Setting Sail at Last

Excerpted from The Sirens of Space by Jeffrey Caminsky, available directly from the Publisher, or from Amazon, or at a bookstore near you.

from Chapter 16

* * *

"Commander Ashton?”

“Engines are fully primed, Captain. Mr. Van Horn reports all clear.”

“Mr. Underwood?”

“Ishtar Command gives us clearance for departure, sir. At our pleasure.”

“Amid-deck hatches are secure, Captain.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ashton. You may deactivate the grapplers whenever you are ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Underwood, sound the clearing horn.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

The alarm sounded throughout the ship, and soon loud cheers rose on all decks as the crew felt d’Artagnan begin to move beneath their feet. Slowly, as the charging engines sent shudders through the entire ship, the tractor beam eased them away from the base and into the nothingness of space.

* * *

THE DOCK Twenty-three Observation Deck was swollen with well-wish¬ers and onlookers but the crowd was quiet, almost lifeless. Occasional laughter split the soft murmurs of conversation, and a few children played merrily in the playpit at the base of the deck. Most sat and watched in silence.

Silence greeted the ship’s first appearance in the window plate; and silence followed her slow movement across their field of view. Like a gray ghost looming in the starlight, the great ship banked gracefully to starboard before gliding off into the Big Black. Stillness lingered on the deck until the ship was too faint to see any longer, and the well-wishing throng departed.

But a few stayed behind. Some tearful, some dry-eyed and stoic, they gazed into the distance, wistfully savoring the last flickers of d’Artagnan’s running lights. Most swore that they’d never again catch themselves aching after a fading point of light. Few remembered that they’d said the same thing before.

* * *

AHEAD, THE MONITORS showed the glowing red storms of the Ishtari Belt. Behind them, the starbase hung large in the blackness, its solar panels reflecting the yellow rays of Ishtar’s sun, the spokes of the docks reaching into the heavens

“Nearing the end of controlled space,” Jeremy reported. “We should be clear in another two minutes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ashton,” said the captain. “Please let me know when we’re twenty seconds out. Helm?”

“Engines purring merrily at one-eighth capacity. Efficiency readings are smack in the middle of the dial.”

Leaning back in the command chair, Cook closed his eyes and sighed. For the first time in ages, he was totally relaxed, totally at ease. Not that he was under any illusions about the future. Space always had a way of making things go wrong, he smiled. Whatever problems they had in store for them would probably arise at the worst possible time. And he suspected that his headaches were far from over. In fact, they were probably just beginning.

But not right now. It seemed forever since he’d felt so free of pressures and constraints. Today not even the croakers and worrywarts in the control tower were going to stand in his way.

“Helm, increase thrusters to one-half.”

“Sir?” Janet worried. She’d seen him this way before, and it usually meant trouble.

Not chills-down-the-spine-and-pray-we-get-through-this kind of trouble, she knew. But still trouble.

“Thrusters to one-half,” she replied. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Let’s give ourselves a proper send-off, shall we?” the captain said briskly. “Helm—stand by for Academy victory sequence. Wing over wing, port over starboard.”

“Skipper!” Jeremy exclaimed. “We’re still inside the Red Zone!”

“Relax, Jeremy. We’re almost clear. And I need to test my timing to see just how rusty I’ve gotten. It’s been a few months since I’ve taken a ship into open skies.”

Janet turned in her chair to face the command seat. “You know, we haven’t practiced this maneuver.”

“Sure we have. At least, I have.”

“Not on this ship, we haven’t.”

“Well...just pretend it’s the Constantine. The helm isn’t all that different. At least, it wasn’t on the simulator. Same omni-directional controls and all. Guess we’ll just have to sort it out as we go.”

“Some things never change,” Janet muttered, shaking her head and returning to her controls.

“All right, people...sound the alarm, all hands to Condition Yellow.”

As the bells sounded across the ship, summoning a thoroughly puzzled crew to alert, Cook leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath.

“Helm, stand by full throttle.”

“Standing by.”

“Red Zone terminus approaching,” Jeremy said, nervously feeling the ship’s power building all around them. “Clear in twenty seconds... mark!”

“Helm—full throttle. Power up and stand by to engage subspace engines.”

“Engines amain.”

“Helm—prepare for victory roll...and snap us out smartly at C-2, Missy. Heading 070 by 15 degrees north.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Stand...by...annnnd...now!”

As the ship wheeled on its axis, Cook could feel her main engines roaring to life, powering them out of their turn and racing toward the clear skies east and anticenter. He chuckled to hear groans filling the deck, as cross-currents of gravity yanked the bellies of his bridge crew in a dozen different directions. A moment later the ship came out of her roll, settling them onto their course. Ishtar Command became an insignificant dot in the blackness astern, and for the first time in a long while the captain felt he was home.



“JEESHUS!” cried a startled voice in the control tower. “Did you...did they...were they...?”

“They were clear of the zone by twenty-two feet.”

“What a hot dog.”

“Well, they were in port a long time.”

“Did they file a flight plan?”

“I forgot to ask.”




© 2009 by Jeffrey Caminsky