Sword of Minerva (The Guild Wars Book 10) by Mark Wandrey (good books to read for teens txt) 📗

up with the Winged Hussars. It was a classic situation where nobody was happy, and everyone got screwed. Many races simply ignored the averaging system, which suggested a 24.2-hour day, 7-day week, and used whatever their own race preferred. However, their computers, linked with the various guilds, did use the standard.

The Athal operated on a short day, only 14 hours long. Rick decided ignoring their schedule was a mistake, especially in the precarious situation they found themselves, so he adopted their schedule. Seven on, seven off for a couple Athal weeks was manageable. The more he experimented with his new pinplants and armor, the more amazed he was.

Using the pinplants and armor system, Rick adjusted his mental chemistry so it felt ‘normal.’ The system was intuitive, as well, providing prompts to warn that more than 100 hours in such a system could resort in either negative psychological consequences, or chemical dependency.

Well, that’s handy.

After a couple days, he also became aware of the armor’s stores of chemicals it used to synthesize complex compounds and keep his biological parts alive and healthy. Sato had again outdone himself by including the innate ability to utilize a wide variety of common elements to make those base chemicals. If Rick was forced to live as a half-Human cyborg, at least Sato had made it relatively easy.

Nemo’s bud was likewise easy to care for. Nemo had stocked the bud’s habitat with plenty of Wrogul nutrients, though the bud enjoyed sampling some foods they created from the room’s autochef. It amused itself by reading on a slate, soaring around the room with jets of air, or watching its Human companions. Rick occasionally forgot it was even there, until a blob of water floated over and globbed onto him or his clothes. The bud was less than fastidious about its water leaking around.

They made sure they were in the galley at the beginning of the last ship’s watch before hyperspace emergence when the captain, Ullp, came in. He didn’t seem surprised to find them, either.

“Do you have a plan for us?” Sato asked. “I assume we aren’t going to wait in our stateroom?”

“You are correct,” Ullp replied. “Even though I have cargo for the system, the picket ships have been randomly searching inbound transports.”

“So there’s smuggling going on,” Rick noted.

“Without a doubt,” Ullp said. The translator didn’t convey a lot of emotional details of the Athal language, but Rick was pretty sure the statement held irony. “We’re going to hide you in the engineering spaces, where casual sensors won’t pick you up.”

Rick and Sato had already discussed Nemo’s bud privately. Based on readings Sato had taken of the bud’s travel module, it was already well shielded. They hadn’t told Ullp about it and didn’t plan to. It looked like nothing more than a heavy-duty cargo transport container. Shielded, sure, but if you were paying someone to smuggle you, wasn’t it expected that you wanted secrecy?

“We want a comms link with you so we’re aware of what’s going on,” Rick insisted.

“Any comms can be intercepted,” Ullp complained.

“Not if it’s hardwired,” Sato pointed out.

“You have a point. I’ll arrange it.”

Two hours later they were being shown to their hiding space. Rick guessed it had once held some piece of equipment for the ship, though it was now a neatly outlined empty area behind an access panel. It had been carefully lined with closed-cell foam and included a rack of four universal respirators and straps which could be configured for any race. The Athal engineer who’d opened the cover pointed with a hand.

“Those are the secondary hyperspace power relays,” he explained. “They’re directly linked to the fusion plant, so even in normal space, there’s live plasma only a meter away.”

“You’d have to be inside the ship to pick up something there,” Sato said, nodding. “Good place to smuggle something.”

“Or someone,” the engineer agreed.

Rick and Sato floated in and got comfortable. The engineer waited patiently until they were ready. “Good?” he asked.

“Good,” Sato agreed, and they were sealed in. He turned to Rick. “You can get us out of here if necessary?”

“Easily,” Rick assured him. They’d both brought a small duffel bag. The captain had said to bring any active power devices that might give away the presence of passengers. However, Sato had added the spacesuit attachments to his old uniform.

The Winged Hussars duty uniform was more complicated and versatile than simple appearances suggested, with nano-weave reinforcements, heating/cooling mesh, and the ability to add attachments of gloves, boots, and a bubble helmet. With those basic additions, the wearer could survive in space for a few minutes. Add an optional LSU, a life support unit that was only the size of a thermos, and that time extended to an hour.

Using Rick’s systems, it extended even further. For his part, the Æsir armor could support him in space for weeks if he were careful.

Ullp was kind enough to give them both a running commentary on what was happening, as well as a single data channel including rudimentary telemetry data. Tu-Plik precipitated out of hyperspace, accompanied by the customary falling sensation, and the sensors immediately showed nearby warships.

“Newly arrived ship, identify yourself,” came over the comms immediately.

“Athal free trader Tu-Plik,” Ullp replied. “Transmitting identification.”

“Maki,” Sato said in response to the picket ship’s voice they could hear.

“Cargo?” the Maki picket asked.

“Supplies for deployed mercenary forces. Transmitting manifest.”

Rick and Sato watched the basic telemetry. Four ships were close by. It looked like three frigates and a cruiser. Rick guessed there were likely many more vessels close enough to respond if the Maki raised an alarm.

“They’re scanning us,” Ullp said casually, for his hidden passengers’ benefit.

“You sure they can’t find us?” Rick asked.

“Unless the captain orders the power system shut down, the Maki would have to be pretty specific in any search to find