voice. Calder watched fascinated at the play of mandibles as the navigator spoke . Gods, how long will it be before I get used to him ? He rested his eyes on Lana instead. She really was a beauty, and he found his eyes drifting down towards the firm padding around her chest, the buttons teasingly open around the top few buttonholes of her flight suit. Calder jerked his gaze back to her face . She didn’t notice that, did she ? He was only looking at Lana like that because the two aliens on the bridge had disconcerted him a little, surely?
‘This is Skrat,’ said Lana, indicating the lizard. ‘If you ever shake hands with him on a deal, check your wrist to make sure you’ve still got all items of personal jewellery intact.’ She reached out and affectionately tapped the monstrous navigator’s carapace. ‘And this is Polter. He’s a little skittish around new people, but he’s the best navigator in this corner of the void. He can drop you down so close to a system’s gravity well that you can hear the water in your ship’s pipes boil in protest at the hyperspace translation.’
Calder looked in puzzlement at Lana. ‘Why would the pipes’ water boil?’
‘I got him started with the cop shows,’ apologised Zeno. ‘I’ll throw a few Hell Fleet episodes his way tomorrow, when his brain’s recovered enough that I don’t turn his mind into a hearty barbarian stew.’
‘Don’t want to fry the new man on the team,’ said Lana. ‘At least, not yet. Why don’t you explain to his highness how this lady flies, Polter?’
‘For a ship to enter hyperspace,’ said Polter, ‘she must jump far outside the gravity well of large planetary bodies – worlds, suns, gas giants. Gravity fields exert too strong an interaction on the artificial wormholes we create to cross into hyperspace. Jump out too close to a world through an unstable wormhole, and your engines will be fried, then you must exit hyperspace blind – maybe strike a world or moon. The balance of probabilities, however is that you will simply be left derelict, floating in the void between the stars. Exit hyperspace too near to a system’s gravity well, and a similar devilish accident results. Your hyperspace engines will be destroyed. At least on the way into your destination, you can signal the system and pray that a rescue attempt can be made.’
‘Shit, make salvage, is what you make,’ said Lana. ‘Goodbye ship, hello some vulture of a tug company and the wrecking yard. It’s a real art, plotting a hyperspace translation. The nearer the system you’re entering or exiting, the more complex the math of the jump. But when you arrive light years out from a system, you’re left burning expensive fuel on your sub-light drive, wasting valuable time. Lucky for us, Polter is one of the best at what he does. A real artist.’
The explanation seemed almost as inexplicable to Calder as the navigator’s alien shape. With a body like Polter’s, even trying to keep his fighting claws flat against the shell in a gesture of peace, the navigator appeared built for battle, not complex acts of chart reading and pilot mathematics . Just goes to show you, appearances can be deceptive. A little like my darling ex-fiancée. A smile as sweet as honey and a dagger tucked below her dress for your heart. ‘Will I be trained in this art, as one of the crew?’
Polter’s two manipulator hands danced about, a distant sim-memory alerting Calder that this was the Kaggenish race’s laughter. ‘No, indeed, Calder Durk. It takes about half an hour to translate a ship between the veil of the mortal universe and the blessed vaults of hyperspace. The act of doing so, of joining with the math, is highly addictive.’
‘Addictive?’
‘He ain’t kidding,’ said Zeno. ‘Polter here is an aesthete. Kags don’t get drunk or high or addicted to sims. Just the way they’re built. Tough on the outside, tough on the inside. In the early days of space travel, Earth tried
‘This is Skrat,’ said Lana, indicating the lizard. ‘If you ever shake hands with him on a deal, check your wrist to make sure you’ve still got all items of personal jewellery intact.’ She reached out and affectionately tapped the monstrous navigator’s carapace. ‘And this is Polter. He’s a little skittish around new people, but he’s the best navigator in this corner of the void. He can drop you down so close to a system’s gravity well that you can hear the water in your ship’s pipes boil in protest at the hyperspace translation.’
Calder looked in puzzlement at Lana. ‘Why would the pipes’ water boil?’
‘I got him started with the cop shows,’ apologised Zeno. ‘I’ll throw a few Hell Fleet episodes his way tomorrow, when his brain’s recovered enough that I don’t turn his mind into a hearty barbarian stew.’
‘Don’t want to fry the new man on the team,’ said Lana. ‘At least, not yet. Why don’t you explain to his highness how this lady flies, Polter?’
‘For a ship to enter hyperspace,’ said Polter, ‘she must jump far outside the gravity well of large planetary bodies – worlds, suns, gas giants. Gravity fields exert too strong an interaction on the artificial wormholes we create to cross into hyperspace. Jump out too close to a world through an unstable wormhole, and your engines will be fried, then you must exit hyperspace blind – maybe strike a world or moon. The balance of probabilities, however is that you will simply be left derelict, floating in the void between the stars. Exit hyperspace too near to a system’s gravity well, and a similar devilish accident results. Your hyperspace engines will be destroyed. At least on the way into your destination, you can signal the system and pray that a rescue attempt can be made.’
‘Shit, make salvage, is what you make,’ said Lana. ‘Goodbye ship, hello some vulture of a tug company and the wrecking yard. It’s a real art, plotting a hyperspace translation. The nearer the system you’re entering or exiting, the more complex the math of the jump. But when you arrive light years out from a system, you’re left burning expensive fuel on your sub-light drive, wasting valuable time. Lucky for us, Polter is one of the best at what he does. A real artist.’
The explanation seemed almost as inexplicable to Calder as the navigator’s alien shape. With a body like Polter’s, even trying to keep his fighting claws flat against the shell in a gesture of peace, the navigator appeared built for battle, not complex acts of chart reading and pilot mathematics . Just goes to show you, appearances can be deceptive. A little like my darling ex-fiancée. A smile as sweet as honey and a dagger tucked below her dress for your heart. ‘Will I be trained in this art, as one of the crew?’
Polter’s two manipulator hands danced about, a distant sim-memory alerting Calder that this was the Kaggenish race’s laughter. ‘No, indeed, Calder Durk. It takes about half an hour to translate a ship between the veil of the mortal universe and the blessed vaults of hyperspace. The act of doing so, of joining with the math, is highly addictive.’
‘Addictive?’
‘He ain’t kidding,’ said Zeno. ‘Polter here is an aesthete. Kags don’t get drunk or high or addicted to sims. Just the way they’re built. Tough on the outside, tough on the inside. In the early days of space travel, Earth tried
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