T'aafhal Legacy 1: Ghosts of Orion by Doug L Hoffman Page A

ejection port on third deck, which meant moving it forward to the cargo lift against the forward cargo hold bulkhead. As they carefully moved the hefty payload the men conversed. 
    “I understand how most of us got on this mission,” Sam said, “but how did you find yourself aboard, Jimmy?”
    “I still be tryin' to figure that out, mon. I was visitin' some friends in Colorado when all Babylon exploded—fire rained down on Jah's creation and I only lived because I was in de mountains. Bamba yay, I brought to de Moon with a bunch of other survivors a few months later. I went from Rocky Mountain high to I and I Moon base.”
    “Right, mate. But how did you get on the crew?” Sam repeated. “Most of crew were sailors of one kind or another, but you seem like some tosser who just wandered on board before we cast off.”
    “Hey mon! I be a good cook and de Captain like Jamaican food,” replied Jimmy. “In fact, I was savin' money to open I own restaurant back on de Moon. It was going to serve Italian-Jamaican fusion cuisine.”
    “Italian-Jamaican?” said Tommy. “I can't even imagine what that would be like.”
    “It be great, mon! Jerk chicken fettuccine, conch Marsala, all sorts of great combinations—I was going to name de place The Pasta Rasta.”
    “What?”
    “Pasta Rasta. As in pasta with a Rastafari twist.”
    “The only thing I've seen you twist up is a spliff,” said Tommy. 
    “Ya mon! But only a Jamaican spliff made wit ganja, no jackass rope. True Rastas don' smoke tobacco, only God's plants.”
    “I thought that Rastafari were also vegetarians; how can you cook meat dishes for the crew?”
    “Ital eatin' varies widely from Rasta to Rasta; food only need be pure, clean and natural.” 
    “So why aren't you back at Farside, working on your restaurant?” Sam pressed.
    “Well, you see, I had some financial difficulties. I hopin' that de profits from dis trip will pay off I creditors and let I start de restaurant.”
    “Right,” said Tommy and Sam in unison.
    “All right, quit yer yappin' and pay attention on the cargo lift,” the Chief ordered as the elevator platform rose, headed up to deck three.
    * * * * *
    On the bridge all stations reported ready as the Captain and crew prepared for emergence—the transition from alter-space back to normal 3-space. There was really nothing for the crew to do during the transition—the ship's computer handled all necessary adjustments to the engines, shields and deck gravity—but you never know what might greet you when suddenly popping into being in a strange star system.
    The klaxon sounded and the computer's voice announced, “transition to 3-space in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”
    The panels in the ship's nose went from opaque to transparent as the normal Universe shimmered into existence outside. Directly ahead was a star, orangish and slightly cooler than the Sun, though it looked as large as the Earthlings' native star. This was because the arrival transfer point was closer to GJ667A than the departure point was from the more massive Sun—linked transfer points have complementary spacetime curvature. 
    “Mr. Lewis, lay in a course to bring her about,” Billy Ray ordered. “Notify the Chief when we are properly positioned to release the stellar observation satellite, then line us up for the jump to 667C.”
    “Aye, aye, Sir.”
    “Dr. Ogawa, please reconfirm the transit calculations with the ship's computer. I wish to spend as brief a time around this star as possible, but missing the transit point on the first pass would be even worse.”
    “Yes, Captain,” Mizuki answered. “It will take at least six hours to get properly positioned. I will have refined parameters well before we are on the final vector.”
    * * * * *
    A little over six hours later the Peggy Sue had altered course and was on an outbound trajectory. That trajectory was a line joining GJ667A and 667C, suitably corrected for the time lag incurred by light from the target star.