looked completely unfazed, and the other crewmembers were taking a few seconds to reorient themselves.
"What fun," he said. "Status check."
Chief Black blinked at the console in front of her, as if it had just materialised. "Aye sir," she said, her eyes scanning the readouts. "Looks like we're all good."
"Very well. Comms?"
"We're picking up new 'Tunnel' cells sir," said the technician.
"Sensors?"
"Sir," said the crewmember at the sensors station. "Many contacts, sir. Lead patrol ship is John F. Kennedy , sir. Present are her group, plus the New York group, plus a British squadron, an Indian squadron, and support ships."
"Hell," whispered Dillon. That was a lot of hardware to defend the Milky Way's end of the wormhole. The Palani had demanded — repeatedly — that the wormhole be shut down, with the usual unspoken 'or else'. Apparently, some people were taking it seriously. "Comms, send our regards to all ships present, but we need to be on our way. Helm, plot a course for New Halifax, and get us underway."
"Aye aye, sir," said Pakinova. "Course entered for New Halifax. At best FTL, we'll be there by nineteen-thirty hours today."
"Thank you, helm. Take us home."
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was late afternoon in Ottawa. The city's massive sunshades were folding themselves like flowers at sunset, letting the waning rays of the sun slide in and set the city aglow.
Elan walked alongside Blaine, the two of them climbing St. Laurent Boulevard, now only a few steps from the apartment. Normally, Blaine walked briskly around the apartment, but today he'd slowed down to match Elan's own slower, almost processional, gait. For that, Elan was thankful. It had been a busy day, and he was exhausted. Although he'd been meditating to raise his body temperature to an unprecedented thirty-two degrees, Ottawa had been much hotter than that. Today had been like taking a day-long tour of a furnace, and despite his coldsuit working at maximum power, it had been a physical ordeal.
The makeup on his face started itching hours ago, but Elan hadn't touched it. He wondered just how much he needed it; as long as he was with Blaine, no one seemed to see him. His hair was gathered up under the knit cap he wore on his head, and his hands were covered by so-called 'athletic gloves'. Blaine had assured him this was the current style; the clothes he'd lent him fit comfortably, despite Elan being shorter.
Next to the sculpted perfection of Blaine, he was virtually invisible. Total strangers, male and female alike, found ridiculous excuses to stop and talk to the human. They might drop something in the street, or ask for directions, or use a pet animal called a 'dog' as an excuse to initiate conversation. It had happened five times during the day, and each time the people only acknowledged Elan in the context of determining if he and Blaine were romantic partners. He'd enjoyed the amusing looks of relief and hope when Blaine introduced Elan as his 'cousin from offworld'. In a very broad sense, he had begun to feel he was.
A final turn, and the two of them started the last hundred metres to the apartment. A shuttle passed overhead, its engines whining as it climbed into the sky. Elan watched it ascend, its path curling up toward the heavens.
"How you doing, Elan?" asked Blaine, snapping him out of his daydream.
"I'm tired, Blaine. And this makeup is itchy. But it's worth it."
"Oh?" asked Blaine, surprised. "Itchy? I should've thought of that. I'll get you some non-allergenic cosmetics in case you want to do this again." Blaine's brilliant smile flashed his way. "You're such a trouper, Elan, marching around the city all day long."
"Thank you," said Elan, slowing as they reached the apartment door. "You have been kind to spend the day showing me around."
Blaine opened the door, gesturing for Elan to enter. "No problem. It was
"What fun," he said. "Status check."
Chief Black blinked at the console in front of her, as if it had just materialised. "Aye sir," she said, her eyes scanning the readouts. "Looks like we're all good."
"Very well. Comms?"
"We're picking up new 'Tunnel' cells sir," said the technician.
"Sensors?"
"Sir," said the crewmember at the sensors station. "Many contacts, sir. Lead patrol ship is John F. Kennedy , sir. Present are her group, plus the New York group, plus a British squadron, an Indian squadron, and support ships."
"Hell," whispered Dillon. That was a lot of hardware to defend the Milky Way's end of the wormhole. The Palani had demanded — repeatedly — that the wormhole be shut down, with the usual unspoken 'or else'. Apparently, some people were taking it seriously. "Comms, send our regards to all ships present, but we need to be on our way. Helm, plot a course for New Halifax, and get us underway."
"Aye aye, sir," said Pakinova. "Course entered for New Halifax. At best FTL, we'll be there by nineteen-thirty hours today."
"Thank you, helm. Take us home."
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was late afternoon in Ottawa. The city's massive sunshades were folding themselves like flowers at sunset, letting the waning rays of the sun slide in and set the city aglow.
Elan walked alongside Blaine, the two of them climbing St. Laurent Boulevard, now only a few steps from the apartment. Normally, Blaine walked briskly around the apartment, but today he'd slowed down to match Elan's own slower, almost processional, gait. For that, Elan was thankful. It had been a busy day, and he was exhausted. Although he'd been meditating to raise his body temperature to an unprecedented thirty-two degrees, Ottawa had been much hotter than that. Today had been like taking a day-long tour of a furnace, and despite his coldsuit working at maximum power, it had been a physical ordeal.
The makeup on his face started itching hours ago, but Elan hadn't touched it. He wondered just how much he needed it; as long as he was with Blaine, no one seemed to see him. His hair was gathered up under the knit cap he wore on his head, and his hands were covered by so-called 'athletic gloves'. Blaine had assured him this was the current style; the clothes he'd lent him fit comfortably, despite Elan being shorter.
Next to the sculpted perfection of Blaine, he was virtually invisible. Total strangers, male and female alike, found ridiculous excuses to stop and talk to the human. They might drop something in the street, or ask for directions, or use a pet animal called a 'dog' as an excuse to initiate conversation. It had happened five times during the day, and each time the people only acknowledged Elan in the context of determining if he and Blaine were romantic partners. He'd enjoyed the amusing looks of relief and hope when Blaine introduced Elan as his 'cousin from offworld'. In a very broad sense, he had begun to feel he was.
A final turn, and the two of them started the last hundred metres to the apartment. A shuttle passed overhead, its engines whining as it climbed into the sky. Elan watched it ascend, its path curling up toward the heavens.
"How you doing, Elan?" asked Blaine, snapping him out of his daydream.
"I'm tired, Blaine. And this makeup is itchy. But it's worth it."
"Oh?" asked Blaine, surprised. "Itchy? I should've thought of that. I'll get you some non-allergenic cosmetics in case you want to do this again." Blaine's brilliant smile flashed his way. "You're such a trouper, Elan, marching around the city all day long."
"Thank you," said Elan, slowing as they reached the apartment door. "You have been kind to spend the day showing me around."
Blaine opened the door, gesturing for Elan to enter. "No problem. It was
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