“Captain,” Duna asked, missing the by-play. “How long will it be to Enshar? I keep forgetting to ask Telisan.”
“Always an interesting question,” Fenaday replied. “Hyperspace itself has no analog with normal space, so distances in jump don’t mirror those of the normal universe. A voyage between two relatively close stars can take months of objective time. Yet, others separated by hundreds of light years, take only weeks. Hyperspace is ‘thicker’ or “thinner’ between certain stars. Even in those jumps, the currents of hyperspace can change the length of the trip, depending on where you enter. Between some stars there is an express pipeline, as if a river’s raging current helps the ship’s drive. The jump to Enshar is one of these, shorter than many jumps, for all that it’s over six hundred lights to your system.”
“Which means?” prompted Duna.
Fenaday laughed. “Forgive the lecture, Professor. The voyage will take four weeks of actual time. We will be in hyperspace for thirty-eight days universal time.”
“Not that we will experience that,” Duna mused. “It never fails to amaze me how one experiences nothing in hyperjump, not even dreams. I think that thirty-eight days will bring us to the city of Gigor in the spring.”
“Yes,” Fenaday replied, butterflies hitting his stomach at the thought. In Gigor sat the dead Confederation shuttles. They lay there now, awaiting him.
*****
Sidhe accelerated outward from Sol system. Onboard, Fenaday and Telisan continued working up the crew. Belwin Duna did all he could to restore the crew’s morale. Always available, he spoke to everyone and answered every question. Fenaday’s instinct proved correct, the old scholar had once been a politician. He worked the crowd. Before long many of the crew began to see themselves as heroes on a quest.
Wherever the little scholar went, an HCR, or Mmok himself, followed. Clearly the cyborg had orders to keep Duna safe. Fenaday worried about the Enshari’s safety as well, but there was no one better suited to protect Duna than Mmok and his unsleeping watchdogs. Mmok’s sentry duty also freed up Shasti’s limited number of reliables to watch Mmok, Telisan and everyone else.
Sidhe reached the edge of Terra’s system and the FTL drive began its buildup. The small quantum singularity that provided the ship’s artificial gravity now bent the fabric of space time. Sidhe breached that fabric and leapt into hyperspace, heading outward to Enshar.
Chapter Eight
Fenaday groaned as reemergence brought him back to the land of the living. “I think living,” he muttered, fighting dizziness. He sometimes felt that he left larger and larger pieces of himself in hyperspace each jump. Maybe one day he wouldn’t come back at all. Vision returned slowest, lagging sound, which started as a roar in one’s ears then muted to the normal operating sounds of a starship. There was nothing to smell but canned, tasteless air. Gradually shapes began to form before his eyes, followed by a gray light and finally color.
“Status,” he croaked.
“No targets on scan,” Sharon Hafel said, her own voice rough and hoarse.
“Ship speed is .66C,” Nye added. “Momentum from Sol system is still with us.”
“Weapons armed and ready,” Wardell said.
“Engines and ship systems nominal,” Telisan said.
Fenaday’s stomach lurched and he only partly smothered the groan.
“The long fast ones are the worst,” said Telisan, standing beside him.
“At least have the decency to look ill,” Fenaday groused. The Denlenn seemed fresh and ready for anything. Fenaday, as usual after a jump, wanted a shower and some sleep. Jump was hard on the human body. Why, no one knew. Dobera and his department would be running through the ship, handing out food and drinks laced with restoratives. Sickbay would have a few people overcome by jump sickness.
“Well,” Fenaday said, “no immediate threat nearby. Still. Bernard, Hafel, do you have that holographic camouflage on line?”
“Aye, sir,” Bernard answered. She was one of Mandela’s people, a brilliant young comp tech. “System just came back up. Wish I’d been able to look at the machinery itself, though.”
A thought Fenaday shared. Mandela’s shipwrights had cannibalized a large forward compartment and sealed it. He had no idea what was in it. Gandhi had told him on his final call that if the seal was broken, they might as well not come back.
“Engage holographic camouflage. Let’s see if Mandela’s expensive toy works,” Fenaday ordered.
Sidhe went into stealth mode. Her holographic generators slowly cloaked the warship’s hull with the appearance of an asteroid. Other stealth devices installed by the navy reduced her radar signature by fifty percent. Not invisible, but comfortingly