Impulse by Dave Bara Page A

She was a new class of ship for interplanetary space travel and the fastest civilian ship in service. The outriggers were used mostly for transporting business passengers between High Station Quantar and Candle, which was the outlying station where most imports arrived first. Anything that got me to Candle quicker was fine with me, and
Cordoba
seemed like just the ticket.
    I shared a double berth with George Layton. John Marker took up the double behind us all by himself. He had obviously continued his drinking from our previous adventure and was sound asleep and snoring inside of ten minutes after we detached from High Station.
    It would be good to have friends I knew with me. Our relationships would obviously have to change due to the nature of our new mission, but even a familiar face or two in the Great Dark would be helpful.
    I liked Layton. He was easy to talk to, with an outgoing personality. We chatted about various aspects of our new mission, about how things would change due to serving on
Impulse
instead of
Starbound
and the like. I pondered how much to tell him about my orders from Wesley, or about the
Impulse
incident, or even about my encounter with Dobrina Kierkopf. I decided that protecting him from my private complications was the honorable thing to do, for now. Inevitably though, the conversation turned to personal matters.
    â€œSo where did you grow up anyway?” I asked. We’d been working together for two years and I realized that I didn’t know where he was from, a gap perhaps from being a bit too focused on my own training at the Academy.
    â€œAt KendalFalk, on the Northern Continent. Not far from your family’s North Palace,” Layton said.
    â€œI know it, though I can’t say I know it well,” I replied. “Since my mother passed away we haven’t spent much time at the North Palace. In fact I can’t remember the last time we were there.”
    â€œWhen you were sixteen,” said Layton matter-of-factly.
    â€œWhat? How do you know?” He shrugged.
    â€œYou don’t remember?” he said.
    â€œHonestly, George, no,” I said. He looked put off by that.
    â€œWe played against each other in a soccer match when you were in the juniors with New Briz Blues. I was with Shepperton Caledonian,” he said.
    â€œReally? I remember those matches! Summer of ’72, right?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œWhat position did you play?” I asked.
    â€œLeft back,” he said. That got me thinking.
    â€œI was right wing in our starting eleven!” I said. “We must have played against each other!” Layton sighed.
    â€œYou don’t even remember, do you?” he said.
    I got defensive. “What, did I do something bad?” I was worried I had.
    â€œBad for me, yeah,” he replied. Now he didn’t seem to want to talk about it.
    â€œWhat? Tell me!” I insisted. He sighed again and seemed to resign himself to telling me the story.
    â€œYou were sticking out on the right wing,” he started, “and since I’m kind of stocky and all, I was able to keep pushing you farther and farther out, cutting off your crosses, that kind of stuff. I was walking back up on a goal kick and one of my mates complimented me, and I said, ‘It’s easy, he always goes outside.’ Well, you must have heard me ’cause next time you got the ball you went inside and I was left holding my jock strap while you cut into the box and crossed to one of your strikers for the first goal. After that your confidence shot way up and I couldn’t handle you. Your side won 4-1, I think, and you scored the third. Caledonian cut me the next day.”
    I looked at Layton, rather embarrassed.
    â€œOh. So that was you?” I said.
    â€œYeah, Peter. That was me.”
    â€œSorry,” I said. He elbowed me in mock anger.
    â€œYou finished my soccer career early and I joined the navy. The next spring you quit when