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Text File | 1991-04-25 | 29KB | 594 lines

                  Harrison  -  Chapter Seven

               Copyright 1990 by Jim Vassilakos.
                      All Rights Reserved.
           Permission is hereby granted by the copyright
           holder to copy and freely redistribute copies
         of this work, so long as no commericial or barter
       consideration is obtained in exchange for such copies.


Hi ya'all...

Just found out there's somebody on the net who really is named Michael
Harrison. Think I ought to sue him for using my character's name? :-)
Hmmm... anyway, for those of you who've been asking, yes... Mike's
finally gonna get on a starship this chapter. I know, it's about time,
but ya gotta understand, space travel just ain't all it's cracked up
to be. Happy Skimming as always........   [e-mail]



                              Seven



A dim, filtered luminescence clung to the cold air as Christina
Quatalis re-checked her flight instructions for the fourth and
final time, shaking her head with a now comfortable disbelief.
The recycler hummed in a shaded corner of the bridge as the
computer silently reconfigured her upper boards to account for
the installation of turbo-fan chemical jets into the IFM Vista's
tertiary ports. Hazel eyes scanned its progress, reading the
textures of data with a mixture of apathy and distrust. Over the
bridge IC she heard Rrkal's husky voice shouting obscenities
amidst the dull background chatter of ground techs.
   She opened her line, "Some sorta prob engineering?"
   "Captain?" It was Victor. His York accent was easily
discernable over any transmitter. "Com-beta on the third tube is
right out. If we had another day we could make repairs, but not
in space."
   "Typical ISS surplus. Don't sweat it. We can still route
navcom through manual."
   "Only if we tear open your panel. And then we'll probably have
to reconfigure the whole system from scratch. Is it really worth
it?"
   "We haven't any choice. We're taking-off in five hours."
   There was a growl from the other end.
   "What's that?"
   "Nevermind. It's not repeatable."
   Chris smiled, "Tell Rrkal to watch his lip. I want you back up
here to chart our course."
   "I thought our course was already registered."
   "Just get up here; there's been a slight change in plans."
   "On my way."
   The bridge lights flickered as local batteries kicked in. It
was one of Rrkal's ways of letting everyone know when he was
annoyed. Chris punched up another channel.
   "Gunnery, are you ready for the Jane's files on Wasps."
   "Ready Freddy," Rita's voice crackled over the IC.
   "Sending now..."

                          *     *     *

Mike cautiously stepped onto the maintenance grav-plate. The
congested workspace of Hanger 183 made him feel conspicuously
overdressed. Robin dangled her legs over the edge of the plate as
it slowly lifted to the spacecraft above. Large spotlights
attached to the wall illuminated the aft of the vessel as water
vapor condensed and frosted along the fuel hoses and quickly
sublimated back into the air a few meters down the line. A large
Vargr, his coveralls stained with lubrication fluid, barked
directions to the starport maintenance personnel from a small
engine port. An expression of distaste seemed to cross his black,
furry snout as he sniffed the pair's scented formals.
   "Y'da pass'ngerz?"
   Mike stepped onto the cold, steel hull extending his hand,
"That's right. My name's Mike."
   "Rrkal," the Vargr shot Mike a toothy grin and turned toward
the airlock. "Da stat'rhoomz don'da lif'tund beinty stups
sdhar'burd. Blu dhoorz."
   "Thanks," Mike winced as the engineer's breath steamed into
his face. "We can find our way around."
   The airlock's iris valves rotated open as Mike and Robin
approached the outer hatchway. A youngish woman with short,
sandy-blonde hair stood in the short passage. Her khaki uniform
showed command rank.
   "Ms. Clay, Mr. Harrison, it's a pleasure to welcome you aboard
the Imperial Free Merchant Vista. I'm Captain Quatalis. If you'll
follow me, I'll be happy to show you to your cabin. Our other two
passengers have not yet arrived. Will you be staying together?"
   Mike and Robin followed the Captain through the airlock's
double iris valves and into a hexagonal passage with railings and
iron grating floors.
   "No. What are the accommodations?"
   The Captain glanced toward Mike, twisting a red lever which
opened a set of sliding doors to a small cargo lift.
   "Two staterooms, double occupancy."
   The lift descended one level and the doors slid open. Three
passages ran to the bow, port, and starboard respectively. The
floors and walls were all finished in an artificial, white
substance made to look like polished marble, but the metal
handrails remained. One was conspicuously bent outward several
centimeters.
   "Bumpy rides?"
   "We often get comments on that."
   They followed the captain through the starboard passage and
into an oval common area. A wide table occupied the central
floorspace, its translucent body suspended from the ceiling by a
reflective, holographic projection rod. Gravitic recliner
housings lay scattered on the floor around the table like an
assemblage of anthills. Nested into the far wall were cupboards,
a hydration oven, a squat cooling unit, and two air filters.
Sliding, blue doors to either side marked the stateroom
entrances.
   "You'll find the galley down the port passage in case you get
hungry. Rrkal, I believe you've met our engineer, he cooks the
supper chow at eighteen hours ship time. Otherwise, its fend for
yourself. If you need to use medical, that's next to the galley.
Rita doubles as our ship's medic; you'll meet her if you get
spacesick. If you need anything else use channel zero on the IC.
We'll be leaving Tizar in four standard hours, or a little over
fifteen cents local time. After we jump into hyperspace we will
review your drop-off instructions," Captain Quatalis paused with
this last thought searching for the right words. "I hope you
enjoy your stay. Good-day."
   She quickly headed down the passage and made a swift right
turn away from the lift.
   "Apparently in a hurry," Robin poked her nose into the
cupboard.
   Mike leaned against the passage railing, "What drop-off
instructions?"
   "I think she means we aren't landing at the spaceport. Wanna
split a can of mash?"

                         *     *     *

At T-0:02 Bill and Niki showed up, packed as tightly as two rats
could pack. For Niki, that meant a pair of pris glasses, a string
of worry beads and the standard med-kit with bandages and
casting-foam. Bill carried his own sort of med-kit, three vials
of purified ethanol, ten grams of hexobarbital, a laser blade,
and one fiberglass body pistol of last resort. Mike never
understood how two people so different could get along so well.
Getting Bill and Niki together was a recipe for destruction. At
formal banquets they could behave, but in a starship galley...
   "Foodfight!"
   "Hey Mike, what's the matter. I thought you liked yogurt."
   "Wanna smoke an enchilada?"
   "What the hell is going on here?!"
   "Uh..oh.. Ah, hi el cap-i-tan. How beautiful you look this
evening."
   "This passenger is drunk!"
   "Who?"
   "I want to know who the hell brought drugs onboard this
vessel!"
   "Hic..."
   Mike began to question the wisdom of bringing along an
entourage. Niki was essential, just because without her finding
Fork would be next to impossible. Robin was part of the deal,
which could have been broken back on Tizar. And Bill, with his
aptitude and inclination for brawling, was just cannonfodder.
Mike smiled, wondering if he would get that far.
   "Are you aware of the term `depressurization', Mr. Walker?"
   "She's gonna space me..."
   "Only if you're lucky. And as for you miss Sen..."
   "Tee hee hee..."
   Captain Quatalis had an interesting method for dealing with
drunks. First, they were injected with a nausea inducing compound
causing them to sacrifice to the porcelain god the entire
contents of their stomachs in addition to several dry heaves just
for good measure. Then she had them hooked up to plasma vaccs
where they had their blood filtered by the Empire's most sadistic
gunner/medic. Finally, she had them stuffed into low berths for
one hour of uninterrupted hibernation, just so they wouldn't miss
the hangover. Then, after they were thoroughly sobered, she
offered them her sincerest apology for having put them through
such stringent disciplinary measures and broke out a bottle of
Antares' finest spirit, just to show them how much she meant it.
If they accepted, they got to go through the whole process over
again.
   Mike sat in the corner of medbay taking notes and plenty of
pictures for future blackmail. Half way through the proceedings
he felt an unmistakable disorientation.
   Bill leaned on the plasma filter, pukestance. "Was that the
drug or just me?"
   "We just jumped into hyperspace," Rita Ghomes examined the
readings along the med displays. "Oh... that's interesting."
   "Sweet mama, Mike, get me the hell outta here."
   "Sorry Bill, captain's orders."
   "Billy..." Niki curled herself into a little ball around the
base of her filter, probably to keep the room from turning so
fast.
   "What is it Niki?"
   "I feel woosy."
   "Yeah, that's one way of putting... Mike?"
   Mike looked over at his sobering companion. Bill had plainly
noticed something new in his now undrunken state.
   "Take off the hat, Harrison."
   Mike obliged him, relishing the surprise of a half-suspended
grin. Niki's was less controlled, and evolved from giggles to
more puke which nobody thought she possessed.
   "What the..."
   "It's a long story."
   "Them's head-tricks, Mike. Highly illegal for Tizarians."
   Mike nodded, "Courtesy of Mr. Clay."
   "In other words, you didn't have any choice."
   Mike smiled, "I guess he wants to keep me in line."
   "Or out of line."
   Niki looked up from her barf, "I think it's gross."
   "Look who's talking."
   "Hey, at least I hit the bucket, okay?"
   Mike turned about and left, donning his hat only as an
afterthought. The dark passage with its white finish and bent
railing seemed to flow over with misplaced memories. He leaned
against the metal as if testing its strength. Something about the
cold steel put him at ease, as if the time-space bubble which now
surrounded the ship would take them somewhere else beside
Calanna. Even Telmar was preferable. Or perhaps Tyber. Mike
remembered the dense, choking atmosphere, mildly acidic carbons
and sulfates eating his lungs as he scrambled for a filter mask,
tall smokestacks cutting through the lethal fog a mile and more.
Even that would be preferable to Calanna.
   The oval antechamber to the passenger staterooms was dark and
cold. Mike searched the table's surface for environmental
controls without success, finally fumbling across the IC.
   "Hello?" The voice was strange. A York accent?
   "Hi. How d'ya turn the lights on?"
   Suddenly the room lighted up.
   The person at the other end seemed to laugh, "I think you
found the magic words."
   "Oh. Sorry."
   "Glad to be of assistance."
   Mike switched the line closed and stumbled into a gravitic
recliner beside the table. He wondered who he had just talked to,
and how many more "strangers" were aboard the Vista.
   "Computer on." Nothing happened.
   "Quaint..." Mike leaned over the table and found the switch at
the base of the connector. The air above the table began to glow
with a luminescent texture as the holo-rod generated a spinning
three-dimensional representation of the Vista. Mike paused,
waiting for some sort of prompt. The image of the Vista continued
rotating.
   "Hi."
   "Unrecognized command."
   "Help."
   "No help available."
   Mike went to the cooling unit and returned to his seat empty
handed.
   "Show passengers."
   "Respecify at unrecognized parameter... passengers."
   "Cargo manifest."
   "Records unavailable."
   "Bullshit..."
   "Unrecognized command."
   "Show flight instructions."
   "Records unavailable."
   Mike returned to the cooling unit and grabbed a sluice-stick.
He bit off the end and sucked out a quarter of its frozen, syrupy
contents.
   "Who the fuck programed you?"
   "Respecify at unrecognized parameter... the."
   Mike sat back in the gravitic recliner and let the head tilt
back until he rested on a forward incline, his feet sticking
upward and out like a gull's tail feathers.
   "Who... are you?"
   "Specify data format."
   "Verbose."
   "Vista, Imperial Free Merchant, SG-64923. Laid down 124-618,
Dimstar, Imperial Dimstar Corporation. Tonnage two-hundred
standard, twenty-eight hundred cubic meters displacement.
Engineering, one Dopel PF-18 fusion-linked power plant driving
two Ditar AG-217e hyperfield generators and one Monoquad MQ-3
fixed impulse maneuver drive with dual Zalpha-X turbofan
installation. Gravitics, Napaliastics I-14 Field Generators with
standard inertial compensation and zero to two gee sustained
gravity adjusters. Range, sixteen point three light-years with
unlimited maneuver...."
   Mike straightened his posture as the holographic display
zoomed-in on specific systems aboard the craft. He tried to keep
pace with the output as the computer jumped from one topic to the
next. The Vista was a 38-year-old retired scout ship built by
Dimstar based on a standard design two-hundred ton hull. It had
been purchased at discount by the Bank of Ares and leased through
the Galactic Press Corporation as a refitted free merchant. Its
entire class had a history of excellent atmospheric
maneuverability, but the Vista, in particular, had been placed in
drydock six years previously with orders that it be scrapped due
to a series of critical drive failures. Somehow a deal had been
cut, and the defective drives had been repaired.
   The vessel was crewed by two Galactican personnel, two
independent contractors, and three robots. The captain, Christine
Quatalis, was born on Tyber. She served as a pilot in the
Imperial Scouts before being hired on by the Galactican. Her
first mate, Victor Darian, was from Ares. He served Sector Navy
as a tac-ship lieutenant before being discharged in naval
cutbacks three years earlier. Rita Ghomes, a native of Telmar,
was discharged around the same time from her planetary guard
while the civil unrest was beginning to brew into open revolt.
Rrkal, the vargr engineer, was from the outworld coalition. He
worked his passage from the frontier aboard a merchant craft
until he was laid off near Dimstar. The three robots worked in
cargo, maintenance, and engineering respectively, places which
passengers were unlikely to ever see.
   The passenger roster was classified as were flight
instructions. Mike guessed that he could have broken the security
if he had Cindy on hand or access to the ship's computer
directly. An idea itched away somewhere deep inside his mind, but
he put it away shaking his head and smiling. If he hadn't seen
the way Captain Quatalis dealt with drunks, he might have been
more willing to see how she dealt with snoops.
   Mike decided he was tired. He peeked down the passage and saw
no sign of movement. Niki and Bill were going to spend a few more
hours in sick bay for sure. Mike pulled himself to his feet and
started toward the closest of the staterooms.
   "Lights off." The door slid open as the room darkened behind
him. He shuffled out of his shirt and climbed into where he
though the null-tube should be.
   "Mike?" It was Robin.
   "Uh..oh.. I think I stumbled into the wrong room."
   "It's okay. You don't have to go."
   "What makes you think I was going to?"
   She didn't bother to come up with a reply but scooted over to
make more room. Mike tried to make out her features in the pitch
darkness. He wondered what she was wearing.
   It! It's an android. Mike tried to refocus his thoughts, but
they kept twisting around on him.
   She moved again, "What are you thinking?"
   "Wrong question."
   "You're trying to see me, aren't you."
   Not your typical android question, Mike thought. "Can you see
in the dark?"
   No answer.
   "Like, infrared?" His throat felt dry.
   She moved again, her head very close to his, but without
breath. "With a dash of the ultraviolet." He could almost see her
smile.
   Mike closed his eyes and tried to sleep wondering why she
would do the same. She seemed to mimic humans in almost all
aspects of their behavior. Was it simply a part of her
programming or something deeper? After several minutes he felt
the suppressant currents slowly rock as she seemed to breath,
quietly, peacefully. He finally let himself sink slowly beneath
the cover of sleep, the depth of space closing inward like a far
away dream realized in a sudden instant. And in his mind's eye he
saw the fine red outline of a short fence post, its needle-thin
barbs pressing outward, seeking blindly in the static wind as a
trio of squat, white figures lay aside, their fluffy forms
resting on a bed of green haze.

                        *     *     *

"If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it."
   Captain Quatalis looked mildly irritated. She chewed on the
end of a buttersprout and glanced around the galley looking for
her lightpen. Victor sat in the far corner of the room still
sizing up her intended audience of four passengers as Rrkal and
Rita stirred a can of condensed terriak hearts into their joint
concoction.
   Niki studied the map on the near wall, trying to decipher the
gist of the implications. "What if we get caught?"
   Quatalis turned to the Siri, "If we land at the spaceport
we'll all be picked up by starlaw, or worse, by ISIS. This is the
only alternative."
   "That's only true if the Calannan guard lets the Imps push
them around, which is something I find highly unlikely."
   "It's more likely than you might think Mr. Harrison,
particularly since Calanna has never been a friend of Tizar or
the Galactic Press Corporation."
   Mike nodded, and reconsidered. The drop-off instructions,
drawn by an ex-army commander working directly under Jaden and
heading the Tizar office's internal security division, were
simple and direct; a clean military troop insertion if Mike had
ever seen one. Under the plan, the Vista would jump in at the far
side of Calanna's smaller moon, dive into the planet's
atmosphere, deal with any resistance as necessary, make the drop
via gravchutes, and get out. The only problems were the
gravitational effects on the hyperspatial drives, and the
resistance, most likely in the form of Wasp fighter craft. After
the four were safely dirtside, they should easily ditch the
chutes and hide in the local terrain. After that, hiking twenty
kilometers into Aelflan, a large agricultural community, would be
a snap.
   The incident would be logged as yet another smuggling
operation which made it through. Since many government and
security officials took part in such activities themselves on a
regular basis, no eyebrows would be raised. The Wasps would
probably follow the Vista out at a safe distance and let the few
ground personnel available handle the drop. Probability of
success: 90% plus, or so it was written. And better still, the
Imps would be thinking Harrison and company still on Tizar
counting the ashes of poor Mr. Fork.
   "Fine, but how do we get out." It was Niki again.
   Quatalis had wondered when somebody would ask the obvious
question. The fact that it had been asked meant that they had
already accepted the plan for getting in.
   "The Vista's cargo shuttle, the Ariya, will land at the
spaceport eight days after the drop. We'll unload our cargo and
begin speculating. No doubt we'll attract some Imperial
attention, so when you try to get back in contact, be subtle.
We'll stick around for ten days after that, or until we are no
longer needed. The Vista, herself, will be hiding under scanner
range of the system's largest gas giant. In case of
complications, I suggest you arrange for a backup spacecraft. Are
there any questions?"
   Seeing none, Rrkal announced open season on the supper, and
the crew plus one android dug in. Bill poked at the food with the
end of his laser blade, watching the mixture fizzle and flame
with tempered distaste, and Niki gathered half-a-bowl in a half-
hearted attempt to put something down. Mike just sat around
watching the others, his appetite all but evaporated by the
discussion.
   Rrkal grinned at the trio, "Da Pass'engurz don' eet hartz."
   Bill looked up from his bowl, an enigmatic smile slowly
creeping across his face.
   "Z'hartz goood foood. Ven Z'Droyd noez."
   Mike looked across at Robin. She was still shoveling it down
with an eager hunger bordering on ravenous.
   "Zhe eetz like und no tomarwoo."
   Robin looked up from the table, gulping down her mouthful
without chewing.
   "Why iz zat, droyd?"
   "Because there might not be...." She looked across at Mike
with a matter-of-fact smile. Taken together with the fake
sleeping, yawning, detachable ears, and punch in the chest, he
decided he didn't like smiling androids, not that he had ever
known any others to justify the generalization. Mike reflected on
his attitude as she resumed eating.
   "Doz zhe zhit too?"
   Her eyebrow cocked at the query, and for the first time Mike
felt an inkling of interest in the conversation, such as it was.
Bill perked up too, as did the captain after a moment's pause.
   "Not exactly your usual supper manners, Rrkal."
   "I'm... tirzty." He seemed to search for the last word as if
unsure of the translation.
   Quatalis regarded him with a passing curiosity. "You're
thirsty? For knowledge?"
   "Da." The Vargr grinned, two canines dropping from either side
of his snout. He seemed rather pleased that he'd gotten his point
across, and had all but forgotten about Robin.
   Mike looked across the table, "I don't know; Robin, do you?"
   "Do I what?"
   Mike smiled at the slated reply, "Y'know, 'zhit.'"
   Niki spilled her bowl as Mike felt a raw reminder of the pain
coarse up his spine, snapping each vertebra as it ascended until
it loomed at the threshold of his mind. He awaited the burning,
but it just stood there like a flickering candle flame, pausing
for some sort of twisted invitation.
   Mike opened his eyes to see everyone staring at Niki, her face
averted in shame as she tried to dry the table. Rrkal slided
across and began helping her clean-up as the Captain shuffled out
of her recliner to grab a hand-vacc.
   "Maybe we should have discussed the drop after supper."
   Bill kept frozen in his place, his eyes sweeping from Niki to
Robin, and then over to Mike. As their eyes locked in an
understanding that didn't need explanation, Bill reached down to
the base of his recliner and switched off, his body slowly
rotating into a standing position before the gravitic currents
gave way to the surrounding fields. Mike followed suit, and soon
found his feet placed firmly on solid decking.
   "Thanks for the food, but we're not hungry."
   "Daz okay... mor foood fur uz."
   Mike followed Bill to the hold, the younger man entering an
access code at the lift and again at storage. A security camera
watched from the corner of the room as Bill hauled one of the
gravchutes off the near wall.
   "Mama says it's best to strike while the enemy is out to
lunch."
   Mike nodded, "Looks like you've been keeping busy."
   "I figured it was high time I paid my keep." Bill took his
last vial of ethanol from his back pocket.
   "She let you keep that?"
   "I told her it was for barter... on planet."
   Mike snatched the vial from Bill's open hand, twisting off its
cap as the younger gatherer broke out a two and a half gram
capsule.
   "I wouldn't drink that if I were you, Mike."
   "Not straight."
   "Straight or mixed, you'd die." He began opening the chute's
gravitics, snipping a thin wire with the end of his knife and
fishing it out.
   "Ethanol?"
   "Guess again, Mike." His grey eyes seemed to flicker with
amusement he tied the thread around the capsule.
   "I dunno."
   "Well, for starters, it's radioactive. The vial's the shield."
   Mike handed it back without the cap, "Fine... you drink it."
   "Not very likely." Bill plunged the capsule into the liquid
and extended his hand as if for a shake.
   "This isn't gonna work, Bill."
   "The cap."
   Mike handed it over, sweat droplets beginning to form on his
forehead. "They're gonna check these things out."
   "Really?" Bill's eyes widened with pretended surprise.
   "Really."
   "Don't be a puss, Mike. It'll take at least fifty claps for
the current to dissolve the casing." Bill produced a foam napkin,
wrapping the vial and tying it securely at both ends, the thin
wire string falling from its interior. "And in another twenty...
give or take..." He gritted his teeth as the laser blade burnt
the wire back into place.
   "Then what?"
   Bill closed the unit and replaced the chute back on its rack,
nicking its polymer housing almost as an afterthought.
   "Boom?"
   "Neutrinos, Mike. Lots of neutrinos."

                         *     *     *

The Vista hung cloaked beneath the shadow of Baal, Calanna's
lesser moon, as its port sensors began scanning the cloudy world
below. On the distant horizon, the rutilant giant descended into
night, saffron rays slipping carelessly away to space.
   "Passive EMS reports local clear."
   "Focus IR, 3rd Octh, Coord 34.21, 84.13."
Captain Quatalis cautiously edged the Vista between the jutting
walls the dark lunar canyon. An eerie silence crept outside the
craft as the joints along her spine began to tingle in
anticipation and fear.
   "How long 'til the batteries..."
   "That depends," Victor's hand fidgeted over the sensor boon
controls while his adjunct talked to the ship's computer and
played with the data.
   "Nothing unusual."
   "Try Neutrino."
   "Already done. Minute's clean."
   "Maybe."

Mike sucked in cold air outside the dropshaft, glancing toward
the digital altimeter on the far wall. Niki and Bill sat
opposite, knees bent upright, boots braced together. Bill wore a
worried expression. Niki looked elsewhere, she was ignoring the
tension. Mike focused his eyes forward, a cool sweat breaking out
along his hairline. Robin gently fingered the straps of her
gravchute.
   "Overweight?"
   "Paranoid."
   Mike smiled at the reply as the vessel jolted sharply against
a deafening noise.

"Minute's clean! Get me DR and ID!"
   Christina struggled with the helm controls as the Vista rocked
and tumbled with the impact.
   "They're ground to air. Quiet snipers."
   "They?"
   "Two mark ten."
   "Ghomes, are you reading this!?"
   The Vista's hull armor crackled and glowed against the
atmospheric friction as the heat seekers scrambled in pursuit. A
swarm of plasma cells jettisoned from the aft and exploded in a
fiery blaze over fifteen miles high.
   "Sending pinpoint on source."
   "Fire at will!"

The robot eye scanned skyward, over the grey and dusty clouds, a
cumbersome program slowly analyzing the data. Chemical explosion.
Plasma release. A small mechanical motor raised the antenna to an
upright position as the launcher's communit broadcast the
coordinates of the hit. Within moments only a burning crater
remained.
   "Okay, give me decoys."
   "Is that neces..."
   "Yes!"
   Six gravballs dropped in pairs from the Vista's ventral aft,
dispersing about the vessel as it darted toward the cloudcover
below.
   "DR Victor."
   "Hull breach in tank seven, jump's out also."
   "Oh, and by the way."
   Victor smiled at the criticism, then stopped smiling.
   "Two wasps, cold fuel. No make that four, in close form pairs.
They're mark six. Missile range in twelve."
   "Eyes open Ghomes."
   "Get me fix."
   "Sending... Eight goblins folks."
   A single Hellraiser flushed into the inky black as Victor
pronounced the "E" in "Eight." Within scarce moments a billion
cubic yards of sky burst into an intense white flame.
   "One and two nixed. Three and four are breaking up. Four dupes
out."
   "We got lucky."
   "Four more goblins. Mark five and six."
   Christina reflexively pulled hard and to starboard as Rita
fired an antimissile and loosed a swarm of plasma cells despite
the tumbling and turning of the spacecraft. Suddenly the Vista
lurched from impact, its steel frame splintering open and
erupting from all sides in a fiery inferno of fusion and plasma.

_______________________________________________________________
I  Jim Vassilakos                       I       Murphy        I
I  University of California, Riverside  I    -  was an  -     I
I  [e-mail]                 I      optimist       I
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