Between the Strokes of Night

Sy looked smug. “I told you I’ve been working hard. If we want to make an S-space trip out to Convergence Point, I’ve identified the major problems we’ll have to solve. Solving them, now — that’s another matter, and I’ll need help.” He called out a numbered list onto the display. “First, we have to find the departure time and place of the next starship to Convergence Point. Second, we have to find a way to get ourselves onto that departing starship — preferably in a way no one else will notice. Third, we have to explain our absence, so that no one wonders where we have gone. Fourth, we’ll have to do something with the ship’s crew. Fifth, before we get there we’ll need a plan of action for what we’ll do when we reach Convergence Point. Where do you want to begin?” “Can’t we put the crew in cold sleep and take them with us?” asked Elissa. “That’s my thought. It won’t do them any harm, and it’s a lot better than leaving them somewhere in the Sol system. I’m confident that we can handle the mechanics of the ship — the service robots do almost everything, and we learned the rest on our trip from Cassay. The other problems are not so easy. I’d like your thoughts.”

“The third one — explaining our absence,” said Elissa. “All we need is enough time to get us well on our way to our real destination. Once we’re gone, they’ll never catch us.”

“That’s true. But we don’t want them to know where we’re going. If they find out, they’ll send a radio signal to warn Headquarters we’re coming their way.” “Why should they learn where we’re heading? Jan de Vries already implied that we’re more of a nuisance to him than anything else. If we can show we’ve departed for a plausible place, I don’t think he’ll take much interest. Pentecost would be a natural — it was our home. The most I would expect him to do would be to warn them to watch for our arrival. Can you do a fake data bank entry, indicating that we are shipping out for Pentecost?”

Sy shrugged. “I can try. One nice thing about the information system, it doesn’t expect the sort of changes we’ll be making. The logic is protected against the usual screw-ups and programmer meddling, but not against systematic sabotage. I’ll do it. I’ve learned the software pretty well in the past few weeks.” “Well enough to answer your first question?” asked Peron. “You said it, Sy — the information about starship departure has to be in the data banks somewhere. It’s just a question of finding it. But if anybody can pull it out, you can.” Sy grimaced. “Not without a long, horrible grind.”

“It would be for me or Elissa — but you’ll come up with a smart approach to it.” “Cut out the flattery.”

“I’m serious. And if you can do it, find out when and where. I think I have the key to the problem of how we get on board the starship.”

Sy frowned. “Do you, now? What have I missed?”

“You lack one piece of information. Elissa and I learned this the hard way, and we can vouch for it: there is no way that the crew will stay in S-space for the acceleration phase of their journey. It’s just too damned uncomfortable. They’ll be in cold sleep when the journey begins. See what that means?” He pulled the terminal entry pad closer. “Let me sketch an approach. Then we can look at some timings.”

* * *

“T MINUS 4 MINUTES, COUNTDOWN PROCEEDING,” said a disembodied voice. “ — FUEL MASS CHECK IN PROCESS.”

“ — THRUST PROTOCOL COMPLETE.”

“ — CARGO CHECK PROCEEDING.”

“ — OUTBOUND TRAJECTORY TO GULF CITY CONFIRMED AND APPROVED.”

The mechanical voices chimed in one after another. Ward Lunga, ship’s pilot, lay quietly in the suspense tank. He was watching the displays, chatting to co-pilot Celia Deveny and listening with half an ear to the robotic checklist. Full attention was unnecessary. Anomalies would be separately flagged and reported to them.

“T MINUS 180 SECONDS, COUNTDOWN PROCEEDING,” said the voice.

“ — MECHANICAL SYSTEM CHECKS COMPLETE.”

The starship Manta floated in stable orbit about Sol, hovering at a Saturnian Trojan Point. Final countdown for departure was nearly complete.

The nav displays showed a thrust profile that would carry the Manta from the middle Solar System direct to Gulf City, twenty-eight light-years away. The ship still floated in freefall, but in three S-minutes that would be changed to an accelerated outbound trajectory.

“ELECTRICAL AND ELECTRONIC SYSTEMS CHECK COMPLETE.”

“ — FUEL MASS CHECK COMPLETE.”

The final few hundred million tons of fuel had now been transferred; the mobile tank was swinging away under robot control toward Sol.

“ANOMALY! CARGO PORT ANOMALY,” said a voice suddenly. “CARGO PORT SEVEN OPEN.” Lunga grunted in surprise. “Damn. All that cargo should have been in and secured by now. Command: display Port Seven.”

Two views of Cargo Port Seven showed on the displays. Lunga looked at them closely. “Bloody thing looks shut to me. Everything else reports normal — see anything odd there, Celia?”

“Not a thing.” She threw a pair of switches. “Command: repeat status check, Cargo Port Seven.”