Read Online The Depths of Time by Roger MacBride Allen - Free Book Online
Authors: Roger MacBride Allen
Tags: Science-Fiction
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watch him send the standard mirrors back to the convoy ships. Sentar looked inquiringly at Koffield, who remained in the command chair. Koffield shook his head no, very slightly. Let the boy work the contact. It was routine stuff, after all, and if uptime relief was slow in arriving, Chasov might well have to do the job on his own before too long, without any backstop. Live work was always the best training.
Chasov quickly interpreted the contact and put it on the main displays.
It was a beacon signal, or rather five beacon signals. The signals carried little more information than that, but the ships ’ heading told them more. They were inbound for Glister, coming in straight down the heading from Thor ’ s Realm. It was plain to see it was the relief convoy, just about on schedule, and inward bound for Glister.
“ Verbal report, ” Sentar ordered.
“ Five beaconed merchant ships, inbound on standard heading for Glister, ” Chasov promptly replied. -
“ Distance and time, Crewman Chasov? ” Sentar asked.
“ Yes, sir. Estimated range one billion four hundred six million kilometers. Doppler ranging shows targets to be decelerating, rendering arrival time uncertain. Using comparison to recorded similar flight paths, I derive estimated time of arrival at timeshaft-wormhole final approach cone at ninety-three hours, fourteen minutes. ”
Sentar nodded in satisfaction, and Koffield allowed himself just the hint of a smile. If Chasov ’ s report wasn ’ t word-for-word out of the detection officer ’ s training manual, it was awfully damned close.
“ Very well, ” Sentar replied. “ It would seem that we ’ ll have something to look at for the next four days. So keep an eye on those freighters for us, Crewman Chasov. ”
“ Yes, sir! ” said Chasov. It was obvious how proud he was of doing his job, of spotting, tracking, and analyzing the detection data.
Koffield was scarcely less glad himself. If the Upholder hadn ’ t been so badly damaged, he would have regarded that detection range as scandalously bad. As it was, he was more than pleased. It went beyond knowing one crewman had been trained well enough to do the most routine part of a detection officer ’ s job. It meant that the ship as a whole had demonstrated her ability to perform at least part of her mission. Spotting ships coming in, and shepherding them through the wormhole, was normal, expected. The simple fact that the Upholder was back on the job was bound to do great things for morale—and shipboard morale could use all the help it could get.
If he was the only one worried that the downtime relief ship had only four days to declare herself on station and operational before the convoy came through, that was fine as well. He had no desire to wish that worry—or any of his other worries—on anyone.
The ships came on, moving toward the timeshaft worm-hole, and for the next four days everything went by the book. The convoy ’ s sealed Chronologic-Patrol-installed transponders sent all the proper authenticator codes to prove the ships had not sent or received any illegal communications during transit. The Upholder acknowledged, and ordered the ships to a standard approach. The convoy ships obediently shifted course, and set themselves up on the proper vector, beads on a string that led straight for the timeshaft wormhole. All routine, all normal.
Except there was still no further word from the downtime relief ship, nothing at all but silence. Standard operating procedure called for the relief to maintain silence after the initial send-and-mirror until she was on station and fully operational. What had happened to her? Had the relief ship been destroyed in some further disaster? Was it merely some minor communications glitch? Was she sending the on-station signal, while the Upholder was somehow failing to receive it? The comm people checked the primary and backup gear again and again, but never found anything wrong.
Koffield spent his
Chasov quickly interpreted the contact and put it on the main displays.
It was a beacon signal, or rather five beacon signals. The signals carried little more information than that, but the ships ’ heading told them more. They were inbound for Glister, coming in straight down the heading from Thor ’ s Realm. It was plain to see it was the relief convoy, just about on schedule, and inward bound for Glister.
“ Verbal report, ” Sentar ordered.
“ Five beaconed merchant ships, inbound on standard heading for Glister, ” Chasov promptly replied. -
“ Distance and time, Crewman Chasov? ” Sentar asked.
“ Yes, sir. Estimated range one billion four hundred six million kilometers. Doppler ranging shows targets to be decelerating, rendering arrival time uncertain. Using comparison to recorded similar flight paths, I derive estimated time of arrival at timeshaft-wormhole final approach cone at ninety-three hours, fourteen minutes. ”
Sentar nodded in satisfaction, and Koffield allowed himself just the hint of a smile. If Chasov ’ s report wasn ’ t word-for-word out of the detection officer ’ s training manual, it was awfully damned close.
“ Very well, ” Sentar replied. “ It would seem that we ’ ll have something to look at for the next four days. So keep an eye on those freighters for us, Crewman Chasov. ”
“ Yes, sir! ” said Chasov. It was obvious how proud he was of doing his job, of spotting, tracking, and analyzing the detection data.
Koffield was scarcely less glad himself. If the Upholder hadn ’ t been so badly damaged, he would have regarded that detection range as scandalously bad. As it was, he was more than pleased. It went beyond knowing one crewman had been trained well enough to do the most routine part of a detection officer ’ s job. It meant that the ship as a whole had demonstrated her ability to perform at least part of her mission. Spotting ships coming in, and shepherding them through the wormhole, was normal, expected. The simple fact that the Upholder was back on the job was bound to do great things for morale—and shipboard morale could use all the help it could get.
If he was the only one worried that the downtime relief ship had only four days to declare herself on station and operational before the convoy came through, that was fine as well. He had no desire to wish that worry—or any of his other worries—on anyone.
The ships came on, moving toward the timeshaft worm-hole, and for the next four days everything went by the book. The convoy ’ s sealed Chronologic-Patrol-installed transponders sent all the proper authenticator codes to prove the ships had not sent or received any illegal communications during transit. The Upholder acknowledged, and ordered the ships to a standard approach. The convoy ships obediently shifted course, and set themselves up on the proper vector, beads on a string that led straight for the timeshaft wormhole. All routine, all normal.
Except there was still no further word from the downtime relief ship, nothing at all but silence. Standard operating procedure called for the relief to maintain silence after the initial send-and-mirror until she was on station and fully operational. What had happened to her? Had the relief ship been destroyed in some further disaster? Was it merely some minor communications glitch? Was she sending the on-station signal, while the Upholder was somehow failing to receive it? The comm people checked the primary and backup gear again and again, but never found anything wrong.
Koffield spent his
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