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     <-<Sojourn Station, Sojourn System, Terran Space>->

     The blue and silver light rising from the panels was the only
illumination in the whole of the monitor deck, and that was just the
way Piotr Pavlovich wanted it.  The stars provided enough light, even here
on the rim of the Sojourn System.
     Sojourn was deep within Confederation space, but Piotr would hardly
have known it from the scarcity of activity around him.  The sole planet
had little to offer anyone, and its transition points were rarely engaged
-- the neighboring systems were more efficient, not to mention more
affluent.  The Confederation didn't want to be blind in any of the systems
it controlled, however, so stations, manned and unmanned, were in place to
record arrivals and departures, no matter how mundane.
     As the strains of Visleki's _The Jump_ began to seep onto the deck,
violins and flutes leading the way, Piotr began to close his eyes, not to
sleep, but to open himself to the music and the stillness around him.  It
was virtually the only positive point about his eight-month assignment, one
he seldom missed the opportunity to enjoy.
     When the music cut off and the alert blared into his right ear, he
knew now was one of those times.  With annoyance, he slapped the alarm off
and pulled his chair forward to the console.  He examined the readings,
frowned, and reached for his teacup.
     The readings changed, and his hand froze in midair.
     "Son of a 'byss," he said, able to do nothing except gape for ten
seconds.  His training took over and he pressed the comm button, hard.
"Jenkins, get up here."  He paused, getting no answer.  "Jenkins!"
     "I'm sleeping," Jenkins annoyed reply came.  "Go away."
     "Jenkins--"
     "What is it?"
     "An Abyssian warship has just transitioned in," he said, forcing
himself to stay calm.  "I'm waiting for confirmation from the computer, but
it looks like a capital ship."
     There was silence from the other end.  Then--
     "Good one, Piotr."
     "What?"
     "You nearly had me.  You're getting better at it, but your delivery--"
     "It's not a joke, Jenkins!"
     "If an Abyssian capital ship made a Transition Point to here, it
wouldn't take even a second for the computer to identify and sound an
aler--"
     At that moment, a horizontal strip of red light that ran the length of
the monitor deck wall began flashing, and the alarm started again, louder
and more insistent.
     "It took a bit, Jenkins," Piotr explained, "because, apparently, this
capital ship did not arrive in a single piece."
     "I... I'll be right there."
     Piotr looked up at the monitor, which had already picked out and
enlarged the ruptured Abyssian vessel's exterior.  Its hull was mangled,
the engines looked to be a complete loss (though the computer insisted two
were working), and a large section of the vessel's aft had separated,
likely right on exit from Transition Point.  He wondered, with trepidation,
what could have done such damage to a capital ship.


                            Authorial Productions
                                  presents

                                    Risk

                                 Chapter Two
                             "A Curious Gravity"
                                     by
                                Gary W. Olson


     <-<Whitehall System, Terran Space>->

     "Heap thanks, Karenva Pass," Jackson Holt spoke into the transceiver.
"Systems are downloading navigational data now.  We should be able to get
going soon."
     "Acknowledged, Meridian," the Captain of the Karenva Pass, an aging
Derellian warship contracted by the Whitehallen Authority to bolster in-
system security, responded.  "Station control should be getting to you
pretty soon.  Karenva Pass out."
     "Meridian out," Jackson responded.  He switched the transceiver off,
carefully, before swinging his fist around and pounding at the metallic
door.  The impact sent him flying back, but he quickly caught a drawer
handle before he reached the pilot's chair.
     "Careful, Captain," Percival called, from the passenger cabin.  "You
could damage something else."
     "Don't exaggerate," Molly snapped.  Jackson pulled himself toward the
door, caught the edge and peered through.  His first officer, Molly Bevins,
was floating next to his cargo master, Percival Saunders, taping his arm
with medi-stripping.  The anesthetic in the stripping, an Abyssian
concoction acquired prior to the Abyssian War's start, was numbing the
crewman's pain and activating his body's own healing mechanisms.  "The
navicomps are blown, sure, and the engines are skittish, but the control
net is working, as far as we know, and the life support--"
     "You're being defensive, Molly," Jackson chided.  "Your quick thinking
saved our skins..."
     "Again."
     "...and the fact that forcing the ship through a Transition that
stretched its upper limits has turned it into a blind cow should not be
held against you."
     "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
     Jackson pulled himself into the cabin and angled for one of the
rotational couches.  He caught the edge and pulled himself close to it.
     "It's not really that I mind so much, Cap," Todd Tavilworth, the
fourth crewman, said, from where he was dangling, next to the maintainance
hatch.  "It's cleaning up the projectile vomit from the Limeskin here--"
     "That's enough of that," Jackson interrupted, curtly.  "She's a paying
passenger.  Keep your epithets to yourself."
     Todd cracked a smile.  "Don't worry, Cap.  She's still asleep."  He
tilted his head in the direction of where Renita was securely wrapped in
her ZeeGee hammock, eyes closed.  "Ever since we secured the ship and got
her cleaned up, she's been out of it.  Looks like it shook her insides up
pretty bad."
     "Will she awaken before we reach Whitehall Station?"
     "Hope so," Percival told him.  "Be hell on us if the Authority caught
us with an Abyssian on board."  He paused.  "Did the Captain of the
Derellian ship say anything about Serenity?"
     Jackson shook his head.  "Too soon for that.  Right now, all they'll
know is that any hyperwave contact between Serenity IV and their planet is
dead.  Once a ship gets there and finds a devastated chunk of rock where a
good market used to be, the word'll be out.  And after that..."
     "...someone'll piece together that we were the last ship to come out
of the Serenity system," Molly noted.  "Stick their noses in here, and find
her.  Then we'll find our heads under our own personalized mind probes...."
     "So we'll just have to make sure they don't find her," Jackson said.
Molly glared at him, briefly, before shrugging and looking away.  Taking
the opportunity to change the subject, Jackson added, "In the meantime,
we've got to get this ship fixed and get to Plantagenat."
     "With what?" Todd asked.  "We don't have enough to cover the needed
repairs.  Besides, they'll take *weeks*."
     "She's paying three hundred thousand crowns," Jackson countered,
indicating Renita.  "Worth making the extra effort for, I say."
     "The money's only good if you can get to Plantagenat first," Percival
said, "being as it has to be converted from Talents first."
     "So I'll hire a ship to get us there," replied Jackson.  "While you
and Todd supervise the repairs here.  By the time the bill comes around,
we'll be back with money stuffing our suitcases.  So to speak."
     "Repair crews don't work on credit," Molly noted.
     "Depends on who you know," Jackson said.
     "You know someone on Whitehall Station?"
     "No.  But you do."
     Molly stared at Jackson, then started shaking her head.  "No,
Jackson...."
     "Cho Valan owes you several favors, that I recall."
     "The man is a swindler, a drunkard...."
     "You saved his life twice."
     "...a thief, a lousy lover..."
     "We get the point, Molly," Jackson cut her off.  "I'm not asking you
to sleep with him.  Just get him to arrange an overlooking of the prior
payment rule until we get back.  He's got the pull."
     Molly looked at Jackson, angrily, then nodded.  Jackson felt the
questions in her mind, about what had happened just before the transition,
what Renita had meant by her comment that he, Jackson, could see where
she, Molly could not.  He thought about saying something more, then kept
his mouth shut, as it was nothing he wanted Percival or Todd to overhear.
They were good crewmen, but some things were best kept private.
     ~Well done, Jackson,~ Renita's oil-smooth voice echoed in his mind.
~We may survive this yet.~
     #You weren't sleeping,# Jackson replied, sending his thoughts in the
direction of the Abyssian Mystic.
     ~My body is,~ she replied.  ~But my mind, and my ears, are open.~
     #About what Todd said....#
     ~I haven't time to take offense, Jackson Holt.  We may have lost our
enemy for now, but once we have set course for Plantagenat, we shall
encounter them again.~
     #I'd appreciate it if you'd maybe explain yourself once in a while
instead of giving cryptic instructions....#
     ~It is nothing I do gladly.  I must be careful with what I know, as it
is for your ears, and your mind, only.  Once we are alone, I shall confide
in you.  Not until then.~

     <-<The Prometheus, Halcyon System, Terran Space>->

     Ensign Willard Prescott Jones stopped in the doorway of the VIP
quarters.  In front of him, stretching for infinity beyond, were the stars,
luminous and subtle, with only Halcyon's single yellow sun present to
diminish their glory in the slightest.  It took him a couple seconds to
realize he had stopped; by then, he realized eyes were regarding him in
turn.
     "Enjoying the view?" Major Hawk, looking up from where she was seated,
on a divan next to the transparent alloy window.  He glanced at her and
felt the blush creep up his neck.  The corners of her mouth upturned in a
slight smile, and it occurred to Jones she might have had a second meaning
in her question.  It only made him blush more.
     "Yes, ma'am," he answered, forcing himself not to stammer.  "My shift
just ended, and you said you wanted my input for your report...."
     "I would," she answered.  "Tea?"
     "Hmmm?"
     "Would you like some?"
     He saw a partially filled cup on the endtable by her arm, an empty cup
set next to a chair adjoining the divan at a 90 degree angle, and a teapot
that was emitting considerable steam.  Jones nodded and took his seat while
she poured.
     "It's darjeeling," Hawk told him.  "Earth-Authentic.  Not what you're
used to, I know, but I can't *stand* the Elysian blends in the ship's
stores."
     "I've never had it," Jones replied.  "Tea from Earth's too expensive."
He lifted the cup to his lips and sipped.  "Mmmm.  Pretty good."
     "I only indulge on special occasions," she said.  "Celebration if it's
a good occasion, comfort in a bad one.  And after today...."
     "Comfort is necessary," Jones concluded.  He took another sip and set
the cup down..  "Major...."
     "Isira," she interrupted.  "I'm off-duty as well -- there's no need
for formality."  Hawk saw Jones' confusion.  "My father was on the team
that lucked onto the archaeological find of the century, the Alltemple of
the Hrota in System LM258908."
     "I've seen the pictures," Jones said.  "It's beautiful...."
     Hawk shrugged.  "Some girls get named after their grandmothers.  I got
named after a dead race's fertility goddess."
     "Isira," Jones said, "I've been going over what happened all day.
I've reviewed the data on how the Intruder ships moved, on their use of
warped space to destroy the Quartermain and the others... tried to
understand how they could have done it.  After careful consideration, I
have to admit... without further information, I don't know."
     "Hmmm," Hawk replied, sounding neutral.  Her eyes seemed to bore holes
through him, and he tried not to seem uncomfortable where he sat.  She
seemed to notice his reaction and softened her look.  He smiled, despite
himself.  "Do you have any theories?"
     "None I'd back at this point."
     "Speculation is all anyone has right now," Hawk reminded him.
     He nodded.  "My first thought was that they were simulating the
effects, using some heretofore undiscovered technology or scientific
principle to their advantage.  And while that's always possible, I suppose,
I don't consider it likely."
     "Why not?"
     "The constant nature of mass is virtually a given, and has been for
millennia, through countless tide changes and revolutions in technological
and theoretical capabilities.  Every race, minor and major, dead and living
alike, understand that mass does not spontaneously appear and disappear.
We can't throw away the law of conservation of mass, even for this."
     "What does this leave us?"
     "Two guesses," Jones answered.  "First, the warped space the Intruders
generated simply distorted the readings the mass detectors received.  The
sticky part is how -- the mass detectors are virtually the simplest
equipment on this ship, and the least vulnerable to deception.  Also, this
raises the question of how the Intruders are creating warped space, if
*not* through altering their mass."
     "I agree," Hawk said.  "Your second guess?"
     "The warping is caused by temporal manipulation -- by forcing the
overlay of a volume of space several seconds in the past, a volume in the
present and a volume in the future, and controlling the warping effect this
has.  The problem *here* is it also doesn't account for the mass
question."
     "I see," Hawk replied.  She looked down at her comm-pad for a few
moments, seeming lost in thought.  Jones looked carefully away, back to the
view of the stars.  He was brought around again when she spoke.  "Thank
you, Willard...."
     "Jonesy," Jones said.  "Everyone calls me that."
     "You like that?"
     "I'm used to it."
     "That's not the same thing."
     He nodded, but didn't speak, hoping she would drop the topic.  She
seemed to pick up on his reluctance.  "Forgive me for being blunt, Jonesy,
but what's a nice Navy boy like you doing with a mind for astrophysics and
math like yours?"
     Jones grimaced, inwardly.  "I... don't understand."
     "After this afternoon's incident, I checked your files," Hawk said, in
casual tones.  "They say you're a clean-cut, all-Terran boy with an above-
average aptitude in the physical sciences.  They *don't* say you're a
high-level intelligence with a strong intuitive ability."
     He looked at her, trying to hold back his surging fear.  She *knew*.
     "I think you must be mistaken," he started.
     "I'm not," she replied, curtly.  "A Grey Legionnaire is hardly
infallible, but in this I'm as close to it as anyone gets.  You're hiding
your smarts."
     Jones looked away again, realizing lying would not get him out of the
situation.  "I've always wanted to be out here, see.  Ever since I was a
boy, listening to my dad tell his war stories, over and over again.  I
wanted to go out and protect my people against the Abyssians, to ride the
stars, to see what I'd never known before.  I wanted to follow in his
bootsteps, so badly I could've choked on the taste.
     "Dad and I knew about my... capabilities... when I was in my teens.
He told me that if I admitted what I could do, I'd be shunted to the
Astrospatial Research facilities on Mars, or Kallis Major, where I'd spend
the rest of my life inventing engines I'd never participate in testing,
build ships I'd never set foot on, develops ways of dealing with aliens I'd
never see or touch... so I hid what I knew."
     "How were you able to fool the profiler scans?"
     "I'd rather not say," he answered.
     "Very well," Hawk replied.  "I'll not pry.  Thank you for your help."
She reached out and touched his hand.  "I understand, believe me.  When I
was your age, I had the choice of joining the Navy or entering the Grey
Legion.  If I'd had a means of disguising my potential, I might have taken
it."  She smiled, a bit guiltily, and Jones felt something inside him
relax.
     "I'll let you know if I come up with anything else," he said.  She
nodded as he stood.  "Good evening, Maj... Isira."
     "Good evening... Jonesy."
     He crossed the room, tapped the lighted panel to open the door, and
stepped out, nearly walking into Commander Weiss.
     "Sir?" Jones asked, startled.
     "Ensign," Weiss replied, his voice tight.
     "Ah, Commander, come in," Hawk called from the room.  "I'm glad you
could stop by.  We have much to discuss."
     Weiss looked into the room, then back at Jones.  Jones gulped.  Weiss
turned, stepped in, and closed the door behind him.  Letting out a sigh
of relief, Jones started down the corridor, towards the lift tube that
would take him to his barracks.

(continued in part two, following...)
--
Gary W. Olson    swede@shell.sojourn.com    swede@drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu
                      http://www.sojourn.com/~swede