estimated completion time is another six months.
“I know you were expecting more. Perhaps hoping that our new alien friends would share their Slipstream traversal tech with us. But apparently it’s not so simple. So six months is all I can offer you. Six months, and then you’ll be back in your home galaxy.
“Unfortunately, I won’t be with you during that time. I must leave you. I’m going to board the Talon , the vessel of our Raakarr allies, and return through the Slipstream immediately. We have to warn NAVCENT of the threat posed to our borders. But while I may be going, I’m leaving you in good hands. I’ve instructed Commander Robert Cray to assume command of the Callaway and the fleet. He’s led you in battle before, and while I highly doubt you’ll face a combat situation under his tenure, he does have the experience if it’s needed.
“Good luck to you all, and I look forward to welcoming you on the other side in six months. Captain out.”
The latter statement was a bit of a lie, as he highly doubted he would remain in the navy long enough to welcome anyone, but he felt the statement would help keep morale high.
The task group reached the Slipstream shortly thereafter and Jonathan gave the order to orbit the wormhole.
“Maxwell,” Jonathan said. “Probe the entrance. See if you can confirm that the Slipstream will indeed take us to Vega 951.”
By measuring the redshift and gravitational lensing of the star patterns at the wormhole’s entrance, among other parameters, the endpoint of a Slipstream could be estimated with surprising accuracy.
After a few minutes Maxwell intoned: “Analysis complete.”
“So, what do we have?” Jonathan said. “Will it take us to Vega 951?”
“Data inconclusive,” the AI replied. “It’s impossible for me to determine if the wormhole will lead to Vega 951.”
He exchanged a glance with Robert.
“You’re still going?” Robert said.
“I have to,” Jonathan replied.
He instructed the mission crew members to assemble in hangar bay five in three hours, and then he retired to his quarters to gather his few personal belongings. He gave Robert his convection kettle and tin of green tea, and liberated the Scotch from the safe in his office, gifting it to Stanley, the chief engineer.
“I’ll expect you to return that in six months,” Jonathan said, still trying to give the crew the false hope that he actually was going to return to the captaincy.
“Not on your life,” Stanley said. “You give me that fucker, don’t expect to find a drop left in six months!”
When the time came, Robert and other well-wishers had gathered in the hangar bay to see them off. Jonathan shook the hands of his first officer.
“See you in six months,” Robert said.
Jonathan smiled wistfully. “Six months.”
“What’s wrong?” Robert said.
“Nothing,” Jonathan lied. “Just... I’m going to hold you to those six months. Don’t make me come looking for you and Bridgette.”
Assistants helped Jonathan suit up. He flinched as the local AI of the suit injected an accelerant into the radial venous network of his hand: the concoction would help him adapt faster to the simulated environment, thereby avoiding the effects of any decompression sickness. The shuttle was capable of providing an atmosphere, of course, but Jonathan had elected to make the crossing without one, since they’d be required to wear suits when they emerged on the other side anyway.
He secured the helmet in place and climbed the ramp of the Dragonfly, taking a seat beside Chief Galaal. Cylindrical restraints telescoped from either side of the seat and secured him in place.
Jonathan and the other occupants wore spacesuits equipped with the psychic shielding Connie had developed, with the hope that it would protect them from Barrick’s influence. She had also developed special shielded tents they could use when in oxygenated environments, so that they could sleep without wearing their
“I know you were expecting more. Perhaps hoping that our new alien friends would share their Slipstream traversal tech with us. But apparently it’s not so simple. So six months is all I can offer you. Six months, and then you’ll be back in your home galaxy.
“Unfortunately, I won’t be with you during that time. I must leave you. I’m going to board the Talon , the vessel of our Raakarr allies, and return through the Slipstream immediately. We have to warn NAVCENT of the threat posed to our borders. But while I may be going, I’m leaving you in good hands. I’ve instructed Commander Robert Cray to assume command of the Callaway and the fleet. He’s led you in battle before, and while I highly doubt you’ll face a combat situation under his tenure, he does have the experience if it’s needed.
“Good luck to you all, and I look forward to welcoming you on the other side in six months. Captain out.”
The latter statement was a bit of a lie, as he highly doubted he would remain in the navy long enough to welcome anyone, but he felt the statement would help keep morale high.
The task group reached the Slipstream shortly thereafter and Jonathan gave the order to orbit the wormhole.
“Maxwell,” Jonathan said. “Probe the entrance. See if you can confirm that the Slipstream will indeed take us to Vega 951.”
By measuring the redshift and gravitational lensing of the star patterns at the wormhole’s entrance, among other parameters, the endpoint of a Slipstream could be estimated with surprising accuracy.
After a few minutes Maxwell intoned: “Analysis complete.”
“So, what do we have?” Jonathan said. “Will it take us to Vega 951?”
“Data inconclusive,” the AI replied. “It’s impossible for me to determine if the wormhole will lead to Vega 951.”
He exchanged a glance with Robert.
“You’re still going?” Robert said.
“I have to,” Jonathan replied.
He instructed the mission crew members to assemble in hangar bay five in three hours, and then he retired to his quarters to gather his few personal belongings. He gave Robert his convection kettle and tin of green tea, and liberated the Scotch from the safe in his office, gifting it to Stanley, the chief engineer.
“I’ll expect you to return that in six months,” Jonathan said, still trying to give the crew the false hope that he actually was going to return to the captaincy.
“Not on your life,” Stanley said. “You give me that fucker, don’t expect to find a drop left in six months!”
When the time came, Robert and other well-wishers had gathered in the hangar bay to see them off. Jonathan shook the hands of his first officer.
“See you in six months,” Robert said.
Jonathan smiled wistfully. “Six months.”
“What’s wrong?” Robert said.
“Nothing,” Jonathan lied. “Just... I’m going to hold you to those six months. Don’t make me come looking for you and Bridgette.”
Assistants helped Jonathan suit up. He flinched as the local AI of the suit injected an accelerant into the radial venous network of his hand: the concoction would help him adapt faster to the simulated environment, thereby avoiding the effects of any decompression sickness. The shuttle was capable of providing an atmosphere, of course, but Jonathan had elected to make the crossing without one, since they’d be required to wear suits when they emerged on the other side anyway.
He secured the helmet in place and climbed the ramp of the Dragonfly, taking a seat beside Chief Galaal. Cylindrical restraints telescoped from either side of the seat and secured him in place.
Jonathan and the other occupants wore spacesuits equipped with the psychic shielding Connie had developed, with the hope that it would protect them from Barrick’s influence. She had also developed special shielded tents they could use when in oxygenated environments, so that they could sleep without wearing their
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