“One minute to exit,” Mon said. Tones echoed themselves up and down the Princess Cecile’s corridors.
“Good, good, I was sure you’d manage,” Daniel said. In his official voice he continued, “Captain to ship. Prepare to enter normal space. Captain out.”
The starship shuddered in a pattern that had by now become as familiar as Adele’s nightmares and very nearly as unpleasant to experience. Colors inverted to their visual reciprocals. For an instant Adele saw not one compartment but an infinite series of compartments, each identical—almost—to the others.
She kept her eyes open. She’d tried closing them the first few times, and the result was even worse.
Another shudder. It was as disconcerting as the previous series even though Adele’s conscious mind knew that when she was growing up this was the only universe she’d ever expected to know.
“Hallelujah!” a spacer shouted. Over the intercom, Lt. Mon bellowed, “By God! I don’t think we’re the ship’s length out of our calculated exit. Three cheers for Captain Leary!”
Adele heard the cheering with a distant part of her mind. The rest of her, body and soul, was busy with the glut of information the Princess Cecile’s communications suite was gathering.
Signals Officer Mundy was at work.
* * *
“RCN corvette Princess Cecile requests landing clearance for Tanais Base,” Daniel said, feeling expansive. “We’ll need dockyard assistance in removing and refitting our fusion bottle, but the ship will be able to lift to another berth after initial touchdown if necessary. Sissie over.”
Daniel was glad that Lt. Mon had told the crew about how precisely they’d exited the Matrix, because otherwise he might have said something himself. Daniel didn’t like boastfulness, in himself or in others, but there were some things so uniquely wonderful that they shouldn’t pass without comment.
“Tanais control to RCN vessel,” an agitated voice said after more than the normal lag for communications over a 70,000 mile separation. “We have no information regarding your arrival here. You are not approved for landing. I repeat, you are not approved for landing! You must land on Strymon and get authorization from the Fleet Office before you can land here. Tanais control over.”
Daniel frowned, the expression of an RCN officer and Cinnabar nobleman who’d just been told what to do by wogs. He glanced at the course schematic which had replaced the astrogation display when the corvette entered sidereal space. The Princess Cecile retained considerable velocity from the bubble universe from which it had exited. The High Drive was braking at .5 gee, the hardest a reasonable captain would stress a vessel with its sails set.
Lt. Mon had laid out a complex powered orbit that would bring the Princess Cecile around Tanais alone instead of looping the primary. He’d calculated it to give them time to scrub off momentum during the expected bureaucratic delays an unannounced vessel could expect before being assigned a berth.
The present business was not at all to be expected.
“Tanais control, this is RCN, I repeat, RCN, vessel Princess Cecile,” Daniel said. He was handling the communications chores himself, both because he was more familiar with procedures than Adele and because her specialized skills could be put to better use at this moment than routine. “Your response is not satisfactory. Be advised that I intend to dock my vessel at Tanais Base in accordance with Strymon’s treaty obligations to the Republic of Cinnabar. Over!”
His hand reached for a red button set into the material of the console; not a holographic construct. Before he touched it, General Quarters chimed through the corvette: Lt. Mon in the Battle Direction Center had been a hair quicker than his captain.
“RCN vessel, wait please,” said the controller. He sounded as though he was on the verge of a coronary or a nervous breakdown. “Please wait. Tanais out . . . ah, over.”
The bridge whispered with the motions of officers focusing on their individual domains. In the corridor the riggers who’d come in during exit—it was possible to make the transition with crewmen on the hull, but physical and psychological disorientation made it very dangerous for them—were locking their helmets shut in obedience to Woetjans’ order over the intercom.