Tachyon Web by Christopher Pike Page B

which was undoubtedly the case – five years.”
    “Boy, they must be bored by now,” Strem said, “cooped up for all that time.”
    Eric was impressed. Sammy’s earlier comment about the surface of the world being incapable of supporting life for the last century had not been contradicted. Apparently these people had gone underground, and into orbit, where they hadn’t simply cowered until the end. Probably using their world as a shield, staying in the planetary shadow, and ferrying materials into orbit from beneath the barren crust, they had constructed a flotilla larger than The Patrol’s. A pity that it had only a fraction of The Patrol’s speed. Yet that is what amazed Eric, that they should have the guts to challenge interstellar space at a snail’s pace.
    “How far away is the nearest star?” he asked.
    “For them,” Sammy said, “centuries.”
    “And you say you haven’t spotted any Patrol cruisers in the area?” he asked.
    “None,” Sammy replied.
    “And the cooler’s still contaminated?”
    “Yes.”
    Eric studied the ships. With all those blazing rockets, the aliens would have some coolant somewhere onboard. “This is a rear view. Are we behind the fleet?”
    “Roughly,” Sammy said.
    Eric glanced at Strem, who held his eyes a long time before big smiles filled both their faces. “Can we change direction and intercept them?” Eric asked Sammy.
    “We can alter our course toward them. For that, the drive would only have to be on for a moment. But to intercept them, we would have to kill almost our entire velocity. We’d heat up quick. We could explode.”
    “What are our chances of that happening?” Jeanie asked.
    “Excellent,” Sammy said.
    “We’ve got to try it,” Strem said. “We don’t have any other choice.”
    “You said we had plenty of options,” Jeanie said.
    “I’m the captain,” Strem replied. “I have to say things like that.” He rubbed his palms together hungrily. “I knew something would turn up.”
    “Granted that we don’t blow up decelerating,” Eric said, “can we realistically board one of their ships, find coolant, and get back out without being spotted? We look different, we talk different, and we probably smell different.”
    “I’ve got wigs in my case!” Cleo exclaimed. “I can dye them white and style them any way we want. And I’ve got my stage makeup. It would be a cinch to paint ourselves gold.”
    “What about our eyes?” Eric asked.
    “We could wear sunglasses,” Strem said.
    “We’re talking about sneaking aboard an alien vessel,” Eric said, “not going to the beach.”
    Cleo jumped to her feet. “Don’t you guys remember any of my band’s last show?” she cried impatiently. “We wore full-eye red contact lenses! They made us look like demons. I’ve got them with me. I can stain them green!”
    “In a crisis such as this,” Strem said, “it’s always nice to have an extraterrestrial makeup artist handy.”
    “As far as their language is concerned,” Sammy said, “we have a couple of points in our favor. Before I told you guys about the transmissions, I flipped through a few of their channels and I noticed several languages being spoken. The planet must have still been divided into countries when the nova started up. If we entered a ship, it might not be that unusual that we could not speak the local dialect. Also, I can set Excalibur ’s computers to decipher the languages. Whoever goes aboard could have a micro-translator implanted in one ear. Whatever was said would be immediately changed into English. This implant could also double as a communicator tied back to Excalibur . I’m right, Strem, in assuming your uncle has translators aboard?”
    Strem nodded. “With all the different types of people in The Union with whom a trader has to do business, a trader can’t get by without them. So many worlds have developed their own slang.”
    Eric was beginning to feel a mildly intoxicating combination of