Free Into the Sea of Stars by William R. Forstchen

activated his headset and nodded for Stasz to open the line.
    He looked around at his colleagues and tried to conjure up the correct words in Old English.
    "This is Earth vessel Discovery calling, Earth vessel Discovery . Please respond."
    Nothing.
    "Asleep at the switchboard most likely," Stasz said in a reassuring voice. "Hell, there can be times when no one is on the com for hours. I daresay they don't expect a visitor to drop in every day, the way we do."
    "This is Earth research vessel Discovery approaching and requesting docking information."
    "Ah, Dr. Lacklin , try Japanese," Shelley said.
    "How's that?"
    "According to your data, there were twenty-three double torus designs, of which eight used sails. And of those eight, six were Japanese."
    He tried to remember his Old Japanese, and after a minute or so, he believed he got off a reasonable message. Still no response, so Stasz looped recording of lan's re quest while they settled back.
    "These ships have automatic piloting systems that detect and give alarm for any object bigger than a pea that approaches within ten thousand K," Ian said softly. "It could be that no one has gotten into the control room yet. If anyone's alive in there."
    "There's significant damage to the sail area," Stasz interjected. "Number of lines parted, numerous punctures, I detect holes larger than one K in the central area. And I think we're picking up a reading here that indicates a significant holing on the main shaft of the vessel."
    "We'll soon know," Ian muttered as they continued to close in.
     
    Ian had read about them for years and had watched them on countless videos, but nothing, absolutely nothing had prepared him for the sheer awesome size of a colonial unit. It filled the entire sky, as if it would somehow en compass the universe. Nothing in his experience could possibly compare with the massive double-curve sweep of the twin torus that slowly wheeled on either side of them as they closed in toward the docking ring on the main shaft.
    The sheer mass of the object was enough to create a minor gravitational disturbance that required Stasz to pro vide a slightly increased deceleration as they closed in.
    As the four of them floated toward the docking bay, Shelley passed out hard copies of the ship's design and schematics of the blueprints now that the particular des ignation of the ship had been confirmed by exterior mark ings. They had already detected half a dozen unrepaired holes in the vessel, one of them a twenty-meter puncture through the main shaft. So there was little if any hope of finding any life.
    Ian was dreading the encounter for fear of what he would find. In the three hours of closing there had been no signal of any kind. There was no sign of interior lighting and no heat dissipation from the coolant radiators.
    Sealing himself into his bulky pressure suit, Ian settled into the docking bay and waited, listening intently as Stasz called out the ever-closing range.
    There was a faint jar as the adjustable docking unit connected with the hull of the other ship. The green light over the docking-bay hatch turned yellow, and he could feel the pressure suit crinkling as the docking chamber depressurized.
    The light overhead changed to red. Ian looked at the other three and nodded. There they were, four heroes, ready to go forward in the name of Democratic Bureau cracy. Four heroes, and he couldn't help but laugh, his high-pitched giggle sounding somewhat foolish and slightly hysterical.
    He punched the button in front of him and the hatch slid open. They were locked up against the side of the colony, pressed against a nonrotating collar in the middle of the central shaft. A manual docking door was in front of him, instructions in Japanese, English, and Russian written across it.
    Within seconds he had deciphered their meaning, and, grabbing the two handles alongside the door, Ian attempted to rotate them.
    He spun in the opposite direction.
    After several minutes of cursing