Then she noticed that her travel bag had been placed on the bed, unopened. And there was a bottle of wine sitting tilted in a chiller bucket on the low table in front of the cushioned sofa.
“Champagne,” she noted. “And two glasses.”
Tsavo put on a slightly sheepish look. “Even before the storm came up I had hoped you’d stay the night.”
“Looks like I’ll have to. I ought to call my people at Malapert, though, and let them know I’m okay.”
He hesitated, as if debating inwardly with himself. Pancho couldn’t hear the whispered instructions he was getting.
“All right,” he said, flashing that killer smile again. “Let me call my communications center.”
“Great!”
He went to the phone on the desk and the wallscreen abruptly switched to an image of a man sitting at a console with a headset clipped over his thick dark hair.
“I’m afraid, sir, that the solar storm is interfering with communications at this time.”
Tsavo seemed upset. “Can’t you establish a laser link?”
Unperturbed, the communications tech said, “Our laser equipment is not functional at this time, sir.”
“Well get it functioning,” Tsavo said hotly. “And let me know the instant it’s working.”
“Yes, sir.” The wallscreen went dark.
Pancho pursed her lips, then shrugged. “Guess my people at Malapert will have to get along without me till the storm lets up.”
Tsavo looked pleased. Smiling, he asked, “Would you like some wine?”
COMMAND SHIP SAMARKAND
Harbin was heading back to the HSS base at Vesta. Samarkand had not escaped its one-sided battle against the Astro freighter unscathed. The loosed rocks and pebbles of his ship’s armor shield had dented and buckled parts of the hull, and now Samarkand was totally unarmored, easy prey for any warship it should happen to meet.
He was worried about the ship’s radiation shielding. Even though the diagnostics showed the system to be functioning properly, with a solar storm approaching he preferred to be safely underground at Vesta.
Still, he left his two other vessels to continue their hunt through this region of the Belt while he made his way back to Vesta for refurbishment.
It will be good to have a few days of R&R, he thought as he sat in the command chair. Besides, my medicinals are running low. I’ll have to get the pharmacy to restock them.
He turned the con over to his executive officer and left the bridge, ducking through the hatch and down the short passageway to his private quarters. Making his way straight to his lavatory, he opened the medicine chest and surveyed the vials and syringes stored there. Running low, he confirmed. But there’s enough here to get me through the next few nights. Enough to let me sleep when I need to.
He reached for one of the vials, but before he could take it in his fingers the intercom buzzed.
“Sir, we have a target,” the exec’s voice said. Then she added, “I think.”
Harbin slammed the cabinet door shut. “You think?” he shouted to the intercom microphone set into the metal overhead of the lav. “It’s an odd signature, sir.”
Incompetent jackass, Harbin said to himself. Aloud, “I’m on my way.”
He strode to the bridge, simmering anger. I can’t trust this crew to do anything for themselves. I can’t even leave them alone long enough to take a piss.
But as he slid into the command chair he saw that the display on the main screen was indeed fuzzy, indistinct.
“Max magnification,” he commanded.
“It is at maximum,” the comm tech replied. She too was staring at the screen, a puzzled frown furrowing her pale Nordic countenance.
Harbin glanced at the data bar running across the bottom of the display. Just over twelve hundred kilometers away. The object was spinning slowly, turning along its long axis every few seconds.
“Size estimate,” he snapped.
Two pulsating cursors appeared at each end of the rotating object. Blinking alphanumerics said 1.9 meters.
“It’s too small to be a ship,” said the pilot.
“A robot vehicle?” the weapons technician asked. “Maybe a mine of some sort?”
Harbin shook his head. He knew what it was. “Turn off the display.”