quarters on the Firestorm .
“You the lucky guy what’s going over there?” asked a heavyset man in shabby coveralls standing by the control panel.
Lucky? That wasn’t the word he was thinking of. John made eye contact with the person responsible for aligning the airlocks and the corridor between them. He hoped those skills were better than his English.
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Heh? Either you is, or you isn’t,” the man--Paul Simmons according to his badge--said.
“I’m the one going across to the Firestorm , if that’s what you’re asking.”
“’Course that’s what I was asking.” He paused. “You some kind of officer? You don’t look like one. She’s a warship, she don’t take tourists.”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information,” John replied, hoping the man would drop the subject.
“Eh?” Paul leaned in and whispered, his breath a mix of coffee and sardines, “You some sort of spy?” John’s shock must have convinced him of the veracity of his guess because he added, “Don’t worry, I seen lots o’ stuff I shouldn’ta. I won’t breathe a word to no one.” He winked at John.
“Your discretion in this matter would be appreciated.”
“Heh? I ain’t going to tell no one, don’t you worry.” He turned back to the panel and began entering commands with a speed born of experience. He continued to speak without looking up from the console. “There’s some insulation and gravity in the tunnel, but be sure you don’t take too long getting across. It gets mighty cold mighty damn fast.”
John nodded his understanding and started at the sudden sound of the seals from the first airlock popping. Grinding gears followed as the door opened.
“All set,” said Paul. “Now get across before you freeze.”
John took a deep breath and stepped into the chill of the ITT. His feet echoed off the metal plating on the floor, and his bag thumped loudly against his thigh. He worked to get his breathing under control before he met anyone from the other ship. He closed his eyes and walked the remainder of the way half by instinct and half by memory. Within moments he found himself standing in the decompression chamber on board the Firestorm . In a matter of seconds the grey door would roll open and he would be faced with his first view of the interior of a modern warship. He hoped he wouldn’t vomit.
Chapter 13
The door to the tunnel closed behind him with an echoing finality. The magnetic couplings secured to the ship’s exterior released and the ITT drifted away like a giant tape worm. The transport reeled it in until the large red painted square marking the airlock’s position on the hull remained the only sign of its presence. The words, Caution: Airlock Expansion Outlet. Do Not Block were emblazoned above, visible from over one hundred meters away.
He was trapped between the inner and outer hulls of the Firestorm . John wasn’t claustrophobic, but standing in the tiny space between the hulls was purgatory. Time stood still as the moment he dreaded arrived. Caught, like an insect in amber, he was paralyzed by the wait. The ship’s gravity pulled him to the deck as the locks popped and the door rolled open.
The glare from the yellow overhead lights blinded him as the smell of artificially circulated air assaulted his nostrils. John blinked as he took his first tentative steps on the Firestorm and was swept away by the startling familiarity of his immediate surroundings.
Not much had changed in twenty years. He noted the thick, armored walls, their sloping curves that followed the lines of the ship, and the typical neutral beige paint used everywhere by the UESF. Even their interior decorating tastes hadn’t changed.
A panel near the airlock door beeped, signaling its imminent closure.
John shuffled across the tile flooring and almost bumped into the two men waiting to greet him.
Large blue eyes gazed at him from within a chiseled face topped with
“You the lucky guy what’s going over there?” asked a heavyset man in shabby coveralls standing by the control panel.
Lucky? That wasn’t the word he was thinking of. John made eye contact with the person responsible for aligning the airlocks and the corridor between them. He hoped those skills were better than his English.
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Heh? Either you is, or you isn’t,” the man--Paul Simmons according to his badge--said.
“I’m the one going across to the Firestorm , if that’s what you’re asking.”
“’Course that’s what I was asking.” He paused. “You some kind of officer? You don’t look like one. She’s a warship, she don’t take tourists.”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information,” John replied, hoping the man would drop the subject.
“Eh?” Paul leaned in and whispered, his breath a mix of coffee and sardines, “You some sort of spy?” John’s shock must have convinced him of the veracity of his guess because he added, “Don’t worry, I seen lots o’ stuff I shouldn’ta. I won’t breathe a word to no one.” He winked at John.
“Your discretion in this matter would be appreciated.”
“Heh? I ain’t going to tell no one, don’t you worry.” He turned back to the panel and began entering commands with a speed born of experience. He continued to speak without looking up from the console. “There’s some insulation and gravity in the tunnel, but be sure you don’t take too long getting across. It gets mighty cold mighty damn fast.”
John nodded his understanding and started at the sudden sound of the seals from the first airlock popping. Grinding gears followed as the door opened.
“All set,” said Paul. “Now get across before you freeze.”
John took a deep breath and stepped into the chill of the ITT. His feet echoed off the metal plating on the floor, and his bag thumped loudly against his thigh. He worked to get his breathing under control before he met anyone from the other ship. He closed his eyes and walked the remainder of the way half by instinct and half by memory. Within moments he found himself standing in the decompression chamber on board the Firestorm . In a matter of seconds the grey door would roll open and he would be faced with his first view of the interior of a modern warship. He hoped he wouldn’t vomit.
Chapter 13
The door to the tunnel closed behind him with an echoing finality. The magnetic couplings secured to the ship’s exterior released and the ITT drifted away like a giant tape worm. The transport reeled it in until the large red painted square marking the airlock’s position on the hull remained the only sign of its presence. The words, Caution: Airlock Expansion Outlet. Do Not Block were emblazoned above, visible from over one hundred meters away.
He was trapped between the inner and outer hulls of the Firestorm . John wasn’t claustrophobic, but standing in the tiny space between the hulls was purgatory. Time stood still as the moment he dreaded arrived. Caught, like an insect in amber, he was paralyzed by the wait. The ship’s gravity pulled him to the deck as the locks popped and the door rolled open.
The glare from the yellow overhead lights blinded him as the smell of artificially circulated air assaulted his nostrils. John blinked as he took his first tentative steps on the Firestorm and was swept away by the startling familiarity of his immediate surroundings.
Not much had changed in twenty years. He noted the thick, armored walls, their sloping curves that followed the lines of the ship, and the typical neutral beige paint used everywhere by the UESF. Even their interior decorating tastes hadn’t changed.
A panel near the airlock door beeped, signaling its imminent closure.
John shuffled across the tile flooring and almost bumped into the two men waiting to greet him.
Large blue eyes gazed at him from within a chiseled face topped with
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