Free Warhorse by Timothy Zahn Page A

sweep of the displays.
    Across at the scanner station, Marlowe looked up. “As long as you’ve got them anyway, Captain,” he said, “you might want to double-check that all this dust isn’t going to block Pegasus’ view of the target star.”
    â€œThere shouldn’t be that much dust this far off the ecliptic,” Roman frowned, reaching over to call up the appropriate readouts.
    â€œThat’s what I thought, sir,” Marlowe nodded. “But there is. We seem to be heading into it, too—the density’s been slowly increasing.”
    Ferrol peered over Roman’s shoulder as the numbers came up. “It won’t be a problem,” he told the other. “That’s nothing but Pegasus’ own dust sweat.”
    Roman looked up at him. “I didn’t realize dust sweat got that dense.”
    Ferrol shrugged. “We’re working Pegasus pretty hard here, sir, whether it shows the strain or not,” he pointed out. “And there’s an awful lot of surface area out there for it to sweat through.”
    â€œAnd of course under acceleration like this the whole mass of it falls straight back on top of us,” Roman nodded understanding. “Interesting. One of the many things about space horse transport no one’s really thought about. I’m sure we’ll be finding more of these tidbits over the next few months.”
    I can’t wait , Ferrol thought. Leaving Roman’s side, he returned to his own station, listening with half an ear as the captain discussed the Jump/acceleration question with the Tampies. No, they didn’t know whether it was possible, either, but the Handler was willing to try it.
    Oh, of course they don’t know , Ferrol thought, a touch of bitterness clouding his vision. It was only the first thing anyone considering space horse warfare would think to investigate; but, no, the Tampies hadn’t done that.
    And of course Roman would accept it all at face value. Roman didn’t think about space horse warfare, either.
    â€œCommander?”
    Ferrol remembered to smooth out his face before turning around. “Yes, Captain?”
    For just a second Roman seemed to study him, as if he’d somehow divined Ferrol’s train of thought. “I’d like us to get a sample of that dust,” he said. “Please inform the survey section, then stay on the intercom and monitor the operation.”
    Ferrol glanced at the chrono. “You want the sample taken before or after the Jump, sir?”
    Roman pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Good point,” he nodded: “The composition may be different at different times. Let’s take one each before and after the Jump; and then have them continue to take two samples per day for the rest of the voyage.” His eyes shifted to the main display. “Given their meteoroid diet, it might be instructive to see just what they consider to be waste products.”
    â€œEspecially if some of it turns out to be gold or platinum or iridium?” Kennedy suggested.
    Roman nodded. “The possibility had occurred to me, yes,” he agreed.
    Ferrol turned his face back to his board, keying the intercom for Amity ’s survey section as he allowed his lip to twist with contempt. The eternal and single-minded goal of profit. Ancient Rome, he’d read somewhere, had also been hard at work trading with its enemies…just before those same enemies destroyed it.
    Those who don’t know history , he quoted bitterly to himself, are condemned to repeat it.
    Amity was listed on paper as a research/survey ship, and its overlarge scientific contingent turned out to be better at their jobs than Ferrol had really expected. They had the first sample into the ship, onto the lab table, and through a preliminary analysis ten minutes before the Jump…and Ferrol found quiet satisfaction in the fact that the dust, while loaded with strange and exotic