crews didn't actually know anything. They were watching a wall display relayed from Control. The officers in Control could feed them any data they liked. That didn't stop crewfolk from speculating.
Roxanny said, "The first one was too small. So's this one. They're not ships, they're just probes."
"Fast, though. 'Tec Gauthier, what's that?"
That, rising from the same Great Ocean island, was a larger dot, elongated, moving with the same amazing speed as the probe.
"That's a ship," Roxanny said. Headquarters would have to respond to that! Gray Nurse herself would not fight. She was a carrier. She was long and slender, built for spin gravity in emergencies, and she carried twenty fighter-recon ships. Roxanny belonged to the crew of the fighter Snail Darter.
Crewfolk numbered about two men for every woman, all between forty and eighty years old. Younger than forty, Command wouldn't trust your reflexes. Older than eighty, why hadn't you been promoted? In Sol system they'd been the best. Here, in this strange place, some were startled to find themselves average.
Roxanny Gauthier was fifty-one, and still one of the best. Lack of action didn't bother her. For two years she'd enjoyed Gray Nurse's modest rec facilities, kept herself in shape, competed ferociously in war simulations, and worked on her education. She enjoyed dominance games. Some of the fighter crew found her intimidating.
The Fringe War couldn't last forever. The forces involved controlled energies that were too powerful. If the Ringworld itself was getting involved, nothing would last much longer.
Gray Nurse came under power. Her nose swung around. The voice of Command--placid, not quite soothing -- said, "All fighter-recon crews, we will be passing through the inner system in fifty to sixty hours. You're on down time until then. Eat, sleep, wash. After you launch, you'll wish you had."
One or two crewfolk blew raspberries. Gray Nurse hadn't launched a fighter since their arrival ten months ago.
Launch was ferocious. Louis heard a whine from the cabin gravity generators, and a planet's mass settled on him and squeezed out all the air. That wasn't supposed to happen! Then--
-- discontinuity --
--the view jumped, navy blue masked by flame colors around a black disk. The flames died, leaving the sun a deeper black disk on black sky.
He could breathe again.
The ship's wall protected them from unfiltered sunlight by imposing a black patch on the sun. As Louis's eyes adjusted, he could make out stars, and here and there a spear of fusion light. A sudden starship zipped past, an advanced ARM design, too close.
Tunesmith said, "Sorry. I reworked the stasis field generator. The stasis effect was holding for too long. It would have left us vulnerable, but now it doesn't become active fast enough. I'll fix it. Is everyone all right?"
"We could have been crushed!" the Hindmost whimpered.
"Where is Hanuman?" Acolyte asked.
A virtual window appeared, and zoomed. "There, ahead of us."
The Fringe War was starting to notice Hanuman's tiny ship and the larger craft following four minutes behind. Tunesmith jigged and jogged to avoid dangers unseen. Ahead of them, Hanuman's Probe Two was jittering all over the sky. The black patch that covered the sun was expanding.
Tunesmith used the thrusters for a sustained surge; veered in the midst of the burn. The forward view went black, then cleared.
Probe Two was gone.
Louis had never had a chance to know the little protector. He asked, "Now, what did that accomplish, Tunesmith?"
Pyrotechnics sought them out, Fringe War weapons following Needle's jittery path. Tunesmith ignored all that. "What you've seen buys us nothing yet--"
Probe Two was back. It had moved, pulled ahead by a crazy quarter of a million miles. Tanj dammit, what has Hanuman done?
Tunesmith said, "We are constantly testing each other, aren't we, Louis? Let me show you what I have learned."
The puppeteer's orchestral scream drowned out Louis's, "Wait!"
Roxanny said, "The first one was too small. So's this one. They're not ships, they're just probes."
"Fast, though. 'Tec Gauthier, what's that?"
That, rising from the same Great Ocean island, was a larger dot, elongated, moving with the same amazing speed as the probe.
"That's a ship," Roxanny said. Headquarters would have to respond to that! Gray Nurse herself would not fight. She was a carrier. She was long and slender, built for spin gravity in emergencies, and she carried twenty fighter-recon ships. Roxanny belonged to the crew of the fighter Snail Darter.
Crewfolk numbered about two men for every woman, all between forty and eighty years old. Younger than forty, Command wouldn't trust your reflexes. Older than eighty, why hadn't you been promoted? In Sol system they'd been the best. Here, in this strange place, some were startled to find themselves average.
Roxanny Gauthier was fifty-one, and still one of the best. Lack of action didn't bother her. For two years she'd enjoyed Gray Nurse's modest rec facilities, kept herself in shape, competed ferociously in war simulations, and worked on her education. She enjoyed dominance games. Some of the fighter crew found her intimidating.
The Fringe War couldn't last forever. The forces involved controlled energies that were too powerful. If the Ringworld itself was getting involved, nothing would last much longer.
Gray Nurse came under power. Her nose swung around. The voice of Command--placid, not quite soothing -- said, "All fighter-recon crews, we will be passing through the inner system in fifty to sixty hours. You're on down time until then. Eat, sleep, wash. After you launch, you'll wish you had."
One or two crewfolk blew raspberries. Gray Nurse hadn't launched a fighter since their arrival ten months ago.
Launch was ferocious. Louis heard a whine from the cabin gravity generators, and a planet's mass settled on him and squeezed out all the air. That wasn't supposed to happen! Then--
-- discontinuity --
--the view jumped, navy blue masked by flame colors around a black disk. The flames died, leaving the sun a deeper black disk on black sky.
He could breathe again.
The ship's wall protected them from unfiltered sunlight by imposing a black patch on the sun. As Louis's eyes adjusted, he could make out stars, and here and there a spear of fusion light. A sudden starship zipped past, an advanced ARM design, too close.
Tunesmith said, "Sorry. I reworked the stasis field generator. The stasis effect was holding for too long. It would have left us vulnerable, but now it doesn't become active fast enough. I'll fix it. Is everyone all right?"
"We could have been crushed!" the Hindmost whimpered.
"Where is Hanuman?" Acolyte asked.
A virtual window appeared, and zoomed. "There, ahead of us."
The Fringe War was starting to notice Hanuman's tiny ship and the larger craft following four minutes behind. Tunesmith jigged and jogged to avoid dangers unseen. Ahead of them, Hanuman's Probe Two was jittering all over the sky. The black patch that covered the sun was expanding.
Tunesmith used the thrusters for a sustained surge; veered in the midst of the burn. The forward view went black, then cleared.
Probe Two was gone.
Louis had never had a chance to know the little protector. He asked, "Now, what did that accomplish, Tunesmith?"
Pyrotechnics sought them out, Fringe War weapons following Needle's jittery path. Tunesmith ignored all that. "What you've seen buys us nothing yet--"
Probe Two was back. It had moved, pulled ahead by a crazy quarter of a million miles. Tanj dammit, what has Hanuman done?
Tunesmith said, "We are constantly testing each other, aren't we, Louis? Let me show you what I have learned."
The puppeteer's orchestral scream drowned out Louis's, "Wait!"
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