Tin Woodman Read Online Free PDF Page B

bridge’s main vu-tank. “I want to keep an eye on the boy. Don’t trust him at all.”
    “Why?” asked Coffer. “What could he do?”
    “I’m not sure,” muttered Darsen. “But Harlthor hasn’t been playing straight with us. I know it.”
    Coffer shrugged and activated the vu-tank. A holographic image of the hangar deck, transmitted through the Pegasus’ internal surveillance cameras, coalesced within the huge crystal globe which hung suspended in the center of the bridge. The vu-tank showed the dull gray bulkheads and sharp black shadows of the hangar deck. In the middle of the picture, centered over the bay doors, stood the spider. The craft rested on six of its eight articulated metal appendages. The remaining two thrust forward into the air, their grappling claws extended. The cabin of the craft was nothing more than an open metal cage with a seat bolted into it, mounted just below the point where the legs joined the body of the ship. Gilt metal shielding separated the cabin from the chemical engines which propelled the spider. Exposed cables ran up and down every surface.
    Coffer switched over to the spider’s inboard monitor; the scene in the vu-tank dissolved into a close-up of Div’s head, his features hidden behind the dark visor of his reflective yellow pressure suit. Darsen stared at the image as though trying to pierce the black mirror of Div’s helmet and read the boy’s expression. After several moments, the captain returned his attention to Coffer. “Okay. Proceed with launch when ready—signal that to the local controller,” he ordered. “And keep that monitor on.” He looked around the bridge realizing that someone was missing. “Where the devil is the shiplady?”
    “Do you care?” asked Coffer, coldly.
    “Not really. Log her as absent from her post.”
    Darsen watched the vu-tank sullenly.

    Mora stood alone in one of the observation rooms which lined the walls of the hangar deck, separated from the depressurized launch area by less than an inch of transparent metal and plastics. She made no attempt to reach out to the mind of the boy who sat strapped into the heart of the spider. She knew that Div’s thoughts were fifty thousand kays distant, focused on Tin Woodman.
    The door behind her slid open. A young man wearing an engineering uniform entered the observation room. She read him, found that he was surprised that the room was occupied. Nothing more. She had never noticed him before; he did not appear to recognize her.
    “I’m supposed to watch the launch,” he said, smiling. “Do you mind?” Mora shook her head. As he walked across the room toward the mirror next to her, she saw that he was no taller than herself, well under two meters tall. His hair was dark, his eyes were brown; she guessed from his features that he was a native of Earth, probably of European ancestry. He wore an ensign’s badges on his flame-colored uniform. And he was certainly young—perhaps twenty-three years old.
    “My name’s Ston,” he offered. “Ston Maurtan.”
    “I’m Mora . . . Elbrun,” she replied, trying to watch the hangar deck without being impolite. Ston did not seem to recognize the name.
    “I’ve been aboard about three months,” said Ston. “Just commissioned. I’m really still in training—the Chief Engineer said I should observe this.” Maurtan smiled again. He seemed loquacious, but was so unaffectedly friendly that she didn’t find him annoying.
    Suddenly the warning lights which lined the bay doors of the hangar deck flashed red. The doors began to part beneath Div’s vehicle. Mora’s attention was drawn back to the launch.
    “That’s the telepath from Earth, right?” asked Ston.
    Mora nodded absently, intent on the event unfolding beneath them. A tingling crawled up her spine. A sense of dread, and yet at the same time a sense of giddy elation. Then she realized that Ston was gazing at her as intensely as she had been staring at the ship. She looked him in