“We know—” Valentina said.
“We believe!” said her husband.
“We know,” Valentina repeated, “that John Tsetzes fled toward the Galactic North. Deserters from his ship said as much. No sign of him or the treasures he took has ever appeared. We thought, Georgi and I, that if we could perhaps trace Tsetzes, it would be very important for us at home.”
Daniel pursed his lips. “I can see that, yes,” he said. “But I must emphasize that ships vanish in the Matrix, and ships crash while trying to land on planets that no one else ever visits. The chance of our finding a vessel that disappeared sixty years ago isn’t very great.”
He didn’t know enough about the political structure of Novy Sverdlovsk to be sure what “very important” meant in the present context, but the Countess might well be suggesting the return of such an heirloom could be parlayed into leadership of the planet. That was none of Daniel’s business, of course.
“No one has been searching,” Valentina said. “Not really.”
“In any case,” said the Count, “we will hunt and collect artifacts. And if more eventuates—who knows? Eh?”
“Indeed, who knows?” said his wife. With a smile that emphasized her unusually wide mouth, she again reached over the astrogation tank.
Daniel smiled back; but instead of touching hands, he brought up the display. “Sir and madam!” he said, “Mistress Mundy and I will do our best to accommodate you.”
CHAPTER 8
A barge with two powerful hydraulic winches pulled the Princess Cecile slowly from her slip by cables attached to ringbolts on her outriggers. A tensioning capstan on the quay paid out a third wire cable, attached to the corvette’s stern to keep her from sliding into the barge once she started moving.
By splitting her display, Adele could watch both; but in fact she didn’t really understand what was going on, so watching the affair would be a pointless exercise. She’d switched instead to an analysis of Harbor One’s message traffic. That had nothing to do with her either, but at least she understood it.
The noise was quite remarkable. Adele’s helmet protected her eardrums, but the cacophonous shrieks and roars and bangs through the hull made her body vibrate.
Most of the Sissie’s hatches were closed, but the bridge access port was still hinged down. Daniel stood on the lip, steadying himself with one hand while he called orders to his own crew and the yard personnel through his commo helmet. He’d clipped a safety line to his equipment belt, but if he slipped from the transom he’d strike hard against the lower curve of the hull before snubbing up.
Adele grimaced. Daniel didn’t expect to slip, and having seen him in the Sissie’s rigging she didn’t expect him to slip either. Besides, nobody was asking her to do it.
“Daniel, what is going on?” Countess Klimov asked over what she’d been told was the command channel. “Is everything all right?”
During undocking and any other time the captain’s full attention ought to be on his work, the Klimovs’ messages were routed to Adele’s console—and stopped there. The only signals going directly to Daniel were those of the Chiefs of Rig and Ship, First Lieutenant Chewning at his station in the Battle Direction Center astern, and the ground staff controlling the winches.
Acting by the polite reflex of handling something for a friend while he was busy, Adele reverted to the split view and exported it to the Klimovs display. Because the icon at the top of the screen wouldn’t mean anything to them, she added a realtime image of her face . . . and a grim, glowering person she looked, she realized.
She attempted a smile without much improvement and said over the private channel she’d just opened, “Sir and madam, Captain Leary directed me to keep you fully informed while he’s immersed in preparations for liftoff. Do you have any questions about what’s going on?”
“What is going on?” Klimov demanded. “These pictures? What are they?”
There wasn’t room on the corvette’s bridge for two additional consoles, but neither was there any practical way to keep the ship’s owners off the bridge. Daniel’s answer had been to turn his watch cabin into an annex by removing the bulkhead. He’d placed two acceleration couches in the space. Armored conduits welded to the deck connected the Klimovs’ jury-rigged displays to the main computer, but their controls worked only to access data unless Adele released the lockout she’d imposed.