Flight of the Outcast (19 page)

   Asteria shook her head. "Just that it's a patrol vessel in the Fringe systems," she said. "I suppose it will make a few runs to wherever there's trouble."

   "I've heard the
Pax
is transporting dignitaries all summer," Kayser said.

   "We're taking a new governor to a Fringe World," Dai said.

   Kayser asked, "How do you know that?"

   Dai shrugged. "I have a Cybot connection. I managed to get him to make a copy of our orders." He reached into his tunic and pulled out a temporary printout and handed it to Aster. "Happy birthday," he whispered so that only she could hear him.

   She took the sheet in surprise. "What—?"

"Read it before it evaporates."

   The item had the usual slick plastic feel of temporary printouts. Asteria unfolded it and read the first few lines:

FROM:
The Admiralty, RN HQ, Dromia, Corona

TO:
Commander C. K. M. Talan, Captain, RNS Pax

   You are ordered and charged to convey His Most Royal Highness the Princeps Corinth Kyseros to Central, Theron, where he will take office as Royal Governor—

The document in Asteria's hands vanished like a snowflake landing on a hot stove. She hadn't even finished reading it.

   "We're going to Theron!" she said, feeling cold. What if the Bourse demanded her return? Commandant Chen had asked for her trust, but what if—"Theron," Asteria said again, her voice choked.

   "Yeah," Dai said. "One of the Empyrator's grandsons is replacing Baron Kamedes as Royal Governor."

   "I know all about that," Kayser said. "My uncle told me."

   "Rear Admiral Vodros? What does he have to do with it?" Dai asked.

   Kayser couldn't keep the superior tone out of his voice. "Plenty. He and the princeps's father were classmates at the Academy. My uncle's in command of Fleet actions in that whole sector. When Kamedes got a promotion to System Director, my uncle recommended the princeps to the post. So the new governor is a friend of my family."

   Asteria swallowed. "The commandant must have assigned me to the
Pax
on purpose. I—there are papers I'm supposed to sign on Theron." The thought of being back among the Bourse made her feel queasy.

   "Yeah," Dai said. "I'll go with you. I'd like to see your home world."

   "I'm sure it's a fascinating place," Kayser said, his voice bland but his sarcasm leaking through.

   "After we deliver the Governor," Dai said, pointedly ignoring Kayser, "we're to hang around Theron for a few days for the ceremonies, and then we're to make courtesy calls on all the Fringe Worlds in that sector. They're pretty widely spread, aren't they?"

   Asteria nodded. "The closest system is more than twelve light-years away. There are only about five inhabited planets in the whole sector."

   "Probably we'll just perform routine patrols, then." Dai paused for several moments and then added, "When, uh, we get to Theron and you take care of, you know, your documents, are you going to spend any time on the surface?"

   "Why should I?"

   "It's your homeworld."

   "Not any longer," she said in such a firm tone that he didn't speak again.

   "Captain's busy," Stensen said after logging them into the ship's system. "We're reconfiguring B deck, so your berths aren't ready yet. We'll arrange for you to stay on station for the next three days or so, and then you can come aboard and receive your assignments."

   Their temporary quarters were not much better than the tiny cabin she had occupied on the
Stinger
. Asteria's room smelled stale. One of the lights did not work, and the bed needed a new mattress. On the other hand, she had a small viewport that allowed her a view of Dromia hanging in space.

   And she had a little money this time, the Academy's first issue of her small allowance. She treated Dai to a first-class meal in one of the several commercial restaurants on the station and felt astounded to rediscover the fact that food actually had some taste. Even the hydroponic vegetables were better than cadet rations at the Academy. They toured the station too, visiting all the locations available to the public. They watched a commercial transport take offheaded for Coriam, so it carried Aristo passengers. Unlike the battered Fleet vessels Asteria had seen, the liner was sleek and gleaming, a silvery spear that could extrude retractable wings for smooth surface landings.

The captain of the
Pax,
Commander Talan, was a woman of thirty-five, a little old for such a minor command. Her manner was brusque and businesslike as she handed out assignments. Dai was to serve with AI maintenance and operations; Asteria was to assist the engine crew. The Aristos drew better duties, serving as assistants on the bridge, aides to the officers, or "observers" in stations like astronavigation and weapons systems. Kayser was to act as captain's yeoman, an easy duty. It figured.

   Luckily, Asteria found her duties interesting. Lieutenant Skarne, the chief engineer, showed her the setup: the command center, located down on D deck just above the ion-propulsion engines, controlled the grav drive (rarely used, Skarne said, because the ship was only rarely in low orbit), the ion-thrust engines for intrasystem propulsion, and the trans-space drive for FTL. "Think of it this way," Skarne told Asteria. "The trans drive puts us into a secondary universe where we have mass but no dimensions—not in the ordinary sense. Yet every point in the subuniverse corresponds to some location in our time and space. So to take a shortcut between systems, we simply drop into the secondary, then orient ourselves—easy because we have essentially become a point, a singularity—and pop back out at the appropriate spot."

   "So travel is instantaneous."

   "Subjectively, yes. There's some duration, but it's measured in nanoseconds by ship time. We come back into normal space, make sure of our location—that's where astronavigation comes in—and then either jump again or switch to ion propulsion if we're entering a system." He said, "I suppose you know enough of theory to be able to tell me why we'd jump again?"

   "For long journeys," Asteria said promptly. "It's as if there are spots in the subuniverse that don't communicate with each other. You have to go in one way, travel to a different coordinate, and then re-enter the subuniverse to find the final vector to your destination."

   "That's about as clear as Varrian slime," Skarne said with a grin. "But I get your meaning." He looked at her. "You know that FTL is dangerous, of course. About one out of every ten thousand jumps destroys the ship."

   Asteria nodded. She knew that if the ship rematerialized in a space already occupied by anything with considerable mass—a small asteroid, perhaps, or even another ship—then it couldn't stay together, would explode into a million pieces. Cadets told each other such horror stories all the time, real and made-up.

   "There's also another danger this mission," Skarne said seriously. "Tetra probes have been reported in the sector. No battles yet, but we'll go in on high alert." He sighed. "It's frustrating— an enemy you can't negotiate with, can't even talk to. No one knows what the Tetras want or why they're so quick to destroy our ships. Even Raiders will negotiate."

   "Yes, sir," Asteria said flatly. She had no interest in negotiating with Raiders.

    "Very well. Now, control and operations. I suppose you've checked out on single-pilot trainers?"

   "Yes, sir."

   "This is completely different. We plug in with control helmets but no pressure suits. This is more cerebral than visceral. You've got to be able to juggle mathematics, physics, and keep on top of about fifty things happening simultaneously. I may be making it sound hard. It's actually harder than I make it sound. I'll let you observe, but you're not going to run the engines any time soon."

   "Yes, sir."

   "We don't have much to do as long as we're in ion drive. Starting the day after departure, I'll run you though some intensive simulations. If you seem capable, I may let you take a fighter out for a training session eventually. But you'll have to earn that." Skarne's tone softened. "Commoner, are you?"

   "Yes, sir, I am," she said.

   "So am I. Never make admiral, but so what? They don't have any fun. Keep to Decks B and D unless the captain sends for you to go to the bridge—and hope that doesn't happen, because it would mean you're in trouble. I've looked at your record, Locke. Nice grades, but I find a couple of notes that you have a tendency to insubordination. All right, I don't mind a little insubordination at the appropriate time, but try to keep a lid on it."

   "Understood, sir."

   "Stand easy. You're a legacy, right?"

   "Yes, sir. My father was Carlson Locke."

   "And?"

   Asteria blinked. She had become so used to her father's being known throughout the Academy that the lieutenant's evident ignorance came as a shock. "Uh—he was on the
Adastra,
sir," she said.

   "Oh, right," Skarne said. "Died in the attack?"

   "No, sir. He was injured. He died last year on Theron. In a Raider attack."

   "I didn't think there had been any Fleet action near Theron."

   "He was retired, sir. It didn't involve the Fleet."

   Skarne blinked several times, a faint frown drawing his eyebrows. For a moment, Asteria thought he was going to comment, but finally, he just said, "Condolences, Cadet. Well, a year is a long time, but if we find any of those Raiders in the Theron system, we'll try to avenge your father. Don't count on it, though. I've been aboard the
Pax
for seventeen Standard months, and we haven't fired a shot in anger in all that time."

   Asteria nodded, her throat tightening.

   Skarne opened his mouth and then closed it. After a moment, he sighed. "All right, we're disembarking tomorrow at 1200 ship time. I want you here and in an observing station no later than 1100. Earlier if you want to come earlier. I'll be here. Dismissed."

The ship buzzed with activity on the day of departure. As Skarne had suggested, Asteria showed up early to take her station— very early. He didn't react, but she had the impression that he was pleased. He installed her in an observer's seat and supplied her with a control helmet, although he explained that he was not activating the controls. "You'll see the readouts and get a sense of what we do," he said, "but you can't affect anything. Just watch and remember."

   For an hour before takeoff, the engine crew ran intensive diagnostics, making sure that everything was on line and working at optimal levels. At precisely 1200—in her helmet's visor she could see the time floating in yellow numbers off to the left—the engineers switched from station power to ship power. The readouts dimmed just a bit. Then the engine crew engaged the gravity drive and edged the
Pax
out of its dock. A second readout in red appeared, giving the distance from the space station in kilometers: .050, .85, 1.75…up to 100, when the readout turned green. It was now safe to switch to the ionthrust drive.

   The grav drive shut off silently. A moment later, Asteria felt a subtle shift in her weight as the ion jets cut in, their acceleration pressing her back at half a G. Nothing else changed— no roar, no explosive jerk, nothing. The whole story was told by numbers.

   A message addressed to her showed up in bright orange: "Work out a slingshot trajectory that will allow us to exit the system in six days."

   "Aye," she replied, and her response showed up in blue.

   She activated the calculator and worked at the problem. They could slingshot around Dromia, but that gravity push wouldn't serve their needs. It would take them weeks to move to safe jump distance. There was the possibility of looping around both Dromia and Coriam…more acceleration, but the orbital positions of the two planets were not well placed for such a maneuver…it couldn't be done. The only body in the system that might make it possible was the massive daystar, Corona 2. But they couldn't accelerate to the star in time to—

   Wait. She was thinking two-dimensionally, as though it were a trainer problem. They were in space—they could move freely in all three dimensions. So…try this…and this…calculate distances—

   She transmitted her solution: slip into a close polar orbit of Dromia, use that to slingshot toward the sun, then loop around the sun's south pole, picking up enough momentum to leave the system at right angles to the plane of orbit…not bad. A little more than six days, but close enough.

   A moment later, the chief engineer sent her a pat on the back:
Good work. Your solution is close to what we're going to do.