Trident's Forge by Patrick S Tomlinson Page A

discomfort with flying, or a devilishly cruel sense of humor, Benson couldn’t say.
    The shuttle’s enormous interior was almost completely empty. To keep things simple, the diplomatic mission to meet the Atlantians had only a half dozen members, another half dozen support staff, and a four-member security detail. Add in the pilot, copilot, flight engineer, and com officer, and the entire compliment only reached twenty people out of the shuttle’s full capacity of just over five hundred.
    It was, in a word, overkill, but it was also the only viable option. Shambhala had a small fleet of quad-rotor helicraft among the equipment delivered by the Ark, but they were small, four-seat affairs powered by quick-discharging capacitor banks in place of traditional fuel-burning turbine engines. This made them phenomenally efficient and pollution free, but severely hampered their range before they had to be plugged back into the city’s electrical grid for a recharge. They were built for scouting and surveying duty, not transoceanic voyages.
    So a shuttle it would be. By pure happenstance, the Discovery was picked for the mission, as she had the fewest flight hours on her clock. She was the same bird Benson and Theresa had ridden down to the surface three years ago. She was named after one of the original quartet of NASA space shuttles from the late twentieth century, and one of only two that hadn’t met an unfortunate and fiery end.
    Benson counted that as a good omen, but still took great care to strap himself into his flight web so tightly that he could only breathe through his stomach. Then he shut off the false window panel and closed his eyes.
    â€œWhat’s the point of the window seat if you can’t enjoy the view?” The voice was Korolev’s. Benson looked over as the young constable sat down in his own seat on the aisle with an empty chair between them. The mission’s entire compliment couldn’t even fill the first two rows.
    â€œThe only view I’m going to enjoy is the outside of this beast while I’m standing safely on the ground. If you want my seat, you can have it.”
    â€œThanks chief, but you look like you’d explode if anyone hits the release on your harness.”
    â€œI’ll risk it. I’d rather be sitting all the way in the back anyway.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s the last part to crash.”
    Korolev snorted at that. “What is it with you and flying, anyway?”
    â€œThe only other time I went flying, I had a maintenance pod blow up with me inside it.”
    â€œBut you spent your entire life flying through space at fifteen thousand kilometers per second. It doesn’t make sense.”
    â€œThey don’t call them phobias if they make sense, Pavel.”
    His friend smiled and shrugged, then strapped himself in for takeoff. Korolev had been Benson’s only choice in the composition of the expedition’s personnel. He’d lobbied hard to borrow the constable from Theresa’s force and get him assigned to the security detail. Korolev was a good kid, and he had a history of loyalty and an aggressive streak about a kilometer wide that had only grown since he started playing defense for the Mustangs’ infant football team. It was probably the Russian blood in him boiling up to the surface.
    He’d even saved Benson’s life during the Kimura incident by ignoring orders to stay out of the bomb vault where the final showdown had taken place. Korolev took a few lungfuls of plutonium dust in the process of dragging Benson’s unconscious ass out of the irradiated compartment before he started glowing. All things considered, Benson was relieved to have him along.
    The expedition’s leader, on the other hand, filled him with somewhat less confidence. Administrator Valmassoi was a decent enough politician. He’d maneuvered the colony through several domestic crises ably enough, including the