interaction with the ship's crew. "Captain's due respect, but the rest of 'em are no more spacers than rock is a miner. They'd do the same work groundside: fight or clean or cook or run machinery or whatever. Pilots are the old guild, the first spacers; you're lucky they trained you to that."
History, from the point of view of the pilots, was nothing like she'd learned back on Myriad. No grand pattern of human exploration, meetings with alien races, the formation of alliances and then the Federation of Sentient Planets. Instead, she heard a litany of names that ran back to Old Terra, stories with all the details worn away by time. Lindberg, the Red Baron, Bader, Gunn—names from before spaceflight, they said, all warriors of the sky in some ancient battle, from which none returned. Heinlein and Clarke and Glenn and Aldridge, from the early days in space . . . all the way up to Ankwir, who had just opened a new route halfway across the galaxy, cutting the flux margin below .001.
If she had not missed Abe so much, she might almost have been happy. Ship food that the others complained about she found ample and delicious. She had plenty to learn, and teachers eager to instruct. The pilots had long ago told each other their timeworn stories. But long before she forgot Abe and the slave depot, the raid came.
She was asleep in her webbing when the alarm sounded. The ship trembled around her; beneath her bare feet the deck had the odd uncertain feel that came with transition from one major drive to another.
"Sass! Get in here!" That was Krewe, loud enough to be heard over the racket of the alarm. Sass staggered a little, working her way around to her usual seat. Fersi was already there, intent on the screen. Krewe saw her and pointed to the number two position. "It's not gonna do any good, but we might as well try . . ."
Sass flicked the screen to life, and tried to make sense of the display. Something had snatched them out of FTL space, and dumped them into a blank between solar systems. And something with considerably more mass was far too close behind.
"Fleet heavy cruiser," said Krewe shortly. "Picked us up awhile back, and set a trap—"
"What?" Sass had had no idea that anything could find, let alone capture, a ship in FTL.
He shrugged, hands busy on his board. "Fleet has some new tricks, I guess. And we're about out. Here—" He tossed a strip of embossed plastic over to her. "Stick that in your board, there on the side, when I say."
Sass looked at it curiously: about a finger long, and half that wide, it looked like no data storage device she'd seen. She found the slot it would fit, and waited. Suddenly the captain's voice came over the intercom.
"Krewe—got anything for me? They're demanding to board—"
"Maybe. Hang on." Krewe nodded at Sass, and slid an identical strip into the slot of his board. Sass did the same, as did Fersi. The ship seemed to lurch, as if it had tripped over something, and the lights dimmed. Abruptly Sass realized that she was being pressed into the back of her seat—and as abruptly, the pressure shifted to one side, then the other. Then something made a horrendous noise, all the lights went out, and in the sudden cold dark she heard Krewe cursing steadily.
* * *
She woke in a clean bunk in a brightly lit compartment full of quiet bustle. Almost at once she missed a familiar pressure on her neck, and lifted her hand. The slave collar was gone. She glanced around warily.
"Ah . . . you're awake." A man in a clean white uniform, sleeves striped to the elbow with black and gold, came to her. "And I'll bet you wonder where you are, and what happened, and—do you know what language I'm speaking?"
Sass nodded, too amazed to speak. Fleet. It had to be Fleet. She tried to remember what Abe had told her about stripes on the sleeves; these were wing-shaped, which meant something different from the straight ones.
"Good, then." The man nodded. "You were a slave, right?
History, from the point of view of the pilots, was nothing like she'd learned back on Myriad. No grand pattern of human exploration, meetings with alien races, the formation of alliances and then the Federation of Sentient Planets. Instead, she heard a litany of names that ran back to Old Terra, stories with all the details worn away by time. Lindberg, the Red Baron, Bader, Gunn—names from before spaceflight, they said, all warriors of the sky in some ancient battle, from which none returned. Heinlein and Clarke and Glenn and Aldridge, from the early days in space . . . all the way up to Ankwir, who had just opened a new route halfway across the galaxy, cutting the flux margin below .001.
If she had not missed Abe so much, she might almost have been happy. Ship food that the others complained about she found ample and delicious. She had plenty to learn, and teachers eager to instruct. The pilots had long ago told each other their timeworn stories. But long before she forgot Abe and the slave depot, the raid came.
She was asleep in her webbing when the alarm sounded. The ship trembled around her; beneath her bare feet the deck had the odd uncertain feel that came with transition from one major drive to another.
"Sass! Get in here!" That was Krewe, loud enough to be heard over the racket of the alarm. Sass staggered a little, working her way around to her usual seat. Fersi was already there, intent on the screen. Krewe saw her and pointed to the number two position. "It's not gonna do any good, but we might as well try . . ."
Sass flicked the screen to life, and tried to make sense of the display. Something had snatched them out of FTL space, and dumped them into a blank between solar systems. And something with considerably more mass was far too close behind.
"Fleet heavy cruiser," said Krewe shortly. "Picked us up awhile back, and set a trap—"
"What?" Sass had had no idea that anything could find, let alone capture, a ship in FTL.
He shrugged, hands busy on his board. "Fleet has some new tricks, I guess. And we're about out. Here—" He tossed a strip of embossed plastic over to her. "Stick that in your board, there on the side, when I say."
Sass looked at it curiously: about a finger long, and half that wide, it looked like no data storage device she'd seen. She found the slot it would fit, and waited. Suddenly the captain's voice came over the intercom.
"Krewe—got anything for me? They're demanding to board—"
"Maybe. Hang on." Krewe nodded at Sass, and slid an identical strip into the slot of his board. Sass did the same, as did Fersi. The ship seemed to lurch, as if it had tripped over something, and the lights dimmed. Abruptly Sass realized that she was being pressed into the back of her seat—and as abruptly, the pressure shifted to one side, then the other. Then something made a horrendous noise, all the lights went out, and in the sudden cold dark she heard Krewe cursing steadily.
* * *
She woke in a clean bunk in a brightly lit compartment full of quiet bustle. Almost at once she missed a familiar pressure on her neck, and lifted her hand. The slave collar was gone. She glanced around warily.
"Ah . . . you're awake." A man in a clean white uniform, sleeves striped to the elbow with black and gold, came to her. "And I'll bet you wonder where you are, and what happened, and—do you know what language I'm speaking?"
Sass nodded, too amazed to speak. Fleet. It had to be Fleet. She tried to remember what Abe had told her about stripes on the sleeves; these were wing-shaped, which meant something different from the straight ones.
"Good, then." The man nodded. "You were a slave, right?
Similar Books
The King of Swords (max mingus)
Nick Stone
The Arms Maker of Berlin
Dan Fesperman
Sworn
Emma Knight
Her Five Favorite Words
Gina Gordon
Grave Mistake
Ngaio Marsh
Ghost Detectors Volume 1
Dotti Enderle
Dragonswan.doc
Unknown