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SCF-EC-4 (Sector Red, CW-3)
SCF-EC is a spectral type G-2, population 3 anomaly. Seven planet
system, four inner hard core/crust. Planets three and four within T-compatible
life zone. Planets five and six are gas giants. Planet seven is captured comet
accretion satellite with irregular orbit . . .
Planet three possible for future intelligent NH life. Wide spectrum,
classification range O/N, WAL, LP/MP, FSR . . .
Planet four limited organic classifications N/N, SMS/MS. CrB. Site of
nonidentified intact Class I artifact (See Aswan, leg ends section, and
SCF-EC-4ùEngineering/Structures) . . .
Chartbook, Sector Three
Commonality of Worlds
5573 N.E.C.
XXVI
BOTH CIRCUIT BLOCS remained black.
With a sigh, the man in the working tech's jumpsuit set them aside and
stood up.
Each aspect of rebuilding the courier took more time, more credits, and
more equipment than even he had anticipated. He reset the test probes, and
reattached the cube blocs. His fingers played across the tester's console.
This time, the circuit bloc on the right turned crimson. But the one on
the left remained black.
He sighed again and stood up, glancing across the hangar at the
incomplete structure in the graving cradle, the structure that he hoped would
someday be the ship he needed.
His eyes strayed to his wrist and the comp-timer there.
2230ùfar too late already. Allison would be asleep, assuming that Corson
was not giving her trouble. But Corson seldom did, despite his intense
interest in the world around him and his already too active efforts at
crawling.
Corson and Allisonùthere was never enough time for them, not with the
demands of being Standora Base Commander and the invisible deadlines for
completing the courier that crept up toward him.
How could he tell Allison that he had to finish the ship before his last
tour at Standora? She thought he had all the time in the universe.
Caroljoy had thought that, too.
Perhaps they were right, but he could be killed as easily as any other
man, and would be, once the Empire discovered his plans. On that basis, he had
little enough time, and no one in whom he could confide.
Allison, wrapped up in her moments of joy, and in Corson, could not
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understand the desperate need of a distant and antique planet forgotten by all
but the myth tellers, the historians, and one Imperial senior commander.
Caroljoy, who had understood, had also opted for her moments of joy in
her son. But she had left him the means and, indirectly, yet another pressure,
to pursue his obsession.
"Obsession?" he asked himself wryly.
"Obsession," he conceded as he placed another circuit bloc into the
tester, ignoring the tightening in his guts as he felt the night inch toward
morning, as he could sense the loneliness radiating from a large house on a
high hill.
The third circuit bloc flared crimson, and he smiled, using his lips
only, as he placed it inside the screen relay he was reconstructing.
"Only five more," he muttered as he selected yet another bloc from the
case of scrapped components he had obtained through the Ydrisian free market.
He shifted his weight as he began once more to work the testing console,
probing the minute circuits before him to insure their integrity and
functions.
Taking a deep breath, he settled back into the routine. Select, set up
the test patterns, scan, and test. Select, set up, scan, and test.
He hoped Corson was sleeping well.
And Allison. And Allison.
XXVII
"CONGRATULATIONS, ADMIRAL. CONGRATULATIONS."
"Appreciate it, Medoro." The newly sworn Admiral of the Fleet surveyed
the palatial office, the wide armaglass windows that overlooked New Augusta
from the hillside that the I.S.S. had claimed generations earlier, and the
small group of Imperial courtiers, functionaries, and subordinates who waited
at the far end of the highceilinged room.
He repressed a smile as he glanced back at Medoro. The senior commodore,
who had served as Chief of Staff for the last two Fleet Admirals, obviously
would lose no time in pressing his own agenda. The admiral nodded at his Chief
of Staff. "It's time to play politics, I gather."
"It's always time to play politics, Admiral."
The admiral let the smile come to his lips. "Always and forever, from
now on. Right, Medoro?"
"If you want a long and healthy tenure, ser."
Medoro's tone was light, but the admiral caught the bitterness of
underlying truth. The most senior officer of the Service took a step toward
the white linens of the over-laden table where the official "informal"
celebration of his swearing-in would commence.
"Any space for truth?" he asked the commodore, almost as if the question
were an afterthought.
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"Only if you are careful, ser . . . and now is not the time to begin . .
. Admiral Keraganis is the one on the far right . . . next to him is Admiral
Fleiter, head of logistics and personnel . . . and behind him is Rear Admiral
Thurson, Information Servicesù"
"That's basically the Service rep to the Eye Council, right?"
"He does sit as liaison to the council, currently."
The admiral refocused his attention on the officers approaching as he
moved up to the table area.
"Congratulations, Admiral Horwitz," boomed out the man Medoro had
identified as Keraganis. "Look forward to working with you. Heard a lot about
you, especially the way you handled the original Ursan contact. Brilliant
strategy."
Horwitz inclined his head. "Thank you. Just fortunate to have the right
people in the right places. I look forward to having the benefit of your
unique experience, and your distinguished advice will certainly be welcome."
"Glad to see you again, J'rome," broke in another admiral, a
silver-haired and thin man who stood a half head above the others.
"Marsta! Didn't expect to see you. When did you get here?" The Fleet
Admiral sidestepped Keraganis, favoring him with a pat on the shoulder that he
hoped would get the point across that Keraganis was not working with him, but
for him, and around the end of the laden table.
He stopped before reaching his friend.
"All of you, it's a happy occasion. Please enjoy the food and the
company. Dig in."
Immediately several junior commodores and a senior commander, appearing
rather out of place among the senior officers of the I.S.S., took refuge in
the food.
"J'rome. Didn't expect to make it, but we wound up the Rim maneuvers
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