looked otherwise undamaged.
The car arrived at its destination, meanwhile, as if nothing had happened. The door opened onto the bridge, and Jase’s man Kaplan, in fatigues, reached the door and held it open for them. “You’re clear to the shelter, ma’am, sir,” Kaplan said with an awkward little bow. “Go, go! We’re still in takehold.”
When ship’s crew said move, moving fast was a good idea. A padded recess existed between the lift and the bridge, two narrow walls, just to the side of their usual observation post, for just such a purpose. “The shelter,” Bren informed Banichi, in case he hadn’t followed all of it, and Jago took Gin and Jerry along, Cenedi walking with the dowager and Cajeiri in the lead, all with utmost dispatch. They entered the padded area and their security took strong hold of the available handgrips, to protect their more fragile lords.
They stayed there, ready for imminent, joint-breaking movement for what might be five minutes. But the ship stayed steady. “What injury, nadi?” Bren asked Jago, who, directly asked, gave a shrug.
“Bruises, nadi.” Never saying that the two humans she was trying to protect had gotten between her and the one handgrip that might have prevented her hitting the overhead.
“What just happened, nandiin?” Cajeiri asked his elders.
“One surmises,” Bren said, in the absence of other answers, “that the ship dodged some sort of spacecraft. It seems we braked.” He was trying to calculate the vector of their violent movement relative to the ship’s axis of motion. He thought the motion might have been braking, not acceleration, but his rattled brain refused to figure the angles. Refused to function clearly. What in hell spacecraft was there for them to run into? Had they nearly hit the second starship, in the shipyard, the one Ogun was building?
The navigators had been so cocksure they knew their approach. And that presumably included knowing the location of the shipyard and the construction.
Kaplan showed up again, at the end of the shelter, and immediately seized a handgrip. “Is everybody all right in here? We can get a medic now. We’re in a condition yellow.”
Yellow wasn’t quite emergency. But it was close to it.
“He asks do we need medical attention.”
“We do not,” Ilisidi said.
“No, nandi,” Jago said, “truly, only a bruise.”
A gentle move, as ships went. A small diminution of their speed. But not a move they’d planned.
“We don’t,” Bren translated. “We’re all right.”
“None of us expected that hiccup, sir,” Kaplan said. “Cap’ns say they’re very sorry. We’re about to stand down to blue, so you can move around when it goes.”
“The ship apologizes, nand’ dowager,” Bren translated, letting go a deep, unconsciously-held breath. “And Kaplan-nadi informs us we should be given an all-clear soon, at least a condition of moderate caution.”
“And what has caused this event?” Ilisidi asked.
“The dowager asks what caused the action,” Bren translated the question.
“There’s mining craft out, sir,” Kaplan said. “Best I hear, latest, there’s mining craft, six, seven of ‘em we’ve picked up, as is, all of ‘em bots.”
Bots. Bren cast a look at Gin, who looked as surprised as he was. Her robots, those would be, the craft of her design, carrying on operations full bore—certainly more of them than they’d left operational.
“That’s good,” Gin said. Except for their near-collision, it seemed to be good. Early on in the history of humans in this solar system, human beings had used to pilot ships in that dangerous duty, because the old Pilots’ Guild hadn’t been remotely interested in devoting resources to building robots to do the job, not because they couldn’t, but because they wouldn’t, a decision upheld for political reasons, notably keeping their volatile and angry colonial population in line. It hadn’t been possible at the earlier star they’d
The car arrived at its destination, meanwhile, as if nothing had happened. The door opened onto the bridge, and Jase’s man Kaplan, in fatigues, reached the door and held it open for them. “You’re clear to the shelter, ma’am, sir,” Kaplan said with an awkward little bow. “Go, go! We’re still in takehold.”
When ship’s crew said move, moving fast was a good idea. A padded recess existed between the lift and the bridge, two narrow walls, just to the side of their usual observation post, for just such a purpose. “The shelter,” Bren informed Banichi, in case he hadn’t followed all of it, and Jago took Gin and Jerry along, Cenedi walking with the dowager and Cajeiri in the lead, all with utmost dispatch. They entered the padded area and their security took strong hold of the available handgrips, to protect their more fragile lords.
They stayed there, ready for imminent, joint-breaking movement for what might be five minutes. But the ship stayed steady. “What injury, nadi?” Bren asked Jago, who, directly asked, gave a shrug.
“Bruises, nadi.” Never saying that the two humans she was trying to protect had gotten between her and the one handgrip that might have prevented her hitting the overhead.
“What just happened, nandiin?” Cajeiri asked his elders.
“One surmises,” Bren said, in the absence of other answers, “that the ship dodged some sort of spacecraft. It seems we braked.” He was trying to calculate the vector of their violent movement relative to the ship’s axis of motion. He thought the motion might have been braking, not acceleration, but his rattled brain refused to figure the angles. Refused to function clearly. What in hell spacecraft was there for them to run into? Had they nearly hit the second starship, in the shipyard, the one Ogun was building?
The navigators had been so cocksure they knew their approach. And that presumably included knowing the location of the shipyard and the construction.
Kaplan showed up again, at the end of the shelter, and immediately seized a handgrip. “Is everybody all right in here? We can get a medic now. We’re in a condition yellow.”
Yellow wasn’t quite emergency. But it was close to it.
“He asks do we need medical attention.”
“We do not,” Ilisidi said.
“No, nandi,” Jago said, “truly, only a bruise.”
A gentle move, as ships went. A small diminution of their speed. But not a move they’d planned.
“We don’t,” Bren translated. “We’re all right.”
“None of us expected that hiccup, sir,” Kaplan said. “Cap’ns say they’re very sorry. We’re about to stand down to blue, so you can move around when it goes.”
“The ship apologizes, nand’ dowager,” Bren translated, letting go a deep, unconsciously-held breath. “And Kaplan-nadi informs us we should be given an all-clear soon, at least a condition of moderate caution.”
“And what has caused this event?” Ilisidi asked.
“The dowager asks what caused the action,” Bren translated the question.
“There’s mining craft out, sir,” Kaplan said. “Best I hear, latest, there’s mining craft, six, seven of ‘em we’ve picked up, as is, all of ‘em bots.”
Bots. Bren cast a look at Gin, who looked as surprised as he was. Her robots, those would be, the craft of her design, carrying on operations full bore—certainly more of them than they’d left operational.
“That’s good,” Gin said. Except for their near-collision, it seemed to be good. Early on in the history of humans in this solar system, human beings had used to pilot ships in that dangerous duty, because the old Pilots’ Guild hadn’t been remotely interested in devoting resources to building robots to do the job, not because they couldn’t, but because they wouldn’t, a decision upheld for political reasons, notably keeping their volatile and angry colonial population in line. It hadn’t been possible at the earlier star they’d
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