The navigator on duty on the Lancastrian Princess said, “Confirming position 33.76785.23.45.” The first digits were the sector—33 was Lancia.
It was the first time Ean had been in a different sector from the Lancastrian Princess since he’d started working for Lancia.
Helmo opened the comms to Abram Galenos, and to everyone on ship as well. “This is Captain Helmo, from the Lancastrian Princess, calling Admiral Galenos on Haladea III.”
“Receiving your call loud and clear, and in real time,” Abram said.
A spontaneous cheer went up from the listeners. For this was history. The first time two humans had ever communicated officially in real time between sectors.
“Ean?” Helmo asked.
Ean could hear and see the Lancastrian Princess as clearly as if the ship were nearby rather than half a galaxy away. Michelle and Radko were entering shuttle bay eight. Vega and two teams entered with them. He normally knew everything that happened on ship, so why hadn’t he known about Radko?
“Ean?”
He dragged his attention back to his job. “Everything looks normal. Are you sure you have moved?”
He didn’t need to ask, for the leaving of the Lancastrian Princess was already causing a flurry on both media ships. The producer on the Blue Sky Media ship was saying, “Find out where they went,” while Coral Zabi, the reporter from Galactic News, said, “We’re supposed to be part of the entourage. They could have told us where they were going.”
Captain Helmo laughed. “Look at the view from outside this ship, Ean.” He pushed the view through the comms to Abram, but not to Ean. He knew Ean would see it, anyway.
A purple-tinged planet. Lancia.
The shuttle exited from the ship, and Ean couldn’t see Radko or Michelle anymore.
Back in the common outer area, Bhaksir’s team were swapping gossip with Rossi’s bodyguards. Bhaksir glanced at Ean and looked as if she was going to say something, then thought better of it.
Ean forced himself to break the awkward silence that had fallen. “We’ve still got full comms with the Lancastrian Princess. It’s in real time.”
Even if they got nothing more from the eleven-line ships, this one ability, that of being able to communicate instantaneously between galactic sectors, would revolutionize trade. Communication within sectors was instantaneous. But to relay a message to another sector, a ship had to jump into that sector first. Until now. The companies that made a fortune providing message ships would lose out, but everyone else would win.
“And full comms with Lancia,” Ru Li said. “Look, all the latest shows.”
“You already have the latest shows.” Ean didn’t watch them; he hadn’t watched anything from Lancia in ten years, but the crew loved them. Helmo bought them in batches. They were no more than a week old.
“But these are happening on air, right now,” Ru Li said. “Look, Cry for the Stars.” He changed the channel on the largest screen to where a woman in a scarlet dress was kissing a green-tentacled alien—which looked nothing like the real aliens. “Happening right now.”
“Turn it off,” Hana said. “We haven’t seen last week’s episode yet.”
Ean sang a different channel up for them. This one was a news channel, with a striking black-haired newswoman with a high-class Lancian accent, saying, “Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Michelle, has arrived at Lancia and is believed to be making for Baoshan Palace to—”
Bhaksir turned it off.
No one looked at Ean. What didn’t they want him to know? Never mind. He could look it up later, in his room. For now, he had work to do.
He forced himself to stop thinking about what was wrong with Radko—and maybe Michelle, too—and spent the rest of the afternoon communicating through the lines with Sale’s team on the Confluence, with Abram on Haladea III, and Captains Helmo, Kari Wang, Wendell, and Gruen on their respective ships, testing what they could and couldn’t do between sectors.
He was so busy trying not to think about Radko that initially he didn’t notice the activity on the Galactic News ship.
“Wait,” he said, midsentence, and pushed through images from the media ship, where people were gathered around the new engineer, who was gesturing at a screen. “Something’s happening.”
They were watching a newscast, where the black-haired Lancastrian reporter was saying, “His Imperial Majesty is hosting a party tonight to welcome home his daughter, Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Michelle. There are rumors that an announcement will be made tonight.”
“I tell you, this is real-time,” the engineer said. The linesman. “The Lancastrian Princess only arrived there today.” He waved his comms at the man Ean recognized as the producer. “Call someone you know in the newsroom at Lancia.”
“What? I haven’t got time, Christian.”
“Do it, Coop. This is important.”
The producer took out his comms. “You’d better have a point to all this.”
“Trust me. You’ll be sorry if you don’t hear this. What’s the lag?”
“To Lancia? Anything up to an hour.”
Ships couldn’t communicate between sectors in real time. Or they hadn’t been able to before today. Other ships would record the message, then relay it after they jumped. A regular message ship jumped between the Lancian sector and the Haladean sector nowadays, but it only jumped every hour. In less-traveled sectors, the messages could take days, or even weeks.
The producer called up the Galactic News office on Lancia.
“This is Bob Cooper. Can I talk to Harper Fuji?”
The answer was immediate. “Coop. Haven’t heard from you in months. So they let your ship tag along with the royal yacht, did they?”
“I told you.” Christian slapped his comms triumphantly into the palm of his other hand. “We’re in real time.”
Cooper looked at his comms. “Where are you, Harper?”
“Where? Baoshan, of course. Covering the party tonight. If you’re down on planet, let’s meet for drinks.”
Baoshan was the capital city of Lancia.
Cooper looked at his comms as if it were about to bite him.
“Ean.” Bhaksir waved a hand close to his face, then stepped back quickly as he focused on her. “Admiral Galenos is talking to you.”
“Sorry.” He forced himself to concentrate on his comms. “Abram?”
“Can you turn instantaneous communication off for the media ships?”
The media ships were part of the Eleven’s fleet. “No.”
Bhaksir leaned over and said into Ean’s comms, “Begging your pardon, Admiral, but we’re also receiving and broadcasting real time on Confluence Station. We’ve already discovered we can get broadcasts from Lancia here.”
Abram blew out his breath. “Right. In that case, we might postpone these experiments for half an hour while I prepare a press release. I’ll call you when we’re done, Ean.”
He signed off.
When Ean turned away, Jordan Rossi was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, amusement leaking through his lines.
“Lambert strikes again.” He waited expectantly, then looked around as he was ignored. “What? No defense? Where’s Radko?”
“On leave,” Ean said, and tried to make it neutral, but Bhaksir said, at the same time, “Mind your own business, Rossi,” and Ean heard the interest quicken in Rossi’s lines.