Salvage

By Russell Libonati

Synopsis:

For millennia man ruled the earth, but destiny eventually drove him to the stars. This created two factions; those that stayed and those that left. Between were the many ships and stations that supplied them both and acted as a lifeline. When Captain Metcalf received a distress call from one of those stations, he knew he could not ignore it. He charged to the farthest reaches of colonized space. But the station was not suffering from a malfunction, it was being attacked. If the attackers were still in the system, the decision to help could be a fatal one.

Salvage is the story of Captain Anthony Metcalf and his struggle with that fateful decision, as he battles his fears and an old enemy to keep his business afloat and his crew alive.

About the book:

Other than faster-than-light travel, faster-than-light communication, and artificial gravity, every effort was made to use hard science. The author also subscribes to the point of view that great science fiction should have a great story first and foremost. The science fiction should only serve as the backdrop against which the story is told. Salvage was written with this philosophy.

Interview with the author:

Question: What were you trying to accomplish with Salvage?
Author: You mean other than winning a Hugo award, quitting my day job and making millions of dollars?

Question: Yes. What was the point?
Author: I wanted to fill a gap in science fiction. The gap to which I refer is the one in which the science seems to fall. At present we cannot travel to distant galaxies, but to me that's where the fun is, so I compromised. That's the fiction. But other than that I don't really see the need to add sound effects in the silence of outer space. I think a story can be cool without them. . . cooler in fact. Many science fiction stories today rely too heavily on the fiction, or even fantasy, side.

Question: Is that why you calculated orbits, fuel consumption, thrust duration and many other technical details?
Author: Yes. Well, that and I really don't know how long a ship has to fire it's thrusters to slow down. Do you?

Question: No. So your story is a boring technical baton you use to bludgeon your readers with?
Author: No. The calculations are transparent to the reader and I do have characters in there, some of them even have names.

Question: Wow! Sounds spicy.
Author: That's not really a question.

Question: Ok, what's so spicy?
Author: Well there's excitement, suspense, danger, character development and even a little adult content. Also, spoiler alert, some of the characters don't make it to the end of the book.

Question: I see. . . so do you have anything to add, since you are pretty much making up these questions?
Author: No. I'm good. Just read the first few chapters and see if you like the universe I've created and the writing style. If you do, buy the book and enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. If you really like it, buy a million copies for all of your friends so that I can make the time write more of them. Thank you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Russell Libonati
• Release date: Oct 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301627530

Russell Libonati

I hesitate to put too much information online so I'll just hit some highlights. I'm in my middle forties, I grew up and spent most of my life in Florida but lived overseas for a few years. I'm married. No kids, but my wife says I'm the kid. I have a bachelor's degree in electrical engineering and I specialize in antenna design. I hold one patent and have three patents pending. I am a man of many hobbies. I dabble in Photography, videography, web design, creating steam punk items for sale on Etsy. My lifelong passion, however, is cars. I am a car guy through and through. I do have a website, but if you go there, you will be bored with details and how-to's of my various car exploits. There is nothing there for normal people. I have a love of books. I bind books (but haven't done so in a long time) and I of course write them. I have written three books and numerous short stories, but Salvage is the first to go out to the public. I do this as a form of therapy and would do so whether anyone reads them or not, so anything I make financially is just cream on the cake. I hope someone enjoys them. I am happy to answer emails and questions. Thank you for reading.

Book preview

* * 1 * *

Becky moved with the quick, decisive steps of someone who had grown up in the big city. They carried her down the corridor, heels clacking against the deck plating like a snare drum. Taylor had to jog to keep up. As he struggled, he could hear her words echoing loudly off the walls and though he couldn’t see it from behind, he was certain that her chewing gum was visible between her teeth as she spoke. He had seen it often, attempting to jump to freedom with every syllable but miraculously getting drawn back at the last possible instant by her talented and frog-like tongue. They arrived at a ladder and she paused to give him a disgusted look then shimmied up like a fish, swimming her way to the next deck. Taylor looked up, which gave him a unique view, then struggled to move up half as fast. On the bulkhead, between the rungs of the ladder, was stenciled an up arrow and some words of caution in emergency yellow paint. Taylor had seen these all over the ship but never stopped to read them. He tried to read it now without slowing, but when he looked up again he met Becky’s piercing gaze and realized he had failed her somehow.

How long are you gonna take gettin' up that thing? she asked. Her New York accent thick as molasses and in danger of drowning him. You like that ladder, kid?

No, ma'am, he replied, looking up at her looking down at him, hands on her hips.

Something catch your eye?

Uh-

Yes or no? she asked with the patience of a cab driver. If you've got a question, you better ask it. I don't want you gettin' me killed because you're too stupid to ask a simple question. You need to know this ship inside and out. It could save your life. Or more importantly, mine.

Taylor finished off the last rung of the ladder and took up a position, regrettably, within arms reach of her, on the crew quarters deck. I . . ., he said.

I? she said back when he took longer than she would have preferred to finish his sentence; perhaps a millisecond.

Sounding like a bizarre mix of street thug and flight attendant she answered, Those instructions apply, in the unlikely event that we should lose artificial gravity.

Does that happen? Taylor asked almost skeptically. Then he immediately regretted it when he saw the look on her face.

Oh no, she said, the sarcasm nearly as thick as her accent. Don’t you have those things on the station? She rolled her eyes as if to say, how stupid can a person be. She turned away from him and walked down the corridor. Didn't you ever lose gravity on the station?

No.

Well, it can happen and we conduct drills, so make sure you know what to do.

Isn't that bad for you? he asked.

Drills?

Zero G, he said, pursuing her.

Well it won't kill you. Men floated around out here for ages before AG was ever invented. Hell there are still ships out there with no G or partial G rigs. You know amazingly little for having spent your whole life station-side, kid. She continued down the corridor stopping abruptly in front of his cabin. Well here we are, she said, waving her hand across the threshold of his cabin door as if it were the prize on a game show.

Taylor looked puzzled. This is my cabin.

That's right rocket boy. Open it up!

He unlocked the door and Becky stepped inside. The closet sized room hardly had enough space for her and her attitude. Taylor toyed with the idea of remaining in the hall and shutting her in, but thought better of it.

First things first, she said, using a pencil to pick up a pair of underwear he had left on his bunk. Handling it like nuclear waste, she let it drop to the floor in the corner near the door. Typical man. You all live like pigs. She flipped the sheets, which were hanging over the sides of the bed, onto the mattress and pulling the handle, folded the bunk up against the wall. Then with cat-like agility, she deployed the fold down seat with her foot and sat down before it could spring back up. As I was saying, first things first. Everything in this room tucks, folds, bends, springs, closes, contains, zips, comes apart or doubles as something. You've got to make use of what you got. In a manly fashion she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the top pocket of her blue coveralls. Bumping the bottom, one popped up and she removed it with her lips. Returning the pack to her pocket she paused dramatically to allow Taylor to light her cigarette, though it was obvious to her long ago that he did not smoke. Becky never let details like this deter her from making him uncomfortable; which he was.

Never mind, she said, reaching for her lighter. Becky lit the cigarette, took two long draws and replaced the lighter. You don't mind if I smoke in your cabin, do you? she asked, exhaling a long stream of smoke through both nostrils, like a dragon.

Is. . . is it allowed?

Honey, this is your space. There ain't nothin' you can't do in this room unless it endangers the ship or goes against a standing order of the captain. Rules are in that drawer there, she said, pointing with her toe.

Taylor grabbed a tissue from a dispenser on the desk and offered it to her in his open hand.

Becky looked at him with what’s-that-for written all over her face.

He furrowed his brow, For the gum?

Oh, it’s ok, it’s nicotine gum, she replied.

He discarded the tissue and continued his questioning about smoking in the cabin, Well wouldn't a fire-

There's a monitor there, she said pointing at the ceiling. At the first hint of fire, this room will be dowsed in some kind of fire extinguisher. Foam or some shit, I don't know. Just don't let it happen or I'll personally come in here and kick your lily white butt out the airlock. You read?

He nodded.

Now I brought you here, because I think we've got a lot to cover before you go wandering around the ship gettin' in people's ways. She pointed at the shower stall and said, You know how to use that?

Yes, he said.

Everything? she asked, referring to the toilet which one had to sit on in order to bathe and appeared to have more controls than the cockpit of an aircraft.

Yes, he answered.

She looked at him as if she doubted his response, then blew another dragon breath of smoke up at him. He struggled not to cough. With the bed folded up and her sitting on the only fold out seat, there was nowhere for him to sit, so he just leaned against the wall, awaiting her instruction. She seemed to be enjoying her cigarette too much to continue, though. Time ticked by slowly as she lost herself in thought. Her eyes were looking out the dinner plate sized porthole, but she clearly wasn't seeing anything. The smoke gathered in the small recess of the pressure window. The smoke in the room began to bother Taylor's eyes. He rubbed them and when he removed his hands from his eyes, they revealed her dark, doubtful eyes piercing him yet again.

How the hell did you get on this ship? she asked, looking him right in the eye.

Well I applied for the position. Captain said nobody wants to do the little shit that keeps the ship running.

Did he?

Yeah. He said, that times were different and that crew used to do everything, but now his people were too busy to do chores when there was salvage work to be done. He said he needs a gopher.

I see.

That's why he picked me. He said I looked like a hard worker.

Yeah, I bet that's why he hired you on. Hard worker. She gave a little laugh and took another drag on her cigarette. Cheap labor's more like it.

Well, I'm sure I don't make as much as you-

And you don't have a degree and fifteen years experience in salvage, do you? She brought the cigarette to her mouth again a little nervous this time. Listen kid, you may have just picked the least opportune moment to join this little shindig. We just got a distress call and we're headed for the middle of nowhere. She saw the look on his face and said, "That's right. You thought that station you just left behind was the middle of nowhere, but you were wrong. And now you're gonna get a baptism by fire, so I suggest you look over those rules real good. Get to know this ship inside and out and I mean every little nook and cranny. If I say go to cargo hold ten, you better not poke your little virgin ass into hold three or so help me I'll space you myself. You got that?"

He nodded.

You do what everyone tells you. There is no one lower in rank on this ship than you, so that ought to make your job real easy. No need to wonder if you should do it. You just do it if someone tells you to and for Christ sake, no whining! You got that?

He nodded again. He thought that she was finished, because again she turned and stared into space. Then she piped up once more, startling him.

"People are in trouble out there and some may be dead, so prepare yourself for that."

She must be done now.

She put the cigarette to her lips and sucked so hard the glowing red tip nearly hit the filter. Then she tossed it into his sink and slammed the lid shut. And keep that lid down, damn it. It's there for a reason!

She took a moment to calm herself, the smoke lingering about her head. She investigated his room and the few belongings in it, opening cabinets and drawers.

Jesus, kid. Are you poor?

He didn't know how to respond.

You got less shit in here than a hermit. She looked at him for what seemed like the first time. She gave him the once-over, toe to head, checking out his clothes, his posture, his grooming. She shook her head, but he wasn’t sure if it was out of disgust or sympathy.

All right squirt. Here's how it goes. The ship moves through space using the grav drive. That's what creates the energy to keep our feet on the floor in here after we get done working out there. The grav drive is everything. It's life. It's entertainment. It's survival. It's communication. It's God for all intents and purposes. Without the grav drive, we have no way to get home or anywhere if you want to get there before our sun goes nova. We have no communication, unless you want to wait a couple thousand years for a response. And we have no gravity or gravity scoop. Do you know what I mean?

He nodded.

What do I mean?

The grav drive generates all the power that's used to do all that.

That's right. And what's a grav scoop?

He hesitated, so she jumped in to answer her own question.

That’s the powerful field created ahead of the ship to deflect or capture particles that would otherwise pass through this ship like it was made of toilet paper. She sounded like she was reading directly from a text book up until the toilet paper remark. When the grav drive is engaged, we are no longer in an inertial frame of reference and not subject to the effects of relativity. But when we eject at significant portions of the speed of light, we are back in the real world. We don't do that long, because we don't want to come home and find our mommies and daddies dead and gone and find that evolution has left us in the dark ages, like those Abbots of Wisdom freaks. Right?

Right.

So in order to travel we need a mass or a beacon to jump to. Otherwise, we won't have any way of knowing where we are. Of course, a good navigator with a good nav computer should be able to recover from that, but I'm sure someone has rocketed out there into space so far there was no way to calculate his way back. Anyway, it doesn't matter because who wants to go to empty space anyway. Right? There's not much to salvage out there without a mass or a beacon around. Are you going to work salvage?

He nodded his head again.

Lord help us. Well all right. You study that material and we'll go out and explore the ship a little. Tomorrow someone else will come and train you. We have to take turns. I drew the short straw. She hiked her coveralls up like a tomboy. If you ain't already, then you better become a quick learner. I'm going to my cabin for a quick snort. Knock on my door in about twenty minutes.

Yes, Ma'am.

None of this ma'am shit either. My name's Becky.

Ok. Becky.

A pause.

On second thought, ma'am will be just fine.

Taylor wisely said nothing. He just watched as she shut the door behind her. After she left, he wondered if he should be scared.

* * 2 * *

Anthony Metcalf moved carefully down the narrow corridor of his salvage ship. Members of his crew clung to the wall to make room. It was apparent by his expression alone that he was intent on reaching the bridge, unhindered. He emerged into a larger corridor on the main deck that led straight onto the bridge. The interior of the ship was stylishly utilitarian, like Scandinavian furniture. A few astute employers had taken to catering to the upper end of the employee scale to thwart a recent flood of untrained and unqualified spacers, called gimps. Metcalf's ship was a testament to that philosophy. It featured private cabins, good regular meals, excellent medical care, respect for his employees and profit sharing. In a line of work where a mistake by any crewman could destroy a whole ship, it was better to hone a loyal crew, a family, than to constantly turn over crew members at every station. Space work was not minimum wage. As a one owner, one ship business, it was naturally more difficult for Tony to compete with larger employers, but he felt if he didn't provide these amenities he wouldn't stand a chance of surviving in the business. But most importantly, the Larissa was his home.

He stepped through the pressure door and onto the bridge. The view from the bridge was nothing less than breathtaking. There was nearly a full 360 degree panorama of pressure windows forming a dome from the floor to the ceiling. The support columns between the windows detracted little from the natural beauty of the starry sky beyond. Captain Metcalf moved to the railing console that overlooked the circular pit where the bridge crew manned critical stations.

How long, Dutch? Metcalf asked.

A couple of minutes, Dutch replied.

Let me see your course. They stepped over to the navigator's station. Dutch was a short, heavy-set man with fair skin that turned red when he got mad. His beer belly hung low as he bent over the console, like the udder of a cow. Normally, it hung over his belt. He called up his plan for the braking maneuver and let Tony view it. As with all navigators, Dutch was skilled with both faster-than-light navigation and conventional navigation. This particular course made use of both of those skills. With conventional engines the ship would simply have transferred from one orbit to another until months or years later the destination had been achieved. Fortunately, with controlled bursts from the grav drive, the Larissa was able to make her way through the system quickly and along a more direct path. Dutch was able to save fuel or time by using the gravitational pull of the various planets to adjust his course. Conventional engines would not be used until the last portion of the trip.

That's a hell of a burn, Dutch. You gonna drain the tanks?

There's too much mass out here. This was the least cost/most haste method. He looked up with an is-that-all right expression. There weren’t too many options for the intended destination, so approval was academic.

Tony nodded his consent.

When?

Right now, Dutch said. Stand by for braking! he yelled across the open pit. The other bridge crew members acknowledged the command verbally.

The captain diverted his attention to a tall man standing in the pit hunched over a companion's station, flirting.

Burt! You have a plan?

Yeah, Tony. Everyone's been informed. I'll have Sydney, Sally, John and Becky in the lock. Randy, Mike, Kelly, Julio and I will be in the hall. Spider's got the remote ready and T.J.'s gonna prep the bay. Which one do you want to use?

Use three and back up into two. I don't know what to expect here.

Burt acknowledged him with a nod and returned to romancing the beautiful young woman.

A two second burst from the ship-wide klaxon signaled the impending maneuver. Metcalf stepped over to the window and gazed out at his ship, bow to stern. The distress call they had received did not sit well with him. If indeed a distress call could ever sit well. It had been years since he had given thought to the last such call he had answered. For many years he remembered the view of Lake Merlin station expanding in a fiery explosion that quickly ended its existence. The military ship that fired on the station loomed with ominous closeness. It bristled with weapons and its design, he was sure, was aimed at striking fear into the hearts of its enemies. As a crewman he saw it through a pressure window on the lower decks. Now as captain of his own ship he half expected to see it looming once again. He had had that image in his mind ever since the distress call came in. It was the kind of call he had hoped never to receive again. Of course, there was no way to know if it was a military ship that had attacked the station, although being attacked by anyone else would have been unheard of in the last few years.

He stepped over to the pressure window and looked out at the stars. His hand was shaking so he placed it against the window frame, lest someone see. When it came to business matters he was as confident as anyone, but when his ship might be in danger, when he might let down his crew, he worried. He couldn't help but worry. They were heading directly into a situation they knew was dangerous. But all he could think was, I don't want to see any more bodies. In his life, he had known people that had worked rescue. They became cold when dealing with the subject of death. He had seen their faces become stone and listened to the off-hand jokes. They did not let it affect them. The bodies were just things, not people. Tony could never be like that. He didn't want to be like that. He was afraid those men had lost their humanity, their emotions. Not me, he thought. Not me.

Not knowing what to do with himself, he returned to the pit and took up his place in the open center where he could watch the control consoles. To his left was operations with its many screens for observing the salvaging crew while they worked. It was unmanned. Moving around the circle to the right was communications where Karen sat. That station included not only comms but sensors and cameras. Next to her was the pilot's station directly in line with the bow of the ship. This was also unmanned at the moment, but soon Sydney would appear to initiate the braking maneuver. Behind Tony in the pit was engineering. This was where critical functions such as life support, artificial gravity and drive performance were monitored. There were other stations that encircled the pit on the upper bridge deck. The one Tony most frequently visited was navigation where Dutch worked. Each station had a sturdy looking flight seat with a five point restraining system for high G maneuvers. There was no captain's chair since the captain normally piloted, but there was an extra fixed seat in the pit area for station pilots and checkout instructors. Tony sat in this seat and stared out the pressure windows again, unable to take his mind off of the impending danger.

* * 3 * *

John stepped into the launch bay bloated with muscle and seemingly lost in thought. He was of average height but his arms and his chest bulged from under his T-shirt. He was not full of ego or arrogance though, and even his powerful physique was tempered by the slightest bit of roundness in the belly, not attributable to extra muscle. His eyes reflected years of experience as did the scar above his left eyebrow. The huge, bare room housed the company shuttle, a no frills workhorse designed to move large equipment and crews as well as give the salvagers a stable working platform in space. It took up only a small portion of the bay which was designed to accept vessels three times as large. Two people were working on the shuttle, a man in the docking cradle below and a woman on the foot rail above.

Oh, here he comes, Terri said, shifting her position on the skid to eye John as he approached.

Here who comes? Bergstein asked from below.

When will the launch be ready? John asked as he stepped closer, his eyes moving to the pair of unidentified legs protruding from under the vehicle.

Who's askin'? Bergstein inquired, still not moving from under the craft.

It's John, Terri said. Keep working, Bergstein. She made it her business to provide a play-by-play description of what was transpiring, no matter how trivial, to her coworker. To John she said, What do you need it for?

Tony wants me to have it ready in case we need it as a litter. He may not be able to bring the ship in until the coast is clear.

What do you mean ‘coast is clear’? Are we going into combat or something? She gave him a look that was both frightened and accusatory. The ‘look’ was her specialty and it often made people nervous even in the most benign of circumstances.

I guess Tony doesn't know if the station is stable. He doesn't want to take any chances. Neither would I.

She looked at him for a long moment and he became a little uncomfortable. She didn't seem to care. He wasn't sure if she was considering the question or just ignoring him. Finally, John decided to cross his huge arms and just wait.

Sounds fishy to me, she said, crossing her arms as well, but not mocking him. I mean what the hell are we going to do? That station has to have thousands of people on her. How are we going to help? They'll capsize us like a lifeboat on the Titanic, if they're in real trouble. Hey Bergstein, John said we might have to wait until the coast is clear before we approach the space station. What do you think that means?

I don’t know, Bergstein mumbled.

We have to render assistance. You know that, John said.

But we're no rescue ship. We have limited facilities and I'm telling you, you open up the lock and let just one guy on and the next thing you know, the place will be wall to wall with them and the air handlers will overload and we'll all suffocate like sardines.

So you think we should just leave? John asked.

Yeah. Let rescue handle it.

There is no rescue out here and you know it.

C'est la vie.

Ok, fine. You’re entitled to your opinion, he said. What about the launch?

Terri gave him the look again. She usually didn't even know she was doing it, but this time she did it on purpose.

Don’t you think rescue ought to handle these kinds of things, Bergstein, instead of us? she shouted to her colleague.

Ideally, he responded, again in a muffled voice that said, I’m busy, leave me alone.

She looked back to John who still stood with his arms crossed.

What? she asked.

The shuttle?

She paused. Do you have any chewing gum?

What? he asked looking at her as if she had just spoken a foreign language.

You heard me. Chewing gum.

I don't chew gum.

Never? she asked, giving him a similar look.

No, I don't like it.

She looked at him for another long minute. This minute seemed longer than the last and John became proportionally more uncomfortable.

Yeah. It'll be ready in about an hour, she finally said.

Good. Let Jake know when your done, he said, and walked swiftly from the launch bay, happy to have the unpleasantness over with.

Bergstein finally slid out from beneath the launch.

Terri looked down at his greasy face. What's wrong with that guy?

There's nothing wrong with John. He's the most experienced salvager on the ship and you know it.

I didn't say I didn't trust the guy. I just asked what his problem was.

He doesn't have a problem, Terri. You do.

What?

You make people uncomfortable. . . like talking to a mannequin. No, like a pit-bull. Wait, a mannequin of a pit-bull. That’s it.

She stared at the door through which John had departed, a little upset with herself. She just wanted to be accepted for what she was, but often she wound up alienating others.

Well I guess it's better that way, she mumbled.

If you say so, Bergstein said, misunderstanding her statement.

They heard the burst from the alarm issued by the bridge.

Two step, Terri said, just as Bergstein was hammering on something.

What did you say? he asked.

Thrust warning.

Dutch's going to jerk us around just when I'm putting the pusher arm back in. It never fails. Just when you're doing something delicate-WHAM! Oh and by the way, I don’t think the sardines are alive when they put them in the can.

Do you think there are going to be dead bodies? Terri asked.

I don't know. Maybe, he replied, wiping his hands on his coveralls.

Have you ever been on a distress call before?

Once.

What was it like? Terri asked, getting a little emotional. This was a first as far as Bergstein could tell. She must

be really worried, he thought. He slid out into the open to give the conversation the attention it deserved and pushed his geeky glasses up his long nose. Well. . . it was a hull breach. One of the welders was cutting with a torch near some chemicals and they exploded. It blew a hole in the side of the ship the size of an oven. It sucked him and another guy out. One guy got caught up in the gas line and bounced around the room. That guy was a mess. We had to ferry them parts. The explosion damaged the engine room.

Do you think he died fast? Terri asked, her usually hard exterior melting at the prospect.

You've never seen it?

No.

But you've been around more than I have.

Just lucky I guess. All I've seen were the training vids, you know.

Well they don't lie. This guy went a little faster probably, since he was beaten to death as well as all that other stuff. Ten or twenty seconds, I guess.

Well, I hope we don't have any of that on this call.

Me too. One's enough, he said sliding back under the launch.

* * 4 * *

Tony's heart quickened as they neared their destination. He remained on the bridge as soon as they entered the system. For the most part, he would stay there until they had either determined that it was safe to approach or fled before some enemy threat. He had not told the rest of the crew that the distress call had mentioned an attack. He knew he had to inform the crew and convince them to endorse the mission. He did not feel comfortable simply ordering them into what could be the line of fire. The Larissa was not a military ship after all. The message was unclear as to the identity of the attackers and since that single transmission, nothing more had been heard from the station. Tony was concerned that there would be nothing he could do by the time the Larissa arrived, but he had to try.

Tony hoped that delaying the company meeting until they were close to the station would help push the crew into agreement. If he gave them time to think about it, they might become cautious. Tony knew from personal experience that outer space was the loneliest place in the universe to die and he would never leave someone if he thought he could help.

The alarm sounded again. This time it was one long continuous blast.

Braking in ten...nine...eight... Dutch yelled over the alarm.

Don't blink. Here comes the planet, Burt said from the pit.

seven...six...five....

Tony prepared himself for the maneuver. The grav drive worked only in straight lines and had no kick to it, but the swing around the planet with gravity at a right angle to their direction of travel would cause quite a strong pull. Everyone looked out the front. This was a momentous occasion. No matter how many times the ship pulled the move, people would come to see. It was called an NMM or Near Mass Maneuver. Two or three people clung to hand-holds in the hall just outside the bridge. It was scary to see a planet materialize from nowhere on an apparent collision course, then suddenly disappear, receding into the past. It was also the most common way to lose a ship. The tension grew as everyone peered out the forward pressure window.

The planet suddenly loomed large. In only a second, it seemed to appear and rush at the ship as if to consume it.

three...two...one....

With the alarm still sounding, the ship arced around the planet, pulling everyone briefly to the wall. It lasted only a second or two, but it was enough to throw anything not strapped down across the room. Some people whipped their heads around to watch out the back as the planet rapidly disappeared. Others just let out the breath they had been holding.

D-D-D-That's all, folks, Burt joked.

Verify course, the captain said.

One, one, three by two, two, nine, by zero, one, zero, Dutch, Sydney reported, staring at her readout.

Dutch checked her figure and fed it into the navigation computer.

Nominal, Tony. We're on course.

The people in the hall had already begun to disperse.

Time to next drive engagement?

Three hours, eighteen minutes, Dutch said, still looking at his monitor. He updated the system which displayed this time on monitors around the ship.

Enter it in the log, Dutch.

Burt put on a serious face and leaned over Karen's console. You know, I saw lights, he said.

She looked up at him, pushing her silky hair out of her face. No you didn't, she snickered, enjoying his games.

His face became more serious. No. Really. I did. I saw lights on that planet.

Get out of here you turkey, she said wadding up a piece of paper and throwing it at him.

He exited the bridge screaming something about alien life on the sixth planet.

* * 5 * *

Dutch climbed down the ladder and squeezed by Randy in the narrow corridor that led to the crew quarters.

They make these things for midgets, Randy said politely.

Well, it would help if I lost a few pounds, I suppose.

We love you just the way you are, Dutch, Randy quipped.

Get to work you bum, Dutch said over his shoulder as he strolled down the corridor toward the captain's cabin.

When he arrived at the door he gave it a few quick raps. A call came from within and he entered, shutting the door behind him. Burt and Harper were already there and they were seated around the captain's table. Harper was a short man with a big presence. His voice was loud, sometimes too loud and he had no trouble stating exactly what was on his mind.

You wanted to see me, Tony?

Yes, sit down, Dutch.

He plopped down at his place around the captain's table.

Drink?

No, thanks. I would prefer to know why I'm here. Last time I saw faces like yours, I was canned.

All right, I'll tell you, Metcalf said to all of them. Yesterday, we received a distress call from Outpost Mimas. That, you know. What you don't know is that the distress call gave specific information about the nature of the emergency.

What was it? Burt asked.

Just before they were cut off, they mentioned that they were under attack.

Attack? By whom?

I don't know. I'm not sure they knew.

Dutch had nothing to say for the moment and he sat quietly waiting for what Tony would come up with.

I wanted you to know before I announced this to the crew.

Does anyone else know? asked Harper.

Randy took the call and told Sydney and Hank.

So what are we supposed to do?

Dutch, I want you to plot an alternate course...for exiting the system.

In case the crew doesn't go for it? Harper pointed out.

It'd be too late by then, I imagine, Burt answered.

I can't guarantee that whoever attacked the station, isn't still there. I've got to clear it with the crew.

We can't ignore a distress call. Not in space, Harper said.

"I agree. But