DUALITY: The World of Lies by Paul Barufaldi Page B

stream, or the last moments of it. A
tubular column of white light shot forth between the satellite and
the probe, then darkness. “It appears Farprobe 34 was detected by
the satellite and struck by a direct high intensity particle beam.
We can safely assume it has been destroyed.”
    That relay satellite hadn't appeared to be
weaponized, but obviously it was. Shit!
    Aru was still remotely viewing the hull
regions where the markings had worn off and identity relief symbols
were beginning to meld into each other like some unrecognizable
alien language. He turned to her with that look... the look he
always had when he was about to suggest something she absolutely
would not like hearing. She knew what was to about come out of his
mouth next, and she nipped it square in the bud.
    “No! No fucking way Aru. Don't even say it!
We've got 14 hours.”
    After which, should they survive another
ravaging transcoronal journey, the Kinetic would most likely be
rendered an unsalvageable wreck.
    “Mei...” Aru cautiously pleaded. “The Kinetic
is melting!”
    “So what? This ship was designed to melt.” She
was really just throwing stuff at the wall here.
    “No. Mei... no it... it wasn't. That doesn't
even make sense.”
    “Sure it does. Melting is better than
cracking, isn't it?”
    The persuasive effect of that argument fared
no better than the previous one had. Aru just discounted it
entirely.
    “If that tiny satellite is armed with
high-energy, unerringly accurate particle beam emitters, what kind
of reception can we expect from the mystery sphere at the heart of
all this? And how can even we hope to find it with only 8
nearprobes in the sweep and no transmission data from the satellite
ring?”
    Mei thought hard and fast. They still had
three more farprobes en route to other satellites in the ring. She
was not sure which were immediately contactable through the
hyper-relay network yet. “System! At what distance was Farprobe 34
from the satellite when it was struck down?”
    “1,894.3 kilometers, Commander.”
    “And from what maximum tracking distance could
another farprobe obtain an accurate vector reading on a downward
transmission from one of those satellites?”
    “3,655 kilometers, Commander.”
    “Instruct all three of the Farprobes en route
to satellites to maintain an observational distance of 3,500
kilometers from their targets. We need the time, the vector of the
downward transmission, and a brief recording of it changing
angles.”
    And that was all they needed. That would
pinpoint their sphere's location. All they had to get was that one
reading, sail the Kinetic to the location it inferred, and
investigate the sphere -all in a 14 hour window. Investigate?
Hmmm... There’d be no time for that. This sphere was going to be
coming with them.

The Riverway

    N ew boots,
new belt, a sleek bolas to replace that bulky crossbow, and a brand
new water resistant canvas cloak, thick enough to endure all the
chill a southern night could cast on him. Not wanting to cut his
long overgrown hair, he bid the hairdresser to braid and bead it
into a more manageable order. Passing children snickered to see a
man at the salon, but Gahre took no offense to his manhood. A full
mane on the crown warmed the head.
    He had the straps replaced on his backsack,
his knives professionally honed to a vorpal edge, a new silk rope,
a variety of herbal teas and basic medicinal, a new firestarter, a
lighter cookpot, bandages, and a sewing kit.
    New leggings and a spare shirt. Brass
telescope, new compass? Why not!
    After running out of ways to spend Indulu's
credit, he bid uncle farewell and hopped aboard an eastward bound
merchant wagon along the King's Highway. They were honored to take
him on having heard tell of his recent exploits. For two days he
rode the wagon, breaking bread and telling tales. The merchant's
daughter, a maiden nubile yet well developed in her womanhood,
enticed him cruelly with her charms. The patriarch of the