don’t get proper responses, we’ll report them as hostile.”
ComOff gulps and says, “Sir!”
Then a new voice crackles out loudly, making them all jump. A male voice. “Q ship Unity ,” he says. “From Avalon. Do you read us now?’”
“Yes! We read you now, Unity .” The boy on the com runs hands through his sandy hair and glances across at Vaun with a huge grin of relief. He has been sweating.
Again the Q ship speaks, “Then don’t jack us around, mate! We’ve been twelve years on this jaunt, and we didn’t expect to make it for the last eight. Half the rotting junk on this hulk’s falling apart on us.”
That voice! Vaun knows that voice, and the hairs on his neck stir. Have any of the others noticed? If even he can recognize it, then the computers must have made a match…Yes, the secret vid has turned to yellow. That’s a tight-beam code from Roker. Yellow means Suspicious: further data required .
Suspicious, hell! Maybe Roker needs more evidence to justify destroying both a Q ship and a boatload of his own spacers, but Vaun has all the evidence he wants. The Brotherhood is on that ship.
Visual! Ult must see that speaker’s face. That will do it. Then the vid will turn purple, meaning Get the hell out of the way! Fast .
“Get a visual, ComOff!” Vaun snaps, but he knows that there isn’t going to be a visual. The Brotherhood is not so stupid. The sandy-haired boy speaks into a mike, and jiggles the toggles with his fingers at the same time.
The Q ship voice becomes garbled again.
Vaun looks at Yather’s sour stare and sees no help there. There’ll certainly be no help from Roker, who daren’t send up more than that tight-beam code. Avalonian technology is superior.
The comoff boy is at his wits’ end, and Vaun can sense the others’ growing unease. They’re all waiting for instructions. He’s going to have to make a command decision quickly, because without a course correction they will drift past contact.
If he makes the wrong decision, Yather will shoot to kill.
If he alerts the brethren, then Roker will.
If the brethren suspect what’s happening, then they will.
Oh well, he’s made no plans for the afternoon.
And suddenly there is a visual, a girl’s face peering out of the snowstorm in the tanks. A girl ?
“Hello Liberty !” she says. “Do you read me?”
She is speaking Andilian, one of the principal languages of Avalon. Almost no one on Ult can speak or understand Andilian.
Prior knew it, though. And Vaun does. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle again, and his scrotum clenches. Yather is showing his teeth, waiting for Vaun to utter just one single word of warning.
“Calling pilot boat,” the girl says, her voice crackling with static. “Do you read me?”
“She’s a sweetie, isn’t she?” MedOff inutters.
Is she, though? The image…the voice? With reception so poor they could easily be fakes, sims made by computer. Again Vaun looks to Roker’s signal, and it is still yellow—so Hiport isn’t convinced by that female image either.
The Brotherhood…If the Brotherhood is running that ship…The Brotherhood wants to know if Prior is aboard.
Vaun glances at Yather and gets a grudging nod.
“I’ll take it, ComOff,” he says in his unfamiliar commander’s tone. He thumbs a toggle. The girl shows no reaction, but the readings say that his image is going out. He turns his head momentarily, as if checking something on a side display; in reality he is letting them see his profile. The static and jabbering fall off sharply.
He looks squarely back at the com and speaks Galactic. Conscious of Yather’s jumpy trigger finger, he pronounces it Doggoth-style and a lot slower than he needs to. “Hailing Unity . This is Ult Command shuttle Liberty , Commodore Prior, commanding. Identify yourself, speaker.”
Silence…
Contact is coming up. Downstairs, Roker is also waiting, with a finger on a trigger. Silence…Are the brethren waiting for Vaun to
ComOff gulps and says, “Sir!”
Then a new voice crackles out loudly, making them all jump. A male voice. “Q ship Unity ,” he says. “From Avalon. Do you read us now?’”
“Yes! We read you now, Unity .” The boy on the com runs hands through his sandy hair and glances across at Vaun with a huge grin of relief. He has been sweating.
Again the Q ship speaks, “Then don’t jack us around, mate! We’ve been twelve years on this jaunt, and we didn’t expect to make it for the last eight. Half the rotting junk on this hulk’s falling apart on us.”
That voice! Vaun knows that voice, and the hairs on his neck stir. Have any of the others noticed? If even he can recognize it, then the computers must have made a match…Yes, the secret vid has turned to yellow. That’s a tight-beam code from Roker. Yellow means Suspicious: further data required .
Suspicious, hell! Maybe Roker needs more evidence to justify destroying both a Q ship and a boatload of his own spacers, but Vaun has all the evidence he wants. The Brotherhood is on that ship.
Visual! Ult must see that speaker’s face. That will do it. Then the vid will turn purple, meaning Get the hell out of the way! Fast .
“Get a visual, ComOff!” Vaun snaps, but he knows that there isn’t going to be a visual. The Brotherhood is not so stupid. The sandy-haired boy speaks into a mike, and jiggles the toggles with his fingers at the same time.
The Q ship voice becomes garbled again.
Vaun looks at Yather’s sour stare and sees no help there. There’ll certainly be no help from Roker, who daren’t send up more than that tight-beam code. Avalonian technology is superior.
The comoff boy is at his wits’ end, and Vaun can sense the others’ growing unease. They’re all waiting for instructions. He’s going to have to make a command decision quickly, because without a course correction they will drift past contact.
If he makes the wrong decision, Yather will shoot to kill.
If he alerts the brethren, then Roker will.
If the brethren suspect what’s happening, then they will.
Oh well, he’s made no plans for the afternoon.
And suddenly there is a visual, a girl’s face peering out of the snowstorm in the tanks. A girl ?
“Hello Liberty !” she says. “Do you read me?”
She is speaking Andilian, one of the principal languages of Avalon. Almost no one on Ult can speak or understand Andilian.
Prior knew it, though. And Vaun does. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle again, and his scrotum clenches. Yather is showing his teeth, waiting for Vaun to utter just one single word of warning.
“Calling pilot boat,” the girl says, her voice crackling with static. “Do you read me?”
“She’s a sweetie, isn’t she?” MedOff inutters.
Is she, though? The image…the voice? With reception so poor they could easily be fakes, sims made by computer. Again Vaun looks to Roker’s signal, and it is still yellow—so Hiport isn’t convinced by that female image either.
The Brotherhood…If the Brotherhood is running that ship…The Brotherhood wants to know if Prior is aboard.
Vaun glances at Yather and gets a grudging nod.
“I’ll take it, ComOff,” he says in his unfamiliar commander’s tone. He thumbs a toggle. The girl shows no reaction, but the readings say that his image is going out. He turns his head momentarily, as if checking something on a side display; in reality he is letting them see his profile. The static and jabbering fall off sharply.
He looks squarely back at the com and speaks Galactic. Conscious of Yather’s jumpy trigger finger, he pronounces it Doggoth-style and a lot slower than he needs to. “Hailing Unity . This is Ult Command shuttle Liberty , Commodore Prior, commanding. Identify yourself, speaker.”
Silence…
Contact is coming up. Downstairs, Roker is also waiting, with a finger on a trigger. Silence…Are the brethren waiting for Vaun to
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