“It is now.” Whitey flopped down into the nearest acceleration couch and stretched his webbing across. “Things were getting dull, but you two promise to make them interesting again.”
“But you’re heading for the frontier, and we have to get to Terra!”
“So do we—now.” Whitey grinned. “As long as you promise to shake the old place up a bit. Besides, I have to see my publisher—I’ve suddenly run low on funds.”
Dar swallowed, feeling guilty, but Whitey looked around and bawled, “Who’s going to pilot this tub?”
“Who else?” Lona jumped into the pilot’s couch with relish. “I’d fly a mountain to get back to some good old-fashioned decadence!” She hit a few keys, and the spacer roared to life.
“I’ll take communications.” Sam slipped into the couch beside Lona and keyed the talker. “What’s the name of this tub?”
“I christen it Ray of Hope,” Whitey declared.
“Ray of Hope to Control,” Sam called, “outward-bound toward Sol.”
“Uh … come in, Ray of Hope.” Control was, to say the least, startled.
“Permission to lift off.”
“Permission to …? Uh—be right with you, Ray of Hope.” Dar could hear a squawk in the background before Control killed its mike. “Looks like we took them by surprise,” he said to Whitey.
“Not surprising enough.” Whitey frowned. “Who’s gotten to them?”
“Three guesses—which is two more than you need.” Sam keyed her mike again. “Ray of Hope to Falstaff Control. What’s the delay?”
“Uh … Ray of Hope,” Control stammered, “it seems you forgot to file a ballistic plan.”
“Ballistic plan?” Whitey bawled. “What does he think this is—a hop to the next planet?”
“Ray of Hope to Control,” Sam said grimly. “I thought ballistic plans went out when FTL came in.”
“Well—we have to make sure you don’t interfere with any incoming traffic.”
“Incoming traffic! What incoming traffic? The sky’s as clear as a verdict!”
Whitey chuckled. “As owner of this ship, pilot, I order you to lift off.”
“Yes, Grandpa,” Lona murmured, entirely too demurely. Then there wasn’t much talking, because they were plastered back in their couches for a few minutes as the Ray streaked up through the atmosphere.
Then the pressure eased off, and “down” gradually stopped being the back of the ship and became the deck, as ship’s gravity took over from acceleration.
“Coasting at nine-tenths maximum.” Lona spun her chair around and loosened her webbing. “I’d advise you stay in your couches, though; should only be about twenty minutes till we’re far enough out to isomorph into H-space.”
“We barely made it,” Sam said with a sour smile. “Remember that squawk in the background? That was Destinus.”
“Destinus?” Father Marco sat up, frowning. “Canis Destinus?”
“Why, yes, now that you mention it.” Sam turned to Father Marco. “You know him?”
“More than that; we’re related.” The priest seemed suddenly saddened. “He’s my father’s half-brother’s son.”
Dar frowned. “Wait a minute—that makes him …”
“Half a cousin of the brother.” Whitey turned to the friar. “The two of you were on the same planet, and he didn’t bother to say hello?”
Father Marco nodded. “And it would seem that he probably knew I was here. But then, under the circumstances, I suppose he wouldn’t’ve wanted to be associated with me.”
“Doesn’t sound like the overly sentimental sort.”
“To say the least,” Father Marco replied grimly. “In fact, I haven’t heard from him since I went into seminary; he was very upset with my choice of order. Thought I was horribly radical, that sort of thing.” He turned to Sam. “He’s been causing you trouble for a while?”
“Hunting us down,” Sam confirmed. “He seems to be working for the LORDS.”
Father Marco sighed and shook his head. “Poor Destinus! We knew he was keeping bad company, being in the government and all—but I didn’t know it was this bad … well!” He slapped his knees and sat up straight. “Looks as though I made the right decision, coming along with you.”
“How so?” Dar frowned. “Finding out about your half-cousin makes that much of a difference?”
Father Marco nodded. “Family obligation. It’s up to me to try to counter the damage Destinus’s trying to do to you.”
“Well, don’t be too hard on the boy.” Dar frowned up at Sam. “I mean, it’s not as if he were doing it on his own. He’s just acting for his bosses. They’re the ones who’re going in for telepath-hunting.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Sam’s lip curled slightly. “Do you think hardheaded politicians would really believe in telepaths? I mean, believe in ‘em enough to mount a major hunt?”
“Why else would they bring in their own ‘police’?”
“Because,” Sam grinned, “it makes an excellent excuse to immobilize you and me, before we can get Bhelabher’s resignation to BOA.”
“Could a governorship of a boondocks planet be all that important?”
“To the governor’s righthand man it could. Besides, even if the LORDS are planning to cut off all the outlying planets, that doesn’t mean they like the idea of governors who’re ready to get along without them very nicely, thank you.”
“A point,” Dar admitted. “That is a little deflating to the collective Terran ego. Which makes me think Myles Croft can’t be all that popular with BOA, either.”
“He always was an independent cuss, My was.” Whitey grinned, leaning back with his hands locked behind his head. “Myself, I think it’s just fine, seeing the outer worlds getting ready for Terra to ax ‘em”
“Ready? Eager, almost.” Lona was watching her data board. “About to isomorph, gentlefolk—tighten your webbing.” She frowned, and peered closer at her detectors. “Strange—that blip’s gotta be another ship lifting off from Falstaff.”
“Strange indeed.” Dar frowned, too. “There weren’t supposed to be any arrivals or departures for a month.”
“You don’t think …?” Sam began, but then the isomorpher kicked in, and reality turned very fuzzy for a while.
9
Out near the asteroid belt, on the Jupiter side, the solar system’s tapestry of gravity begins to thin out just enough for a ship to emerge from H-space. It’s not the safest thing to do, of course; there is a respectable chance of Jupiter’s gravity fouling the isomorpher enough to make the ship twist into that other realm where ships that nearly made it back out go to. Still, probability favors success; so, if you’re in a hurry, you might try it.
Dar and Sam were in a hurry, so Lona tried it.
Deceleration slammed Dar against his webbing. It was killing pressure, but it slowly eased off—very slowly; it took the ship’s internal field a while to win over momentum. When he could sit back and talk again, he did. “I—I take it we made it?”
“We’re in one piece.” Lona sounded offended as she scanned her damage readout. “Not even a split seam.”
“Didn’t mean to question your ability,” Dar said quickly. “It’s just—well, it was a little risky.”
Lona snorted.
“Not for my niece.” Whitey leaned forward and tapped the autobar for Rhysling. “The only kind of machine Lona doesn’t understand is a hammer—it doesn’t have any moving parts, let alone circuits. Anyone join me?”
Red light exploded off the walls and ceiling. Lona’s hands flew over her board. “That was a cannon bolt! Chug that drink and hold on!”