Page 47 of Escape Velocity

Chapter Eleven

As Max muttered a string of curses, Amber lowered herself into the chair beside his. “Who is it? Did Tudor find us?”

“I don’t know, but we’d better take evasive action.”

“Can you . . . shoot at him?”

He answered with a harsh laugh. “Merchant ships aren’t equipped with external weapons. If someone boards us, I can try to fight them off, but not when they’re in another vessel.”

She watched him check several readouts, then ease away from the lumpy chunk of rock beside where he’d parked the Golden Fleece. There wasn’t much room to maneuver, and she could see that any miscalculation could lead to a fatal crash with one of the rocks floating in space. With agonizing slowness, he pulled around the asteroid, putting it between himself and the ship that was closing on them. Out of sight, he executed a second maneuver, rounding another of the rough-looking bodies. They were so close that she felt like she could reach out and touch the hard surface.

She could see why this was a good place to hide. There were lots of these chunks of debris where ships could make themselves inconspicuous. On the other hand, she could also see that no pilot who wasn’t in complete control of his vessel should venture in here.

He wove around several of the floating bodies, apparently heading for a region where there hardly seemed to be space to wedge a ship between the obstructions.

She held her breath as they glided between two wicked looking specimens, then executed a sharp turn.

He had split the screen so that he had both a view of what was ahead of him and what was behind. She breathed out a small sigh when she didn’t see the other ship. She had just started to relax when the nose of the pursuing vessel rounded a rocky outcropping.

“Crap,” Max muttered.

“He’s as good as you,” she whispered.

He laughed mirthlessly. “Unfortunately.”

As she gripped the arms of her chair, another burst of noise—high pitched and ominous—rang through the control room.

Max sat up straighter, then flicked a switch on the control panel in front of him. Once again, she heard the intruding sound.

“What’s that?” she gasped out.

“A message.”

He adjusted the frequency, and she heard what sounded like a garbled word. “Tubendan.”

“What?” she asked again.

“Maybe we’re not in the slatter after all.”

Using the same channel, He sent his own reply, which also sounded like a random collection of syllables to Amber.

The person sending the original message replied, and Amber waited tensely to find out what was going on.

“It’s someone you know?” she asked.

He glanced at her, then away. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t they warn you they were coming?”

“They wanted to wait until they were within range to use short-distance communications.”

“You mean, they didn’t want anybody else picking up the transmission?”

“Right.”

“And how did they know you were here?”

“They didn’t for sure. But this is a place we’ve used in the past.”

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