Breaking the Trust: The MacCollie Series, Book Two

By Dennis E. Smirl

Thinking he's satisfied with running his retirement business as a hunting guide in the high, snowy mountains of Reno Bright—a planet well off the main roads of commerce in the Fellowship of Humanity—Rennie Mikovich isn't looking for a job. But when a mysterious stranger named Maki Honamatsu offers him a berth as astrogator on a mission to a distant and unknown star system, Rennie signs on.

What he finds on Thendara, one of Reno Bright's moons, is a salvaged and modified alien starship. In short order, he meets the young, cute, tough-talking pilot, Karla Formanti, and then the rest of the crew. The Captain, Jahn Prudeaux, is a man used to giving orders, and having them obeyed. Rennie can live with this but he doesn't trust Prudeaux's motives. The ship's engineer, Leta Niemeroff, is also the Captain's mistress. The ship's nanotech specialist, Nikolas Omstead, takes an immediate dislike to Rennie, and isn't shy about his feelings.

When Rennie asks about the objectives of the mission, he gets half-answers and incomplete information. When he asks about the origin of the ship, he gets lies. When the ship flies, he gets a shocking introduction to the way other beings solved the problem of faster-than-light travel.

Once their ship makes the first planetfall, Rennie begins to understand the scope of the lies he's being told. As members of the crew plunder a building in hope of finding the secret to manufacturing the FTL engine in their ship, they meet failure, and then armed resistance. In the ensuing melee, Maki Honamatsu is killed and Captain Prudeaux is badly wounded. Rennie manages to save the day through forceful action, and what's left of the crew escapes into space.

Prudeaux and his crew haven't found what they want, so they tell Rennie they are continuing the mission. He tries to talk them out of their plans, but when he can't, goes along with their agenda. On a planet in a different star system, Prudeaux and his crew find the secret of the FTL drive, but again, they meet with resistance, and in the ensuing firefight, get separated.

Rennie and Karla Formanti locate Prudeaux and Leta Niemeroff and set of on a rescue mission. The operation is a partial success, because only Nimeroff is still alive, but greviously wounded. Nikolas Omstead may still be alive, but is among the missing.

When Rennie and Karla take Niemeroff back to the lander for medical treatment, Omstead is waiting for them. He tells Karla that he is going to get rid of Rennie, and Karla identifies herself as an undercover Fellowship officer and tries to place Omstead under arrest. He shoots her, and Rennie shoots him, killing him instantly.

Rennie places Leta Niemeroff and Karla Formanti in autodocs, and engages in the horribly difficult job of piloting and navigating the unfamiliar ship back to Reno Bright. Both women are seriously wounded, and Rennie wonders if either will survive long enough to reach their destination.

As they approach Reno Bright, Rennie knows that the ship is far more trouble that it's worth, that, indeed, knowledge of its presence might precipitate an interstellar war. As he struggles with decisions, Leta dies. Rennie decides to take Karla, in the autodoc, and a flash-frozen Leta back to his lodge on Reno Bright in the lander. He will sacrifice the star ship by using autopilot to crash it into the airless moon, Thendara.

After a disastrous landing, Rennie manages to get Karla back to his lodge without being spotted. He then cremates Leta's remains, scatters her ashes, and over what's left of a long winter, he nurses Karla back to health. As the spring comes, she tells Rennie that she has to report back to Fellowship HQ on Reno Bright. As she prepares to leave, he asks if she will tell her bosses about him. She assures him his secret is safe, but won't promise to return. He can only hope that she will.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis E. Smirl
• Release date: Dec 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311763129

Dennis E. Smirl

Dennis E. Smirl has been an Air Force officer, a salesman for a Fortune 500 company, a school psychologist, a computer science instructor at several colleges and universities, and a business owner. Married to his college sweetheart for more than half a century, he has spent time in Mexico, Japan, and South Vietnam, but prefers to take family vacations in the USA and Canada. A writer for as long as he can remember—he attempted a first novel at age ten—his first taste of national publication was a race report written and published in 1965. A science fiction fan for almost the same length of time, Mr. Smirl joined the Science Fiction Book Club when member numbers were much shorter. Beyond his interest in Science Fiction, he has had a lifetime interest in horseback riding, auto racing (as a driver), golf, photography, computers and information processing, and mystery novels. He has written thirteen novels and more than seventy short stories and novellas.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

I wasn’t even looking for a job.

Shoot! I whispered. Take the shot now!

Tomas Westerfield didn't shoot. He’d frozen at the sight of his intended quarry, a two hundred and fifty kilogram hydingo that was standing in the deep snow no more than fifty meters from us.

I thought you came to bag a big buck, I added quietly. Now, shoot, before the thing makes a lunch of us.

Intelligent, quick, and unpredictable, hydingos were dangerous prey. Closer in nature and confirmation to marsupials than mammals—although neither definition could be expected to work with a creature native to a planet more than one hundred and sixty-five light-years from old Earth—hydingos had killed and eaten more than one overconfident—or just plain careless—hunter. Going after them was hazardous business, but the males, with their incredible flare of rills, made damned fine trophies for anyone who had the courage to go after one. And Westerfield still hadn’t taken his shot.

The hydingo lifted its head. Perhaps it heard our whispered comments; more likely it caught our scent. After sniffing and pawing the ground for a moment, it suddenly whirled and charged, its huge hind legs propelling it through the drifts at more than forty kilometers per hour.

At that point, I knew the man standing beside me wasn't going to shoot. In utter frustration and desperation, I fired twice, the twelve-millimeter Sen-Ruger slamming against my shoulder as its heavy, rocket-assisted slugs rushed toward the hydingo at more than two thousand meters per second.

Both shots hit home. The creature staggered, shook, and shrieked as the heavy slugs ripped through it, tearing huge rents in its flesh and filling the air with a spray of purple blood and pulverized tissue. It stopped, retched, moaned, and fell dead no more than three meters in front of us.

Oh… Oh, my... goodness, Westerfield murmured, once the sounds of the shots no longer echoed from the high, rocky cliffs surrounding us. I guess I froze. I couldn't move a muscle.

I turned toward him with, It happens. But if I hadn't fired, we'd both be dead. File that for future reference. My nerves still jangled, I spun away and spoke to the two-meter-tall robocam standing patiently on its crawler treads a few steps to my right. "Cambot, attend. Did you record the event?

<Yes, Citizen Mikovich>

Can you edit the recording of what happened here in accordance with my previous instructions?

<Yes>

Then you know what to do.

<Certainly>

Roboporters, attend. Pick up the carcass, carry it back to the holding area, and make sure you don't further damage the pelt.

<Acknowledged> the lead roboporter answered.

Now in control of my emotions, I turned my attention to Westerfield. Let's get back to camp and tell your friends about your kill.

Westerfield's eyebrows rose a couple of millimeters toward steel gray hair that earlier in the day had been carefully styled. It isn’t mine. You made the shots and—

I cut him off with an upraised hand. "I'll say this only once, Citizen. This is your expedition and that, I pointed toward the cooling carcass, is your kill. The robocam saw it happen that way and so shall your friends."

But—

Discussion ended. Oh, and let me have your rifle.

He handed it over. I pointed it at a distant berm, fired two quick shots, and handed it back to him. Someone might think it strange if your rifle didn't smell as though it had been used.

We made their way through the twisting canyon and then over the snow-dappled pass back to the camp, the robocam beside us, with the roboporters no more than a few minutes behind. As we approached our destination, one of the other members of the party saw us and shouted, We heard shots. Did you get anything?

Citizen Westerfield bagged a huge buck hydingo! I replied loudly, before my client could open his mouth. Shot the damned thing in mid-charge and it dropped right at our feet. Wait until you see the replay. Two of the finest shots I've ever seen.

It didn't happen that way, Westerfield whispered; his patrician jaw tight with the strain of deceit.

Shut up and smile, I murmured in return. Enjoy the admiration of your peers, and let me worry about the details.

The other members of the party followed us into the main tent. Once everyone had taken a seat on whatever chair, stool, or box came to hand, I ordered the robocam to start the show. The holographic vignette played out in the open space at the center of the room. A brave and true Westerfield faced the charge of the hydingo unflinchingly, waited to fire until the creature was almost upon him, and stood firm as it died at his feet. Through it all, an expression of triumph mixed with satisfaction steeled his finely chiseled features. When it was over, everyone cheered—except Westerfield.

A toast! one of the younger members of the party shouted. He had produced a bottle of hundred-year-old brandy and enough glasses for everyone in the tent. He made the circle and after every glass was filled, shouted, To Tomas Westerfield, our host and our champion!

I watched as Westerfield's need to reject the unearned praise rose up. Then, overcoming it, he nodded slightly and raised a hand in a salute to those of us in the tent as we each took a swallow of very expensive liquor.

&&&&

Two days later, the trophy party made its way down the unpaved road to New Tacoma while I counted my earnings. Westerfield had been even more generous than I’d expected, tipping me an amount equal to what I’d charged for the entire expedition. It would make for a comfortable winter.

I'd just put the cash box back in the safe when the lodge told me I had a guest. I walked through the great room and opened the front door. A slim, well-dressed, middle-aged man only a bit shorter than my 187 centimeters stood there.

Are you Rennie Mikovich? he asked in a pleasant baritone.

Yes. What can I do for you?

He extended a hand and I shook it. I noticed how small it was. My name is Maki Honamatsu.″ When I didn't reply, he asked, May I come in?"

Ah… Of course. Pardon me for being momentarily inhospitable, but it's the end of the season, and I didn't expect anyone to—

I'm not here to book an expedition, Citizen, he said as he entered the great room.

I guided him to a chair, and then took one across from him. Good, because it really is too late to go back up into those mountains. The snows—

Honamatsu smiled, revealing a perfect set of teeth except for a rather odd affectation, a gold upper incisor. I'm sure. But as I said, I'm not interested in booking an expedition. I'm interested in you, if you happen to be the same Rennie Mikovich who served in Fleet a few years ago as an astrogator.

I chuckled. To use the term 'a few years ago' is a kindness. Or is it just a matter of being tactful? In any event, it's been almost twelve years since I served the Fellowship.

That long. He shook his head. Still, how would you feel about a chance to work in space once again? I represent a ship's captain who is looking for someone like you.

I'm sorry, but I have a growing business here, with certain responsibilities—

Of course you do, Honamatsu replied, nodding and smiling. "But, isn't it true that at this time each year you stop taking clients, because, as you were about to tell me earlier, the snows are coming and it will be too difficult and dangerous to hunt in these mountains? Of course, when spring returns and the snows melt, you'll be booking expeditions right and left. But what will you do for the dark, cold months between now and then? I… We’re offering you a chance to utilize your talents and training while earning a considerable amount of money—and we give you our solemn promise that you'll be back on Reno Bright within five months."

You want me to serve as an astrogator on an in-system freighter. Shaking my head at the assumption I'd just made, I continued, But there have to be scores of younger, hungrier men and women out there, who'd jump at the chance. Why don't you make the same offer to them?

You don't understand. This berth isn't on an in-system freighter, and there aren't a lot of people out there from whom we can choose. In fact, you'd be our first through tenth choice, with everything from eleven to infinity being vacant. Because you are such a rare commodity, we are prepared to offer you a base salary of twenty-five thousand NeuMarks for the duration of the voyage, plus a five percent share of the profits we earn as a result of our efforts.

Twenty-five thousand NeuMarks! I whistled inwardly. It was as much as I'd cleared in the past three years of hard work, and all too often, danger. I was more than a little tempted. Not an in-system freighter? Then what are you talking about? You're obviously not representing Fleet, and you wouldn't even be talking to me if you were a MacCollie.

Honamatsu smiled. Right on all counts. However, there are other possibilities. I just can't discuss them at this time.

Maybe you’ve invented a competing star drive?

Not precisely. But back to the point. If you sign on, I will take you to the ship, and our captain will then explain everything to you in whatever detail you find satisfying. At that point, however, you will be contractually obligated to serve on our flight crew and to maintain absolute secrecy about our activities. In other words, once you accept our offer, there's no turning back.

I leaned toward him a bit. What if I tried?

He shook his head and smiled again. You won't. When you find out what we're doing, you'll be so excited by the adventure sitting before you that no one, nor any reason, could dissuade you from remaining on our crew.

You seem rather sure of that.

Honamatsu nodded. "I am. I'm offering you—we're offering you a berth on a voyage, the likes of which men only dream of."

What about women?

He scoffed. I have no idea what women dream of. Now, are you interested in our offer?

I paused to think about it. I was going to close the lodge and pass the winter in New Tacoma, where I'd be spending money instead of earning it. How soon do you have to know?

Now.

"Twenty-five thousand NeuMarks and five percent of any profit accruing from the voyage?"

That’s correct.

I shrugged. Where do I sign?

A handshake will suffice.

That took me aback. No contract?

We don't work that way. Either you trust us—or you don’t. Your choice.

I had to think about it for a moment. Then, extending a hand, I asked, How soon do I start?

You already have, Honamatsu replied as we shook on it. Now how can I help close your lodge for the winter?

CHAPTER TWO

Getting there is always half the fun.

It took us two hours to secure the lodge and for me to pack the few things I'd need aboard ship. Then, using Honamatsu's rented groundcar, we spent another three hours getting down to New Tacoma. The whole time, we rode beneath darkening skies. Gray clouds, low and menacing, were piling up, and I knew that the first real snow of the year was heading our way. But I wasn’t going to be there for it.

As the vehicle glided along, Honamatsu didn't waste time with idle chatter. When he did speak, his conversation was limited to the worsening weather and whether it would close in before we arrived at the spaceport. I knew we couldn't talk about the voyage—or the ship that was waiting for us—but at times, the silence within the vehicle grew almost visible.

Arriving at our destination ahead of the storm, we drove out onto the wide ferrocrete ramp. It was a slow day, with little hardware in the air or on the ground. I hadn't been back since I'd emigrated to Reno Bright eight years earlier, but a quick glance told me the spaceport hadn't changed that much. Along with a handful of sub-orbital private craft, I saw two landers sitting there. The first was an outdated Lockheed-Genco lander with 'Reno Bright Spaceways, Ltd.' painted on its side in chipped and fading red. Beside it was a decrepit-looking Sen-Mitsu lander with nothing on its sides other than a few patches of off-white paint that I thought might be hiding substandard repair work.

Seems quiet today, Honamatsu said. It was the first attempt at conversation he'd made since we’d arrived at the spaceport.

I shrugged. It was a little busier my last time through. But, as I told you, that was some years ago.

Times change. Honamatsu walked ahead. I grabbed my spacebag, slung it over my shoulder, and followed him to the Sen-Mitsu lander, all the while asking myself what I was doing there.

From the bottom of the entry ramp, the lander appeared to be a standard model, if a little superannuated, a modified lifting body with two big hydrogen-burning turbofans sitting atop the wing and a fusion thruster embedded in the rear of the fuselage to pop the ship into orbit as soon as it was above the twenty-kilometer limit. Once aboard, I discovered that Honamatsu was the pilot, and contrary to what I thought were standard space-faring procedures, there was no co-pilot.

You want to fly the right seat? Honamatsu asked, jabbing at the co-pilot’s station with his thumb.

I shook my head. I'm not rated for lander pilot.

Honamatsu grinned unpleasantly. This isn't Fleet. You want the right seat—you've got it. Otherwise, you go in back with the cargo.

I didn’t like that. So I took the right seat. I checked the panel directly in front of me and found it to be in perfect working order.

I'm impressed.

By what?

The co-pilot's console. All the displays work. One look at the outside of this thing and I didn't expect—

I'm surprised you know what you're seeing.

I snapped a look at him. I said I wasn't rated. It doesn't mean that I don't remember how to fly one of these things—even if it does look like something out of a salvage yard.

Honamatsu cocked an eyebrow, settled into his seat, leaning back as the automatic restraints draped themselves over each of us. This lander's intended to look a little shabby. People ask fewer questions that way. But I don't fly junk. Now keep your hands off the controls, and enjoy the ride.

So I'm still cargo. I put as much sarcasm in the statement as I thought I dared.

Honamatsu turned to look at me. The unpleasant grin hadn't faded. You're whatever you think you are. However, you might begin calling the checklist so we can get this thing off the ground before we're both too old to enjoy the ride.

That part of the job didn't require touching anything. Once we’d reached the end of the list, Honamatsu called spaceport control for permission to lift off, and as soon as the controller cleared us, we began moving. After turning onto the active runway, he advanced the throttles, and the acceleration slammed me back into the co-pilot's seat. We lifted off, still accelerating wildly, and once we were in the clouds, Honamatsu pointed the nose of the lander at what I thought was an impossible angle.

I yelled, You're going to stall the sonafabitch!

Not likely. Besides, I want to punch up through this storm as quickly as possible.

The lander didn't stall. Instead, it accelerated as it climbed almost vertically through the fast-moving clouds. The swirling winds bumped the lander around constantly, but Honamatsu had a sure hand on the controls, and after a few moments, we broke into clear air.

I can't believe the angle of this climb-out, I shouted over the deep hum of the engines.

Impressive, isn’t it? Honamatsu replied. We installed more powerful units during the last overhaul. The truth is that I'm not pushing her that hard.

I wondered why someone would go to the trouble of installing such powerful engines in a lander unless they were expecting the kind of trouble that would demand that kind of performance.

At twenty kilometers above the planet's surface, the engines ran short on air. I didn't know what to expect next, but I'd already seen enough to figure it wasn't going to be a disappointment. Honamatsu shut the fans down and brought the fusion thruster on line. Suddenly, six gs of acceleration pressed on our chests and it took me a few anxious moments to get my breath. Seconds later, he eased up on the throttle and the acceleration dropped to three gs.

I guess the thruster was changed at the last overhaul, too, I managed to gasp.

Honamatsu shrugged. No, just tweaked a bit. He checked the lander's chronometer. Orbit in two and a half minutes.

I waited and checked the read-outs on my console for the seventh or eighth time. I didn't have that much to say, anyway.

After the two and a half minutes had elapsed, Honamatsu shut the thruster down, and the lander began coasting. I felt myself go weightless, and then looked up through the armored windscreen. I saw nothing except an all-encompassing blackness pierced by millions of points of light.

Space. I was home again.

Where's the ship? I asked.

Say what?

I looked at him as though he’d grown an extra head. We're in orbit. We're supposed to meet a ship here, right?

Shaking his head, he said, Oh, we're not meeting it here. We're just coasting for a few minutes, waiting for a window before climbing out to Thendara.

Thendara? That’s the inner moon! I had to stop to get my breath. You're insane! Landers aren't rated for anything except to and from orbit.

Honamatsu laughed. "You're still thinking Fleet. There's additional tankage behind us with far more fuel than we need. Besides, Thendara is in orbit. It's just a little higher than you're used to."

A little higher?

Maybe I was still thinking Fleet, but in my years of service I'd been up and down on hundreds of orbital hops. And in all those times, never once could I remember a lander being used to make the jaunt from a planet's surface to one of its natural satellites. I realized that, willing or not, I was on a steep re-learning curve, and I hoped I wasn't too old to learn new tricks.

All right, if you're not going to tell me, I'll ask. Why are we going to Thendara?

He grinned. I thought you understood. That's where the ship is.

At that point, I was at least confused, if not altogether flummoxed. As far as I knew, ships were supposed to orbit planets and landers were supposed to shuttle cargo and passengers between the ship and dirtside. So it didn't make a lot of sense for a starship to be orbiting Reno Bright's innermost moon. I had to ask. In orbit. Around Thendara. Right?

He shook his head, the grin not fading. "Nope. It's on the surface. At the bottom of a crater.″

That made even less sense. I had never heard of a starship that could sustain planetfall. In my realm of experience, they were built in orbit and that was as close as they ever got to a planet, or a planet's satellite.

So it's neither a Fleet ship nor a MacCollie ship, I said.

Didn’t we already settle that?

Then who designed the ship? And the drive?

Honamatsu glanced over at me and shrugged. We don't know. When we found it, there wasn't anyone around to tell us. At least, no one human.

I wanted to react, but I didn’t because everyone in the business knew that sooner or later humanity was going to run into someone or something from the great darkness, even though contemporary theology forbade anyone to talk about it.

Then it’s an alien ship? I asked, breaking into a cold sweat.

Unless you have some other explanation for it.

An alien ship. I didn't want to believe it. I couldn’t not believe it. This is your idea of a joke, right?

Nope.

Taking a deep breath, I asked, Where did you find it?

Where it is right now. In a crater on the far side of Thendara.

How long had it been there?

Honamatsu studied the control panel for a few seconds before answering. We don't know. A few years or a few centuries. Maybe less, maybe more.

Maybe less, maybe more? That meant it could have landed there long before Reno Bright had been colonized. What kind of shape was it in?

It was pretty beat up. They'd made a poor landing and the ship had sustained quite a bit of damage. It took a while to get that fixed. From what we can tell, the crew was dying of some sickness they'd brought with them, probably from their last port of call. They just sat the ship down on the backside of Thendara and waited for the end. Still, when we found it, several sections were holding atmosphere.

I had trouble getting the next question out. Did you find alien bodies?

Honamatsu nodded. Yes, but not inside the ship. Evidently some of their customs aren't that different from ours. All of the dead were buried nearby except one. We found it, lying in its spacesuit right in the middle of all the gravesites. It must have been the one doing the burying. And I have to tell you, he or she, or whatever it was, didn't look a lot like us.

I thought about what he’d said. It wasn't something I wanted to pursue—at least, not at the moment. So you repaired this abandoned alien ship.

You could say that.

And where are we going to take it?

He shook his head, that time with a bit more vigor. You know I can't tell you that. You'll get a complete briefing when you meet the captain.

I can't wait to meet this captain of yours.

Honamatsu grinned again. Sure you can. It's another four hours before we get to Thendara. And our window is coming up in. three... two... one.... That time he pushed the lander to seven gs.

I think I gasped once and then passed out. Either I was getting too old for that kind of banging around or I was a lot less fit than I thought I was. I know I slept for a while because when I awoke, the lander was about a hundred kilometers above the surface of Reno Bright's innermost satellite.

Thendara looked like a lot of moons I'd seen in earlier times. Gray, cratered, and basically boring, it was an airless and useless satellite unless one wanted to terraform it in the manner of Earth’s Luna. And the colonists of Reno Bright were several centuries from that. With a population of fewer than 150 million, and dry surface greater than that of Earth, it would be a long time before they even thought of living on their moons—or needed to.

So how had Maki Honamatsu, et. al., stumbled across an alien ship—especially when the ship was on the backside of Reno Bright's moon.

What had they been doing out here?

I stared through the forward windscreen, lost in thought as I watched Thendara get bigger. Then Honamatsu put on the brakes. At least that time, he told me it was coming. He gave a short countdown before rotating the ship one hundred and eighty degrees and engaging the main thruster. When he did, the g-meter hovered at four and a half and stayed there for what seemed an eternity—as far as I was concerned.

When we entered orbit and began coasting around to the far side of the satellite, I asked, Why me?

Honamatsu’s right eyebrow slid skyward. What do you mean?'

How did you find me? And how is it you needed an astrogator? It wasn't my most coherent moment, but it’d been a long time since I'd been slammed around by g-forces that intense and my thoughts still weren't that clear.

We picked you because a computer picked you. I queried Reno Bright central data and told them we needed an astrogator with several years of experience but not so old that he or she was ready for retirement. Your name came up. And the reason we need a replacement is that the one we had is dead.

I glanced at him. Of natural causes?

Would you consider a three-alarm bar fight natural causes?

It sounds as though the members of your crew have interesting ways of entertaining themselves.

Honamatsu leaned toward me and smiled. No, just the astrogators.

CHAPTER THREE

That thing will never get off the ground.

My first look at the ship on which I'd be serving came from ground level.

It had to do with the mechanics of getting out of orbit around an airless body—the first rule of which is: You can't use aerodynamic braking. Actually, I thought, it's just about the only rule.

When we were three hundred kilometers from the spot at which the ship was waiting, Honamatsu turned the lander around once more and used its thruster as a brake. I thought he had a decent hand on the controls. We backed out of orbit in a near-perfect arc, finally descending in the vertical the last few hundred meters. As we did, it occurred to me that the lander was equipped with tricycle gear for operation on a runway but I couldn't remember anything resembling tail struts to support the weight of the ship if it was standing upright.

A few moments later, I learned we didn't need them. When we were about twenty meters from the surface, Honamatsu brought the lander to a complete stop, balancing it on a column of thrust from the fusion engine. Then he extended the landing gear, cut the engine, and used the positioning thrusters to rotate the nose back toward the horizon. As the nose swung down, he brought other thrusters on-line and set the lander on its wheels in a flare as gentle as a mother's kiss. I was impressed.

Of course, Thendara's surface gravity was only .11 g, so it wasn't like trying to pull the same trick on planet Earth. Still, it was an admirable display of piloting technique, and I said so.

Honamatsu nodded slightly. We try to please.

That out of the way, I asked, How do we get to the ship?

He pointed to a pair of lockers at the rear of the control cabin. We suit up and hoof it.

Across ground that's just been warmed with our exhaust? You’re nuts. I had no desire to catch any more rads in my lifetime. I’d been through with that when I left Fleet and its little wars. I'd learned the hard way that fusion thrusters produce some highly radioactive by-products with some of their half-lives measured in decades and I didn't intend to walk hundreds of meters across an area that was as hot as ground zero right after a nuclear explosion.

That got another grin from Honamatsu. So you're not dangerously ignorant. Well, not to worry. Our ride will be here in a few moments. He glanced forward through the armored windscreen. In fact, here she comes now.

I took my own look. A bug-shaped machine with four huge wire wheels was churning its way across the dusty surface of Thendara.

Come on. We do have to suit up, Honamatsu said.

The suits were what are commonly referred to as 'puffies' or 'one-size-fitzall'. Not designed for lengthy excursions into a vacuum, they’re human-shaped bags with airtight cuffs at the wrists and ankles, little airtight booties, and an attachment ring for a helmet. The Portable Life-Support System is worn inside the puffy and the user breathes oxygen under positive pressure through a tight-fitting mask. The rest of the puffy is filled with dry nitrogen from a separate tank and can be expected not to leak for the short time necessary to transfer from a lander to a starship or one lander to another in the case where a passenger tube couldn't be rigged.

I’d never had occasion to use one, so once I was suited up, Honamatsu checked me top to bottom. Gloves, he shouted through the thick plastic of the helmet. You forgot to put the gloves on.

Looking down, I couldn't believe it Forgetting gloves wouldn't have killed me, but if I'd stepped into vacuum without them it would have bruised my hands so badly I wouldn't have been able to use them for a week. It was a stupid, careless mistake. I sealed the gloves to the puffy's wristbands and said, Thanks. I owe you one.

Forget it. Just don't be so careless next time. And turn your comm on.

I nodded. There wasn't anything I could say to that.

Safely suited up, we depressurized, exited through the airlock and stepped down onto the top of the bug.