Free Warrior Chronicles 5: Warrior's Curse by Shawn Jones Page A

stood and walked to his sideboard. “What do you drink, Admiral?”
     
    “Drink, sir?”
     
    “Alcohol. What kind of alcohol do you like?”
     
    “Oh. Red wine.”
     
    Cort poured two glasses and laughed, “Whiskey it is.”
     
    Handing a tumbler to Liz, he looked at the two collaborators. “Son, right now I wish with all my heart that you already had your new avatar, so you could taste success.”
     
    Liz smiled and raised her glass. “I hate whiskey, sir. But you are right. To success.”
     
    After downing his own glass, Cort asked, “So how do we navigate? I mean, without anchor particles, how will we know where we are going to end up?”
     
    “Father,” George said, “you must remember that I was originally an astronomy computer. I have studied the galaxy for nearly one-hundred million years. I can tell you where every single star is, now or at any point in time from millions of years ago to millions of years from now.”
     
    Cort chuckled. “You’ve got to be kidding me. My ships are going to jump across the universe using my hundred-million-year-old son as a living sextant. Wow.”
     
    “Father, I cannot be on the ships, but I can supply ships with navigational data. We will have to increase the size of the ships’ data caches, but it will work.”
     
    Cort remembered that the same method was used to send him forward in time. The thought disturbed him. “George, that’s how I came to this time. We misused a transition medallion. I don’t want that to happen again.”
     
    “It will not. The jump can only occur across a particular moment. It cannot traverse time in a particular location.”
     
    Cort relaxed. “Okay, when do you test it?”
     
    “We are printing the PSR cannon now, sir. Installation is scheduled for this afternoon.” Liz was trying to hide her excitement. “I’ll do a test jump to Solitude’s perihelion at 1600 to make sure the system is working, then we can make a full jump by 1700 hours. I will jump to Phobos, reform the warp bubble, and jump back. I should be back by 1710. Larger ships will require more time to form their bubble, but a Derringer-class will need about a nine minute turnaround.”
     
    “No. Go somewhere else. If something goes wrong, we don’t need the whole federation watching. George can send you someplace uninhabited.”
     
    “Yes, sir.”
     
    “What about getting through the bridge? Any ideas yet?”
     
    “Yes, Father. The modified engine will allow us to traverse the wormhole. Our current warp drives create a bow wave which would cause collapse. The modified design will not.”
     
    Cort arched his eyebrows. “Nice work.”
     
    --
     
    Late that afternoon above Solitude, the Derringer-class scout ship AFS Lincoln reappeared. But it was three minutes late. After it landed, Cort, in a CONDOR battle suit, approached the damaged ship. Its black graphene mesh hull was pitted, and in some places he could see the graphene-copper laminate of the hull’s innermost layers. Three Navy medics ran for the hatch, as Marines surrounded the ruined craft with their MATs at the ready. There had been no contact with Liz since the ship had reentered Solitude space. George had immediately taken control of the vessel and reported that the woman was alive and uninjured inside.
     
    When the medics couldn’t open the ship’s entry port, Cort shoved them out of the way, sending one of them rolling across the tempered concrete. Trying to keep his people calm as much as himself, he looked at a Marine nearby and laughed, “Fucking squids.”
     
    “Squids, sir?” The Marine asked. “Do you mean Admiral Bazal?”
     
    Cort sighed. Another joke from his own time that humanity had forgotten. “Nevermind. Stand clear.”
     
    Then he grabbed the hatch with armored hands and yanked so hard that the 40-meter long craft slid sideways across the tempered concrete landing pad. With a metallic groan, the ship finally gave up its struggle against him and the hatch