After a quiet time of several hours during which most people got some sleep but T’sss’lisss could not, she found Ashley in a seat at the back of the passenger area, so she coiled herself into the monkey mammal’s lap and looked at her with mesmerizing eyes. “Perhapsss . . . thisss isss a good time for you to take charge of your part of the misssion. I feel . . . ssstretched thinner than I’m sssupposssed to be.”
Ashley smiled while shaking her head. “Not until we get to Ko-tera Three, my friend. At that time, I’m sure I will have my hands full, especially after Memsala got us back on track.”
The snake sighed, rested her head on Ashley’s shoulder, and closed her eyes for an hour of sleep.
“Captain,” T’sss’lisss began after everyone had eaten and otherwise refreshed themselves, “please prepare to transport that space probe back to its home planet.”
His crew, sensing the critical nature of the next flight leg, were all at their original stations, looking at their commander.
“Mati, match the probe’s speed and course, and bring us to eight meters ahead of it. Sata, prepare a low-acceleration flight plan to Ko-tera Three, no ion drive, probably limited to about three gravities on the external cargo, but we’ll know more after some tests. Rini, low-frequency images for the stress tests.”
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They all went to work, and Kibi made sure her passengers had the best view of the space probe.
“Twelve . . . eleven . . . eight meters and locked,” the pilot announced a few minutes later.
“Boro, all maneuvering thrusters under ship’s control. Manessa, see what stresses this thing can take, without breaking it worse than it already is.”
The ship slowly nudged herself closer to the spidery craft, then reached out with four grappling arms.
Kibi switched her large display to the low-frequency image, the ship shook the probe slightly, and most of the specialists in the passenger area moaned or hissed as they observed stresses and strains rippling through the flimsy metal framework.
“That was two gravities,” Manessa reported, “and I can now calculate a better grappling pattern.”
Sata worked at her console for a moment. “The trip would take twenty-seven Satamia days at two gravities.”
Most everyone moaned. T’sss’lisss hid her head in Kolarrr’ka feathers.
“Yes, please try a different grapple, Manessa,” Ilika said to his ship. “We don’t want to die of old age on this mission.”
“Actually, we don’t have enough fuel for that flight plan,” Boro added from his station, “so it’s not an option.”
Several sighs of relief were heard, and everyone watched as the ship moved three of her grappling arms, then added four more.
“Manessa, you are now an honorary arachnid!” Ashley said with a smile.
The ship didn’t respond, but proceeded to shake the gangly craft again.
“Two point five.” She moved two grappling arms, then shook again. “Three point two.” Finally, only one arm was moved a little. “Three point six, and I calculate that is its limit.”
“Thank you,” Ilika said. “Sata?”
She worked in silence for another long moment. “About two days, and there’s a planetary freeloading opportunity at Ko-tera Seven to save fuel.”
Everyone clapped, honked, or splashed with appreciation for both ship and navigator.
Then Ilika looked at Boro, and everyone fell silent again.
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“The biggest problem’s gonna be atmospheric entry at Ko-tera Three without melting the space probe.”
He worked in silence for another minute.
“Whew, that’s close! With the freeloading, we can do it, but just. I’m sure glad I grabbed some extra fuel!”
Everyone cheered again.
Ashley was especially happy. She knew she needed at least two days to figure out what she was going to do and say on Ko-tera Three.
Colonel John Bo-torin, political scientist for the Department of Defense, was quite bored at his new assignment five thousand miles away from Priscilla’s team. He called once or twice a month, talked to Priscilla, Susan, or even Brian if no one else was home, to keep in touch with events of some actual importance to the human race.
On a Saturday in late October, Colonel Bo-torin was in his quarters when he heard something in a news broadcast that made him reach for the radio dials. It wasn’t so much what was said in the routine report about the space probe’s progress, it was the way it was said. As a political scientist, he knew that phrasing and tone of voice — something was being covered up.
After increasing the volume and tuning better, he listened intently to the rest of the news broadcast. When the station switched to sports, he quickly cranked the tuning knob to the far end of the short-wave radio band, a station in another country and another language.
Since other countries were not so motivated to keep everything about the space probe looking rosy, he soon started to hear bits and pieces of rumors.
Two hours and five foreign radio stations later, he felt he knew the gist of the situation.
He reached for the telephone and dialed a military-base number. “This is Colonel John Bo-torin. I have an emergency back home, and need to get on a flight today if possible, tomorrow at the latest . . . .Eighteen hundred? I’ll be there. Thank you.”
Priscilla smiled at Brian as he took her plate. “Good morning, everyone.
It’s the twenty-fifth of October, Session Sixty-Eight, and today will be a
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relaxed meeting with a short presentation . . .”
At that moment, a knock was heard upon the door.
Priscilla looked around the room, but didn’t see anyone missing who was expected.
Susan stood and looked through the beveled glass. “It’s John!”
Colonel Bo-torin, in uniform, was smiling as he entered the room.
Everyone rose to shake hands and welcome him.
Another pillow was located and Brian made him a breakfast plate as he got settled. “Sorry I’m a little late. I was on the other side of the world less than two days ago, and some of my flight connections . . . didn’t.”
Everyone chuckled in sympathy as they found their seats.
“I have some news you’re not going to get anywhere else for a while. If the telemetry is accurate, the space probe recently experienced some very weird gravitational forces acting upon it, and now it appears to be . . . coming back
. . . fast!”