Finder clumped onto the bridge as well, still in his vacc suit. “Lieutenant Strong's working on a pretty interesting hunch, Bernie.”
“You don't say?” muttered the much-younger de los Reyes. The two were pals from way back, and by all rights and measurements of seniority, it should have been Finder, not Bernie, serving as the brevetted noncom XO aboard their cutter, the Venerated Gaia. However, Finder's wit was not only barbed, but occasionally injudicious. Previous Dirtsider officers had put enough demerits and reprimands into his record to ensure that he never became anything more than he was right now: First Sergeant and EVA team leader.
Lee drifted across the bridge to hover behind the shoulder of the nav rating. “Navigator?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Run a plot for me: trajectory of the Fragrant Blossom for the next three weeks.”
“But sir, the Fragrant Blossom is adrift. She's not under power or on course for any—”
“I know, Rating. Indulge me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
As the first navigator worked, both Bernie and Finder drifted over to watch the process.
The computer flicked between subroutines, cleared, then showed a course plot that intersected one red circle: a possible rendezvous with a charted object.
“Throw that up on the main plot, Navigator,” Lee said with a nod at the computer screen.
Which showed that the trajectory of the Fragrant Blossom would carry it out of the Jovian side of the asteroid belt, and very close to one nearby planetoid, the red-circled 216 Kleopatra.
Lee turned to his two senior subordinates. “The hijackers weren't just drifting. If they had been, they'd still have been more or less on course for Callisto. But they're not. Which means that, after they took the Fragrant Blossom, they used some corrective thrust to put them on a coasting trajectory to that collection of rocks,” he pointed at 216 Kleopatra.
“Why there?” wondered the First Navigator.
“Because,” supplied Lee, “that's where their friends are waiting,”
* * *
Bernie and Finder were the only ones who accompanied Lee into the claustrophobic CO's ready room. As they entered, Bernie reached under the light table—already displaying the projected course to 216 Kleopatra—and flicked a switch. The room was suddenly filled with what sounded—or more accurately, felt—like a pitchless hum: a white-noise generator.
Lee glanced at Bernie. “Well, today seems to be the day for nonregulation surprises.”
Bernie met the glance sheepishly and shrugged. “Guess so, Sir. Now, how long do we have before we're on top of 216 Kleopatra?”
“Two hours and eight minutes,” Lee answered. “Meaning I've got no time to catch you up on what we found aboard the Blossom. Hell, we don't even have time to get instructions from, or clear a farther ops plan with, the brass back on Mars.”
Bernie nodded. It was a little over twenty light minutes to Marsm, which would guarantee at least a full hour's lag time.
“They're not going to be able to offer any worthwhile input before we have to commit to some plan of action,” he agreed. “So we either do this on our own—which means we carry the can for not waiting for confirmation if things go wrong. Or else they send us loose, provisional orders based on the first batch of incomplete data. So that, if things go wrong, they can blame the failure on our sketchy reporting and poor execution. That about what you were thinking, Skipper?”
“Something like that,” Lee acknowledged.
“Which leaves the steaming turd in our laps, either way,” Finder grumbled.
“In my lap, gentlemen, in my lap.” Lee sighed. “I'd be happy to share the inevitable blame with you both, but this is my command, my call, my court-martial.”
Bernie looked at Finder and expelled a histrionic sigh. “Jan, I meant to ask you, are we still having trouble with the lascom array?”
Finder was blank-eyed for a moment, then nodded sadly. “Oh. Yeah. That. Can't seem to figure out what's wrong with it.”
“And did you log it as being off-line yesterday, when we first discovered the malfunction?”
“I don't think so. I'll have to go back in the records and check. I might need to make a retroactive correction.” Finder was now beaming with positively malicious glee.
“I should report you both,” Lee said, managing not to smile.
“You should, Skipper,” Bernie agreed with a somber nod, “you really should.”
Lee grinned. “Okay, so the lascom will ‘finally' come back on-line after we get to 216 Kleopatra: too late for us to give a sitrep to, or get orders from, the brass on Mars. But just in time to send them word of what we found both there and