The Reaches

'Men of Venus,' Piet Ricimer said, standing before the video pickups of the main console.

The general commander's tone and pose were consciously theatrical, but not phony. An unshakable belief in his mission was the core of Ricimer's being. 'My fellows. While I was on Os Sertoes, a Southern colony three days transit from here, six Federation warships landed. Their admiral announced that they'd arrived to protect the Breach from Venerian pirates under the command of the notorious Ricimer.'

He allowed himself a smile.

The interior of the Porcelain looked as if a mob had torn through the vessel. Belongings seemed to expand in the course of a voyage. Objects were never repacked as tightly as they'd been stowed before initial liftoff. Loot, even from a near-wasteland like Mocha, added to the bulk, and the crew's hurried reboarding would at best have created chaos.

The interior of the Kinsolving, visible on the split screen past the set face of Captain Winter, was an even more complete image of wreckage. The quality of the Mizpah's transmission was so poor that the flagship's AI painted the field behind Blakey as a blur of color. On all the vessels, items that hadn't been properly stowed before liftoff drifted as the ships hung above Mocha.

'The Feds will be patrolling all the landing sites in the region, I have no doubt,' Ricimer said. I could hear the words echoing from tannoys in the compartments sternward. On the Kinsolving, sailors listened in the background as tense, dim shapes. 'We aren't here to fight the Federation. We're here to take the wealth on which President Pleyal builds his tyranny and turn that wealth to the use of all mankind.'

Another small smile. 'Ourselves included.'

Stephen Gregg stood between a pair of stanchions, doing isometric exercises with his arms. He was too big to be comfortable for any length of time on a featherboat, but not even Piet Ricimer had dared suggest Stephen remain on Mocha during the exploratory run.

'I've set an initial course,' Ricimer continued. 'The Nathan tested the gradients within the throat of the Breach. I won't disguise the fact that the stresses are severe; but not too severe, I believe, for us to achieve our goal.'

'It was rough as a cob,' Jeude muttered, trying to emasculate his fear by articulating it. 'The boat nigh shook herself apart. Mister Ricimer, he kept pushing the gradients and she couldn't take it.'

I put a hand on the eyebolt which Jeude held. I didn't quite touch the young sailor's hand, but I hoped the near-contact would provide comfort.

Part of my mind was amused that I was trying to reassure someone who understood far better than I did the risks we were about to undergo. There were times that the risks couldn't be allowed to matter. At those times, it was a gentleman's duty to be an example.

'There is one further matter to attend before we proceed,' Ricimer continued. 'Our flagship has been named the Porcelain. I am taking this moment, as we enter a new phase of our endeavors, to rechristen her Oriflamme. May she symbolize the banner of the Lord which we are carrying through the Breach!'

He swept off his cap and cried, 'In the name of God, gentlemen, let us do our duty!'

'Hurrah!' Salomon cried, so smoothly that I remembered Ricimer's whispered conversation with his navigator before he began his address. Throughout the flagship the Oriflamme-and aboard the other vessels, men were shouting, 'Hurrah!'

I shouted as well, buoyed by hope and the splendor of the moment. For the first time in my memory, Jeremy Moore was part of a group.

Ricimer shut off the transmission and slipped into his couch to prepare for transit. Guillermo and Salomon watched from the flanking consoles.

I let go my grip and thrust myself across the compartment toward Stephen. My control in weightlessness was getting better-at least I didn't push off with all my strength anymore-but it was short of perfect. Stephen caught me by the hand and pulled me down to share a stanchion.

'You may think you dislike transit now,' Stephen said, 'but you'll know you do shortly.'

'Yes, well, I was going to suggest that I'd get out and walk instead,' I said. 'Ah-it occurs to me, Stephen, that the oriflamme is the charge of Councilor Duneen's arms.'

Stephen nodded. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Piet thinks it may take the Councilor's mind off the fact that we've executed one of his chief clients. Not that Hawtry was any loss, not really; but the Councilor might feel that he needed to. . react.'

'Ah,' I said. 'It was the general commander's idea?'

'Prepare for transit!' Salomon warned over the PA system.

'Oh, yes,' Stephen agreed. 'Piet thinks ahead.'

I followed Stephen's glance toward the general commander. It struck me that Ricimer was, in his way, just as ruthless as Stephen Gregg.

IN TRANSIT

Day 64

The leg of the attitude-control console nearest me began to quiver with a harmonic as the Oriflamme's thrusters strained. The vessel flip-flopped in and out of transit, again, again. The surface of the leg dulled as tiny cracks spread across the surface, metastasizing with each successive vibration.

Life was a gray lump that crushed Jeremy Moore against the decking. My vision was monochrome. Images shifted from positive to negative as the Oriflamme left and reentered the sidereal universe, but I was no longer sure which state was which.

The sequence ended. Bits of ceramic crazed from the leg lay on the deck beneath the attitude controls.

Salomon got up from his console. His face looked like a skin of latex stretched over an armature of thin wires. 'The charts are wrong!' he shouted. 'Landolph lied about coming here, or if he did, it's closed since then. There is no Breach!'

Pink light careted a dot on the starscape above Guillermo's console. Either the Kinsolving or the Mizpah was still in company with the flagship. I didn't care. All that mattered now was the realization that if I was dead, the nausea would be over.

'I'm going to add one transit to the sequence without changing the constants,' Piet Ricimer said from the central couch. Above him, the main screen was a mass of skewed lines. '›From the tendency of the gradients, I believe we're very close to a gap.'

Guillermo's three-fingered hands clicked across his keyboard, transmitting the solution to the accompanying vessel.

Stephen Gregg was curled into a ball on the deck. He'd started out leaning against the attitude-control console, but lateral acceleration during a previous series of transits had toppled him over. He either hadn't wished or hadn't been able to sit up again.

The sailors without immediate duties during transit were comatose or praying under their breath. Perhaps I should have been pleased that experienced spacers were affected as badly as I was.

'The gradients are rising too fast!' Salomon shouted. 'The levels are already higher than I've ever seen them, and-'

Lightbody came off his seat at the attitude-control console. The sailor didn't have a weapon, but his long arms were spread like the claws of an assassin bug. Salomon started to turn, shocked from his panic by the palpable destruction lunging toward his throat.

Stephen caught Lightbody's ankle and jerked the sailor to the deck. I leaped onto the man's shoulders.

Lightbody's face was blank. The wild light went out of his eyes, leaving the sailor with a confused expression. 'What?' he said. 'Wha. .'

'Sorry, sir,' Salomon muttered. He sat down on his couch again.

I rolled away. I had to use both hands to lever myself back to a squat and then rise. The jolting action had settled my mind, but my limbs were terribly weak. I could stand upright, so long as I gripped a stanchion as though the Oriflamme was in free fall rather than proceeding under 1-g acceleration.