Gold Star

order to take the Rimfire toward the fringe stars, to the last established blink beacon, and turn left. There was no way she could be out there beyond the 47's station. Pete punched in the buttons for home, felt the leap, and the old 47 was back within fractions of an inch of her original position at the junction of four lonely blink routes leading from nowhere to nothing. The homebase blink beacon had dutifully recorded the Blinkstat for Rimfire and relayed it. Pete was glumly silent for a long time. «Hungry?» Jan asked. «Not very.» «Bowl of kanji fruit?» «Sounds good.» She started to rise, and the tone of his voice stopped her. She settled back. «What we're gonna hear, and pretty soon, is an all-points alert on Rimfire.» he said. «Oh, no,» Jan said. «Let's eat,» he said. «It'll take a while.» It took twelve hours. The Blinkstat came from New Earth, and it was a blockbuster, carrying the preliminary code which indicated that it was being sent simultaneously along all established blink routes. The general transmission, in itself, was a tipoff to the seriousness of the situation, even if the wording was not. The message was merely a formal request to all ships in space, all stations, all fleet installations to report any knowledge of U.P.S. Rimfire. It was when the stat gave Rimfire's last known position that Pete began to dream. Rimfire's arrival had been recorded at blink beacon 7C3X99-34R-NE793. Her next jump should have been recorded at blink beacon 7C3X99-34R-NE794. «NE794,» Pete muttered. «That's where we went,» Jan said. «She arrived at NE793.» Now he was beginning to regret that he hadn't had more courage, that he had not jumped on downrange to NE793. «She's lost,» he said. She was the most expensive ship ever built. She had every piece of equipment known to man. She could chart new routes in space, discover new planets; she had on board the equipment to analyze every aspect of that new planet and, in the unlikely event of life, hostile life, she was armed with weapons which could reduce a world to charred cinders in seconds. Pete couldn't even estimate her worth, but he had a glowing feeling as his dream grew. The crew's share of a salvage on Rimfire would be the single biggest haul ever made. He started punching buttons. He wouldn't reveal the dream to Jan. Not yet. No use raising her hopes until he had a more solid handle on the situation. But Rimfire was lost. Out there between the 47 and the first beacon down the New Earth range were a few parsecs of empty space. Past that one, NE 794, a few more parsecs, and Rimfire's last known position near NE793. «Jan,» he said, «send a stat to Stranden on Tigian. Keep it simple. Just say Stranden 47 asks permission begin search Rimfire.» Jan had learned fast. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. The tiny amount of energy required to send a signal allowed almost instantaneous relay down the Tigian range. The answer was clicking off the printer within a minute. «They say hold,» Jan said. «Must confirm Rimfire in trouble.» Pete used one of his infrequent profanities, then shook his head. «If she wasn't in trouble she wouldn't have disappeared.» If it was simple trouble, such as merely falling out of blink drive before arriving at NE 794, somewhere in those parsecs of empty space between beacons, her communications generator was enough to send a call for help. Pete knew the space regulations. No skipper would be silent if his ship was in trouble. If he had a way to yell for help, he'd be yelling loud and clear. If anyone was alive on Rimfire and if the communications equipment was working, there'd be a call going both ways down the New Earth range. The blink was a relatively safe way to travel, but when man depends on hardware and electronics, he is vulnerable. Hardware and electronics fail. The results, to a blink ship, are not always tragic, or fatal. Sometimes a generator just lost power for one reason or another and dropped the ship out of subspace, or wherever a ship went when blinking, back into normal space a long, long way from anywhere. There were no mysteries in space travel. When a ship failed to arrive, and didn't report, a search always found her. There'd been a few times when the search found a dead ship, gutted by internal explosion, but even the dead ships were found. There were some old stories from the last war, a thousand years old, about ships disappearing, but that was war. It's difficult to find the disassembled atoms of a ship which has been caught in the full blast of a rebinder beam. Pete's guess was that whatever had happened to Rimfire, it was damned serious. It saddened him. He'd never seen her, but he'd seen pictures of her, and she was one beautiful hunk of stuff. «Jan, she's lost all power. If she had auxiliary power we'd be hearing from her. She's out there somewhere between 794 and 793.» He didn't add that there might be people still alive on her, people who were waiting and praying for a tug. He made up his mind. «Send this to Stranden. Stranden 47 blinking NE794 to begin search.» He didn't bother to wait for an answer. The 47 ceased to exist and reexisted near the beacon from which he'd taken the tape reading twelve hours previously. He activated the optics and detections instruments and read the straight-line route toward New Earth as far as his instruments could penetrate. Emptiness. Parsecs of space lay ahead between NE794 and NE793. The search pattern would be tedious, tiring. He started it. A short leap, just to the point where the 47's detection instruments could read backward and forward and, in a large number of short, jerky blinks, search every mile, every inch, every light-year of the long, long parsecs of that long, long jump out near the rim of the galaxy. He put the computer to work to figure out how long it would take, and his heart sank when he had the answer. He didn't communicate his doubt to Jan. The generator was building charge constantly now, and it was possible to make jumps within seconds of emerging, giving the instruments only time to search the cold emptiness before pushing the button. When the generator was drained completely by the multiple small jumps, a longer period of waiting was necessary. Lord, Lord, he thought, if we can find her. If he found her and locked onto her and took her back to New Earth with the crew dead or alive, oh, Lord. The way she was built, the way she was equipped, she had cost billions. Even after the owners of the 47 took the lion's share of the salvage percentage there'd be, hell, millions. There'd be enough to make Mr. and Mrs. Peter Jaynes very, very wealthy. It made him feel queasy in the stomach to think of the Rimfire's crew being dead. He dreamed a dream as the long hours went by and he snatched sleep while the generator was building charge. He'd see a blip on the instruments and take a visual and blink up beside the huge, sleek, beautiful ship. She'd be lying dead in space, but everyone on her would be alive, praying and waiting for a good old Mule to come blinking up beside her. He'd shoot a cable over and it would plunk against the big, sleek ship and attach and he'd use the cable to communicate, since Rimfire had no power. «Captain,» he'd say, «you look lonely.» «Glad to see you, sir,» the captain of the Rimfire would say. «You've made excellent time in finding us.» «My pleasure,» he'd say. And then the biggie. Then the question every tug skipper dreams of asking. «Captain,» he'd say, «do you agree to a Lloyd's contract?» «Well, sir,» the Rimfire's captain would say, having no other choice, «I do agree to a Lloyd's contract.» The phrasing, Pete thought, might not be historic, «'but the effect was. He wasn't sure the company that gave its name to the salvage agreement still existed, for the tradition went far, far back into the history of old Earth, long before the age of space, when transport and cargo moved on Earth's oceans and seagoing tugs searched out ships in trouble. Then, as now, maritime law outlined the procedure. If a vessel could not proceed to the nearest port under its own power and was assisted by another vessel, a certain percentage of the value of ship and cargo would be paid to the rescuing vessel by the victim's insurance company. It was only necessary to confirm in advance with the skipper of the vessel in trouble that he was giving his ship over to the rescue vessel. That old Earth insurance company was Lloyd's of London. Thus the phrase, «Captain, do you agree to a Lloyd's contract?» In any area occupied by the United Planets, the insuring company, to Pete's knowledge, had never been named Lloyd's of London, or even Lloyd's of Selbelle IV or something, but the phrase was still the same, and recognized as a legal agreement in space courts. And he was going to be asking that question of an Academy hotshot, the pride of the service. «Captain, do you agree to a Lloyd's contract?» Through the hours, through the emptiness, the Stranden 47 blinked, searched, built power, and blinked again. Pete explained to Jan that they might be at it for days, and trained her carefully to read the detection instruments. For the first time since they were married they slept at different times. Jan protested when Pete said they'd work shifts of eight hours for Pete, four for Jan. «Be a good girl,» he said with a tired grin, «and I'll buy you a Tigian art generator.» «Sure,» she said. The Tigian machine, which was used to create permanent three-dimensional scenes, cost hundreds of thousands. «And a few Martian emeralds.» Pete grinned. «The strain, sir, is getting to you,» Jan said. He started to tell her how much it would be worth to them when they found Rimfire, but reconsidered at the last moment. Others would be searching. To build up her hopes and then have them dashed would be cruel. But he could dream. He did a lot of it as the ship blinked in and out and the instruments gave the same readings: nothing. Chapter Two Captain Dean J. Richards, United Planets Space Service, commanding the United Planets Ship Rimfire, took his ship slowly away from the New Earth mooring base confidently. He'd commanded the ship during her trials. He could feel the life of her all around him. She was a technological triumph, the crowning achievement of a millennium in space. She was his. Richards would have liked nothing better than to take Rimfire immediately into the first phase of her mission, which was mind-bogglingly simple. All that was expected of Rimfire was to circumnavigate the galaxy. First, however, she had to chart a route to the periphery, moving out along the established New Earth range to blink beacon NE 795, then onto the outward range which dead-ended at a small mining planet about six parsecs from the last outpost of stars on the edge of the great intergalactic emptiness. Richards was proud to be the first to look outward. For hundreds of years man had been looking inward toward the galactic core. The theory was that habitable planets would be in greater numbers where the starfields were dense, crowded, where worlds basked or burned in the light of multiple suns. There in the heavy radiation fields life-zone