is to keep Vaun in line. The boat’s seating is nonstandard, altered so that he sits directly across from the commander. He may have a gun pointed at Vaun already, a spacer’s low-velocity slug thrower with soft bullets that won’t damage equipment much, or knock holes in a metal hull, but will spread human flesh like a tablecloth.
He probably has orders to use it before the flight is over, regardless of what happens with the Q ship.
Waiting. Vaun is ashamed of the tightness in his chest, the dryness of his throat.
He sneaks another glance across to the far side of the cabin, and again Yather’s eyes shine at him. Still watching. The last five years have been kind to Security Officer Yather, who is now Commodore Yather, but today he wears the humble plumage of PolOff Yather. His career has prospered since he met Vaun. He’s shed a lot of his beef, none of which was ever fat. Either his job no longer includes bullying people or now his rank is high enough that he doesn’t need muscle to show that he’s a big man. He’s still tall, and somehow the size of his bones is more impressive without all the meat cluttering them. He is still swarthy and suspicious. He still glowers darkly.
Vaun looks away.
And there is the Q ship in his tank. How could he have missed it earlier? True, it isn’t very impressive, just a smoke-gray, irregular bulk. Rounded, not jagged. It isn’t very big, either—the vids are estimating four kilos max axis, but nothing is going to be very accurate as long as the fireballs are on. It looks like a potato, not an ancient asteroid fragment blasted by the hellfire of space travel. This is a ship —a true star voyager, a rock —and compared to it, this shuttle is a mere toy. The insignificant smudge has raised Vaun’s pulse by thirty points.
“NavOff!” Vaun barks, making everyone jump, even himself. “How long now?”
The navigator clears her throat, peering at her board. “About fifty seconds, sir. Assuming they’re going for standard orbit.”
Sloppy answer…“Why wouldn’t they go for standard orbit?”
She flinches. “No reason, sir. Forty-four seconds.”
Vaun drops his eyes back to the tank and the interstellar visitor, edging now into a parking orbit that will be a very fair approximation of what Patrol standing orders call for. Considering that a Q ship travels almost blind, with all its observations screwed up by the singularities, this one is doing very well—certainly better than the legendary Gryphon that tried to orbit City Hall in Kilianville a few centuries ago.
In less than forty-five seconds the singularities will be turned off and the visitor will then be nothing but a hollow rock, an artificial satellite. Then he’ll find out who or what is aboard, and they will discover him already in place, on the job.
He toggles for close-up and notices a few tangles of spidery human artifacts, hinting at the complexities of the interior. He can see the singularity if he snaps his tank over to X-ray; then the Q ship blazes at both ends, where the rarefied ions of Ult’s uppermost atmosphere plunge into bottomless nothings and themselves become nothing. The singularities show little on visual, only a faint blurring that he suspects is mostly imagination.
Infrared shows seven hundred kelvins max…Hot lady! An icy spot around the entry nipple says refrigeration has survived the journey. Turned on already? Makes a boy wonder if Unity maybe expected this extrafast welcome.
The gravity meters are going nuts.
NavOff has set up a timer on Vaun’s board. 30…29 …Trajectory is getting very close to critical. This feels much less real than a Doggoth simulator. Any minute now Safety will start bleating warnings that he’s put his craft too close to the Q ship’s predicted orbital station—not too close for business eventually, but too close while the fireballs are on. Safety won’t let the pilot boat fall into a singularity, if only because its death scream would be a
He probably has orders to use it before the flight is over, regardless of what happens with the Q ship.
Waiting. Vaun is ashamed of the tightness in his chest, the dryness of his throat.
He sneaks another glance across to the far side of the cabin, and again Yather’s eyes shine at him. Still watching. The last five years have been kind to Security Officer Yather, who is now Commodore Yather, but today he wears the humble plumage of PolOff Yather. His career has prospered since he met Vaun. He’s shed a lot of his beef, none of which was ever fat. Either his job no longer includes bullying people or now his rank is high enough that he doesn’t need muscle to show that he’s a big man. He’s still tall, and somehow the size of his bones is more impressive without all the meat cluttering them. He is still swarthy and suspicious. He still glowers darkly.
Vaun looks away.
And there is the Q ship in his tank. How could he have missed it earlier? True, it isn’t very impressive, just a smoke-gray, irregular bulk. Rounded, not jagged. It isn’t very big, either—the vids are estimating four kilos max axis, but nothing is going to be very accurate as long as the fireballs are on. It looks like a potato, not an ancient asteroid fragment blasted by the hellfire of space travel. This is a ship —a true star voyager, a rock —and compared to it, this shuttle is a mere toy. The insignificant smudge has raised Vaun’s pulse by thirty points.
“NavOff!” Vaun barks, making everyone jump, even himself. “How long now?”
The navigator clears her throat, peering at her board. “About fifty seconds, sir. Assuming they’re going for standard orbit.”
Sloppy answer…“Why wouldn’t they go for standard orbit?”
She flinches. “No reason, sir. Forty-four seconds.”
Vaun drops his eyes back to the tank and the interstellar visitor, edging now into a parking orbit that will be a very fair approximation of what Patrol standing orders call for. Considering that a Q ship travels almost blind, with all its observations screwed up by the singularities, this one is doing very well—certainly better than the legendary Gryphon that tried to orbit City Hall in Kilianville a few centuries ago.
In less than forty-five seconds the singularities will be turned off and the visitor will then be nothing but a hollow rock, an artificial satellite. Then he’ll find out who or what is aboard, and they will discover him already in place, on the job.
He toggles for close-up and notices a few tangles of spidery human artifacts, hinting at the complexities of the interior. He can see the singularity if he snaps his tank over to X-ray; then the Q ship blazes at both ends, where the rarefied ions of Ult’s uppermost atmosphere plunge into bottomless nothings and themselves become nothing. The singularities show little on visual, only a faint blurring that he suspects is mostly imagination.
Infrared shows seven hundred kelvins max…Hot lady! An icy spot around the entry nipple says refrigeration has survived the journey. Turned on already? Makes a boy wonder if Unity maybe expected this extrafast welcome.
The gravity meters are going nuts.
NavOff has set up a timer on Vaun’s board. 30…29 …Trajectory is getting very close to critical. This feels much less real than a Doggoth simulator. Any minute now Safety will start bleating warnings that he’s put his craft too close to the Q ship’s predicted orbital station—not too close for business eventually, but too close while the fireballs are on. Safety won’t let the pilot boat fall into a singularity, if only because its death scream would be a
Similar Books
