nodded, and leaned back. “We won’t make approach for a good
three-quarters of an hour,” he said, “and nothing’s between us and our
nominal target. Relax.” ‘
Vymezal–a young cadre lieutenant of marines, Kossara’s cousin and in a
sturdy male fashion almost unendurably like her–undid his safety web.
He had been invited to the control cabin as a courtesy; come passage
near the enemy destroyer they were aimed at, he would be below with his
dozen men, giving them what comfort he could in their helplessness, and
Chives would be here as copilot. His question came hesitant, not
frightened but shy: “Sir, do you really think we can get past? They’ll
know pretty soon we’re not a torp, we’re a manned vessel. I should think
they won’t be satisfied to take evasive action, they’ll try for a kill.”
“You volunteered, didn’t you? After being warned this is a dangerous
mission.”
Vymezal flushed. “Yes, sir. I wouldn’t beg off if I could. I was just
wondering. You explained it’s not necessarily a suicide mission.”
The odds are long that it is, my boy.
“You said,” the earnest voice stumbled on, “your oscillators are well
enough tuned that you can go on hyper-drive deep into a gravity
well–quite near the sun. You planned to make most of our transit that
way. Why not start at once? Why first run straight at hostile guns? I’m
just wondering, sir, just interested.”
Flandry smiled. “Sure you are,” he replied, “and I’m sorry if you
supposed for a minute I suppose otherwise. The reason is simple. We’ve a
high kinetic velocity right now with respect to Chereion. You don’t lose
energy of relativistic motion merely because for a while you quantum-hop
around the light-speed limit. Somewhere along the line, we have to match
our vector to the planet’s. That’s better done here, where we have elbow
room, than close in, where space may be crammed with defenses. We gain
time–time to increase surprise at the far end–by
A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows
posing as a missile while we adjust our velocity. But a missile should
logically have a target. Within the cone of feasible directions, that
destroyer seemed like our best bet. Let me emphasize, the operative word
is ‘bet.'”
Vymezal eased and chuckled. “Thank you, sir. I’m a dice addict. I know
when to fade.”
“I’m more a poker player.” Flandry offered a cigarette, which was
accepted, and took one for himself. It crossed his mind: how strange he
should still be using the box which had snapped shut on his son, and
give it no particular thought.
Well, why throw away a tool I’d want duplicated later? I’ve been taught
to avoid romantic gestures except when they serve a practical demagogic
purpose.
Vymezal peered ahead at the ruby sun. Yes, his profile against the
star-clouds of Sagittarius was as much like Kossara’s as young Dominic’s
had been like Persis’. What can I write to Persis? Can I? Maybe my
gesture is to carry this cigarette case in my pocket for the rest of my
days.
“What information have we?” the lieutenant almost whispered.
“Very little, and most we collected personally while we approached,”
Flandry said. “Red dwarf star, of course; early type, but still billions
of years older than Sol or Zoria, and destined to outlive them. However,
not unduly metal-poor,” as Diomedes is where I put her at stake for no
more possible win than the damned Empire. “Distribution of higher
elements varies a good bit in both space and time. The system appears
normal for its kind, whatever ‘normal’ may mean: seven identified
planets, Chereion presumably the only vitafer. We can’t predict further;
life has no such thing as a norm. I do expect Chereion will be, m-m,
interesting.”
And not an inappropriate place to leave my bones. Flandry inhaled
acridity and gazed outward. With all the marvels and mysteries yonder,
he wasn’t seeking death. In the last few weeks, his wounds had scarred
over. But scar tissue is not alive. He no longer minded the idea of
death. He wished, though, it had been possible to leave Chives behind,
and Kossara’s cousin.
A magnifying screen emblazoned the Merseian destroyer, spearhead on a