situation.
“Shall I log it in?”
“Might as well. Do the whole panorama,” Nimisha added with a sweep of her free arm. “Might be useful sometime. No answer to our Mayday, I suppose?”
“No, ma’am.”
At least Helm didn’t sound worried. No, the worry was all hers.
“Helm, have we moved from where that wormhole spat us out?”
“No, ma’am. I awaited your orders.”
“Yes, of course, since you weren’t programmed for the standard operating procedure on exiting wormholes.”
“No, ma’am.”
For that matter, she didn’t know what that would be either, but she could wish he had less need for so many negatives. Had she been conscious, her first action on being spat out would have been to send a probe back through the hole with the present star patterns. However, she hadn’t been awake and she couldn’t fault Helm for not knowing what action to take in such a situation.
“Then please prepare a new beacon, giving our registration and com-pulse configurations, the spectro-analysis of the stars in our spatial vicinity, and repeat our request for contact with any Fleet or civilian vessel.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
An affirmative was a nice change.
“Beacon away,” Helm said a few moments later.
That was one advantage in having AI units managing the ship. They didn’t have to take breaks or eat or go to the head at awkward moments, and they worked with great speed and efficiency. She sighed and drained the cup.
“That did the trick, Cater, Doc.”
“I recommend some rest, Nimi, while you’re awaiting a response.”
“Aren’t you the optimist?” she replied with a snort. But the idea of getting horizontal and sleeping was a good one. She’d be able to think better when the headache, as well as the medication that had reduced it, was gone. “You have the conn, Helm.”
“I have the conn, ma’am.”
She slept her normal six hours and woke refreshed. After a quick shower in water that her purifying system kept fresh enough to allow such a luxury, she dressed and, leaving her quarters, gave Cater orders for her breakfast.
“Good morning, Helm. Any report?”
“Nothing to report, ma’am.”
“Good morning, Doc.”
“You sound perfectly normal,” Doc said cheerfully.
“Thank you. And thank you, Cater, for breakfast.”
She asked for music since she liked it in the background when she was thinking hard. Indeed, she had no idea at all of what to do next, apart from waiting beside the beacon, hoping its pulse would alert someone. Her meal finished, she resumed the pilot’s chair, staring out at unfamiliar constellations. Why, that band of stars in the grouping to the upper right vaguely resembled Orion’s belt, but the rest of the constellation did not match.
“Helm, has your inspection of the immediate vicinity turned up any M-type planets nearby?”
“Three, ma’am.” A red light briefly circled the three primaries.
“That many?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, when I find myself twiddling my thumbs, we can always go take a look-see. Might as well.” Action was preferable to sitting like—who was it on her tuffet? “I’ll give it another three days. That would give time for our initial pulse to reach main shipping lanes.”
“Or the curious of this Quadrant,” Doc added.
“A search of the records of ships missing in the general vicinity of that wormhole has proved fruitful,” Helm suddenly volunteered.
“Oh?”
“Eighteen ships in the two hundred and fifty years of recorded space exploration.”
“Oh!” She paused, smiling ironically. “Make that nineteen, Helm, since we’ve just joined that elite group.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When was the last one reported to Fleet?” She held her breath for his reply.
“Fifteen years ago, Exploratory Vessel FSPS 9K66E, the
Poolbeg,
was reported missing. Her last report came from this general area.”
“Fifteen?” Well, she was
not
going to miss Cuiva’s Necklacing. Somehow she’d find a way home
“Shall I log it in?”
“Might as well. Do the whole panorama,” Nimisha added with a sweep of her free arm. “Might be useful sometime. No answer to our Mayday, I suppose?”
“No, ma’am.”
At least Helm didn’t sound worried. No, the worry was all hers.
“Helm, have we moved from where that wormhole spat us out?”
“No, ma’am. I awaited your orders.”
“Yes, of course, since you weren’t programmed for the standard operating procedure on exiting wormholes.”
“No, ma’am.”
For that matter, she didn’t know what that would be either, but she could wish he had less need for so many negatives. Had she been conscious, her first action on being spat out would have been to send a probe back through the hole with the present star patterns. However, she hadn’t been awake and she couldn’t fault Helm for not knowing what action to take in such a situation.
“Then please prepare a new beacon, giving our registration and com-pulse configurations, the spectro-analysis of the stars in our spatial vicinity, and repeat our request for contact with any Fleet or civilian vessel.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
An affirmative was a nice change.
“Beacon away,” Helm said a few moments later.
That was one advantage in having AI units managing the ship. They didn’t have to take breaks or eat or go to the head at awkward moments, and they worked with great speed and efficiency. She sighed and drained the cup.
“That did the trick, Cater, Doc.”
“I recommend some rest, Nimi, while you’re awaiting a response.”
“Aren’t you the optimist?” she replied with a snort. But the idea of getting horizontal and sleeping was a good one. She’d be able to think better when the headache, as well as the medication that had reduced it, was gone. “You have the conn, Helm.”
“I have the conn, ma’am.”
She slept her normal six hours and woke refreshed. After a quick shower in water that her purifying system kept fresh enough to allow such a luxury, she dressed and, leaving her quarters, gave Cater orders for her breakfast.
“Good morning, Helm. Any report?”
“Nothing to report, ma’am.”
“Good morning, Doc.”
“You sound perfectly normal,” Doc said cheerfully.
“Thank you. And thank you, Cater, for breakfast.”
She asked for music since she liked it in the background when she was thinking hard. Indeed, she had no idea at all of what to do next, apart from waiting beside the beacon, hoping its pulse would alert someone. Her meal finished, she resumed the pilot’s chair, staring out at unfamiliar constellations. Why, that band of stars in the grouping to the upper right vaguely resembled Orion’s belt, but the rest of the constellation did not match.
“Helm, has your inspection of the immediate vicinity turned up any M-type planets nearby?”
“Three, ma’am.” A red light briefly circled the three primaries.
“That many?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, when I find myself twiddling my thumbs, we can always go take a look-see. Might as well.” Action was preferable to sitting like—who was it on her tuffet? “I’ll give it another three days. That would give time for our initial pulse to reach main shipping lanes.”
“Or the curious of this Quadrant,” Doc added.
“A search of the records of ships missing in the general vicinity of that wormhole has proved fruitful,” Helm suddenly volunteered.
“Oh?”
“Eighteen ships in the two hundred and fifty years of recorded space exploration.”
“Oh!” She paused, smiling ironically. “Make that nineteen, Helm, since we’ve just joined that elite group.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When was the last one reported to Fleet?” She held her breath for his reply.
“Fifteen years ago, Exploratory Vessel FSPS 9K66E, the
Poolbeg,
was reported missing. Her last report came from this general area.”
“Fifteen?” Well, she was
not
going to miss Cuiva’s Necklacing. Somehow she’d find a way home
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