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commencing at ninety-one degrees right ascension. That will put you on
course, speed, and direction, and we devoutly hope, in time to make a new
rendezvous. Good luck, Lieutenant. Her voice indicated that he d need it.
He didn t like a 10g burn, even for 1.3 seconds. They d all black out. It
would be rough on the kids. But it would be a lot rougher to turn into
cinders.
You heard the captain, he said, turning first to Saraidh and then Nev.
Let s snap to it.
What ll we toss, Lieutenant? Nev asked.
Just about everything that isn t bolted down, Saraidh said, and probably
some of that. I ll start in the galley.
In the end they made up the required kilos out of material Saraidh knew could
be most easily replaced by Stores on the Amherst:
extra power packs; oxygen tanks, which accounted for a good deal of the
necessary weight; the mess room table; and all but one of the beacon missiles
the gig carried.
If Captain Fargoe decides you weren t negligent, Saraidh told Ross, her face
expressionless, as they both watched the articles
sliding out of the airlock into space, you won t have to pay for em.
What? Then he saw she was teasing and grinned back at her. I ve enough
I ve got to account for, thank you muchly, ma am, on this expedition without
paying for it, too. He kept trying to explain Kimmer s demise to himself and
wondering how he could have prevented it, if he could have.
Now, now, Ross. Saraidh waggled a finger at him. They were alone in the
corridor. Don t hang Kimmer about your neck. I
subscribe completely to the suicide theory. Temporarily of unsound mind due
to the failure of his plan. He might just have done it to be awkward, too.
I m not sure Captain Fargoe would buy that one.
Ah, but she d never met Kimmer, and I have. Saraidh gave him an encouraging
thumbs-up.
The moment of truth came two long, weary weeks later. The temperature inside
the Erica began to rise with its proximity to Rukbat, reaching an
uncomfortable level. Benden was sweating heavily as he watched the ominous
approach of the tiny black cinder of the system s first planet. That poor
wright hadn t had a chance to survive. Bender intended to.
Burn minus sixty seconds, he announced over the intercom. He hadn t
informed his passengers of the rigors of a slingshot maneuver. They d all
black out: if something went wrong, they d never know it. Meanwhile, he
hadn t had to endure Chio s suspicions or the sorrowful reproaches of the
other three women. He d done slingshot passages before, both actual and in
simulation.
It was mostly a matter of timing the burn properly just as the
ninety-one-degree right ascension came up on the nav screen. But he hated
blacking out for any reason, not being in control for those seconds or
minutes.
Nine, eight, seven, Nev chanted, his eyes glittering with anticipation.
This was his first slingshot. Five, four, three, two. . .
one!
Benden pressed the Burn button, and the Erica lunged forward. As he was
slammed deep into the pads of the contour seat, he knew the maneuver would be
successful and surrendered to the mighty g-forces he had just initiated.
Benden returned to consciousness, the blessed silence of space, and the relief
of weightlessness. His first glance was for the expended fuel.
Point-ninety-eight KPs left. It should be enough--provided the course
corrections were accurate. He had one last burn to make as they bisected the
Amherst s wake and then turned back to her at a sharp vector.
My compliments, Lieutenant, Ni Morgana said briskly, unsnapping her harness.
We seem to be well on our way now. I think the cook has something special
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for lunch today.
Benden blinked at her.
She grinned. The very same thing we had yesterday for lunch.
Benden wasn t the only one who groaned. They d added supplies at Honshu, but
the fresh foods were long gone and they were down to the emergency rations:
nourishing but uninspired. And that s all they had for the next two weeks.
When he was back on board the Amherst, Ross Benden was going to order up the
most lavish celebratory meal in the mess s well-stocked larder. When--and he
grinned to himself. That s positive thinking.
When the Erica s sensors picked up the cruiser s unmistakable ion radiation
trail, Benden was in the command cabin, teaching Alun and Pat the elements of
spatial navigation. The boys were bright and so eager to prepare themselves
for their new life that they were a pleasure to instruct.
Back to your pods, boys. We ve got another burn.
Like the last one? Alun asked plaintively.
No, matey. Not like the last one. Just a touch on the button.
Reassured, they propelled themselves out of the cabin and down the
companionway, dexterously passing Saraidh and Nev at the door.
A touch being all the fuel we ve got left, Saraidh murmured, taking her
seat. She leaned forward, peering out into the blackness of space around
them.
You won t see anything yet, Nev remarked.
I know it, she replied, shrugging. Just looking.
It s there, though.
And not long gone, Benden added, judging by the strength of the ion count.
He toggled on the intercom. Now, listen up. A
short burn, not like the last, just enough to change our course to match up
our final approach to the Amherst. In an aside to Saraidh he added, I feel
like a damned leisure-liner captain.
You d make a grand one, she replied blandly, especially if you have to
change your branch of service.
My what? Benden never knew when Lieutenant Ni Morgana s wayward humor would
erupt.
Lighten up, Ross. We re nearly home and dry.
Fifteen minutes to course correction. He nodded to Nev to watch the digital
while he contacted the Amherst. Erica to Amherst.
Do you read me?
Loud and clear, came Captain Fargoe s voice. About ready to join us,
Lieutenant?
That s my aim, Captain.
We ll trust it s as accurate as ever. Fire when ready Gridley.
Captain?
Roger, over and out.
Beside him, Saraidh was chuckling. Where does she get them?
Get what? Nev asked.
Are you counting down, Ensign?
Yes, sir. Coming down to ten minutes forty seconds.
Why was it time could be so elastic? Benden wondered as the ten minutes
seemed to go on forever, clicking second by second. At the minute, he flexed
both hands and shook his shoulders to release the tension in his neck. At
zero, he depressed the burn on the last ninety-eight KPs in the tank yawing to
starboard. He felt the surge of the good gig Erica as she responded. Then
all of a sudden the engines cut out with the exhausted whoosh that meant no
more fuel in the tank.
Had the Erica completed the course correction? Or had the engines stopped
untimely? The margin was so damned slight! And the proof would be the
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