John Maddox Roberts - Spacer: Window of Mind by John Maddox Roberts
Authors: John Maddox Roberts
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made no sound. "A few months ago I wouldn't have believed there could be that much wealth in the whole galaxy."
"The bigger lines are richer than nations used to be," Huerta said. "And they have to plan with centuries in mind. Research for the Supernova class was started more than thirty years ago. They'll be our prime carriers for the next twenty-five years, and research on the next generation of ships is already under way."
"Hard to believe," she repeated. It was a long way from the uncertain little world of Space Angel and her hand-to-mouth existence. And she was still wondering why he was so determined to impress her. They came to a multitiered area of glass-fronted enclosures, many of them illuminated and all of them empty.
"This will be a mall area of expensive shops, restaurants, entertainment complexes and such. There are five such areas in the ship, graduated according to the traveling budgets of the passengers in the various sectors."
"It's like a whole city," she said.
"Bigger than many. Fully manned, with a full load of passengers, this ship can carry more than ninety thousand people. Of course, the bulk of those would be traveling in immigrant quarters. Not quite as luxurious as this level."
"1 can imagine," she said.
"Right now only a small section of this first-class level is occupied for this voyage. Then there's the bridge and engine crew, and, of course, the construction crews down in the cargo area. Only a few hundred people aboard. What would you like to see first?"
"You're the tour guide," she said.
"Then let's start with the bridge." He took her to an elevator that ascended along an invisible magnetic column through the mall and into a higher level. They got oft" in a corridor that was far more institutional-looking than the level below. Personnel in color-coded uniforms bustled about in a disciplined fashion. This part of the ship, at least, was fully staffed. Through open doors she caught glimpses of rooms filled with banks of instruments, all of them tended by diligent-looking employees. It looked like dull work, not that she had much experience with people who worked at steady jobs.
She braced herself for trouble when she saw the towering form of Izquierda striding towards them, a gaggle of ship's officers in tow. "Tomas," he said, without breaking stride, "I want to speak to you this evening after dinner."
"Yes, sir," Huerta said. To Kiril's intense relief, Izquierda had passed them without sparing her a glance. "That's the way he is most of the time," Huerta said. "He doesn't take much notice of people unless he has some immediate purpose for them."
"That suits me," Kiril said. "I don't think we'd strike up a real sparkling conversation, anyway."
The bridge was suitably impressive. The biggest viewscreen was ten meters high by twenty meters long, and there were others not much smaller. Two screens kept the alien settlement constantly in view. Another showed the TFCS, and a small one, Kiril noted, had the Space Angel in its sights.
"Why are you keeping watch on the Angel?' she asked.
"Regulations. All nearby craft have to be kept under constant observation. There were some terrible collisions in the early days of space travel, and we have more observation and warning systems than you'd believe."
"Not exactly homey, is it?" she said, scanning the three-level room with its huge variety of instrumentation. There were at least a hundred people on duty.
"That's not an adjective I ever thought to apply to a ship," Huerta admitted. "I suppose if you spent your life in one ship and knew everybody in the crew, you'd think-of it as a home. Line ships aren't like that, I'm afraid."
From the bridge they toured the support systems, the junglelike hydroponics section, the complex supply system.
"If, say, somebody in engineering wants a machine part from supply," Huerta explained, "he just encodes his request over the ship's computer net and the part will be delivered from supply within ten
"The bigger lines are richer than nations used to be," Huerta said. "And they have to plan with centuries in mind. Research for the Supernova class was started more than thirty years ago. They'll be our prime carriers for the next twenty-five years, and research on the next generation of ships is already under way."
"Hard to believe," she repeated. It was a long way from the uncertain little world of Space Angel and her hand-to-mouth existence. And she was still wondering why he was so determined to impress her. They came to a multitiered area of glass-fronted enclosures, many of them illuminated and all of them empty.
"This will be a mall area of expensive shops, restaurants, entertainment complexes and such. There are five such areas in the ship, graduated according to the traveling budgets of the passengers in the various sectors."
"It's like a whole city," she said.
"Bigger than many. Fully manned, with a full load of passengers, this ship can carry more than ninety thousand people. Of course, the bulk of those would be traveling in immigrant quarters. Not quite as luxurious as this level."
"1 can imagine," she said.
"Right now only a small section of this first-class level is occupied for this voyage. Then there's the bridge and engine crew, and, of course, the construction crews down in the cargo area. Only a few hundred people aboard. What would you like to see first?"
"You're the tour guide," she said.
"Then let's start with the bridge." He took her to an elevator that ascended along an invisible magnetic column through the mall and into a higher level. They got oft" in a corridor that was far more institutional-looking than the level below. Personnel in color-coded uniforms bustled about in a disciplined fashion. This part of the ship, at least, was fully staffed. Through open doors she caught glimpses of rooms filled with banks of instruments, all of them tended by diligent-looking employees. It looked like dull work, not that she had much experience with people who worked at steady jobs.
She braced herself for trouble when she saw the towering form of Izquierda striding towards them, a gaggle of ship's officers in tow. "Tomas," he said, without breaking stride, "I want to speak to you this evening after dinner."
"Yes, sir," Huerta said. To Kiril's intense relief, Izquierda had passed them without sparing her a glance. "That's the way he is most of the time," Huerta said. "He doesn't take much notice of people unless he has some immediate purpose for them."
"That suits me," Kiril said. "I don't think we'd strike up a real sparkling conversation, anyway."
The bridge was suitably impressive. The biggest viewscreen was ten meters high by twenty meters long, and there were others not much smaller. Two screens kept the alien settlement constantly in view. Another showed the TFCS, and a small one, Kiril noted, had the Space Angel in its sights.
"Why are you keeping watch on the Angel?' she asked.
"Regulations. All nearby craft have to be kept under constant observation. There were some terrible collisions in the early days of space travel, and we have more observation and warning systems than you'd believe."
"Not exactly homey, is it?" she said, scanning the three-level room with its huge variety of instrumentation. There were at least a hundred people on duty.
"That's not an adjective I ever thought to apply to a ship," Huerta admitted. "I suppose if you spent your life in one ship and knew everybody in the crew, you'd think-of it as a home. Line ships aren't like that, I'm afraid."
From the bridge they toured the support systems, the junglelike hydroponics section, the complex supply system.
"If, say, somebody in engineering wants a machine part from supply," Huerta explained, "he just encodes his request over the ship's computer net and the part will be delivered from supply within ten
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