Valk had been a fighter pilot himself, back before his accident. He knew the silhouette of every cataphract, carrier scout, and recon boat that had even flown. There had been a time when you would have seen FA. But that had been more than a century ago. Who was flying such an antique?
Valk tapped for a closer view—and only then did he see the red lights flashing all over his primary display. The two newcomers were moving fast , a considerable chunk of the speed of light. Sweat burst out all over his skin. He swiped a virtual panel near his elbow and his viewports polarized, switching down to near-opaque blackness. Wormhole throats tended to be very close to very big stars. He could barely see—afterimages flickered in his vision, blocking out all the displays on his boards.
He tapped at display after display, trying to get some telemetry data, desperate for any information about where he was. Then he saw the Hexus floating right in front of him. Fifty kilometers across, a vast hexagonal structure of concrete and foamsteel, like a colossal dirty benzene ring. Geryon, he thought. The Hexus orbited the planet Geryon, a bloated gas giant that circled a red giant star.
That explained all the light and heat, at least.
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Little flashes of green came from his other eye and he realized he was being pinged by the Hexus. The Hexus was getting bigger, growing at an alarming rate. His vision had cleared enough that he could just see the yacht, a dark spot visible against the brighter skin of the station. Thom was going to fly straight through the Hexus. At first glance it looked like there was plenty of room—the hexagon was wide open in its middle—but that space was full of freighters and liners and countless drones, a bewilderingly complex interchange of ships jockeying for position, heading to or away from docking facilities, ships being refueled by tenders, drones checking heat shields or scraping carbon out of thruster cones.
If Thom went through there it would be like firing a pistol into a crowd. In twenty-nine seconds the two unidentified craft were going to streak right through the center of the Hexus, moving fast enough to obliterate anything in their way.
If there was a collision the resulting debris would have enough energy to tear the entire station apart. Hundreds of thousands of people would die.
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Valk worked fast, moving from one virtual panel to the next, dismissing displays and opening new ones. His biggest display showed the trajectory of the two newcomers, superimposed on a diagram of every moving thing inside the Hexus. Tags on each object showed relative velocities, mass and inertia quantities, collision probabilities.
Switched (Other Side of the Wormhole #1) by Celia Mai
Those last showed up in burning red. Valk had to find a way to get each of them to turn amber or green before the newcomers blazed right through the Hexus. If he moved this liner here—redirected this drone swarm to the far side of the Hexus—if he ordered this freighter to make a correction burn of fourteen milliseconds—if he swung this dismantler ship around on its long axis—. He swiped that display away even while he used his other hand to order a freighter to fire its positioning jets. That freight hauler was a serious pain in the ass—it was by far the largest object still inside the ring of the Hexus, the craft most likely to get in the way of the incoming yacht.
Valk would gladly have sent the thing burning hard for a distant parking orbit. It was a purely autonomic vessel, without even a pilot onboard, basically a giant drone. But for some reason its onboard computers refused to obey his commands. Up ahead the traffic inside the ring of the Hexus scattered like pigeons from a cat, but still there were just too many ships and drones in there, too many chances for a collision. He could hit the yacht with a disruptor.
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One hit and the yacht would be reduced to tiny debris, too small to do much damage when it rained down on the Hexus. His thumb hovered over the firing key—but even as he steeled himself to do it, a second firing solution popped up. A ponderous freighter hung there, right in the middle of the ring. It was an ugly ship, just a bunch of cargo containers clamped to a central boom like grapes on a vine.
It had thruster packages on either end but nothing even resembling a crew capsule. He opened a new communications panel and pinged the Hexus. The reply came back instantly. At least somebody was talking to him. Are you in contact with the unidentified yacht?
Tell that idiot to change his trajectory. Damn it. Unfortunately, there are too many distracting editing [? The book would benefit from a much An ambitious and interesting book. The book would benefit from a much closer proof-reading before it goes into another edition. But, hey, I'll probably read Book II to see what happens to Daphne on the other side of the wormhole. Is there a Book III?
I really love the main character. I think she's got a lot of spirit. Because this is the first book in the series, you're only getting a small taste of the new world I have created. I personally feel that the story and the characters will draw you in and leave you hanging on the edge of your seat to find out what happens next. As the author I always feel there is room for improvement which is why I didn't give myself 5 stars.
While I think the book is good, I know that the coming ones will be ju I really love the main character. While I think the book is good, I know that the coming ones will be just as good or better.
There are no discussion topics on this book yet. About Celia Mai.
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Welcome back. Waddel shrugs, continues. That's to be expected. If the background check is derogative, then at that point, the rider is immediately fired Waddle waves the ranking off. Our horses are faster today than ever, because we inject them with natural equine growth hormones. In addition, like I mentioned earlier, we give our horses unique psychological motivation before each and every delivery run.
Fear the Silence
Waddle nods to himself, continues after an even bigger nod. I've played the cow udder in several rust belt family dramas. One of which, was entitled, The Chastity Rust Belt, which was definitely not a family drama. He shakes his head, continues. Said she had to stay home and help her son with his homework. What the fuck is that?! Preston says with some regret. I came down with a nasty case of bovine mastitis right before my call back. There, I dispensed milk into jugs by the hands of strangers, while I recited Shakespeare.