the rest of the fleet and carefully
crawled to the side of the comet. It was tiny compared to most of the other
ships, but in contrast to the dull steel and patchwork repairs of the others
this one looked brand new—complete with a cherry-red paint job. Behind the
ship’s main cabin were twin oversized gravity generators hooked up to an
enormous tethering node.
The side of the ship was emblazoned with a company logo:
Tuggernaut Asteroid Towing.
***
Bee strapped herself in to a seat that folded down from the
wall behind Silver's pilot's chair. The quiet boy Gim took a seat across from
her behind the other chair. Whatever happened next, her future lay with Bill
Silver, who orchestrated the shuttle's ignition sequence.
Governor Strump—Bee was sure it was him even if Silver
refused to confirm it—sat opposite Silver looking queasy. The windows on the
front of the craft were sealed shut with retractable blast proof metal, but
cameras on the hull fed a projected display of the view outside, which gave the
illusion that there was nothing between them and vacuum. Bee shivered at the
unsettling thought.
“Tower, Wanderlust transportshuttle requests
departure assistance from dock B46 to launching platform,” Silver said.
“Negative, shuttle. All traffic is halted prior to evasive
maneuvers.” The disembodied male voice which replied over the speakers had a
slow, drawling sort of confidence—the kind of soothing yet commanding voice
she'd want to hear when everything else in the world was going wrong.
Bill stopped the ignition, but didn’t look surprised.
“I told you,” Strump said. “Tower won't guide you out.”
“Mmm-hm,” Bill grunted.
“So what are you doing?” Strump asked.
“We’ll have to go out manually,” Bill said with a thrill of
enthusiasm.
“Manual? We're synced up with Tower, you can't just—”
“Oh, I can't just, eh? Myra,” Silver called expectantly,
taking pleasure in the Governor’s obvious discomfort.
“Yes, Bill?” came a reply over the speakers, this time a
husky female voice.
“Give me a trajectory from here to Wanderlust , quick
as you can.”
“Here you go,” Myra said, and a pale blue thread plotted a
course for them onscreen.
“I’m shutting down our computer guidance in a moment, Myra.
Tower will override you if you’re in control, so we’re going manual to get around
it. Can you make sure that trajectory will stay up with you offline?”
“You should see it on your lens display now, Bill. But
staying on course is your job without me.”
“Wonderful,” Bill said.
He said it just like Hargrove used to at the Midtown, and Bee
was struck with the realization that she may never see her former mentor again.
Or anyone from Surface, for that matter. She was finally on her way.
“I’m ready. See you shortly, Myra,” Bill said. “Shut down
and power back on under manual control.”
“Don’t scratch my shuttle,” she replied.
They were plunged into darkness for half a second before the
auxiliary power kicked in and lit the tiny room up crimson. After a few
moments, the normal interior lights flickered back to life. But the former view
on the glass was absent, leaving them all staring at the grey metal blast
plates.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Strump asked.
“Just watch me.” Silver retracted the blast plates.
As they slid back, Bee craned her neck around Bill’s seat to
see the view with her own eyes. They were barreling along about two hundred
miles above Surface, held close by the planet’s gravitational pull.
The sunlit Surface rolled beneath them, all blues and greens
and swirling white clouds against the consuming starry blackness of space. Up
above the incredible view of Surface—it was enough to make her forget to
breathe—she could make out a blue-white smear in the distance that shone
brightly at its center. The comet Orpheus on approach, she guessed.
“Is this safe? Shouldn’t we be wearing suits?” the
crawled to the side of the comet. It was tiny compared to most of the other
ships, but in contrast to the dull steel and patchwork repairs of the others
this one looked brand new—complete with a cherry-red paint job. Behind the
ship’s main cabin were twin oversized gravity generators hooked up to an
enormous tethering node.
The side of the ship was emblazoned with a company logo:
Tuggernaut Asteroid Towing.
***
Bee strapped herself in to a seat that folded down from the
wall behind Silver's pilot's chair. The quiet boy Gim took a seat across from
her behind the other chair. Whatever happened next, her future lay with Bill
Silver, who orchestrated the shuttle's ignition sequence.
Governor Strump—Bee was sure it was him even if Silver
refused to confirm it—sat opposite Silver looking queasy. The windows on the
front of the craft were sealed shut with retractable blast proof metal, but
cameras on the hull fed a projected display of the view outside, which gave the
illusion that there was nothing between them and vacuum. Bee shivered at the
unsettling thought.
“Tower, Wanderlust transportshuttle requests
departure assistance from dock B46 to launching platform,” Silver said.
“Negative, shuttle. All traffic is halted prior to evasive
maneuvers.” The disembodied male voice which replied over the speakers had a
slow, drawling sort of confidence—the kind of soothing yet commanding voice
she'd want to hear when everything else in the world was going wrong.
Bill stopped the ignition, but didn’t look surprised.
“I told you,” Strump said. “Tower won't guide you out.”
“Mmm-hm,” Bill grunted.
“So what are you doing?” Strump asked.
“We’ll have to go out manually,” Bill said with a thrill of
enthusiasm.
“Manual? We're synced up with Tower, you can't just—”
“Oh, I can't just, eh? Myra,” Silver called expectantly,
taking pleasure in the Governor’s obvious discomfort.
“Yes, Bill?” came a reply over the speakers, this time a
husky female voice.
“Give me a trajectory from here to Wanderlust , quick
as you can.”
“Here you go,” Myra said, and a pale blue thread plotted a
course for them onscreen.
“I’m shutting down our computer guidance in a moment, Myra.
Tower will override you if you’re in control, so we’re going manual to get around
it. Can you make sure that trajectory will stay up with you offline?”
“You should see it on your lens display now, Bill. But
staying on course is your job without me.”
“Wonderful,” Bill said.
He said it just like Hargrove used to at the Midtown, and Bee
was struck with the realization that she may never see her former mentor again.
Or anyone from Surface, for that matter. She was finally on her way.
“I’m ready. See you shortly, Myra,” Bill said. “Shut down
and power back on under manual control.”
“Don’t scratch my shuttle,” she replied.
They were plunged into darkness for half a second before the
auxiliary power kicked in and lit the tiny room up crimson. After a few
moments, the normal interior lights flickered back to life. But the former view
on the glass was absent, leaving them all staring at the grey metal blast
plates.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Strump asked.
“Just watch me.” Silver retracted the blast plates.
As they slid back, Bee craned her neck around Bill’s seat to
see the view with her own eyes. They were barreling along about two hundred
miles above Surface, held close by the planet’s gravitational pull.
The sunlit Surface rolled beneath them, all blues and greens
and swirling white clouds against the consuming starry blackness of space. Up
above the incredible view of Surface—it was enough to make her forget to
breathe—she could make out a blue-white smear in the distance that shone
brightly at its center. The comet Orpheus on approach, she guessed.
“Is this safe? Shouldn’t we be wearing suits?” the
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