Nimisha's Ship by Anne McCaffrey Page A

before
that
auspicious event in her daughter’s life three and a half years from now.
     
    Three days later there had been not so much as a peep from the pulse. As it had been sent out in all directions, she was obviously far from any responder, even those discreet Fleet “ears” that Caleb had told her dotted known space. However, that did not mean that there wouldn’t
be
a response. Nimisha was not constitutionally patient. She required action. If she’d been traveling to a destination, there would have been other matters to involve her. Hanging motionless in space—even though she programmed a day full of the various activities she had for diversion—exercise in the gymnasium, playing interactive games, and an immense library of tri-d and tapes—was not the same thing as having a destination.
    She also spent time with Helm in gathering a file of spectro-analyses of all the primaries in their present starscape. These were inserted into the beacon’s data file.
    “Helm?” she began firmly after her breakfast on the fourth morning. “How much time does it take a pulse to get from one side of Delta Quadrant to the other?”
    “Nine full ship days with the strength of the unit on board.”
    Slowly she came to the bridge and looked out at the uninformative and strange starscape.
    “We shall remain in position then, to allow any searchers time to reach us,” she said. “I shall make use of the suspended animation facility, Doc.”
    “Always ready to comply, Nimi.”
    “Helm, you will monitor any incoming pulses. You will have Doc revive me instantly if you have received any response. If, however, the wormhole reappears—” She paused, wondering if using that escape from her present position was sensible considering the erratic behavior of unprobed wormholes. “—you will immediately enter it, deploying a second beacon stating the time of this reentry. Doc, if Helm takes us into the wormhole, revive me.”
    “Is this advisable, Lady Nimisha?” Helm and Doc asked in chorus.
    “I can’t be more lost than I am now, can I?” she replied. “At least I can leave behind proof that I was here and am still very much alive.”
    “There are three primaries with habitable planets, Lady Nimisha. Why not investigate the possibility of establishing a planetary base?” Helm suggested.
    “A good idea,” she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully as Helm red-circled the three prospects again. “But there is every possibility that the wormhole would return us to our starting point, and that would be the best solution.”
    “Shall you stay in suspended animation until that time?” Doc asked. “If there is no response to the pulse message?”
    “A good point. Who knows when that wretched hole will reappear. All right, let’s set a limit of a year to this day for revival
if
neither a message arrives nor the wormhole appears. I don’t want to stay away any longer than necessary.”
    “No, of course not, Nimi,” Doc said, his tone approving.
    To herself she put the question: Which way would I have to go to get back home? Helm had registered no directional bend in which the wormhole had bridged the space from there to here. Once again she thought how, if she had only been conscious when they reached the end of the wormhole, she could have launched a probe with her current starscape back through the hole before it closed. Though what good that would have done was moot when there were no recognizable primaries at this exit point to guide a rescue party. Eventually, the beacon would guide in a rescue vessel. Eventually!
    Helm repeated the orders.
    “I am also to be roused if anything . . . extraordinary should occur in our current spatial neighborhood.”
    “Anything not covered by standard operating procedures, ma’am?”
    “You got it, Helm.”
    Nimisha rose, walking with stiff steps to the infirmary unit. She didn’t like this expedient but it was better than waiting around and fretting herself over her