, or at a bookstore near you.From Chapter 18
The weeks passed quickly; and soon the d’Artagnan was within days of the Crutchtan planet. But rather than nearing Girshoona with the usual giddiness of spacers barreling in to port, the crew found itself facing the last week of their long journey with all hands at stations and the ship standing at Red Alert.
The bridge was calm and orderly. Battling an ion storm was like fighting an enemy. Coolness of mind was the watchword; keeping a level head was the biggest challenge. Yet there was one big difference between a major squall and a human foe. The squall could be just as deadly, but had no real interest in destroying its opponent. For now, the captain’s biggest job would be keeping everyone’s mind on the job at hand, rather than on the danger swirling off the port beam. For the rest, they had to trust their experience, as well as their ship.
“Deactivate all nonessential electrical equipment,” said Cook. “We don’t want to serve as a lightning rod for the storm.”
“Acknowledged,” said Jeremy, his eyes glancing over the sensor monitors at his station desk. “I’ve already given the word. Just waiting for confirmation from all decks.”
“Miss Palmer?”
“Weapons blanked; running shields holding steady.”
“Mendelson, prepare to slow to sublight. McKenzie, as soon as we enter the star system, plot a course for the fifth planet from the leeward sun on the ancillary navigation screen. It should be on the data chart we got from the Crutchtans. The system’s massive enough to shield us from the storm, and our hosts tell me that the target planet has enough plant life to sport an oxygen atmosphere. It’s a bit rocky and rather dry, and sounds more like Ishtar than I care to imagine. But once we’ve put into orbit, at least we can molly down to stretch our legs a bit. And I think we may need it. Looks like we’ll be there for a while.”
“Hope our friend makes it,” smiled Jeremy, nodding his head toward the rear viewer.
Cook swung his chair around to look astern, though nothing was close enough to be visible except on their long-range sensors. For weeks, they’d had no company but the single alien ship, trailing behind them. In all directions, for as far as their sensors could see, no other Crutchtan ship had come within sensor range.
From the ends of nowhere it had come, matching their course and heading exactly, as if following them to the alien homeland. Twice it neared to within sensor range, only to shy away when the Terran ship ventured a friendly hail. Then, with no advance notice, came the storm, and the trials of the small Crutchtan vessel proved a source of sympathy and fascination for the Terran captain. Starfarers shared a common bond that transcended all their differences, and for spacers of all races an ion storm was more than a passing concern. At flank speed, the alien was racing toward a neighboring star system, one with a dim red dwarf at its center, barely enough to provide cover from the squall, but within sprinting distance for the tiny craft.
“Entering gravitational limits of target stars,” announced Jeremy. “Outer particulate belt passing below; we’ll intersect the bi-solar plane in ten minutes. Power surges increasing; all decks report systems secure, power levels at minimum failsafe.”
“Helm—slow to one-half light and arc full a-bank to starboard, heading 395 by 22 north,” Cook said, still looking into the empty space astern. “We’re almost out of danger, now. We’ve no reason to try setting speed records or go racing down to orbit. I doubt that the Crutchtans would be impressed, and they aren’t close enough to notice, anyway.”
“Aye, sir.”
As the d’Artagnan came about and began descending toward the orbital plane of the host star, Cook turned to face the main viewer and the task at hand. The storm was slamming into the stiff solar wind of the binary. From here until they crossed the backwash, the magnetic cross-currents would be treacherous. He could wonder about their alien shadow later. For the moment, the storm and the ship needed his full attention.
© 2009 by Jeffrey Caminsky
* * *
The weeks passed quickly; and soon the d’Artagnan was within days of the Crutchtan planet. But rather than nearing Girshoona with the usual giddiness of spacers barreling in to port, the crew found itself facing the last week of their long journey with all hands at stations and the ship standing at Red Alert.“Mr. Ashton?”
“The storm’s a beauty, Captain. Scores a full seven points on Wagner’s Scale, heading out from the promontory off toward port—and it’s holding right on our heels. Sensors reporting electrical surges already. Green Double A-Class binary dead ahead.”
The bridge was calm and orderly. Battling an ion storm was like fighting an enemy. Coolness of mind was the watchword; keeping a level head was the biggest challenge. Yet there was one big difference between a major squall and a human foe. The squall could be just as deadly, but had no real interest in destroying its opponent. For now, the captain’s biggest job would be keeping everyone’s mind on the job at hand, rather than on the danger swirling off the port beam. For the rest, they had to trust their experience, as well as their ship.
“Deactivate all nonessential electrical equipment,” said Cook. “We don’t want to serve as a lightning rod for the storm.”
“Acknowledged,” said Jeremy, his eyes glancing over the sensor monitors at his station desk. “I’ve already given the word. Just waiting for confirmation from all decks.”
“Miss Palmer?”
“Weapons blanked; running shields holding steady.”
“Mendelson, prepare to slow to sublight. McKenzie, as soon as we enter the star system, plot a course for the fifth planet from the leeward sun on the ancillary navigation screen. It should be on the data chart we got from the Crutchtans. The system’s massive enough to shield us from the storm, and our hosts tell me that the target planet has enough plant life to sport an oxygen atmosphere. It’s a bit rocky and rather dry, and sounds more like Ishtar than I care to imagine. But once we’ve put into orbit, at least we can molly down to stretch our legs a bit. And I think we may need it. Looks like we’ll be there for a while.”
“Hope our friend makes it,” smiled Jeremy, nodding his head toward the rear viewer.
Cook swung his chair around to look astern, though nothing was close enough to be visible except on their long-range sensors. For weeks, they’d had no company but the single alien ship, trailing behind them. In all directions, for as far as their sensors could see, no other Crutchtan ship had come within sensor range.
From the ends of nowhere it had come, matching their course and heading exactly, as if following them to the alien homeland. Twice it neared to within sensor range, only to shy away when the Terran ship ventured a friendly hail. Then, with no advance notice, came the storm, and the trials of the small Crutchtan vessel proved a source of sympathy and fascination for the Terran captain. Starfarers shared a common bond that transcended all their differences, and for spacers of all races an ion storm was more than a passing concern. At flank speed, the alien was racing toward a neighboring star system, one with a dim red dwarf at its center, barely enough to provide cover from the squall, but within sprinting distance for the tiny craft.
“Entering gravitational limits of target stars,” announced Jeremy. “Outer particulate belt passing below; we’ll intersect the bi-solar plane in ten minutes. Power surges increasing; all decks report systems secure, power levels at minimum failsafe.”
“Helm—slow to one-half light and arc full a-bank to starboard, heading 395 by 22 north,” Cook said, still looking into the empty space astern. “We’re almost out of danger, now. We’ve no reason to try setting speed records or go racing down to orbit. I doubt that the Crutchtans would be impressed, and they aren’t close enough to notice, anyway.”
“Aye, sir.”
As the d’Artagnan came about and began descending toward the orbital plane of the host star, Cook turned to face the main viewer and the task at hand. The storm was slamming into the stiff solar wind of the binary. From here until they crossed the backwash, the magnetic cross-currents would be treacherous. He could wonder about their alien shadow later. For the moment, the storm and the ship needed his full attention.
© 2009 by Jeffrey Caminsky
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