The Senator’s face darkened. “At least we’ll have the stars.”
“Some of them. Not very many.”
“We’ll have enough,” the other said firmly. “All the planets we’ll ever need are within our reach right now. Provided, that is, we don’t have the Tampies standing over us telling us what we can and cannot do with them.”
Ferrol’s thoughts flashed back to the discoveries Amity had brought back from its first voyage—discoveries that had been overshadowed in both public and official minds by the excitement of Pegasus’ calving. “Oh, we’ll have enough room, all right,” he snorted. “But we’ll be giving up the rest of the universe in the process.
And maybe for nothing. Now that we know about sharks, the problems Demothi and everyone before him has had trying to control space horses make sense.”
“Yes; your ‘predator invading a non-predator’s mind’ theory,” the Senator said.
“You brought that up about every third question. So what do you suggest we do?
—web a shark and offer Demothi a chance to ride it?”
Ferrol clamped his mouth shut, the presentation he’d so carefully prepared and rehearsed over the past two days dying in his throat. The Senator was truly and totally uninterested in obtaining space horse capabilities for the Cordonale; his only interest was in robbing the Tampies of theirs. Period.
Had that always been his goal? Probably. Dimly, Ferrol wondered why he’d never recognized that. “Given your obvious disinterest,” he said tightly, “I suppose there’s really nothing to discuss.”
“As I said when you came in,” the Senator reminded him, standing up. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“I presume my commission with the Amity is still valid,” Ferrol continued, not moving. “If only because dropping me out now might attract unwelcome attention.
So. What about my ship?”
The Senator frowned. “What ship is—? Oh, you mean the Scapa Flow, What about it?”
“You told me when I signed onto the Amity that you’d be using it for private courier work,” he reminded the other. “Is that agreement still valid, or are all of my crewers officially off the payroll now, too?”
The other favored him with a long, speculative look. “I’ve never been impressed by people who try to keep their foot in the door on their way out,” he said coldly.
“I have no interest whatsoever in keeping my foot in with you,” Ferrol countered, matching the Senator’s tone. “I’m interested solely in the well-being of my crew.
You owe them some measure of financial security, at least as long as I’m still watching out for your interests aboard the Amity.”
The Senator’s lip twisted, but he nodded. “I owe them nothing; but I suppose I can go ahead and buy out their contract. If that will be satisfactory…?” he added with thinly veiled sarcasm.
“Quite satisfactory,” Ferrol nodded in return, getting to his feet. “Thank you, Senator; and for your time, as well.” He turned to go—
“Chayne?”
He turned back. “Yes?”
“If I were you,” the other said quietly, “I wouldn’t count on the Amity remaining in service for too much longer.”
Ferrol stared at him. “I don’t understand.”
The Senator smiled faintly. “You will.”
Two hours later Ferrol left the Defiance with the others and headed back toward the Amity. It was a long shuttle ride, which was fine with him. It gave him time to think.
An hour after arriving at the Amity, he was in the ship’s main communications room with a short, laboriously hand-coded message.
Even with their skyhook prices, the Cordonale’s tachyon transceivers were normally so jammed with messages that delays of twenty-four to forty-eight hours were not uncommon. But Ferrol’s status as exec of a major Starforce ship gave him an impressive priority factor, and barely thirty minutes later the central Earth transceiver relayed an acknowledgment of the message from the Scapa Flow.
The Senator might be willing to settle for a draw. Ferrol wasn’t… and if no one else was interested, then he and the Scapa Flow would just have to do it on their own.
Chapter 23
For the next four days the Amity remained in Earth orbit, waiting for orders, while conflicting rumors as to what those orders might be swept through the ship like a sequential set of gas leaks. When they finally came, it was a distinct anticlimax: Amity would return to Solomon to trade Man o’ War for its next space horse. The breeding program, apparently, would continue.
They were back in Solomon system an hour later, and within a few more had made orbit around the planet. There they were met by a Tampy ship and the cumbersome but reasonably straightforward process of switching space horses was performed.
Man o’ War and the Tampy ship left, leaving Sso-ngu and the other Handlers to settle in for a few hours of taking turns under the amplifier helmet—introducing themselves to the newcomer, Rrin-saa had once tried to explain it. The same hours on Amity’s human half were considerably less filled, with activities consisting mainly of last minute checks, idle conversation, and practice in saying “Sleipnir”
instead of “Man o’ War” when referring to the source of the ship’s main motive power.
Several days were normally allotted for the welcoming/acclimation procedure. But Sleipnir was a quick study; or else the extensive practice Amity’s assembly-line schedule had forced on its Handlers was beginning to pay off. Whichever, within a single day—less than forty-eight hours after leaving Earth—Amity was ready.
And for the next six weeks, as per orders, that was how it remained. In Solomon orbit, and ready.
“Sorry to wake you, sir,” the bridge officer said apologetically. “But the overcode on this was marked ‘urgent.’ ”
“That’s all right,” Roman assured her, rubbing the last bits of sleep from his eyes and shrugging on a robe before switching on the intercom’s visual. He keyed in to the laser comm circuit—“Solomon tachyon station, this is Captain Roman,” he identified himself. “Acceptance code follows.” He keyed the sequence into his terminal.
“Acknowledged,” the station said a few seconds later. “Beginning transmission.”
Roman leaned forward, mentally crossing his fingers. If this wasn’t, in fact, some kind of orders—
TO RESEARCH SHIP AMITY, SOLOMON: FROM COMMANDER
STARFORCE BORDERSHIPS EXTENSION, PRE-PYAT:
:::URGENT-ONE:::URGENT-ONE:::URGENT-ONE::: HUMAN/TAMPLISSTA STUDY TEAM AT NCL 9862 OVERDUE. AMITY TO
PROCEED IMMEDIATELY PREPYAT; CONTINUE ON TO 9862 WITH
RESEARCH SHIPS ATLANTIS, STARSEEKER, AND JNANA IN TOW.
FURTHER INFORMATION AVAILABLE FROM RESEARCH SHIPS.
VICE-ADMIRAL MARCOSA, COMBOREX, PREPYAT CODE/ VER
*@7882//53
2:16 GMT///ESD 6 MAY 2336
Roman read the message twice, a cold chill settling into his stomach. There was something wrong here. Something very wrong…
“Any orders, sir?” the bridge officer’s voice prompted. From her tone, it was clear she was desperately hoping there were some.
Roman took a deep breath. “Alert the Handler,” he told her. “We’re Jumping to Prepyat as soon as he and Sleipnir are ready. Number One web crew to start prepping their equipment—we’ll be taking three ships in tow, and we’ll need to run tether lines to them.” He hesitated. “And wake Lieutenant Kennedy. Tell her I want her dressed and on the bridge in fifteen minutes.”
The three ships were grouped tightly together a hundred meters away from the Amity, holding to an almost perfect zero-vee-relative as the two web boats moved among them fixing tether lines. Standing on the velgrip beside the command station, Kennedy studied the activity on Roman’s display. “Opinion, Lieutenant?”
Roman asked her quietly.
“I’d say no doubt, sir,” she shook her head. “Even at this distance you can see that the missile tubes haven’t been sealed. And that ion projector just under the main sensor bulge on the Atlantis would never have been left on a surplused ship.
Legalities aside, the things are just too expensive to give away.”
Roman nodded. Her conclusions, unfortunately, jibed with his own. “So what we really have here is an unmarked military task force.”