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IV

During the course of his long life, Dykstra had many times been in the spotlight before audiences of VIPs: the movers and shakers, presidents, kings, and dictators, generals, admirals, members of the joint chiefs of staff. And so it was again this time, except now he was on the Moon in the restricted lecture hall of the System Patrol High Command.

And the stakes had never been this high.

He'd already discussed the events that had led up to his discovering the secret of the Phinon hyperdrive, and he had just ordered the projectionist to display the image of the System Patrol's first hyperdriven spacecraft.

"Gentlemen, I give you the Hyperlight. You System Patrol people will recognize the main structure as that of a standard streakbomber. We've left the core of the ship almost unmodified except for an extra mass conversion unit to power the shields and some power conduit additions from the hyperdrive engine power supply into the bomber's standard power array. Oh, and of course, it was necessary to modify the compensation fields as well." The last was a tremendous understatement. Standard compensation fields in a streakbomber could handle no more than 45 gravities of acceleration in a straight line. The Hyperlight was capable of eight times that.

Dykstra wondered if anyone would ask about that 200 million gee apparent acceleration that the ship would have when it went into hyperdrive. He'd explained it before that the acceleration and the streak of light were relics of the time interval it took the ship to transition from normal space to hyperspace. Since the craft would be going from essentially zero to twenty-four times lightspeed in a fraction of a second, to the ordinary Universe this looked like the craft was accelerating. Real fast. It was the recognition of the magnitude of the transition interval that had provided the final piece of the puzzle for Dykstra to solve the mystery of the Phinon hyperdrive.

"The most striking feature you will likely note is the addition of the two drive nacelles running from just before the center to beyond the stern underneath the main body of the ship," Dykstra continued.

"Why two engines, Doctor? The Phinon ships don't have two." The question came from an admiral several rows back. At least this was a question he hadn't answered for this group before.

"Think of them as two engine elements. By using these two elements working in resonance, the Hyperlight will be able to vastly outperform anything of the Phinons' that we've seen so far. Not only does the use of two elements greatly lower the energy requirements for transitioning to hyperspace, but they provide a reactionless space drive that will work within the Hague volume. As far as we can tell, the Phinons don't have that. We don't know why. But the engine brought in from Slingshot was only suitable to provide reactionless propulsion outside the Hague Limit, and then only with significantly less efficiency than the Hyperlight has." While Dykstra was answering the question, the view had changed to one of the Hyperlight going through her paces in near Earth space. They watched as the ship performed an impressive series of maneuvers, then gasped when they saw the wild acrobatics to which Lieutenant Nachtegall had next subjected the craft—twists, turns, and right angle vector changes impossible for anything that had to throw mass to move. Dykstra tried to hide the pride he felt swelling inside.

"So what you're saying is that our first attempt, or should I say, your first attempt at developing a faster-than-light drive, is superior to what the aliens have despite the fact that they've obviously been an interstellar species for a long time?" The question came after the oohs and aahs had died down, from the slender but tough-looking form of Colonel Knoedler.

His question was expected. The script was familiar. Knoedler and he had continued to butt heads over the ideal use of the Hyperlight during teleconferences with the strategy group while Dykstra was on Earth. Sometime in the past months Dykstra had become convinced that Knoedler had other reasons for pushing his position so strenuously in addition to his stated fear of the Phinons finding out too much or of their running a ruse. In any case, the colonel was up to his same rhetorical tricks, this time trying to win support for his position among this collection of brass.

Dykstra met the question head on. "That is exactly what I am saying, Colonel." He noticed that Bob had entered at the back of the room.

"Doesn't that strike you as odd, Doctor? Wouldn't you expect that our first attempt should seem primitive compared to theirs?" Knoedler continued.

Dykstra decided to seize the initiative. In some ways, he liked the colonel, since the man was one of the few actually willing to question the judgment of the "smartest man in the world." But the stakes were just too high now, what with the Hyperlight preparing to leave soon. He needed every ounce of veneration he could get.

"Perhaps, Colonel. But that is an entirely anthropocentric view. Having never encountered aliens before, it is presumptuous to assume we'd have any understanding whatsoever of how they behave, or of what passes for a design and development philosophy among them. All I can tell you for sure is that the Hyperlight will vastly outperform anything of theirs that we've seen so far."

"I think that's a bit presumptuous, Doctor."

"How can you tell, Colonel? How many hyperdrives have you invented lately? How much grime from alien machinery have you had to wash off your hands?" Laughter rippled through the chamber. Dykstra knew how terribly unfair he'd just been. He also knew how satisfying it felt.

The Phinon problem was one of reconciling the mystery of their technology with a rational plan of attack. During his investigations of the alien artifacts, Dykstra had noticed curious omissions in the designs of their implements. One in particular, the hand weapon, had really set him off into wondering just what kinds of beings these were.

To hear Knoedler tell it, these omissions marked a clear devious intent. Convinced that the Union's acquisition of FTL capability had come without sufficient blood, sweat, and tears, he'd been arguing that it was part of an alien plot to make humanity dependent upon a technology new to it (but probably obsolete to them) for which they knew the Achilles' heel. For him, that the Phinon hyperengines used only one element was clear evidence that they were feeding the Union the minimum amount of technological know-how to achieve their purposes.

Dykstra thought asking a Phinon why his hyperdrive didn't use two elements was like asking a human why his hand didn't have two thumbs.

The meeting broke up and after taking some additional questions from assorted generals, Dykstra set out to join Bob in the back. On the way, Colonel Knoedler passed him, but he was smiling when he shook his finger at him and said, "That was playing dirty, Doctor. But that round went to you." He then went on his way, whistling. At least with Colonel "Tommy," this was nothing personal.

"What did the colonel say to you?" Bob asked as they set off for Dykstra's quarters.

"He conceded that I'd bested him today at the meeting."

"You made him look like a fool, Chris. I saw."

"I'll do penance after the Phinons are taken care of. Have you finished settling your affairs on Luna?" There was no point in being roundabout. They both knew Bob might never come back.

"Sure thing. I even said good-bye to Sammi. Was that ever chilly. She just punched me on the shoulder and said, `Good luck.' "

"Hmm," Dykstra said. "Perhaps we shouldn't find that too surprising. Are you leaving soon?"

"I'm saying good-bye to you, then I'm out of here."

They had reached Dykstra's door, and the lieutenant declined to come in. "Will a handshake and a `Godspeed' do?"

"I guess it will have to," Bob said, and took Dykstra's hand firmly, but being careful not to crush old fingers, Dykstra noted.

"Godspeed, Bob."

* * *

Rick hadn't been in the corporate headquarters building of Capitol Products in five years, though when he walked through the front doors not a one of the security people questioned him, even guys that had been hired recently, and every secretary or executive who passed him in the hall greeted him with a cheery "Good day," and then either a "Mister" or a "Doctor" Vander Kam. So it was for the owner's son, even though said owner was still angry with him for not following in the family footsteps.

Rick could hear the conversation in his head without even trying, note the emphasis his father would put on each word in the fixed speech: "Your great-grandfather started this company, and your grandfather built this company with his own hands, and his own sweat, and his own genius, and your father is struggling to keep it growing, and the least you can do, son, is to help him do it."

But that's not me, Dad, Rick thought as he stepped off the elevator on the eightieth floor, which opened up directly across from the door to the executive suite.

This was the only place Rick felt he had to visit before he left with Bob on what they'd been calling "the great adventure." He'd taken a ground car to the building since it was in Grand Rapids, only fifty kilometers away from the entrance to the black dock facilities, and he wanted to see the West Michigan countryside of his youth—one more time? That was the question that went unspoken but acknowledged by them all.

But he hadn't come to just say good-bye to his father, or to make up, or to suggest some kind of restitution. Despite the lectures, his father was man enough to know that his son couldn't be pushed around, since he himself had raised Rick that way.

Rick had a favor to ask.

The door to the suite opened as he approached, and his father's secretary Anne smiled at him and said, "He's waiting for you," then she studiously turned away to whatever work she had been doing. Although Rick was not exactly estranged from his father, loud, verbal battles had not been uncommon in the past, nor had stormy exits from the building by Rick been either. The entire building—indeed, the entire vast empire that was Capitol Products—knew of the tension between Rick and his dad. But they also knew how much the father loved the son.

His father was sitting behind the surprisingly inornate (for a man of his station) oak desk that Rick's grandfather had bought the day that venerated Vander Kam had signed the contract that ultimately changed Capitol Products from a small factory making aluminum doors and windows into the vast conglomerate that now made the best of everything. His dad looked tired. And scared? He said, "Hello, son."

"Hello, Dad. How is Mom?"

"Good. And you?"

"Couldn't be better."

"I don't know how to say good-bye, Rick. I messed it up when you went to join the Patrol. The stakes are higher now. I don't want to blow it again," his dad blurted out.

Rick didn't know what to say. He'd expected to find the usual gruff, hyperconfident man that his father had always been. He did not expect to see his dad's heart on his sleeve.

"But Dad, we're only taking the Hyperlight for her first FTL tests. It's not that dangerous." And his father couldn't possibly know what they were really going to do. Of course, the man would know about the Phinons—the president of Capitol Products ranked higher than some heads of state in the Solar Union. But the real nature of the mission was known only to Dykstra's inner sanctum.

"Rick, do you know what the highest security clearance in the Solar System is right now? It's to have known James Christian Dykstra for going on sixty years. When I was a child the man used to read to me while I sat on his lap. Chris came to me right after he figured out the hyperdrive and told me what he had in mind. And do you know why he did that?"

"No," Rick said. None of this was like his father. Rick liked it. He wished he'd seen more of this when he was growing up.

"He came to ask my permission to let you go."

"He what? But I'm an adult, and . . . What did you tell him?"

"I said `Okay.' " There were tears in his father's eyes, and the man actually came from around his desk and embraced Rick. Rick was embarrassed, but also, somehow, humbled. Rick returned the hug.

Finally Rick disengaged himself and said, "I need to ask you a favor, Dad. You know Dr. Hague? I don't want him to stay with the Patrol after this is all done. I want Capitol Products to take care of him. I don't want there to be any chance that he'll be thrown away when he's no longer useful."

"You've grown fond of the little guy, haven't you?"

"Yes, Father, I have. And there's also a question of justice. But one more thing. Arie had an older sister. Her name was Sarobi. Somehow or other they were separated when he was only six. He stayed in the Belt and she was supposed to have been on her way to Earth. Do you think we might be able to find out what happened to her?"

"I'll do my best, Son. But in return I want you to do something."

"What?"

"Come back."

After that, father and son said things without really saying anything, and Rick left the building and returned to the little beach house where he and the others had been staying when not working at the docks. Rick found Hague in the backyard feeding the squirrels.

"Yes, yes, Margaret, here's some for you. No, no, Fred, that piece is for Thompson. Yes, here is some cracker for you, Fred, oh yes." At the moment there were seven or eight squirrels crowding around Hague as he knelt on the ground. He had names for at least thirty squirrels now, and insisted that he could tell them all apart.

Arie Hague had taken to Earth with the same delight he had previously reserved for machines.

The phone buzzed and Rick left Hague with his squirrels to answer. It was Bob.

"I'm a half hour out, Rick. I just wanted to let someone know. And did you talk to your dad yet?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah . . . ? Well, what did he say about Arie?"

"You've grown fond of the little guy, haven't you?" Rick accused, echoing his father, then told Bob what his dad had said.

* * *

That evening they were sitting out on the back porch of the beach house, except for Hague, who was doing his seven P.M. feeding of the squirrels. "No, no, Matilda, that one is for Francis, yes, for Francis. Here's one for you. Good, Matilda. Good, good, good."

"The man has fallen in love with animals, I think," Bob said, gesturing to Hague down in the grass on all fours, handing out nuts to upwards of twenty squirrels, all scurrying around him, but sometimes going off in a game of tag.

"I hope it's not too hard for him to give them up for a while when he returns to the Moon," Rick said. "Chris is coming down tomorrow morning to be with him on the trip back. Of course, we'll be gone by then."

"He'll do okay. Arie isn't the same guy I pulled out of that asteroid—hell, it was only a few months ago. Time sure flies when you're having a war. Anyway, he's grown a lot. You can tell. He might have turned out almost normal if it hadn't been so valuable to allow him to completely indulge his talents. But I think there's hope for him yet."

Another squirrel scampered out of the woods and up to Arie Hague. This one was noticeably yellower than the others, a blond in the midst of brunettes. "Welcome, Sarobi, welcome. Yes, yes, twice as much for you for all the times you fed me, yes, oh yes, oh yes."

"Sarobi?" Bob wondered. " `All the times you fed me'?" he repeated, puzzled.

"His sister," Rick said. "The first time he mentioned her I questioned him about her, but they were separated when he was six. Apparently something killed their parents and she took care of him for a while, then she set off for Earth. His story gets fuzzy after that. I got my dad to promise to try to find out what happened to her."

Bob got up from his chair and stood looking at the trees, listening to the soft breeze rustle the leaves. Having been born on the Moon, Earth was almost as novel for him as it was for Hague. Bob went down the two steps to the ground and kneeled down next to him, took some nuts out of the bag, and stuck his hand out toward the nearest squirrel, who promptly accepted the reward with no regard to the owner of the hand. Four more squirrels came over to the lieutenant, plainly expecting similar treatment.

"You little beggars," Bob said, but he got some more out. Then he stood up and turned to Rick still sitting on the porch. "I was just thinking of something. I remember Chris telling me how much he liked to watch the squirrels play at his house. Did you ever see his place?"

"Just pictures in his biography," Rick said.

"It was a beautiful home, up there on the side of that mountain. I picked Chris up from there when I took him up to the Moon to join the Phinon Project. I was just recalling what he said after he ordered the house to lock itself up. `That should hold her until I return,' " Nachtegall said in a fair impersonation of Dykstra's voice. " `That is, if I return. At my age you never know.' And I said I was sure he'd be returning." The lieutenant paused for a moment as if thinking real hard.

"Why did you think about that?" Rick asked finally.

"Up until now I've just taken it for granted that we'll be coming back from this mission. I just hope I'm righter about that than I was about Chris going back to his house."

There was silence around them, except for the chattering of squirrels and the distant wash of waves up on the shore, then Rick said softly: "So do I, Bob. So do I."

* * *

They left Hague sleeping as they got into the ground car at three in the morning. A guard would wait with the little scientist until Dykstra arrived. A driver took them to the entrance to the black docks, and after a short tube trip they arrived at the bay where the Hyperlight was awaiting her maiden voyage.

There was no fanfare at all, and the only recording of the departure of humanity's first FTL craft would come from the security monitors. Bob and Rick boarded the ship and the lieutenant sealed the doors from the pilot's bubble.

"Have any fancy words to say?" Bob asked.

"Not I," Rick said. "I'm too sleepy. But I'll have plenty of fancy words to say once we get back."

Bob cleared their departure with the lone technician and they felt the gentle bump as the pad the Hyperlight rested on was lifted up into the hangar dome, which was on the bottom of Lake Michigan, under 170 meters of water.

"Shields on," Bob said, then the dome split and water poured in. With the shields up, they formed a buoyant bubble which rapidly rose to the surface, and in a transition so smooth Rick didn't feel it, Bob hit the repulsors the instant they broke the surface and the Hyperlight climbed rapidly into the dark sky, breaking through the cloud deck in less than a minute, then climbing toward the stars on her atmosphere jets. Once at 30 kilometers' altitude, Bob cut in the converted streakbomber's original reaction drive and they thrust out of the atmosphere.

"What would happen if I used the reactionless drive in the atmosphere?" Bob asked. "I was just told not to, but not why. Did you guys ever try it during the tests?"

"Sure did," Rick said. "On a test bed aboard a barge out in the middle of the lake. It works, but it sounded like bagpipe music being played at three times the normal speed and 150 decibels. We haven't had time to figure out exactly why that is, but it seemed better just not to use the drive in the atmosphere."

Bob was both pilot and navigator, and Rick was of necessity the engineer. What their titles would mean once they were beyond the confines of the Solar System, however, was anybody's guess.

"Okay, we're almost at the blind spot," Bob said. He was referring to a position within Earth's shadow from where their switching to the reactionless drive was least likely to be noticed by probes and scanners from the Belt. "On my mark, five seconds to drive engagement. Mark. Five, four, three, two . . ."

"One" and "now" went unspoken as Bob flipped the switches, shutting off the regular engines and activating the new drive. The response was instant, and heartening in its smoothness, as Bob ramped the acceleration up past forty, fifty, even sixty gees.

"I don't feel a thing," Bob said. "Good compensation fields, guy."

"The best," Rick said. "They have to be or we couldn't begin to approach the maximum potential of this drive. Up around 92 gees or so we lose perfect compensation. The next ten-gee increase will result in us feeling about one-and-a-quarter gees of acceleration. After 120 gees every one gee increase will be felt as one gee, but you'd pass out before we got that high. And this ship would start to fall apart beyond 140 gravities." He was particularly proud of the compensation fields. He'd done his doctoral work on the theory of their construction, and it was the one thing he'd worked on in the outfitting of the Hyperlight that Dr. Hague had not improved upon. Much.

"Okay, we're heading south to Fort Conger Station and our flight plan calls for us to be there in four days. Let's make ourselves comfortable."

Despite the uniqueness of their craft, the journey out to Fort Conger Station was uneventful. They had to maintain communications silence so they had no messages to send, and there wasn't much of anything permeating the ether out so far south of the sun worth listening to. Rick and Bob spent a good deal of time continuing the chess match they'd begun in the beach house, and after 58 games, Rick was up by two. They also spent much of their time reading up on the Phinons. Chris had downloaded the entire Phinon file to the ship's library—which by itself could have gotten the old genius thrown in the brig—because he wasn't certain of which information the men would find useful.

One day out from the station, Rick came forward and interrupted Bob. "So, are you finally going to tell me who this third person is who's supposed to join us? Chris didn't tell me, so you have to know."

"I think you've already met him. He's that old commander, the black guy, who brought the Phinon FTL engine to the Moon from Slingshot. His name is Roger Tykes. Chris says he served with Sammi's husband out there. I don't know how Chris talked him into joining us, but he wanted as few to know about it as need be until we actually got off Earth."

"I did meet him briefly. Boy, secrets like this make me feel like a spy," Rick said.

"Think `traitor.' That's exactly what some in the Patrol are going to think if they catch on to what we're doing."

The Hyperlight crossed the Hague Limit with barely a ripple in space-time, though Rick claimed that his instruments showed exactly when the transition took place, and decelerated into a parking orbit around the wisp of an artificial world that was Fort Conger Station. After one revolution tractor beams pulled them into the hangar and placed them in the special berth that had been built for the ship. So far, they hadn't deviated one iota from the official mission plan.

* * *

They debarked from the ship and were met by the station commander; he wore no insignia since the station was civilian owned. "Welcome," the man said. "I am Mr. Benton Booker. Dr. Vander Kam, I assured your father that we'd provide you two with the best rooms the station has to offer. Unfortunately, the best are barely better than the worst."

"Good thing it's only for one night, then," Rick said.

Just then Pops, who was wearing his insignia of a System Patrol commander, entered the hangar followed closely by a very attractive woman in a jumpsuit that did nothing to hide the outlines of the fine form inside. "Let me introduce you to Commander Roger Tykes and technician Paula Eriksen. They are the ones who've been doing most of the proxy field testing out here."

"Try all of the field testing, Booker," Paula said, not shy about setting the record straight.

"Okay, you can have Sammi," Bob whispered to Rick. "I'll take her instead."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Rick shot back.

They both shut up when Booker had them all go through the usual hand-shaking. Much to Bob's annoyance, Paula barely gave him a glance and seemed somewhat fixated on Rick. "I've been eagerly waiting for you to get here, Dr. Vander Kam. I've wanted to discuss the ins and outs of the hyperdrive engine with you. Even though I've been intimately involved with constructing the test unit out here, I don't really know anything about the theory behind it."

"I'll do my best," Rick said, obviously bewildered, and delighted, by the attention.

"She's doing her best," Bob muttered under his breath. "Gold digger."

"What was that, Lieutenant?" Pops asked, suddenly standing right in front of Bob.

"Just clearing my throat, Commander. We're in for quite a treat for pilots, aren't we? But I have dibs on the pilot's seat when we first do hyperdrive."

"That's fine with me, Lieutenant Nachtegall. Just jockeying a ship driven by Dykstra-Hague impellers is about all my tired old heart can take," Pops said.

"Don't mind him and that tired old soldier bit, Bob. He'd cut your throat out from his death bed if you didn't salute him when you entered the room," Paula interjected.

"You say the nicest things," Pops said, rolling his eyes.

"What was that you called the new drive?" Bob asked.

"We all call it the `Dykstra-Hague impeller.' What have you been calling it?"

" `The new drive.' "

After a bit it was time to be shown to their quarters. Booker and the others took Bob and Rick in tow.

So these are the three who will make history, Bob thought on the way, surveying the group. Rick, the young but brilliant engineer; Pops, the wizened old soldier; and himself, the hotshot pilot out to prove his worth. Tomorrow they would do something that had never been done before.

He knew Dykstra would want him to bear in mind how history would judge them.

* * *

The same group had dinner together that night, then afterwards Pops took Bob into the labs because he had something interesting to show him. He'd wanted Rick to come along, too, but Paula had already spirited him away to discuss "the physical, er, physics."

"This is it," Pops said, as he pulled the tarp off a tangled, smashed cylinder of metal and peculiar electronics and stretched and kinked coils.

"So, you're an artist. Late twentieth century style, right?" Bob said as he looked over the mess before him.

Pops smiled at the joke. "That's right. I call this one, `Single Unit Hyperdrive Engine After Impacting Hague Limit While Activated.' "

"Holy shit," Bob said. "Looks like it's been turned inside out."

"Oh, it was. But through a hyperdimension," Pops said. "Just remember, Lieutenant. When we return we'll be the only two humans in the Solar System who know how to fly through hyperspace, so let's not try to come out too close to the Limit."

Bob looked over the wreckage again. "We're on the same screen on that," he said.

Meanwhile, in the small observation/lounge/bar on the top level of the station, Rick was discussing hyperphysics with Paula while trying not to notice the fine example of a non-Euclidean geometric surface on Paula's chest that she seemed not remotely shy about displaying. Instead, he tried to keep his eyes looking outward, through the dome and at the myriad of stars bejeweling the black satin, and at the splash of diamond dust that was the Milky Way.

"Anyway," he said, "once you activate the hyperdrive, there is a finite amount of time that it takes for the ship to make the transition from our space to hyperspace, and this appears as a two hundred million gee acceleration. The streak of light that we record is caused by photons actually created by the deforming of space-time. It's our biggest energy waster, but using two drive units reduces the losses tremendously."

He glanced Paula's way again, briefly, and saw that she still seemed to be listening in rapt attention. Rick was not unused to having women pretend to listen to him since it was no secret who his father was. The problem with Paula was that even if she was only with him now because of his family background, she might still be interested in the conversation because of her own.

"Of course, after the transition interval is over, the ship winds up in hyperspace moving along at almost exactly twenty-four times lightspeed, depending on your momentum vector."

"Why is that, Rick?" Paula asked through a dazzling smile. Or had he been drinking too much? Which drink was this one, anyway?

"Well, hyperspace is a continuum like normal space is. Our space has a velocity width of around three hundred million meters per second. Hyperspace one has a width of about fifteen million mps, except that `zero' is 24c. If you turned on your reaction engines in hyperspace, you could actually increase your velocity, and you'd notice the change in kinetic energy once you transitioned back down. But when you're going a light-year in fifteen days, it just wouldn't be worth the fuel."

"I get it," Paula said. "But what did you mean by `hyperspace one'?"

"There are many levels of hyperspace it turns out. Once we have the technology to hit level two, we can move something like a light-year an hour. That's about warp eight in Star Trek talk. You familiar with the show?"

"I took a class on it in college," Paula said.

"At level three we're talking Skylark of Space."

This time when Rick looked at Paula he noticed that look in her eyes, and that she must have just moistened her lips. There had been music playing in the background in the lounge the whole time, but now an instrumental version of "Waltzing on the Mountains of the Moon" began, one of the most infectious dance melodies of the last fifty years.

"I'd love it if you'd dance with me," Paula said.

The Hyperlight isn't the only thing capable of hyperdrive out here, Rick thought as he rose, took her hand, and led her out on the dance floor. They had just started when he noticed Bob and Pops enter. He nodded to them, noted Bob's leer in return and that Pops had rolled his eyes, then relaxed as Paula melted closer to him.

* * *

Bob and Pops took seats at a table near the back, well away from the bar, and ordered drinks. Bob decided on Irish coffee but was surprised when Pops ordered scotch—straight and neat. "You can drink that stuff at room temperature?" Bob asked.

"Can ye not also, laddie? I divvn't think I wish to gan oot amangst the stors wi' no nancies," Pops replied.

Bob dropped that topic and nodded toward Paula and Rick. "What about her, Pops? She hitting on him for his money or what?"

"It drives you right up the wall that she's with him and not you, doesn't it? Face it, Lieutenant—you're just a pilot in the Patrol. He's not only rich, he's brilliant. She could go after him for his money or his brains. Then again, maybe she just likes the cut of his jib."

"His what?"

"Never mind. Paula's a little mouthy, and maybe she would enjoy a little fling with the Capitol Products heir, but if he doesn't capture her heart, she'd drop it," Pops said, then polished off his drink in one swift motion.

Just then Mr. Booker came into the lounge. He had an urgent look in his eye. He looked around, nodded to Pops and Bob, then gestured to Rick still out on the dance floor. "Dr. Vander Kam, I need you to come with me right now." Bob saw Rick look at Paula, shrug, then watched, jealously, as Paula pulled Rick to her and kissed him before letting him come to join them. Booker was already at the table by the time Rick got there.

"What's all this about, Benton?" Pops asked.

"Your mission schedule is changed. You're leaving as soon as I can get you all on your ship. Now let's get out of here and I'll explain on the way to the hangar."

Bob rose then made a move to finish his drink. Booker stopped his hand and forced the glass back onto the table. Bob was surprised—Booker had not seemed like he had that much steel in his spine.

Pops said: "He used to be General Booker, Lieutenant."

The group hurried down the hall to the hangar bay. "Our trackers picked up a Dinosaur-class battleship on its way here and we weren't expecting one, particularly since no one except a few folks in System Patrol Intelligence are even supposed to know we're out here."

"What do they want?" Rick asked.

"We're pretending we don't hear their hails, but I assume they've figured out what you gentlemen are planning to do."

"You know, too?" Pops asked.

"I think the good Doctor Dykstra has called in most of the favors he's accumulated in his long life. I'll still owe him a few after this," Booker said.

They arrived in the bay and the Hyperlight was ready, bright, shiny, and beautiful. "Get going, men," Booker said. "Godspeed and all that. Bring us back some Phinons."

Pops' gear was sitting at the foot of the ramp, Booker having had it brought from the commander's quarters. His power suit had been stashed away earlier. Pops grabbed his gear on the way into the ship. The others followed.

Bob dropped into the pilot's seat and Pops took the seat beside him. "Strap in, boys," Bob said. "We're off in ten seconds."

The hangar doors opened and they lifted and zipped through the air dam. "Compensation fields balanced. Drive engaged," Bob said, and they shot off at 40 gees.

"There's the battleship on the Dykdar," Pops said, then: "What the hell? Looks like they're going to try to chase us. They're firing up the drive. It also looks like they're trying to raise us."

"Bet you a million credits Knoedler is behind this. Son-of-a-bitch got where he is by being suspicious. Well, we're supposed to be a hundred million klicks away from the station before we go into hyperdrive. Let's see how many we can rack up while we outrun that battleship," Bob said.

"Enjoying yourself, Lieutenant, sir?" Pops asked.

"You damn betcha."

Bob pushed the acceleration up to 90 gravities and the race was on. Of course, there was no way a battleship could do even half that.

"They're firing missiles at us. Those bastards!" Pops exclaimed, grinning.

"What's going on up there?" Rick called from the middeck.

"We're under attack," Bob said. "But I don't think it's going to amount to much."

In a straight line, the missiles fired at the Hyperlight could do upwards of 150 gravities. For a little while. They could not do near instant right angle turns. Bob let the missiles close to within a few dozen kilometers, then veered off sharply. The missiles lacked the fuel to even come close a second time.

But now the real test was before them.

They spent the next hours cruising out to a hundred million kilometers from the station and then there was nothing to be done except to become the first humans to go faster than light.

"On my mark, ten seconds. Mark," Bob said. Then: "Will we feel anything when we enter hyperspace? Sick? Disoriented? Anyone know?"

"We sent rats out on one of our tests," Pops said, again seated in the copilot's position.

"How'd they do?"

"They lived."

"That's comforting. Say good-bye to the Sun, guys," Bob said.

The hyperdrive engaged and the Hyperlight leapt toward the stars at an apparent acceleration of 200 million gees, leaving a long blue streak of immense beauty, unfortunately witnessed by no one.

 

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