The Passenger
Chapter 7
You'd expect landings and takeoffs to become routine over the years.
And indeed to a certain extent they do, but not entirely. Every world is different, every system has its peculiarities, and while some worlds may become more familiar when you visit them often enough, the ones you've never been to always have something of the unexpected; something of the unknown. Add to that the fact that about ninety-nine percent of all spaceflight disasters happen in realspace, especially during in-system flight and during landings and take-offs, and you've got the reason why a pilot can never afford to become complacent. As soon as you begin to treat it as routine, the statistics are out to get you.
I've never been able to think of taking off and landing as routine, and hyperspace jumps and realspace reversals put me on my guard even more. I won't say they fill me with apprehension, but I am always acutely aware of the fact that these moments are among the most critical ones of any flight, and there is always something of a heightened awareness, an increased clarity of thinking, a focus not achievable at other times without the use of stimulants.
Some pilots eventually become addicted to those moments of heightened awareness. Fortunately I'm immune to that sort of thing. To me it's part of the job, nothing more. The idea that I actually might need this sort of life, that I enjoy the thrill and live for it and that I would never be happy being stuck dirtside, spending my life among the groundhogs without being able to apply my paranoia constructively, is of course ridiculous.
Although... In those brief moments of heightened awareness it is almost impossible to lie to yourself, especially during the final countdown before a space state transition. Even while you focus on the transition, those undeniable truths in the back of your mind simply won't be ignored any longer. Maybe that makes sense to you. Maybe not. It's complicated.
"Here we go. Realspace in three, two, one..." I said.
The sound of the field coils rang through the ship as they absorbed the solid kick of the jump capacitors' charge, and as space turned itself inside out around us. Or outside in, if you will. It always feels that way to me, a little. And since there are no words that can accurately describe the experience anyway, it's as good a way of putting it as any other.
The luminous black non-light of hyperspace disappeared in a flash and a reassuring background of stars and three-dimensional space materialized before us. The computer beeped its comforting acknowledgement that space ahead of us was clear of obstacles and began to put our coordinates on the screen as it calculated them, one after the other.
"Next stop, Gawrr," I said.
"Where's the sun?" Anne asked. "Or is that it?"
"Yep, that's it," I said, looking at the tiny spec ahead. "And don't be fooled. You wouldn't say it from looking at it, but that is one very big star. It's not very hot, but it puts out a lot of light and a lot of heat. Its biosphere is so far out that Gawrr's orbit around it takes about seven standard years. Which is a little unusual, I'll admit, because most yellow giants are too unstable to support life. But this one's solid as a rock. That's pretty rare, but then, it's a big galaxy."
I turned to the computer and punched for a system-wide transponder query. It only took a few moments before the computer came back with a cheerful beep of acknowledgment.
"It looks like Raz is already here. Good. I hope he hasn't had to wait long."
"Tell me something," Anne said. "You said that in hyperspace technically speaking there is no time and no space, and therefore there's no such thing as velocity. Right?"
"Right," I nodded.
"So how come two ships can leave the same point at the same time, and then one arrives a day or more before the other does?"
"Good question," I said. "And I wish I had the answer. But hyperspatial mathematics give me a massive headache, and this is one of those things that can only be explained in mathematical terms. Or so I've been told. So the best I can tell you is that it works that way because the math says it should, or at least it can, but how that works is completely beyond me."
Meanwhile I busied myself with the computer console. The comms only took a few moments to set up, and Raz' ugly puss materialized on the display, slightly blurred by the encryption. Using an encrypted link here on his home turf was probably not really necessary, but we both felt it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Harrrvey," he rumbled.
I nodded, confirming his diagnosis.
"Have you been waiting long?" I asked.
"Not rrreally. I arrrived in-system about thrrree hourrrs ago. I have taken the liberrrty of prrreparrring a trrransponderrr overrrlay forrr you. It identifies you as an auxilarrry vessel to the 'Prrride. It will ensurrre therrre will be no entrrry forrrmalities."
"How did you manage that?" Anne asked.
Raz smiled his good smile.
"Ourrr carrrgo is verrry popularrr herrre. Demand farrr exceeds supply. This trrranslates into a cerrrtain amount of leverrrage."
"Let me guess," I said, returning his smile. "You're not paying a lot of import duties, are you?"
"Not rrreally. I merrrely hinted that I might have to stop imporrrting the prrroduce if too many customs forrrmalities would get in the way. Things became a lot easierrr at that point. I am sending you the trrransponderrr overrrlay and courrrse data now. We arrre alrrready clearrred f orrr entrrry."
The computer beeped, confirming the reception of Raz' data transmission.
"Got it," I said, tapping the controls. "Course data laid in, transponder overlay activated."
"Trrransponder overrrlay checks out," he rumbled, glancing at his own navigation display. "Rrready when you arrre."
"No time like the present. We're right behind you, Raz."
"See you in a few hourrrs then. Starrrman's Prrride out."
"Looking forward to it. Slowboat out, too."
The next few hours were blessedly uneventful. The course data that Raz had fed us included homing beacons and navigation buoy coordinates, and the computer needed no help from me.
"Why is our course curved?" Anne asked, looking at the navigation screen as we approached and the computer locked on to the navigational beacons.
