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Jasmin (part II)
by Vivian Darkbloom
I just didn't get it. Several hours had gone by, and I was poring
over the pages of information on cryogenics my PDA had retrieved
from the Galactranet, as I monitored the status displayed on the
screen next to the sarcophagus.
My mind avoided the obvious explanation. More than avoided:
dodged, denied, defied, and decried. But in the end, there,
still, it was.
Even the thought of Darvo setting foot in this cryo-chamber
filled me with disgust. But the idea that he had removed the
regulator, it didn't make any sense.
Not that he had any qualms about cold-blooded murder, literally.
But the Noxgothians had specific injunctions against the
execution of someone in cryostasis, dating back from the early
days. Problem back then was it subtracted too many from the
countless numbers of souls they needed for toil and labor in the
fields and diamond mines, and in the dismal trenches of several
dozen wars the Imperial Coalition had begun in the name of
religious purification.
And if the rules had changed, you can be sure I would have heard
about it. A key to survival in these times is keeping up with the
bizarre and complex set of technical laws and regulations set
forth by the Inquisition.
Whether one agrees or not, by understanding the regulations and
the ins and outs of their various arbitrary boundaries and
clauses, one can often find a means to avoid some of the less
desirable consequences.
And indeed, the Inquisition has regulations against capturing a
ship while there is still a live individual on board. That is, an
individual who either possibly has been or possibly could be
converted. Never mind, whether said individual understands
English or not, the question has to be put to them (in the very
fashion that it had so recently been put to me) and at the very
least the relevant party has to be conscious in order to make the
choice. Those are the rules.
No matter the linguistic ability of the recipient of such
wondrous grace, given that the Inquisition recognized only
English as the Noxgoth-given tongue. But the occupant had to be
roused, if dorment, and the question put. Once that had taken
place, the ship could be destroyed summarily in the absence of an
affirmative answer to "the question."
I agree, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Pretty bleedin'
ridiculous, in fact. Not that Darvo really followed the rules,
but ever since he had had his hand slapped a few times for
particularly egregious violations, he had been a tad bit more
careful about maintaining plausable deniability. Though (for
example) he still refused to maintain a registration with the
Inquisition tracking system, meaning that it he could sneak up on
an unwary space traveler with much greater ease than an ordinary
Inquisition vessel.
As far as this ship went, by eliminating the living individual
the ship would default into becoming property of the Imperial
Inquisition. Probably the only thing that had saved this ship
from a fiery demise was its potential value at an auction, or
(more likely) its worth as a status symbol, a gift that would
serve effectively a token of political favor for someone of
influence within the Inquisition.
Surely, I countered, an autopsy would reveal the cause of death,
and point to the obvious suspects.
Unless there were to be no autopsy. Or unless the blame were
shifted to the hapless underlings now (most likely) on their way
to claim possession of the ship.
No question, Darvo was a madman. Even among members of the
inquisition, there was debate whether his strategies were
effective, or whether they did more to diminish the credibility
of Noxigoth by promoting righteous moral outrage at the
intolerance of the church. Not to mention that the inquisition
itself was illegal in some places. Syrene, for instance.
Syrene, yes. A starsystem named for its most inhabitable planet,
which in turn was named for some beloved person, place or thing
back on the planet Earth. The planet Syrene was nearby to here,
and there I had several friends who might possibly be willing to
assist in such a time of dire need.
Urgency nagged. Time was short, and I had to get out of there, at
least in person, but with any luck taking the ship (and with even
more luck, its occupant) with me. I had to find a way to repair
the Sabre's propulsion systems, and quickly.
But I couldn't, in good conscience, abandon the cryogenic thawing
to an automated process. Even if it hadn't been an outrageously
beautiful and sexy young girl, it wouldn't have been right to
risk something going wrong. A life was in my very hands.
Again I cursed, profusely, at length, and in a variety of obscene
idioms, the events of the day, the inquisition itself, the
listless state of the ship I found myself on, the infuriatingly
snail-like pace of the thawing process, and various events from
the past and future which might have interfered, or might be
going to interfere in any way, shape, or form, with my past,
present, or future happiness.
Falling silent again, my mind blanked out, so I continued to read
up on cryogenics:
Items to check for when the subject awakes:
* Mental functioning - is the subject disoriented, or do they
have a clear idea of where they are and why they are there?
* Memory - can the subject remember such information as their
own name, the names of objects in the room, the alphabet, the
color of their own eyes, and so on?
* Activity level - does the subject seem pale and lethargic, or
do they quickly regain their former level of energetic
activity and complexion?
If the subject fails to perform any of these items with an
acceptable level of proficiency, waste no time in seeking
professional medical help, immediately.
Great, I mused grimly. Since it's not available, let's hope we
don't need that.
Remember that the process of awakening can be jarring to the
subject, so it's best to create a soothing and safe environment
for the event to take place. Quiet, relaxing music, for example,
can go a long ways to contribute to the harmonious sense of
well-being, and help to ensure that the re-awakening goes as
smoothly as possible.
Soothing music, I wondered. I thought about how much less
soothing the music I listened to was than that of my parents'
generation.
And here was someone who had been in Rip-Van-Winkle-land for a
little over two centuries. I figured the most soothing thing I
could find would be something which, to her, would be
sufficiently jangling to cause neural overload and permanent
mental disorder. Unless I dug through the archives to find
something of her era, two hundred years ago.
Did pre-teen girls listen to bubble-gum trash pop music, even way
back then? I scratched my head, imagining unrealistically that
back in those rustic times they all read poetry in multiple
languages and listened to the most erudite of sophisticated music
steeped in the classics of all ages of recorded human history.
"Uh-uh," she began to stir.
____________________________________________________________
When the thawing process had reached a certain point, I had
followed the recommendation of the display screen, covering the
subject with a blanket, to avoid "unsettling emotions resulting
from undue modesty." Tenderly, I placed my hand on her forehead.
Yes, quite warm now. Her cheeks were silky-soft under my fingers.
She yawned, stretched, and blinked. Then sitting up halfway with
a start, she glared angrily at me.
"Jasmin McCloud," I spoke her name quietly, soothingly.
"Yes," she replied, and continued to glare. "That's me. So who
the hell are you?" She glanced at the two empty cryo-pods. "And
where the fuck are my mom and dad?"
Hmm. A bristlingly unkempt space-wolf like myself was not likely
to be a reassuring sight to the reawakening subject, but there
was not much to be done about it at the moment.
I went down the checklist. "Hmm. Mental functioning. Jasmin, do
you know where you are?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah!" with an inflection that filled out
the phrase something like "of course, dork-brain!"
"Can you tell me where you are?"
"No, I asked you first. Who the fuck are you, and what the hell
are you doing on my family's ship?"
Something told me that I would not succeed in convincing her to
recite the alphabet.
I sighed. "I wish I could tell you more, love. Your mom and dad
must have departed, I don't know when. The ship was
malfunctioning, so they probably left to get help or repairs.
You've been in cryogenic stasis for two hundred years now."
"Two hund-" Her mouth worked. "But we were just making a simple
flight from Capricorn to Syrene. It shouldn't have taken more
than ten years."
It was my turn to gasp. "Ten--" I put my head in my hands,
feeling the weight of the ancient civilizations.
"What?" she demanded.
"You can make it now in about ten days," I said.
"No way," she protested weakly.
"Two hundred years is a long time. The galaxy is a very different
place now. Look, I found some of you clothes in the drawers in
one of the bedrooms, so I'll step out for a minute while you get
dressed."
"Pervert. Going through my underwear."
"Thank you, but this is no time for compliments. We have to get
ourselves at least, and preferably this ship as well, out of here
before the Inquisition returns."
"And don't get any ideas!" she shouted after me. "I'm a lesbian,
you know!"
I departed the room, unplugging my PDA and carrying it with me to
begin on the next task, namely finding an uncorrupted copy of the
corrected Sabre's operating software to download.
I was flipping through hyper-pages and humming a catchy little
melody to myself, when I felt the cold muzzle of a disrupter
pistol against the back of my skull.
"Hands up, buster. Move it!"
I complied, casually amused.
"You lied to me. My parents didn't just leave on their own
accord. Otherwise, they would have come back for me."
"Unless one of the systems that malfunctioned was the ship's
beacon, and they couldn't find their way back."
She considered this.
"Look," I continued. "I guarantee you that the last place I want
to be right now is on board this ship. As soon as I get this
rattle-trap moving again, I'll be glad to get off at the nearest
planet we can find, leaving you to your own devices. If, that
is--" I smirked, "-- you can figure out how to fly this thing."
"Look, mister --"
"Xithnous," I filled in.
"OK, Mr. Xithnous,"
"Actually it's not Mr. Xithnous, it's just Xithnous. It's not my
last name but my first name. Well, actually it's both my first
and last name, because it's my only name. My parents were a
little strange, see and ..."
"Shut up."
"Well I was just explaining..."
She angled the disrupter against my skull meaningfully. "Look Mr.
Xithnous, or Sithmouse, or whatever you want to be called. I've
completed five years of training in flight strategy and combat at
the Capricorn military school..."
"I see. And while we're on the subject, I was wondering how you
planned to fire the disrupter while the safety latch is still on.
And don't worry, you can't undo it without knowing the
combination. I'll give you a hint -- it was my last girlfriend's
birthday."
"You had a girlfriend?"
"Don't sound so amazed. It may happen to you someday." Her jaw
dropped. "You did say you were a lesbian?"
She stared at me incredulously, and then bless her heart, not
trusting me at all, she pointed the gun away from me in order to
verify what I had just said, that the gun wouldn't work. Gingerly
she pulled the trigger.
A blinking red holo-projection popped up.
AUTHORIZATION ERROR
Please enter combination.
"Funny thing to do with your girlfriend's birthday," she mused.
"Ex-girlfriend," I corrected. "Well, for the entire time we were
going together, I couldn't for the life of me remember her
birthday. Then, by the time I had finally memorized it, we broke
up. So I didn't want to waste all that effort I had put into
memorizing it."
"Why did you break up?"
I considered, woefully recalling to mind the whole affair, along
with its ever-so-sad ending. "Basically I think the reason she
broke up with me was because I kept forgetting stuff that was
important to her. Like, for example, I guess it was mainly
because I could never remember her birthday. Chicks are funny
about stuff like that."
She smiled. "Funny," she echoed.
"And then," I continued, I found out it wasn't enough to remember
the date. I had to remember it on the date itself, and even
worse, I had to plan ahead and get something special for her, and
additionally I had to get it wrapped... way too hectic."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. I was supposed to get something for
my friend Molly last week, but I guess now I'm a little late. She
had lowered the disrupter, and now was staring at the date
displayed on the lower right-hand corner of my PDA's main
holo-screen."
"Is the date on that clock right?" she asked.
"10:43 A.M. February 14th, 2412," it read.
"Looks about right," I said.
"Our flight took off in January of 2211," she trailed off in a
distant voice.
"Long time ago," I said.
Her face filled with pleasant reflections "I like that number.
2211. My friends are so jealous. I'm going on a trip across the
galaxy."
Her smile lingered for a while, before it gradually faded.
"Must have been a special year," I offered.
"More than two hundred years ago." She was trying to comprehend,
to get her mind around it. Almost angrily, she cried out. "Now I
bet my friends are all dead. Lucy and Evan, and Jane..." she
sobbed.
Gingerly, I reached out and drew her near to me, enfolding her in
my arms. Now unleashed, her sadness flowed uncontrollably.
Aside from the physical hazards, I was starting to see why
cryogenics had declined in popularity.
"And then," she sniffed and smiled ironically, "then, I wake up
on February 14th."
"Must be a special sort of day," I offered.
"Valentine's day," she mumbled under her breath.
I swore, clapping my hand to my forehead. "Dammit, I knew there
was something familiar about that date."
Tearfully amused, she looked me in the eye. "You know, you're
goofy, but cute."
Resignedly, she unhanded the disrupter, and plopped it into my
palm, handle first.
"Thanks," I said, accepting it. " `Preciate the compliment. Oh,
and by the way,"
"What."
"There's a message for you on the comsystem."
"Can you show me it?"
"Does this mean we're friends now?"
She smiled, playfully. "We'll see. Just don't forget I had combat
training."
"And I trained as a pacifist resistor," I threatened back.
She gave me a look.
We walked back out to the bridge, and her eyes widened, face
flushed.
"Look, are you sure you're OK?" I asked. "Coming out of
cryostasis like that can be stressful. If you need to lie down or
anything go ahead."
"No," she said quietly. "I'll be fine." She stepped up to the
console and rapidly flicked a series of switches in an apparently
familiar sequence. There was a small popping sound, and a few
sparks flew from the console.
"Whoa," she jumped back.
"It's not working," I commented. "I have to download the
corrected operating software. There's a patch available, but it
looks like it might be a hassle to install, and loading entire
operating system into an application thread on my PDA will only
take about twenty minutes..."
"Twenty minutes?" she asked incredulously. Then she whispered:
"It took them two days to load it." She was staring at the date
displayed on the ship's console.
"So where's this message?" she demanded.
I punched a few buttons on the side of the console that was still
operational, and we got back to the window I had seen before.
Message for Jasmin. Read now?
I stood aside as she clicked on `yes.'
"I hope you know what the security code is," I said as the next
screen popped up. "Would you like me to leave the room?"
"No, that's OK," she said, punching a series of buttons too
rapidly for me to follow.
The harsh businesslike letters of the security screen faded, and
were replaced by the dynamic motion of recorded video. At first,
a giant, jolting, distorted out-of-focus hand filled the screen,
apparently adjusting the camera angle, and then the hand receded
as its owner sat back far enough away from the lens to behold in
proper proportion.
Two adults, male and female, were sitting together on the exact
same padded black leather chairs now in front of the console, in
the very room we stood in. Both faces in the video were smiling
reassuringly, but both showing signs of being emotionally on
edge.
"Hi Jasmin," began the woman, voice filled with obvious
affection. "This is your mum and dad. We wanted to be sure you
got this message in case don't see you. I mean... if you wake up
before we got back."
The date at the bottom of the screen, in squarish line-drawn red
letters read: "March 12, 2221." Ten years after their departure
in 2211.
"We've arrived in the vicinity of the Syrene starsystem, but
there's something gone wrong with the ship's console, so we've
gone off to get help, to get it fixed."
Her dad broke in -- "Don't worry dear. We'll be back to get you
as soon as we are able."
My heart was heavy at hearing those words. They hadn't realized
that the beacon wasn't working. That the navigational computers
were offline, so they didn't realize that the ship was adrift,
careening slowly and randomly through space. They didn't know
they wouldn't be able to find their way back. Her mother, brow
furrowed, was concentrating on remembering something.
"There was an important message I was supposed to give you," she
said. "they told me long ago. The H.G. Wells spaceport."
My jaw dropped. "Hold it. Put it on pause for a sec."
Brushing a tear from her eye, Jasmin hit pause. "What?"
"The H.G. Wells spaceport. Syrene."
"So? What about it? I never heard of it." Her voice wavered with
emotion.
"That would be because it was only completed less than a year
ago."
She shrugged. "So?"
"So how did your mom know about it back in 2221?"
She was silent. "Didn't H.G. Wells write a book called `The Time
Machine?' My mom read it to me when I was little."
Impatiently, she shrugged again and punched play, and the images
came to life once again.
Her father frowned at her in irritation. "I don't know what's got
into you, Alice. There's no such thing as the H.G. Wells
spaceport. You're just going to confuse the girl." He faced the
camera again, smiling nervously. "We're heading off in the
shuttle toward the planet called Syrene." He fretted anxiously.
"We wish we could take you with us, but for some reason your
cryopod's timer didn't trigger, with the ship's systems all askew
like this we figure it will be best not to manually initiate the
awakening sequence."
"...And your visitor," her Mom continued, "I forget his name, but
it starts with an X. You can trust him. He's a worthy friend."
Her father turned away again, frowning. "Alice, hush." He waved
at the camera. "Don't worry Jazzy, we'll be back for you in a
jiffy," he said with gleeful hubris.
Her mother was crying now. "Good by dear. Don't forget, we'll
always love you."
The image faded and went blank.
Jasmin turned to me, face towards the floor, and collapsed into
my arms, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. With frantic
futility, I put an effort into soothing her mussed hair, but
wound up just holding her tiny body close to mine as her emotion
poured forth.
After what seemed like centuries, the tears and sobs began to
ebb, and the warmth of her youthful flesh pressed against mine,
my shirt soaked from her lachrymal flow.
"Does your name begin with an `X?'" she queried.
"Xithnous, yes it would." I spelled it for her.
The information filled her with a mysterious calmness, and we
stood together, our bodies gently close. The sweet stillness of
her childlike breathing brushed softly against my shirt pocket,
and her fingers absent-mindedly traced the shapes of my
shoulderblades.
At that inconvenient moment, the intercept monitor I had set up
screeched annoyingly.
"What the hell is that?" she asked, with obvious irritation.
"Intercept monitor. I have it set up to warn of any Imperial
ships headed in this direction."
Reluctantly, we broke apart our embrace, and she watched while I
punched several buttons and gestured in the air to bring up the
monitor display.
It would have been too far away to detect any ordinary ships, but
all standard-issue Imperial vessels were equipped with a
specially encrypted tracking device, so that the central command
center would be able to monitor each and every move at all times.
Supposedly, the tracking was encrypted, but the underground had
cracked the codes long ago, and most non-Inquisition ships
nowadays had some sort of similar Intercept monitor to warn of
approaching Imperial cruisers.
"What's it say?" she asked.
"Three ships. Recon configuration, with medium battle array.
Should arrive in approximately ... 4.2 hours."
____________________________________________________________
The tension in the room palpably increased.
"Didn't you say it would take only twenty minutes to fix the
controls?" she asked.
"Well yeah, twenty minutes to pull in the patch from the
Galactranet onto my PDA, but from what you said a full reload
into the main console would take several days. Looks like I had
better go for the patch, which would load more quickly but looks
like a it will be a hassle to install." My heart raced, and
brushed drops of perspiration from my forehead. "Gonna be tight."
She shrugged and sat down in the black leather console chair to
watch as I went to work.
It was one of those tasks that would have been stressful even
without time pressure. The added urgency didn't make it any more
pleasant, and it took all of my willpower to force myself to
assume a measured pace, to execute each step with verifiable
certainty. There would not be any time to go back and fix
mistakes.
Twisting my fingers in the air, to turn the holo-knob, scrolling
to the spot in the history matrix where my last search for intact
version Sabre DX-42 OS was stored. Poring over the results, I
punched the points in the air to bring up a search dialog, and
dragged it to the side for better visibility, punching in another
key phrase to search for while I scanned the page in front of
me...
Some time later, I heard gentle music drifting from one of the
corridors that branched off from the main control room I sat in,
and I turned to see that she had left. I halted the frantic
commotion of what I was doing for a minute to listen.
Solo harp in the distance, as if bridging across a yawning chasm
in the ages of time. It started, there was a mistake, and it
stopped, then started again. Now continuing beautifully,
flowingly. An ancient Celtic air, it sounded like. Now I heard
the sound of singing, floating gracefully like a bird taking off
in slow-motion mirrored in a still lake below.
I let my shoulders relax, and my mind go blank momentarily, felt
myself yearning for my flute that had been left behind on a
distant planet some time ago, for the hours to spend in leisurely
strolls through luxuriant twists, turns, and curves of melodic
hills and valleys.
I sighed, returning to the treadmill, the perpetually scurrying
chipmunk-wheel of infinitely aggravating nitpicky little details.
Glancing at the clock, it was already under three hours they
would be here.
____________________________________________________________
Truth be told, my ability to repair that which was broken is one
of my most magical skills. I wouldn't want to claim that I enjoy
the nail-biting suspense, but there was a certain amount of pride
when I saw that it was complete with a little over an hour to go.
I held my breath, turned the final virtual holo-valve to allow
the current to flood back into the console, and the whole thing
lit up, like a glowing city at night.
All over the ship, different systems that had been out of whack
for several centuries sprang into motion, blinking, emitting
quiet beeps and clicks, and correcting the skew, tightening the
slippage, emending the drift.
Only after she reappeared on the deck did I notice silence that
had replaced the harp music.
"You play very beautifully," I remarked, as she sat down in the
chair to my right.
"Thank you."
"Of course, I couldn't hear very clearly, from way out here.
Sometime I would like to listen close up."
She smiled. "If you had, you wouldn't have thought I played so
well." Her hands flew over the controls as she brought the
engines back to life. "What's going on with the airlock?" she
asked.
"Oh. My escape pod."
"You'll need to bring it into the main shuttle bay," she said.
"It looks like the landing shuttle is gone."
"Wow," I said. "It looks like you really do know how to fly this
thing." Better than I could, right now at least, I thought to
myself. These controls were arcane and archaic, and there were
half a dozen things it would take me precious time to puzzle
over.
She shrugged. "Told you."
"Look, can you get us out of here? We have some time still, but
these these location coordinates are not the right ones for us to
be occupying right now."
"Sure, I can. But it won't do any good to go anywhere if they've
placed a homing beacon on the ship."
I clapped my forehead with my palm. "Of course. Duh. Why didn't I
think of that?"
"Girls are smarter," she said. "You could go have a look for it
while you're bringing your escape pod into the shuttle bay."
I bolted upright and strode towards the hallway I had come in.
"You might want to take this along with you," she said, holding
out a universal directional signaling detector, an old one about
the size of a box of candy.
I was about to tell her that I had one the size of a business
card ... that I had left on board my now-nonexistent ship.
Sighing, I accepted her offer.
"And don't forget to bundle up," she called after me. "It's cold
out there."
It took me about fifteen minutes to find it, and I felt silly
holding this huge old piece of antiquated electronics. But it the
detector did work, and sure enough there was the homing beacon,
an ugly tapering cylindrical thing about the size of a soccer
ball, colored dull grey, stamped on the side in blood red with
the emblem of the Inquisition, and with the classic flashing
light on the top pulsing about once a second. It was lodged in
the crease between one of the decorative fins and the hull, but
fortunately the robotic arms the pod was equipped with were long
enough to reach it, and I could disable the adhesion field easily
with a dissolution algorithm I had come up with long ago for a
similar purpose.
No sooner had I pulled the pod away from the ship, than the ship
itself began to move, slowly. My heart pounded with anxiety. She
wouldn't just leave me here, would she?
The comscreen flashed to life, filled with her lovely face. "No
offense dude, but I'm going to speed things up a bit by rotating
the shuttle bay doors in your direction. Your calculations gave
the amount of time until the physical intersect. Strategically
speaking, it would be advantageous to subtract the time that we
would be within radar range from that estimate. Meaning that we
only have twenty minutes left, so you better get your tail back
in here."
"Doh," I clapped my forhead. "Radar range. That one always gets
me. So I guess I'll toss the beacon away into space," as I was
about to do.
"How about we launch it using the catapult, simultaneously using
a brief punch-thrust to propel us in the direction of Syrene,
after which we coast on momentum until our thrusters are clear of
detection range. That way, if they do happen to detect a burst of
thruster blast, they'll associate it with the alteration in the
course of the beacon. Plus, the catapult will give us complete
control over the direction and velocity, unlike a random toss
with robotic arms. "
"Right," I said, meekly. "Just what I was about to say."
"You're a really lousy liar," she said. "And you know what else?"
"No."
"Girls are smarter."
I cursed wordlessly.
The open doorway of the shuttle bay appeared in front of me, and
with a light tap on the thrusters I found myself inside. The
doors promptly closed behind me.
Once the pressure had equalized, she slid open the inner access
door, (she had been watching through the square portrait-sized
window) and helped me disengage the beacon from the robotic arms.
It wasn't too heavy, light enough for one person to handle.
"Here, let me get that," she said, "You'd probably drop it and
break it."
"Hey," I protested.
She opened the door to a nearby transport chute and tossing the
nasty artifact of the Inquisition inside, and selecting
"catapult" from the menu of buttons arrayed alongside as the door
slid shut, and there was a soft bumping sound as nasty thing was
whisked off to its destination.
Silently, we both hurried back to the bridge, where we sat as
before, I on the left and she on the right. Her hands flew across
the controls.
"Syrene," I said.
She nodded. "Once we're moving, If they get within radar range,
they'll see us," she said.
"Let me handle that," I replied, already gesturing in the air
over the PDA, sliding and toggling and twisting the virtual
controls and panels. "Just get us the hell out of here."
She blinked. "OK."
"Cloaking field," I explained.
"Oh. Well, Here goes a quick blast to send us in the direction of
Syrene, as I launch the beacon in another direction."
"You should send it away from them, not towards them, so it will
take longer for them to catch up with it."
She smiled wryly at me. "I figured the best strategy would be to
launch it in the direction of another populated starsystem
nearby, but in the opposite direction of our projected course,
one which which the enemy ship would plausibly presume to be our
destination. I chose Narzene from the list that your PDA turned
up."
"Why do I even bother?" I asked.
"You're goofy," she said, "But cute. OK, here we go."
I sat back in my seat, bracing myself for the jolt, but the
counter-thrust gravitational damping was perfect, and I didn't
feel a thing. Damn, these old Sabres were built right.
We both watched on the display as the nasty old beacon flew off
to vanish in the stars, and meanwhile I worked to get the
cloaking device up and running. I had never used it on a vessel
as big as this one, but the same basic principle scaled up just
fine, and once I flipped the virtual toggle to power the cloaking
subsystem, and we were apparently, no longer apparent.
"Those things still spook me out," she said, watching me.
"What, the holo-controls?"
"Is that what you call them? Waving your hands in the air to make
stuff work." Her movements got all flustery to illustrate.
"Weird," she said. "It's going to take me a while to get used to
them."
After a good ten minutes or so, the three Imperial vessels
noticed the change of course, and set off faithfully in pursuit
of the beacon.
Apparently, our disappearance was successful.
Completely drained and exhausted from the days events, I stumbled
off to find something that looked like a guest bedroom in order
to collapse in sleep. A glance back, I saw her starry eyes
twinkling as she sat watch over the bridge. Then again, she had
spent plenty of time resting.
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