Starhold by J. Alan Field Page A

the ship’s computer.
    “Ship, hold this position and await instructions to initiate hyperdrive,” she ordered.
    “Affirmative, Commander Sanchez,” replied Kite’s verbal interface, using the familiar female voice that computers always seemed to use.
    It was time to prepare for hypersleep. The ship contained two ‘coffins,’ enclosed cryonic sleep beds, which would sustain their lives in a rough state of suspended animation during the nearly four-week journey to Sol. Carr slipped into the head to prepare: one final use of the toilet, stripping off all clothes, and the donning of a cotton thong. Hypersleep demanded the exposure of skin so that the computer could better monitor the body, so subjects were mostly naked. A thong was the only concession to human modesty. When he emerged, he suspected Sanchez might make some sort of joke at his expense, but she was too engrossed in the final ship preparations to much notice.
    He laid down in one of the hypersleep chambers, which was a kind of large drawer that slid out from the wall. It was padded but a little cold, and he knew it was going to get a lot colder. A combination of drugs and low temperatures would dramatically slow down bodily processes. It wasn’t absolute suspended animation, but close to it. In most cases, a small scout craft like Kite would have been deployed from a larger ship close to the system or planet that was to be investigated. They could have chosen to stay awake for a month, but the ship really wasn’t designed for living. The sleeping option seemed like the reasonable course of action.
    The ship’s computer had dimmed the interior ambient light to a soft blue tint. When she emerged from the bathroom, Sanchez was wearing only her thong. Carr had expected some sort of bra, but it wasn’t there. Of course, his eyes went straight to her breasts, which were beautiful, as was the rest of her body. The combination of instrument lights and the blue ambient tint on her lovely olive skin produced an erotically surreal sight.
    “Sorry to shock you, Carr, but I’ve been in enough military locker rooms to leave modesty behind,” she said climbing into her coffin on the opposite wall of the cabin, lips curled upward in amusement.
    Carr looked up toward the cabin ceiling and cleared his throat. “No problem,” was all he managed to say.
    “Ship, initiate hypersleep protocols and commence navigation program Sanchez Gamma Zero,” she commanded. “Sleep well, Frank Carr.”
    “And you, Etta Sanchez.”
    “That’s good. I didn’t think you remembered my first name.”
    “Get some sleep, Sanchez.”
    His sleep chamber slid into the wall as Carr felt the sting of several injections and IVs penetrating his skin. He was also aware of a drop in temperature, but the drugs were rapidly inducing sleep and a measure of euphoria.
    So, maybe Sanchez wasn’t the fragile, geeky woman he had initially taken her for. She had surprised him several times in the last hour and he actually felt better about having her along. Yeah, she was going to be OK. Now, I just have to make certain that… I’m… OK…

6: Encounters
    A few days after Kite jumped out of the Hybrias system, Tempest jumped in. Although his ship was damaged from its engagement with the nameless enemy, Pettigrew had entrusted Uritski Station to the care of the destroyer Reinhold and continued on to Rusalka at full speed. Chief Engineer Mullenhoff was less than enthusiastic about Tempest traveling that far and that fast considering the battle damage the vessel had incurred. Mullenhoff’s concerns were noted for the record. Pettigrew was the only person aboard who knew why they had been summoned to Rusalka and he didn’t want to miss out on the expedition to Earth.
    Upon docking at Rusalka Station, the grim task of removing the dead and wounded began. Eleven crewmembers had died and thirty-three more had been wounded. After reviewing the battle data, Pettigrew thought they were lucky that