Gossi coughed, batting his hand at Parker's smoke. Gretchen picked up her briefing pad and tabbed through the pages, a dizzying red-tan-blue-white glow flashing in her eyes.
"The Palenque requires a crew of at least six to operate safely." She looked up, raising an eyebrow at Gossi. "What kind of ship are we taking? Can we split her crew to cover both?"
The Maltese raised both hands, then flared them slightly. He smiled. Gretchen's nose crinkled up. "What kind of ship, Gossi-tzin? We do have a ship to take us there?"
"Oh yes! The Company does not have any ships in this sector, oh no. They are expensive, you know, and the Company is spread thin… I have arranged for you to be taken to the Ephesus system and delivered to the Palenque. If she proves unfit to make transit back to the station, then you will be able to return with the…other ship. However, since the transmitter remains operating, if unreachable at this time, I expect the Palenque will be flyable and you can return in her."
"What ship?" Gretchen tabbed to the end of the briefing packet, watching budget figures and details of the original mission flip past. "A miner? Some tramp freighter working the Rim?"
"It is an Imperial ship." Gossi spread his hands even wider. "They were already going in that direction, you understand. It is…convenient."
"Imperial." Gretchen rubbed her nose, sharing an arch look with the others. Parker seemed amused, Bandao's face was even more expressionless than before, and Magdalena was puzzled. "No Imperial ship is going to truck some macehualli scientists — "
"Or pilots," Parker interjected in a soft voice.
"— to the back of beyond, much less help them recover a derelict — possibly contaminated — spacecraft."
"The captain of the Cornuelle has kindly agreed to investigate the matter, and to take you there, and render you what assistance he can." Gossi's expression changed and Gretchen saw, to her wonder, that he did own a real smile. The corners of his eyes tilted up and his tiny round teeth became visible between rubbery lips. She wondered, briefly, how the Company man had pulled off Imperial "assistance."
"The Cornuelle." Parker tapped the top of his briefing pad, clearing the active document. "That's not a Nбhuatl name. What class of ship is she?"
"A warship." Gossi cleared his own pad and keyed in a locator code. The holo image above the table flickered, was replaced by the station transmission screen for a moment, and then resolved into a view from an outside cam, showing an arc of star-filled sky, dominated by the twin primaries of Ctesiphon A and B, then the sleek black shape of an Imperial starship. "This is your conveyance," he said, smug pride creeping into his voice. "The Henry R. Cornuelle is an Astronomer-class light cruiser commanded by the esteemed Chu-sa Mitsuharu Hadeishi. She has been assigned to the Hittite sector on anti-piracy patrol. I understand from her executive officer, Miss Sho-sa Kosho Susan, they will be able to spend several days in Ephesus orbit, assisting you in recovery operations."
He paused, running one finger along the side of his pad. The holo image rotated, showing an elongated wedge shape with three heavy drive fairings at the back of the ship. Like most Imperial combat craft, she was matte black and the work-lights of the station barely limned the vague shapes of rounded weapons emplacements and recessed sensor arrays. "There have been some rumors, lately, of illegal mining in this area. Of solitary ships attacked by raiders. This is lawless space, so close to alien enclaves — your pardon, Magdalena-tzin, I have only the utmost respect for your people."
"Fine." Gretchen looked at Parker, tilting her head in question. "Can you fly the Palenque?"
Parker nodded, running a hand back through thinning brown hair. "Sure. Six crew could run everything — shuttles, powerplant, environmental, flight control — but if all we do is a jump back to the station, Maggie and I can handle that." He looked down at his pad, brows furrowing. "This Temple class can run almost auto with a soft upgrade. Maggie, do you have this package in archive?"
The Hesht uncurled from her chair, light shifting on her glossy fur. A harness of leather hung around her shoulders and upper body, holding tools and storage pockets. Each wrist was circled by the gleaming mirror of a comm unit. A claw extended from a long finger and tapped the surface of the briefing pad. "This ship," she hissed in a grumbling voice, "has an older model brain, but it will take most of the newest control package. I might have it, or we can buy one here on-station."
Gretchen eyed Gossi. "Do we have any money for this?"
"Some." Gossi put on a poor face. "So much was invested in the original expedition — "
"How much?"
The Maltese looked away and Gretchen sat back in her chair. All the exhaustion of a long flight from the Jupiter Yards came crowding in. The migraine, which had been distracted while she started to work the problem of this recovery mission, woke up and began rustling around behind her left eye, throwing clouds of white sparks across her vision.
Without thinking, she thumbed her wristband, jetting a serotonin regulator into her bloodstream. It would hurt later, but she had to think clearly right now. All the bad things about being in charge started to come to mind.
"So…no money to speak of. How many days do we have to prepare?"
Gossi's face assumed the shining round mask again. "The Cornuelle is already on a schedule — you will load your equipment tomorrow, then boost for Ephesus the day after."
"Two days?" Gretchen tasted something sour. "Well then. We'll be busy employees, won't we?"
Aboard the Cornuelle, Outbound from Ctesiphon Station
"Talk to me about the transmitter."
Space aboard an Imperial warship was at a minimum, so Gretchen was doing sit-ups hanging from a bar set into the ceiling. Working in the field was good exercise, but sitting in a three-by four-meter cabin for weeks on end during transit did nothing for her girlish figure. Magdalena was perched on her bunk, surrounded by data pads and printouts on quick-cycle sheets. The Hesht looked up, yellow eyes narrowed to slits over the top of amped-up sunglasses. The cat had an earbug as well, letting her hear the soft invisible voices of the processors riding in the pads. Gretchen had used field goggles before, with v-feeds and a sound interface, but they had been big, bulky units. Maggie's sunglasses were as sleek and dark as she was.
"It's an experimental unit, sister. A commercial version of the old military-grade Wayfarer ship-based transmitter. The Company is field testing it for Tera-Wave — according to the logs, it's a one-oh release. That means light encryption, no redundant power supplies or emitters, about a six to seven light-year range." Maggie made a chuckling sound like a hydrogen-powered chainsaw starting up. "Thirty or forty predefined channels — very primitive."
"But…grunt…not hand mirrors and smoke…grunt…from the mountaintop."
"No." Maggie clawed a pad and let some schematics drift past. "A little better than that. Each channel is identified by headers tacked onto the message packets, then thrown out in a single emitter stream. Sort of a faster-than-light telegraph. But it works and it's as cheap as you can build a tachyon unit. I've tested the connection myself by patching through Ctesiphon comm — they have a big industrial emitter and router — the unit on the Palenque does respond to a 'hello', but refused to open a conversation. I think the unit is actually in maintenance mode, on standby, waiting for the shipboard operator to reset the system." The Hesht paused, then held up a pad. Gretchen jerked her head and Maggie flipped the device upside down.