Two ideas met in my head and collided with a bright spark.
Ned appeared. “Do you think that's good for the mission? After all-" I visualized, quite vividly, my head smacking a steel bulkhead. He vanished.
I scanned the gravity interferometer, charting the heavens along our path. I found my quarry only a little bit off our flight path; the disturbance was, I saw with delight, the perfect size. I reprogrammed the nav computer - we'd transect the storm in exactly seventeen minutes.
"What are you doing?" Trina asked.
"Pilot stuff," I replied. Then I made an indecent suggestion.
She acted shocked but her golden eye sparkled.
"I thought you'd never ask."
I'd noticed that the galley had tables which folded away and padding on all surfaces. It wasn't a galley at all, but a sexual playroom where one could eat between bouts. We left a trail of clothing across the cockpit, down the tube, and even into the galley itself - I found it shocking that the tiny tiger-striped garment floating across the cabin could actually reign in Trina's small but devilishly taut breasts. Part of the fun in zero g is matching orbital paths and mastering Newton's laws. After all, every action has a reaction, and every reaction has its own reaction, and so on, and so forth, so that before you know it you're literally bouncing off the walls. As a physicist, Trina of course knew all this in an abstract intellectual sense. But I could see she was gaining a new and intuitive appreciation for it. Tiny droplets of perfect sweat broke out on her golden forehead.
I had a feeling that the seventeen minutes was just about up.
I was right.
The good ship Blue Bean ran smack into the center of a Category-3 gravity storm.
"Ooop!" Trina giggled, as a sudden gravity wave smushed us together with a fleshy whuff. The next instant another wave pulled us apart. Then we mushed together again. We tossed up, down, back and forth, like puppets in the hands of some perverted and extremely naughty puppeteer.
"Oh! You bad boy!" Trina gasped, figuring it out. “You steered us into a gravity storm!"
I didn't reply. I couldn't, for somewhat indelicate reasons upon which I won't expound. The pulsing gravity storm seemed to give Trina new energy, and she was transformed. She was, in one word, incredible. In many words: athletic, acrobatic, tireless, eager, flexible, ingenious, creative, daring, playful, accommodating. And, finally, exhausting. Though not exhausted.
The storm ended, though we continued our contortions for some time. Eventually we crawled slowly back to the cockpit. I looked like I'd been mauled by a team of man-hungry Amazons. Trina appeared pleasantly cool and refreshed.
"Diz," she purred. “I have some questions about this mission."
Diz? No one, ever, called me Diz.
"Launch when ready," I said.
"We're going to Boff to steal the Time Oscillator. I understand that. But the Boffs hate us. One look and they'll start shooting. And I hear they look like broccoli-"
"Asparagus."
"Whatever. I can't help noticing that we don't look like asparagus. So how are we going to handle that?"
I gazed at her in amazement, hoping she was kidding. She wasn't. The Admiral hadn't told her. Of course, the mission had been thrown together quickly, and she'd been occupied studying theory and what little was known about the Time Oscillator until the last minute. But still.
"Well," I began-
"Captain diz Astor," broke in Ned. He stood beside me, dressed as an ancient bell-boy. I wondered what permanent damage was being done to my brain by these constant visions. Then I realized that Ned was calling me Captain. Of course, it was my rank, and I was in command of a vessel. But the term implied respect, a concept totally foreign to my relationship with Ned. Which meant either:
1. Ned had completely malfunctioned, or
2. Something was very wrong.
As much as I hated to admit it, if Ned had malfunctioned, that in itself would be something very wrong. Ned was perhaps more important than any of us. But as it happened, it was something else.
"There seems," Ned was saying, "to be a problem."
I raised my eyebrows. Hurry up, damnit, I shouted inside my head. Where I knew Ned would hear it.
"We're being tracked."
"Tracked? By who?"
Ned pointed up. Through the hull. Into space. “It appears to be an Etzan fast cruiser."
By Venus' hot and steamy butt - that was the worst news possible. I began scanning the control panel. “Range? Time to intercept?"
Ned shrugged. “The cruiser is close, but not closing. It seems to be holding station."
"Holding? That's strange," I said, scanning the nav panel for nearby space debris to dodge around. Nothing!
"That's what I thought," Ned agreed. He was suddenly sitting on a stool, hands folded on a knee. He leaned forward intently. “Especially considering the range it's holding at. At least, it seemed strange until I checked our external hull cams."
I waited, forming a mental image of my eyebrows climbing so high up my head that they started down the back side. Ned, of course, would see this and understand: Hurry.
He leaned forward further, as if to whisper in my ear. “We seem to have a rider."
I felt like I was three steps behind Ned. That was natural. I was three steps behind Ned. “A rider?"
Again he pointed up. “Metallic. One meter square. Atop the ship."
I felt a stricken look splash itself across my face.
"What is it?" Trina asked, finally fed up with this odd dialogue. Of course, she could see and hear only half of it, since Ned was a carefully-controlled, sentient, hallucination.
"What is it?" I whispered to Ned.
"Based on known Etzan preferences for explosives design and detonation delivery packages-"
Those words tend to seize one's attention-
"-it appears to be a Etzan flit mine. We likely picked it up at TL insertion."
Those words slapped me hard across the face, then kicked my skull. The Admiral had warned that the Etzans might try something - but they had been unexpectedly quick off the mark.
"A mine," I repeated dully.
"A mine?" Trina said inquisitively.
"A mine!" Ned said urgently.
"And the Etzan cruiser is just waiting for us to vanish into a puff of smoke."
"Well, a cloud of hot gas, debris, and plasma, actually, but you've got the right idea."
"Any idea what type of mine?"
"Oh yes." Ned examined his fingernails in a bored fashion.
"Is it survivable?"
He glanced up from what looked to be a perfect manicure. “Don't be silly. It's a plasma-antimatter mine. The cruiser is holding just outside the maximum blast radius."
I sat back. “Oh, good," I said, expecting for some reason to be blown up at that very moment. Somehow it wouldn't have surprised me. But we weren't. I waited another few moments. We still weren't.
I sat forward. “Well, I'll have to go get it."
"Go where?" Trina asked.
I checked our speed. Well into the trans-light regime. Ned was tracking my eyeballs, and knew what I was thinking.
"Not good," he said. “We can't slow down - that might detonate it. Etzans often use c sensors." He paused, then shook his head and muttered, "I don't like it. Very risky."
"No riskier than leaving it out there," I replied.
"True. Can the girl do it?"
I was offended. I had some sense of gallantry, no matter how anachronistic. “No. She can't. Besides, she's more important than me. I can't work that Time Oscillator."
"Actually," Ned corrected, "I wasn't thinking of you. I'm the most important one here. And since I'm inside you, I would prefer that you not risk me by strolling about outside."
I thought for a moment. It was dangerous, there was no doubt, and for a host of reasons mankind never suspected until the first TransLight drive was developed. But at least if anything went wrong I'd be taking Ned with me.
"Too
bad," I said.
CHAPTER 5. SPACEMINE
One of the most amusing historical misconceptions about outer space was the belief in its emptiness. While it is pretty much empty, that province happens to lie a long and exciting way from truly empty. In fact, deep space is positively cluttered with stray atoms of gas - hydrogen, helium, some nitrogen, even nitrous oxide (laughing gas, though how I found that out is another story), plus random ions and subatomic particles, and a host of other tiny bits. And therein lies the catch. For when you're moving appreciably faster than light through this not-so-empty void, all that stuff blows against you.
In essence, it's windy. Gusty, actually. Space is as calm and smooth as a mirror, until you hit a gas pocket. Then all those molecules tug and rip and yank at you. Since you never know when you'll go through a gas pocket, the danger is that while nattering about you'll get blown into the void. Not only has it happened, but no one it's happened to has ever been found. And while there are no first-hand reports, it seems a safe bet that spinning off into space isn't a very interesting way to spend eternity. The view's great, the accoutrements lousy.
I was well aware of all this as I suited up. But the fact was, I might not get blown off. And if I didn't risk go out there, I would get blown up. Certain death versus probable death. Not much of a choice. Once again I cursed my Uncle.
Blowing into space
is better than blowing up
but not by too much.
Then I cursed my alternate identity as Erran T. Scansion, and my haiku-addled brain. Ned agreed, with a wince.
I slipped into my space suit, a clumsily thick TL unit, and snapped on the helmet. A quick pressure check.
Trina's lips were moving. I turned on the speaker.
"What were you just mumbling?" she asked.
"Nevermind."
She frowned, was about to say something, decided not to, and instead asked, "Are you sure this is safe?"
I gave the helmet a hard twist. “I'm sure it's not safe."
"Well what am I supposed to do if you don't come back?" she said petulantly.
"You'll think of something. After all, you're the scientist." I was a little gruff, admittedly, at the notion of being blown into space and spending eternity adrift. It wasn't just the lingering awful death. It was the boredom.
"But-" she said.
I clicked off the speaker and shuffled into the lock, no bigger than a closet. A toothless Iron Maiden that nevertheless could gum you to death. I hit the switch and watched the pressure drop as the ship inhaled the air.
"No need to be nasty," Ned counseled.
"Shut up.”
The outer hatch irisced open. Stars, stars, and more stars. White, blue, red, and green. I was swimming in a sea of them. They were the au jus, I was the meat. They were a huge tapestry, I a single pixel.
Bowl of glowing stars
Eternity adrifting
what a way to g-
"Oh knock it off," Ned interrupted. “We're going to use a safety line, aren't we?"
We? We? I thought bitterly.
"It's my butt too," Ned said.
You don't even have a butt, I thought.
"An expression, is all."
"A safety line," I said aloud, "will do us no good. If we hit a gas pocket, it'll peel us off like a rocket exhaust blasting away an ant." Against the misty translucence of a distant nebula I glimpsed the sinister black occlusion of the Etzan cruiser. It looked plenty deadly, which I knew was a vast understatement.
Ned sighed. “Fine. Then at least follow the service channel between the starboard and port engines. That'll give us some protection."
I moved out, carefully pulling myself along. The stars in this particular section of the galaxy were thick enough to give off enough light to see a little. The good ship Blue Bean was a dull dark gray splotch against the darker black below me.
I worked my way into the service channel, a deep furrow carved into the ship. Hand over hand, I slid along it, using the various holds. Deep spacecraft, for complex reasons, were littered with odd protuberances, pipes and antennas and navigational surveyors, all of them strengthened against the solar wind and interstellar gases. But at the end of the channel, which I quickly reached, I would have to climb onto the skin itself, and be exposed.
"Hang on!" I cried to Ned, who of course had no hands, and leapt to my feet. My mag boots thunked onto the hull.
I actually felt Ned flinch - an odd sensation, as if part of my brain had temporarily relocated. I quickly grabbed the handholds and pulled myself forward. With Ned's direction I headed for the top center of the small ship. At least, it was the top center when the ship was squatting on its thick tripod landing pads.
I saw a satchel-sized metal disk, squatting evilly. It looked welded to the hull. The mine.
"What in Zot's name am I supposed to do with that?" I muttered.
Ned appeared, a ghostly translucence in the void. “I calculate that a number five spanner might be able to reach under it, through that electrical conduit," he said, pointing with one pale shimmering hand. He looked funny, floating in space without a suit.
Aren't you cold? I thought inanely, but said, "Fine." I dug a number five spanner from the tool belt at my waist, and wedged one end into the recessed channel holding the black cable of the conduit. I tested the long handle - it gave me a fair amount of leverage. This, I realized, just might work.
"Go ahead," Ned urged.
A long-forgotten piece of what I had once thought to be trivia surfaced in my brain. It came from a Fist lecture on Etzan mines.
"Don't these self-monitor for tampering? Are you sure this won't just set it off?" I asked suspiciously.
"I was worried about that at first," Ned said darkly. “But not anymore. Hurry, now."
In the back of my mind I was wondering what the rush was, and why Ned wasn't worried it would explode. But this was no time for debate. I yanked upward. The mine popped free and began to slowly spin off into space. At this rate, we'd probably be at a safe distance in a matter of months. I stared at it hanging there.
"Good. Now get inside," Ned urged. “Hurry."
"What's the Zot-infested rush? That thing isn't going to blow right here, is it?"
"Not a chance," he said grimly.
I stopped short, halfway back into the channel. “Wait. How could you possibly know that?" Peripherals like Ned only had so much information at their, so to speak, fingertips. They weren't magic.
Ned turned himself into a rapidly-ticking old-fashioned stopwatch. “I have a very good reason," he said through the face. “Which I'll explain later. Now get going."
"If you have a very good reason you'll explain it now," I said, not moving. I had a right to know what was going on. Every right, in fact. I idly looked around at the distant star specks. How scenic. So scenic, in fact, that their appreciation suddenly required some study. Perhaps a sonnet or three.
Ned read my resolve and caved. “Because," he said testily, "as soon as the Etzan cruiser detected you, it began moving in. The Etzans are now well inside the blast radius. And closing fast. Therefore, it is safe to conclude that the mine will not be detonated, since the blast would also destroy them."
I thought about all that for one millisecond.
"Exactly," Ned said, even before the shock registered on my face. He was quicker than a neuron. “They detected our tampering. Now they are coming. The mine is either a dud, or timer-controlled. “ His tone turned chatty. “I didn't mention it before because I didn't want to distract you. Oh, by the way, the Etzans will be in weapons range in ninety seconds."
I reached the cockpit in thirty.
Trina was staring mutely out the cockpit window at the blossoming shape. From this perspective it looked like a dagger.
I jumped into the pilot's seat and shoved the throttles forward while twisting us in an evasive corkscrew. I thought madly. A Etzan fast cruiser could manage c7. The Blue Bean could hit only about c4. As for weapons, the cruiser could carb
onize a planet. We were unarmed.
I knew all this as I stared at the consoles.
"Diz, dear," Trina said. Bless her heart; she was no pilot, but she was trying. “That's a big nasty ship. We better get our screens up."
Screen generators are heavy. And big. The good ship Blue Bean was light. And small. My stricken look spoke volumes.
"Oh my, oh my," said the Blue Bean's computer.
"My god," she yelled. “I knew we had no weapons. But are you going to tell me we have no screens?"
I shrugged. I wasn't going to tell her that. There was no need to tell her. Bright gal - no, bright brain - that she was, she'd already figured it out.
"Oh no, oh no," said the Blue Bean's computer.
Trina pointed at a monitor, which was tracking the Etzan ship with a long range lens. Two four-gun batteries were converging on us. The cruiser was so long, and those batteries so far apart, that we were about to be caught in a crossfire. From one ship.
There was no debris nearby. We couldn't hide. The Etzans were faster. We couldn't run. I swallowed my pride. It went down hard and sharp, like dry oatmeal. “Ned?" I asked. I hated asking him for help, but I hated being killed even more.
He flashed into pallid existence for only a moment, shaking his head. “We're goners," he said, then vanished. “I always knew you'd be the end of me," remarked his disembodied voice.
Trina punched me in the chest. “Well, hot shot? This is your end of things. What do we do?"
"I'm only three hundred and seven! I'm too young to die!" wailed the Blue Bean's computer. “I'm still under warranty! Perhaps we can reason with them! Maybe-"
"Lifeboat," I said.
CHAPTER 6. BAKEDBEAN
There was a very simple reason that a being of Ned's enormous intellect hadn't suggested the lifeboat: he was too smart for such a hopeless ploy. If the Blue Bean itself couldn't evade the Etzans, then the lifeboat couldn't hope to. Luckily I wasn't as smart as Ned. I was willing to take an impossible chance.
"At least," I joked as I elbowed Trina while grabbing for the controls and slamming the hatch shut, "we won't lose track of each other in here, eh?" While a space yacht, even a nice one like the Blue Bean, is by most measures a small place, it is a palace compared to a lifeboat.
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