Rusty looked at the one of the screens mounted on his console, comparing the image to the one displayed on the tablet in his hand. They appeared to be roughly the same, differing in what was considered to be minor and supposedly unimportant ways. His specialty really came at the end of producing slipstream fields—the technology that allowed their ships to penetrate the barriers of normal space. He monitored the readings they generated to ensure that they fell within known and expected ranges, but not since his early training had he really focused on the theoretical science behind it.
On one of the other displays, he had brought up one of the standard references on the subject, refreshing his memory on what each of the readings meant. Many of them made sense—mass displacement, residual energy, gravitational fluctuations—all of these had some basis in standard, traditional physics. There were dozens of different measurements and, even since the time when slipstream drives had gone into widespread, many of them were still the subject of much discussion and speculation in scientific circles. Most of the articles, Rusty noted, were heated disagreements with hypotheses and explanations that other theoreticians had published.
He concerned himself chiefly with two of the readings. Although both were within widely reported ranges, his intuition told him to focus his attention there—and he always tried to obey those feelings. Naturally, he mused sourly, they were two of the least understood and hotly debated measurements. Trying to sort through the mathematical proofs in support of some of the possible theories, Rusty felt that they might as well have been magic for all the sense he could make of the explanations.
Lizzie might be able to make something of this, he thought. He looked at the chronometer and frowned. She was probably still making repairs on Deck Four, he noted. More than likely, the work would last through her entire shift and well into the next one. He was hesitant in pulling her off that duty for this, even if Fear had asked for a report quickly. He then recognized that the two-hour deadline had long since passed and Fear had not yet asked him for his analysis. That realization added to his general sense of uneasiness. Promptness was one of the cornerstones of Fear’s behavior. Yet, she had not contacted him. There had been no additional alerts, so he wondered what might be going on.
For a moment, Rusty smiled, seeing in his mind the scene of Thompson being coldly berated by Fear for ordering the lockdown without consulting her first. His expression changed as he heard the distinctive sound of the main thrusters being engaged. The ship was moving, moving on a new course. That explains that, he concluded with a faint chuckle. She’s found something else to occupy her attention. He paused, a knot forming in his stomach. Had they found the Captain? Or had she found them? Either way, it meant that a confrontation was coming. Haven’t enough people died today? he sighed.
Rusty walked through main engineering to the area that monitored the drive systems. “How are we doing, O’Connor?” he asked the crewman at the station there.
The crewman turned and smiled at Rusty. “Everything looks good, Chief.” He nodded toward the status displays for confirmation.
Rusty surveyed the bank of screens quickly, noting with relief that everything seemed, in fact, to be operating as expected. He continued his tour of the deck, checking the readiness and status of the other systems. They all seemed to be functioning normally. The reports did little to ease the vague sense of disquiet that troubled him.
His mind running through a list of the ship’s systems, and their possible points of failure, he returned to his office. As far as he could determine, everything had been checked and re-checked. The reports for the complete sweeps he had ordered for Decks Two and Four should be complete at any moment, he realized, but he expected them to show nothing unusual as well.
Trying of redirect his thoughts to other matters, sat down at his console and began to study the slipstream results again. He concentrated on the two sets of readings that his intuition told him held the answers. For one of them, he found that the research generally agreed that it seemed to be influenced by the mass and velocity of the vessel. The prevailing theories hypothesized that it indicated the conservation or conversion of velocity as an object entered and exited the slipstream. Conjecture over the other reading ranged from the mundane to the ridiculous. At least one scientist claimed it was a measurement of sub-atomic activity triggered by a slipstream jump. A few other theories suggested that, while it was unclear what the readings meant, that it was an indicator of how time was measured in slipstream.
The latter made a certain amount of sense to Rusty. Transit time in slipstream, rarely more than a few minutes, was highly disproportionate to the distance traveled. Traditional physics said, then, that time must be compressed somehow for objects traveling via slipstream in order for them to travel those distances within understood laws. The readings Rusty saw on the display were within the ranges recorded by dozens of vessels over hundreds of slipstream transits. An idea occurred to him and requested a different subset of data.
Reading over the records taken from all of the shuttle’s jumps, he noticed that the last set of readings for the two intriguing items were well out of the recorded range. What did that mean, though? he wondered. He went back to the original data and looked at all of the readings that had been at each end of the ranges. His mind noticed the pattern before he consciously saw it. Of all of the ships with measurements near the limits of the ranges, more than eighty percent of them had never returned from slipstream. He noticed that the actual number of ships was small—seven in all that had never been accounted for—the data was remarkably consistent. Was the Captain dead? He now wondered. Or trapped in slipstream for eternity? He tried to imagine what that might be like, or whether the person would even realize what was happening. Or would the ship continue on, lost in a slipstream wake, until it was eventually destroyed by time?
He looked up from the display, his mind filled with the possibilities of what he had discovered. Glancing at the chronometer, he was surprised at how much time had passed. His shift would be ending soon. Although she had not yet called for it, he knew that Fear would want this information. He copied his results to the tablet and headed for the hatchway. He had no answers for her—only more questions.
#
Devereux heard the vehicle approach long before she could see it clearly. It made sounds similar to that of a badly tuned shuttle thruster, but also exhibited an incongruous roar of raw power. It was moving quickly, for a crude land vehicle—a bright yellow speck against the brightening horizon. She waited, watching it as it came nearer. Her hand rested near the weapon at her waist. She knew that someone of this era should pose little threat to her, but it was always better to be prepared. She thought of picking up the scanner to see how many people were in the incoming vehicle, but presumed that she would find out soon enough.
The vehicle decelerated as it approached her, it occupants evidently curious to see who might be wandering along the roadway. It came to a stop about four meters ahead of her, pulling to the edge of the road, producing a low cloud of tan-colored dust. Its pilot kept the vehicle’s engines running. A wise precaution, Devereux thought with a thin smile. I’d do the same thing. She started walking toward the yellow vehicle.
When she was less than a meter away, one of the darkened windows on the left side of the vehicle lowered, revealing the face of a man slightly younger then herself. He had tanned skin, dark hair, and a bright smile that spoke of cosmetic dental work. In shadow of the interior, Devereux could see another man in a seat next to him. She could not make him out as clearly, other than for a similar smile and brightness to his blue-green eyes that triggered caution in her.
“Car break down?” the first man said.
It took a moment for Devereux to analyze what he said. She nodded, her lips forming a smile on moistened lips.
The man leaned his head out and looked north down the road. “I didn’t see one as we came down.”
“I’ve been walking awhile,” Devereux said, hoping that would end that part of the conversation.
The man nodded and withdrew back into the interior of the vehicle. He glanced over at his companion. Devereux thought she saw a predatory smile dance across the man’s expression, but could not be certain within the shadows the vehicle. He said something in quiet tones to his passenger that she could not make out. The other man’s smile grew slightly as he nodded with agreement at whatever the pilot had said.
“We can give you a lift,” he told Devereux. He tried to keep his tone casual, but she read a faint suggestion of menacing intent in it. She tried not to smile, her hand now resting firmly on her weapon. She would take the vehicle by force, if needed, she decided, but she was not certain that she could pilot it effectively.
“We were heading to
She realized that he was studying her, but doing a poor job of hiding it. His eyes, she noticed, kept returning to the slit of her open tunic. She started to smile, releasing her grip on her weapon. This she understood. Some things, she thought with silent bemusement, don’t change with centuries.
“That’d be fine,” she said, smiling brightly at him. He responded as he expected, the eyes of both him and his companion brightening. “Let me get my things?” she asked softly, nodding toward the cluster of rocks where her equipment lay.
The pilot grinned at her. “Sure thing.”
She turned and walked back toward the boulders, sensing their eyes on her every moment. As she walked, she exaggerated each movement slightly, just enough to be enticing without being obvious. She gathered her things and turned around, the expressions of the men telling her that the tactic had been successful. They were distracted by other thoughts now, unlikely to pursue more complicated lines of inquiry.
The pilot turned to the other man as she reached the open window of the vehicle again. “In the back,” he told his companion. “Let the lady sit there.”
An expression of annoyance played over his passenger’s face, and then faded quickly as some idea occurred to him. With deliberate movements, he opened the hatch on his side and waited her to enter.
“You can put that stuff in the trunk,” the pilot told her, gesturing toward her jacket and other items.
She smiled softly at him. “I’d rather keep them with me.”
The pilot smiled back, giving her a small shrug. “Whatever you want.”
She settled herself into the seat, noting the well-maintained black interior of the vehicle. The seat was surprising comfortable. The other man squeezed himself through the narrow space between her seat and the hatchway, into the space behind her. He reached over her shoulder and pulled the hatch closed, and then dropped into the long seat with a vague noise.
The pilot was smiling at her. She gave him one of her own, but still seeing something did not trust in his expression. “Ready?” he asked her.
Her let her smile grow and nodded, settling back against the seat.
“Seatbelt,” he said, still smiling, his eyes darting toward the hatch on her side.
Devereux tried to hide her confusion by turning in that direction. She saw the glint of silver partway up the bulkhead and reached for it. It vaguely resembled the safety harnesses used in shuttles. She reached for it, trying to pull it toward her. She met slight resistance and then it came toward her, bringing with it a narrow length of strap whose color matched the interior of vehicle. She pulled it across her chest, as that seemed to where it wanted to go, noticing that it also brought a similar strap across her waist. Looking down to her left, she located a small mechanism that seemed like it was it designed to accept the silver part. Inserting it, she heard a reassuring click as the device was engaged.
She looked back at the pilot, giving him her best smart schoolgirl smile. He grinned back at her and then adjusted several of the controls and levers in front of him. He reached over toward her. For a moment, she thought he might try to touch her leg, but his hand stopped on a short lever mounted in the narrow console between their seats. He moved it slightly in her direction and then toward the front of the vehicle. The sound of the vehicle’s engine changed and it began to move forward.
The pilot turned and smiled at her again and then shifted the position of his right leg. The vehicle gained velocity and returned to the surface of the roadway. The noise produced by the drive system seemed unnecessarily loud in the interior of the vehicle. It was bearable, Devereux decided, but it would make conversation difficult—which might not be entirely a bad thing. She glanced quickly over at the man next to her, who seemed intent on piloting the vehicle for the moment. Looking forward, she caught sight a small, rectangular mirror that showed their passage and a glimpse into the space behind them. She saw the eyes of the man back there studying her. There was still something in his expression that disturbed her. His eyes turned away and he stared out his window, his thoughts apparently turning elsewhere.
Devereux looked through the window at the road in front of them. Based on their velocity, it was still be some time before they reached the settlement. She wondered whether she should continue with these men to the place called
Her thoughts moved away from the road ahead. She needed allies here, she knew. Her eyes moved just enough to quickly survey the two occupants of the vehicle, trying to determine whether they might be useful. For now, she decided, they’ve provided me with much-needed transportation. We’ll see what happens when we get to this
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