The Seiner got through just after Storm left the atmosphere of
Helga’s World.
“He’s gone? Already?” The tension he had been
riding like a nightmare suddenly dissipated. He found himself
emotionally limp, hanging out to dry. His right hand snaked out,
secured the instel receiver.
The limpness did not last. Rage and sorrow smashed down on him.
It was a crushing emotional avalanche. The feelings were so
powerful that a small, stunned part of him recoiled in
amazement.
There in the privacy of his ship, locked away from all human
eyes, he could safely open the flood gates. He did so, venting not
only emotions engendered by his failure to save Benjamin and Homer,
but his responses to all the frustrations that had been building
since first he had heard of Blackworld and the Shadowline. He wept,
cursed, asked the gods what justice there was in a universe where a
man could not control his own fate.
The universe and gods, of course, did not reply.
There was no justice in that momentary eddy in chaos. There
never had been or would be. A man made his own justice if he wanted
any at all.
Storm knew that. But sometimes even the most strongly anchored
mind slips its cables and refuses to accept reality. Once in a
while, at least, it seemed the gods or universe ought to care.
Storm vowed, “I’ll get a bit of justice of my
own.” He had been making a lot of vows lately, he realized.
Would he survive long enough to see any of them fulfilled?
The shakes were going. The tears had dried. His voice was losing
its tightness. He opened instel communications again.
“Starfisher? Are you there? Why are you nosing into
this?” Those people did not get involved in the troubles of
outsiders.
There was a long delay. “Lady Prudence of Gales, Colonel.
And other reasons involving the man you’re chasing. Not
subject to discussion. Do you wish a relay?”
“Yes. Fortress of Iron.”
“Ready when you are, Colonel.”
“Wulf? Are you there?”
In time, “Here, Colonel.”
“Recall Cassius.”
“He’s finished already. He’s on his way.
I’ve inserted him into the pursuit pattern.”
“Good. Anything new?”
“Dee is running for Helga’s World. The Seiners have
given us a projected course. He’ll be coming right down your
throat. I’m using box and plane and I’m tightening it
up to keep him headed your way. I’ve got Cassius on an
intercept that should catch Dee just after he spots you and sheers
off Helga’s World. The trap should close before he recognizes
it.”
The trap’s mouth closed slowly. Even at velocities many
times that of light it took a long ledger of days before the scale
of action tightened enough to warrant Storm’s taking his ship
off auto control. For a while he lay motionless in relation to the
nearest stars, listening to the Seiner’s reports. He kept
influence up so he could make a quick snake-strike at Dee as he
came up. Essentially, he was pretending to be a singularity.
Michael did not fall for it. He could not know who was waiting
to ambush him, but he did know that there were no singularities
near his daughter’s world. He shifted course into the one gap
apparently open to him.
And there was Cassius, playing a trick not unlike Storm’s
but remaining in normspace with an inherent velocity approaching
that of light.
Dee’s nose swung toward the tiniest of cracks in the
closing walls of the trap. He attacked it with every erg his ship
could give.
Storm put way on. Cassius skipped into hyper. The quiet dance,
that might but likely would not end in a blaze of weaponry, began.
Storm wondered if his brother were desperate enough to fight. It
was not Michael’s style, but he might panic, not knowing who
had blocked his flight.
Maneuver. Counter-maneuver. Feint and lunge. Dee tried to fake
Storm out of position for the vital few seconds he needed to whip
past and streak for the safety of Helga’s World.
Wulf’s pursuing box closed in while Dee surrendered
straight-line velocity for maneuver.
Cassius arrowed in on a spear of a course, riding the fastest
ship involved. His sprint would put him across Dee’s bows if
Michael took too long getting past Storm. Even separated by
light-hours and without direct communication, Cassius and Storm
worked as a team.
Storm became satisfied that his singleship would outperform his
brother’s. He could commit one narrow error and still not
lose his man. In dealing with Michael a second was a treasure to be
hoarded against the unpredictable, but Gneaus no longer felt like
playing safe. He wanted Dee, and wanted him quick. He decided to
risk his advantage.
Pushing as hard as his ship would endure without breaking up
under hyper stress, he darted toward where he expected Michael to
be next. He fed max power to his influential field. Dee’s
ship had the stronger generator and would take his under control,
but then it would take Michael precious minutes in norm to
disentangle the fields. Cassius would arrive. He would mesh his
field with the others long enough for Wulf to slam the lid on the
box.
Michael recognized his intention. He sheered off. Too late. The
tracks of the singleships continued to converge.
Storm pulled closer and closer, at a steadily decreasing
relative velocity, till his influential sphere just brushed his
brother’s.
His singleship screamed. Alarms hooted. An effect that could
only be described as fifth-dimensional precession took place as
both ships tried to twist away in a direction that did not exist.
Storm’s shipboard computer calmly murmured portents of
disaster.
Swift as lightning and as jagged, hairline cracks scurried
across his control-room walls. Even before he heard a sound Storm
knew that his engine room’s stressteel frame members were
snapping, that his generators were crawling free of their mounts.
His hand darted toward the manual override, to cancel his approach
program, but he knew it was too late. Either his drive or
Michael’s was badly out of synch.
Dee had won again.
This might be the death-without-resurrection, his hope no more
than a chance at a clone. It was no solace that Michael might share
his fate.
His hand changed course and shot toward the disaster escape
release.
Crystals and fog formed before his vision went. His skin
protested the nibbling of a thousand hot little needles as vacuum
gulped the contents of his control room. The locked vessels had
processed into norm space. Their conflicting inherent velocities
were tearing them apart.
Before the darkness came there was a moment in which he wished
he had been a better father and husband. And had had the sense to
wear a combat suit going into a combat situation.
The Seiner got through just after Storm left the atmosphere of
Helga’s World.
“He’s gone? Already?” The tension he had been
riding like a nightmare suddenly dissipated. He found himself
emotionally limp, hanging out to dry. His right hand snaked out,
secured the instel receiver.
The limpness did not last. Rage and sorrow smashed down on him.
It was a crushing emotional avalanche. The feelings were so
powerful that a small, stunned part of him recoiled in
amazement.
There in the privacy of his ship, locked away from all human
eyes, he could safely open the flood gates. He did so, venting not
only emotions engendered by his failure to save Benjamin and Homer,
but his responses to all the frustrations that had been building
since first he had heard of Blackworld and the Shadowline. He wept,
cursed, asked the gods what justice there was in a universe where a
man could not control his own fate.
The universe and gods, of course, did not reply.
There was no justice in that momentary eddy in chaos. There
never had been or would be. A man made his own justice if he wanted
any at all.
Storm knew that. But sometimes even the most strongly anchored
mind slips its cables and refuses to accept reality. Once in a
while, at least, it seemed the gods or universe ought to care.
Storm vowed, “I’ll get a bit of justice of my
own.” He had been making a lot of vows lately, he realized.
Would he survive long enough to see any of them fulfilled?
The shakes were going. The tears had dried. His voice was losing
its tightness. He opened instel communications again.
“Starfisher? Are you there? Why are you nosing into
this?” Those people did not get involved in the troubles of
outsiders.
There was a long delay. “Lady Prudence of Gales, Colonel.
And other reasons involving the man you’re chasing. Not
subject to discussion. Do you wish a relay?”
“Yes. Fortress of Iron.”
“Ready when you are, Colonel.”
“Wulf? Are you there?”
In time, “Here, Colonel.”
“Recall Cassius.”
“He’s finished already. He’s on his way.
I’ve inserted him into the pursuit pattern.”
“Good. Anything new?”
“Dee is running for Helga’s World. The Seiners have
given us a projected course. He’ll be coming right down your
throat. I’m using box and plane and I’m tightening it
up to keep him headed your way. I’ve got Cassius on an
intercept that should catch Dee just after he spots you and sheers
off Helga’s World. The trap should close before he recognizes
it.”
The trap’s mouth closed slowly. Even at velocities many
times that of light it took a long ledger of days before the scale
of action tightened enough to warrant Storm’s taking his ship
off auto control. For a while he lay motionless in relation to the
nearest stars, listening to the Seiner’s reports. He kept
influence up so he could make a quick snake-strike at Dee as he
came up. Essentially, he was pretending to be a singularity.
Michael did not fall for it. He could not know who was waiting
to ambush him, but he did know that there were no singularities
near his daughter’s world. He shifted course into the one gap
apparently open to him.
And there was Cassius, playing a trick not unlike Storm’s
but remaining in normspace with an inherent velocity approaching
that of light.
Dee’s nose swung toward the tiniest of cracks in the
closing walls of the trap. He attacked it with every erg his ship
could give.
Storm put way on. Cassius skipped into hyper. The quiet dance,
that might but likely would not end in a blaze of weaponry, began.
Storm wondered if his brother were desperate enough to fight. It
was not Michael’s style, but he might panic, not knowing who
had blocked his flight.
Maneuver. Counter-maneuver. Feint and lunge. Dee tried to fake
Storm out of position for the vital few seconds he needed to whip
past and streak for the safety of Helga’s World.
Wulf’s pursuing box closed in while Dee surrendered
straight-line velocity for maneuver.
Cassius arrowed in on a spear of a course, riding the fastest
ship involved. His sprint would put him across Dee’s bows if
Michael took too long getting past Storm. Even separated by
light-hours and without direct communication, Cassius and Storm
worked as a team.
Storm became satisfied that his singleship would outperform his
brother’s. He could commit one narrow error and still not
lose his man. In dealing with Michael a second was a treasure to be
hoarded against the unpredictable, but Gneaus no longer felt like
playing safe. He wanted Dee, and wanted him quick. He decided to
risk his advantage.
Pushing as hard as his ship would endure without breaking up
under hyper stress, he darted toward where he expected Michael to
be next. He fed max power to his influential field. Dee’s
ship had the stronger generator and would take his under control,
but then it would take Michael precious minutes in norm to
disentangle the fields. Cassius would arrive. He would mesh his
field with the others long enough for Wulf to slam the lid on the
box.
Michael recognized his intention. He sheered off. Too late. The
tracks of the singleships continued to converge.
Storm pulled closer and closer, at a steadily decreasing
relative velocity, till his influential sphere just brushed his
brother’s.
His singleship screamed. Alarms hooted. An effect that could
only be described as fifth-dimensional precession took place as
both ships tried to twist away in a direction that did not exist.
Storm’s shipboard computer calmly murmured portents of
disaster.
Swift as lightning and as jagged, hairline cracks scurried
across his control-room walls. Even before he heard a sound Storm
knew that his engine room’s stressteel frame members were
snapping, that his generators were crawling free of their mounts.
His hand darted toward the manual override, to cancel his approach
program, but he knew it was too late. Either his drive or
Michael’s was badly out of synch.
Dee had won again.
This might be the death-without-resurrection, his hope no more
than a chance at a clone. It was no solace that Michael might share
his fate.
His hand changed course and shot toward the disaster escape
release.
Crystals and fog formed before his vision went. His skin
protested the nibbling of a thousand hot little needles as vacuum
gulped the contents of his control room. The locked vessels had
processed into norm space. Their conflicting inherent velocities
were tearing them apart.
Before the darkness came there was a moment in which he wished
he had been a better father and husband. And had had the sense to
wear a combat suit going into a combat situation.