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Authors: Michael Bowers
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pleasure,” Mason replied as he manipulated their vessel forward.
The low grinding of metal vibrated from the hull. An alarm rang out.
“Collision alert,” the controller shouted. “P.A.V., adjust your course immediately.”
Mason flushed as he worked frantically to correct his error. After the ship backed away from the side of the dock, one of the mooring clamps could be seen bent up against the superstructure.
Steiner’s faith in the smuggler’s skill wavered for a moment, then strengthened when the P.A.V. glided gracefully away from the station. Their ship never deviated from its flight path again—not even by a meter.
Sunlight pierced through one of the side viewports, maneuvering the shadows around the room as the P.A.V. banked on its course. Other vessels passed by, arriving on neighboring paths. A few minutes later, they had cleared all other traffic. The starry expanse stretched out forever, waiting to accept them.
“Increasing to top velocity,” Mason said.
The Earth shrank away in the rear viewport until it was a speck lost in the vast field of space.
“Phase,” Steiner commanded.
His stomach sank as the universe around them faded into the darkness of interdimensional travel.
CHAPTER 7
WITH his AT-7 holstered at his side, ready to be drawn at the slightest provocation, Steiner walked through the P.A.V., inspecting the performance of his crew. His muscles ached from the constant tension he exerted on them to keep himself ready to defend against an attack. At any moment, someone might jump out at him from one of the open doorways or shadowy corners.
During the six hours since the launch, he’d noticed that the other convicts were always silent in his presence; some even stared until he left. He sensed they were afraid of him. He liked that. It might keep him alive longer.
He fastened another button on his jacket. Why was he so cold all the time? An hour earlier, he had checked the environmental controls just to make sure the temperature gauge was set for the mid seventies. Perhaps it was malfunctioning, too. He shivered. The lifeless gray surroundings strengthened the chill that gripped him. Even as he passed by workmen repairing the seared walls, it couldn’t melt his utter despair. He knew he was probably only there to die.
When he ascended a stairway to the second level of the crew quarters, he caught a glimpse of someone following far behind him. Impulsively, his hand went to the handle of his pistol.
No, he scolded himself, easing his fingers off the weapon. Paranoia might be stealing his judgment away. He would first test his suspicion.
He entered one of the ladder wells and climbed down to the lower decks, where the landing bay and armory were located. Rarely did anyone go down there.
After walking a short distance through a vacant passageway, he pretended to stop in order to use Suzanne’s computer pad. While he faked pressing its keypads, he ventured a quick glance behind him. The straggler wasn’t there. Just as relief began to flood through him, his peripheral vision caught a face peeking around a corner in the direction from which he had just come.
There was no mistake about it this time.
He continued on as if he hadn’t noticed the man, picking up his pace just enough to get out of visual range. When the corridor curved slightly, he slipped into a niche in the bulkhead. He pressed himself into it, feeling the icy touch of metal against the back of his head. His breathing quickened.
Less than a minute passed before he heard the scuffle of footsteps. He lifted his AT-7 from its holster and sprang from his hiding place. His pistol muzzle was pointed at—
Sam?
Steiner lowered his gun, paralyzed by the fear that he might have shot the boy. Sam must have been the one trailing him all along. Steiner checked to make sure no one else was in sight, then thrust Sam into the concealment of the niche.
“What do you think you’re doing by following me?” He whispered what
The low grinding of metal vibrated from the hull. An alarm rang out.
“Collision alert,” the controller shouted. “P.A.V., adjust your course immediately.”
Mason flushed as he worked frantically to correct his error. After the ship backed away from the side of the dock, one of the mooring clamps could be seen bent up against the superstructure.
Steiner’s faith in the smuggler’s skill wavered for a moment, then strengthened when the P.A.V. glided gracefully away from the station. Their ship never deviated from its flight path again—not even by a meter.
Sunlight pierced through one of the side viewports, maneuvering the shadows around the room as the P.A.V. banked on its course. Other vessels passed by, arriving on neighboring paths. A few minutes later, they had cleared all other traffic. The starry expanse stretched out forever, waiting to accept them.
“Increasing to top velocity,” Mason said.
The Earth shrank away in the rear viewport until it was a speck lost in the vast field of space.
“Phase,” Steiner commanded.
His stomach sank as the universe around them faded into the darkness of interdimensional travel.
CHAPTER 7
WITH his AT-7 holstered at his side, ready to be drawn at the slightest provocation, Steiner walked through the P.A.V., inspecting the performance of his crew. His muscles ached from the constant tension he exerted on them to keep himself ready to defend against an attack. At any moment, someone might jump out at him from one of the open doorways or shadowy corners.
During the six hours since the launch, he’d noticed that the other convicts were always silent in his presence; some even stared until he left. He sensed they were afraid of him. He liked that. It might keep him alive longer.
He fastened another button on his jacket. Why was he so cold all the time? An hour earlier, he had checked the environmental controls just to make sure the temperature gauge was set for the mid seventies. Perhaps it was malfunctioning, too. He shivered. The lifeless gray surroundings strengthened the chill that gripped him. Even as he passed by workmen repairing the seared walls, it couldn’t melt his utter despair. He knew he was probably only there to die.
When he ascended a stairway to the second level of the crew quarters, he caught a glimpse of someone following far behind him. Impulsively, his hand went to the handle of his pistol.
No, he scolded himself, easing his fingers off the weapon. Paranoia might be stealing his judgment away. He would first test his suspicion.
He entered one of the ladder wells and climbed down to the lower decks, where the landing bay and armory were located. Rarely did anyone go down there.
After walking a short distance through a vacant passageway, he pretended to stop in order to use Suzanne’s computer pad. While he faked pressing its keypads, he ventured a quick glance behind him. The straggler wasn’t there. Just as relief began to flood through him, his peripheral vision caught a face peeking around a corner in the direction from which he had just come.
There was no mistake about it this time.
He continued on as if he hadn’t noticed the man, picking up his pace just enough to get out of visual range. When the corridor curved slightly, he slipped into a niche in the bulkhead. He pressed himself into it, feeling the icy touch of metal against the back of his head. His breathing quickened.
Less than a minute passed before he heard the scuffle of footsteps. He lifted his AT-7 from its holster and sprang from his hiding place. His pistol muzzle was pointed at—
Sam?
Steiner lowered his gun, paralyzed by the fear that he might have shot the boy. Sam must have been the one trailing him all along. Steiner checked to make sure no one else was in sight, then thrust Sam into the concealment of the niche.
“What do you think you’re doing by following me?” He whispered what
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