Day of Honor - Michael Jan Friedman [17]
Fortunately, Rahmin had gotten rather good at ignoring his discomforts in the last year or so. At this
point, only his memories had the power to cause him any pain.
He raised his eyes to the hexagonal viewscreen that loomed in front of him. The image on the screen flickered and jumped and fell victim to waves of static, which had gotten worse over the last several months. But in between these inconveniences, the screen gave Rahmin an adequate picture of the stars flowing by his vessel.
In his younger days, when he was part of his people's great, forward-looking push to explore the universe, he had seen the stars flow by faster. But that was a different time, before those same stars rained doom on them-a doom from which they were still struggling to recover.
Yes, Rahmin thought, a very different time-when they could be proud of their creations, when they could depend on them.
The maximum velocity of this vessel was only ten times the speed of light. Rahmin sighed. At such a speed, interstellar travel took forever. He and his crew had left their home system behind an entire year ago, and since then they had encountered only one other system.
It had afforded them little in the way of supplies. They were hoping the next one would serve them better-that it would have planets similar enough to that of their birth to provide them with food and perhaps even medicinal herbs. But by their cartographer's estimate, it would be another month before they got there.
In a month, more of them would falter. And having
faltered, some would die. It was a hard fact of the life they had been forced to adopt.
Rahmin shook his head ruefully. If only their power sources hadn't diminished so quickly. If only they had had the materials and the expertise to keep their engines in good repair.
If, if, and if again. He was sick to death of it's.
"Rahmin!" someone called out.
He turned and saw one of his technicians beckoning to him. Curious, Rahmin crossed the bridge to stand by the man's side.
"What is it?" he asked.
The technician, a fellow named Aruun, pointed to his monitor, which hung from the bulkhead at eye level. Following the gesture, Rahmin inspected the monitor's blue-on-black grid.
"I don't see-" he began.
Then he did see. In the corner of the screen, there was a tiny red blip-so tiny, in fact, he would have missed it if he hadn't been looking for it.
"A ship," he breathed.
"A ship," Aruun confirmed. "And it is not one of ours."
It was the first alien vessel they had spotted since they left the world of their birth. Rahmin swallowed. This was an important occasion-and it would require him to make an equally important decision.
He turned to Aruun. "Have you been able to gauge their speed?"
The man nodded. "They're traveling at twenty times the speed of light. If we were behind them, we would have no chance of catching up. However, our courses seem to be converging."
"So we can intercept them," Rahmin concluded.
"We can indeed," Aruun assured him.
Rahmin considered the information. By then, a crowd of technicians had begun to gather about them. Only those in charge of the piloting mechanism and life support had remained at their posts.
"Did I hear correctly?" asked a woman named Yshaarta. "Have we sighted an alien ship?"
"Yes," said Aruun. "And we can make contact with it." He turned to Rahmin, containing his excitement in deference to his superior. "That is, if Rahmin thinks it's a good idea."
Everyone looked at Rahmin. He frowned under their scrutiny. He had never expressed a desire for this kind of responsibility. But then, that was not the only burden he hadn't asked for.
"So?" asked a man named Tarrig. "What do you think, Rahmin?"
Rahmin took a breath, then let it out. If they established contact with the aliens, one of three things would happen. They would benefit from the association, emerge from it much as they were now ... or be damaged, perhaps even destroyed.
On the other hand, he thought, their situation was a bad one-and it was getting worse each day.