and he gave up: - But tomorrow I promise ...

“At night,” he nods.

On that we part.

* * *

The next day I barely waited for the end of the work and from impatience I was already ready to climb the walls. Michael took another look at the field of our last battle, the outer hatch of the Castor.

- That's all for today. Go?

Let's run!!! I jumped into my Ferrari and nodded to a seat beside me. He slowly sat up and carefully fastened his seat belt.

I took off. I could swear we rode the first few meters on our rear wheels. Michael was silent all the way to Beauford, although I agree it was difficult to speak. My car was flying, barely touching the ground. When we stopped at the entrance to his hangar, Michael caught his breath.

- I thought that stories about such speedometers were stories - that's all he said.

Where everyone had a zero, I had a hundred. I chuckled contentedly and, taking my bag, ran after him.

I never admire cars, I don't care what they look like, what matters to me is what's inside. So instead of clattering and stroking the hood, I quickly pulled on my racing armor and hopped inside.

“Well,” I said to Michael.

- What? he didn't understand.

- Key, - catching the ignition key, I nodded at the gate, - and the door.

He chuckled and pressed the button.

The door leaves trembled and crawled to the sides. I started the engine. A compliment to the mechanics of the hangar: my ear did not pick up a single false semitone. I impatiently pressed the pedal, warming up the motor, as soon as the distance between the doors became sufficient, I pulled away.

The last thing I saw in the rearview mirror was Michael closing his eyes. I flew to the track and at that moment I remembered him. Heck! I was covered with a veil of anger, rage and something else ... I can’t even describe the emotions that I experienced. I came to my senses on the third round. The speedometer needle stuck at maximum, the engine begged for mercy, but I could not stop. Rage drove me forward. Only when the arrow with fuel slid almost to nothing, I slammed the car into the wall of the hangar, threw my helmet at Michael, who was taken aback, and, jumping into my Ferrari, drove away.

I don't remember how I got home. I think the police had special orders about my car.

In short, I flew into the hall, Henry managed to give me a bottle of my father's whiskey, and the next moment I'm sitting on the floor in the gallery opposite the portrait of my father, drinking his whiskey from the throat of the bottle and smearing tears on my face.

“Bastard… I hate…” my lips spoke familiar words.

I didn't even turn my head to the sound of footsteps. I knew who it was. He sank heavily to the floor next to me.

“I knew it was a matter of time.

- Which one are you? I asked.

- Older.

- First. Firstborn… Son of a bitch… Son of a bitch! I yelled at my father's portrait and threw an empty bottle at him.

Glass splattered in all directions. Michael barely had time to cover his head with his hands and duck.

- What are you doing?! He stared at the canvas in horror.

- It's bulletproof glass. I can throw grenades at him.” I took the gun and fired, ducking Michael's head.

Counting the clicks of the ricochet, I said:

“Look, Morgan flew up to the eighth,” I let go of Michael’s head and took the second bottle, “he closed his precious portrait while still alive, I threatened that I would cut him.

He didn't know what to say. I took a sip from the neck.

- Do you like whiskey? Michael asked cautiously.

“I hate you,” I handed him the bottle, “I remembered you.

“I understand that,” he nodded.

- I was ten?

- Nine. I turned fifteen, and he decided to enroll me in a flight academy. We drove by...

My look said, "Don't lie."

“He showed me you.” He took a sip from the bottle and handed it back to me.

I nodded.

- The rest?

“I saw them too.

“I don't want to know anything about them.

“Okay,” he took the bottle from me again, “you have blood.”

- I know, slashed above the eyebrow. Glass. Nonsense.

- Francis...

My heart ached. For the first time in my life, my heart hurt.

- Are we going to have problems? Should I leave?

“I don't know,” I drank more whiskey and shook my head, “no. Stay.

He held out his hand to me and I shook it. We did all this without taking our eyes off our father's face.

- I'm sorry about the car.

He nodded.

“They will bring me such a Ferrari in three days. Take away.

He nodded again and took a sip of whiskey.

Why didn't he marry your mother? - I decided on one of the questions that tormented me.

“Her clan was against it.

Did he love her? I asked, surprised at the desperation in my voice.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “honestly, I don’t know.

Did he help you?

When did you find out you were his son?

“I always knew. Mom got married, but I was HIS son.

- Cool. Bastard, - I again took up the revolver, my hand described circles of a wide radius.

Michael confidently grabbed the revolver and placed it on his other side.

“I still have one,” I pulled out my service card and, putting it on the machine, generously slashed the portrait.

Michael ducked rather nimbly from the ricochet. I listened to the flight of bullets.

- Oh, Morgan the Fifth, and hello to you ... - I changed the clip.

“Seriously, that’s enough.” He gently twisted the gun out of my hand.

“Henry made me some more,” I grinned.

I believe, but that's enough.

And then I cried.

“Damn you… Damn you…” I was shaking, I wiped away my tears and threw the second bottle at the portrait. - Damn you!!! Rage and anger choked me.

I saw Henry silently appear and Michael hand over all the weapons to him.

I know where he will take it. This is my home, I said.

Michael took a deep breath.

- I know. Come on, get up.

I didn't want to go anywhere. One question was on my tongue, but I still wasn't drunk enough to ask it.

- Leave me alone. Henry! More of this swill! And you go, go ... Bye, first-born.

His face twitched. Or maybe I thought. The last thing I remember was that the gallery was spinning around me, and Henry flung open the doors with alacrity.

Why is everyone upside down?

Once more the interior carousel circles around me and I gently fall back onto the bed. Michael's face. How he looks like his father...

I must get drunk...

- You're already drunk.

- I have to find out...

“Sleep, Tia, baby, sleep…

* * *

In the morning at exactly seven I was there with a clear, but slightly ringing head. A cold shower and a couple of family recipes work wonders. Michael, too, was surprisingly cheerful. Without saying a word, we acted as if nothing had happened. We've worked well together over the last two months and we both appreciated it. We fine-tuned the pneumatics of both shuttles. The work was completed, as the captain informed us at the general meeting.

“Now,” he said, “we close all the systems together and start it up. If everything goes well, put the ship on the stand.

We revived. Finally, our departure became something real.

We quickly connected the systems to each other, I even distracted myself from the pushing pain in the cut eyebrow, which I casually covered with a band-aid under the condemning look of Henry.

“Still, I insist on calling a doctor, miss,” he repeated insistently.

“Henry, I beg you, it’s just an eyebrow.

It's your face, miss.

“This eyebrow, Henry, will heal.” I patted him on the shoulder and left the house, lowering my black glasses over my eyes.

This time the speedometer needle did not rise above one hundred and fifty, and this was the limit of my caution and prudence. Today I did not trust my hands, constantly controlling every action.

“We need to pump you up more often,” Michael grinned, handing me the tools, “you are so cautious and prudent ...

About the book "Southern Cross" by Dina Rogovskaya

Part 1 Earth

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Part 1 Earth

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Part 1
Earth

Part 1
Earth