only had Handler’s estimate of seventy-two hours to go on. It was probably just an educated guess. His host form might have longer, it might not; it might have far less. He would have to play it by ear.
The main thing was not to leave it too late to get back to Tangaroa. There might not be much margin for error.
To be on the safe side, Dev started a countdown timer on his commplant. Approximately sixteen hours had elapsed since he had data ’ported in, so he dialled the clock to 56:00:00 and set it going.
55:59:59
55:59:58
55:59:57
There. Now he had a rough guide to his remaining lifespan. How many people could say they knew, almost to the minute, when they were going to die?
Mr Harmer.
It was Sigursdottir, calling him back. Dev permitted himself a small, secret smile. He might have known she wouldn’t be able to resist for long.
Lieutenant Sigursdottir! To what do I owe the honour?
Don’t get all tumescent. This isn’t a social call. Have you looked at your map screen in the past couple of minutes?
Uh, no, not really.
Do.
Dev glanced at the screen and frowned. There was a new red dot on it, some distance to the south-west. To judge by the map scale, fifty-odd kilometres.
What’s that?
It’s a licensed scientific research vehicle, the Egersund , Norwegian-owned. I know that because I’ve cross-referenced its radar signature with the Triton maritime database, and also because it’s sending out a mayday giving its name and position.
It’s in trouble?
That’s usually what a mayday means.
But what sort of trouble?
Unknown. All we’re getting is the automated distress beacon. We’ve hailed, but no response. We’ve no option but to go in and help.
Hold on, you mean divert?
That’s exactly what I mean. It’s a rule of the sea. A mayday cannot be ignored, especially if you’re the nearest available ship, which we are. It’s our responsibility.
Do I get any say in the matter?
None at all. I’m telling you as a courtesy. We’re already changing tack. If you want to stick with us, then you can come along. Otherwise feel free to carry on on your own.
Dev looked to the right. The Admiral Winterbrook was veering away from its parallel course, trending westward. The gap between the boats was widening.
He was in a quandary. On the one hand, the sooner they got to the Tropics of Lei Gong, the better. The mission was, after all, time critical; they couldn’t afford to be sidetracked. On the other hand, he and Handler had gone to all the trouble of securing an escort of Marines, and now they were going to lose it? That would render the whole trip to Station Ares a waste of time.
There really seemed no choice but to stick with Sigursdottir and her squad.
Handler’s down below, snoozing, and we’re on autopilot. How do I alter course?
Log in to the navigation computer. The interface is pretty straightforward and self-explanatory. Just draw a vector line to the Egersund ’s position. The computer will do the rest.
Roger that.
Don’t want to be separated from us, huh?
It’s a big ocean. It might be tricky to hook up again. Plus, we’ve only just got to know each other, you and me. It’d be a shame to lose this connection we’ve got.
Mr Harmer, sincerely, give it a rest.
Dev followed Sigursdottir’s instructions, synching his commplant with the navigation computer, and the Reckless Abandon was soon coming about to match bearings with the Admiral Winterbrook .
55:55:13
55:55:12
55:55:11
12
T HE E GERSUND WAS enormous. Dev kept thinking the research ship couldn’t loom any bigger, but it kept growing.
It was like an oceangoing skyscraper. Its hull was solid and plain, unrelieved by portholes, a sheer metal cliff face. Its superstructure consisted of a bridge, an accommodation level, and a pair of towering derricks.
Licensed scientific research vessel , Sigursdottir had called it, but Dev couldn’t help thinking it was a whole lot
The main thing was not to leave it too late to get back to Tangaroa. There might not be much margin for error.
To be on the safe side, Dev started a countdown timer on his commplant. Approximately sixteen hours had elapsed since he had data ’ported in, so he dialled the clock to 56:00:00 and set it going.
55:59:59
55:59:58
55:59:57
There. Now he had a rough guide to his remaining lifespan. How many people could say they knew, almost to the minute, when they were going to die?
Mr Harmer.
It was Sigursdottir, calling him back. Dev permitted himself a small, secret smile. He might have known she wouldn’t be able to resist for long.
Lieutenant Sigursdottir! To what do I owe the honour?
Don’t get all tumescent. This isn’t a social call. Have you looked at your map screen in the past couple of minutes?
Uh, no, not really.
Do.
Dev glanced at the screen and frowned. There was a new red dot on it, some distance to the south-west. To judge by the map scale, fifty-odd kilometres.
What’s that?
It’s a licensed scientific research vehicle, the Egersund , Norwegian-owned. I know that because I’ve cross-referenced its radar signature with the Triton maritime database, and also because it’s sending out a mayday giving its name and position.
It’s in trouble?
That’s usually what a mayday means.
But what sort of trouble?
Unknown. All we’re getting is the automated distress beacon. We’ve hailed, but no response. We’ve no option but to go in and help.
Hold on, you mean divert?
That’s exactly what I mean. It’s a rule of the sea. A mayday cannot be ignored, especially if you’re the nearest available ship, which we are. It’s our responsibility.
Do I get any say in the matter?
None at all. I’m telling you as a courtesy. We’re already changing tack. If you want to stick with us, then you can come along. Otherwise feel free to carry on on your own.
Dev looked to the right. The Admiral Winterbrook was veering away from its parallel course, trending westward. The gap between the boats was widening.
He was in a quandary. On the one hand, the sooner they got to the Tropics of Lei Gong, the better. The mission was, after all, time critical; they couldn’t afford to be sidetracked. On the other hand, he and Handler had gone to all the trouble of securing an escort of Marines, and now they were going to lose it? That would render the whole trip to Station Ares a waste of time.
There really seemed no choice but to stick with Sigursdottir and her squad.
Handler’s down below, snoozing, and we’re on autopilot. How do I alter course?
Log in to the navigation computer. The interface is pretty straightforward and self-explanatory. Just draw a vector line to the Egersund ’s position. The computer will do the rest.
Roger that.
Don’t want to be separated from us, huh?
It’s a big ocean. It might be tricky to hook up again. Plus, we’ve only just got to know each other, you and me. It’d be a shame to lose this connection we’ve got.
Mr Harmer, sincerely, give it a rest.
Dev followed Sigursdottir’s instructions, synching his commplant with the navigation computer, and the Reckless Abandon was soon coming about to match bearings with the Admiral Winterbrook .
55:55:13
55:55:12
55:55:11
12
T HE E GERSUND WAS enormous. Dev kept thinking the research ship couldn’t loom any bigger, but it kept growing.
It was like an oceangoing skyscraper. Its hull was solid and plain, unrelieved by portholes, a sheer metal cliff face. Its superstructure consisted of a bridge, an accommodation level, and a pair of towering derricks.
Licensed scientific research vessel , Sigursdottir had called it, but Dev couldn’t help thinking it was a whole lot
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