Free Warhorse by Timothy Zahn Page B

silicates, contained not a single scrap of gold, platinum, or iridium.

Chapter 5
    R OMAN TOUCHED A BUTTON and watched the preliminary analysis of the dust sweat display itself across his screen. Silicon and iron, mainly, with trace amounts of calcium, magnesium, and aluminum. Nothing particularly useful, singly or together. “Have they got a molecular structure analysis yet?” he asked.
    â€œStill working on it,” Ferrol said, head cocked toward his intercom. “Got some really complex molecules in there, but nothing of any obvious value.”
    â€œWell, have them map and store everything they can isolate, anyway,” Roman instructed.
    â€œYes, sir,” Ferrol said, and relayed the order.
    Suppressing a grimace, Roman turned his attention back to the main display. He hadn’t been expecting them to find any gold nuggets, of course—after twenty years of contact with Tampies, the dust sweat must have been analyzed dozens of times, by people far more interested in making money from space horses than he was. But it would have been nice. “Lieutenant? Jump status?”
    â€œOne minute to Jump, sir,” she said. “Handler’s signaled ready; all ship systems show green.”
    â€œMarlowe?”
    â€œAll inboard and outboard sensors on and recording,” Marlowe reported. “If there’s anything that can be seen during a Jump, well get it.”
    Roman nodded. “All right,” he said, automatically bracing himself. “Let’s do it.”
    Several months earlier, Roman had discovered that a space horse Jump was completely unspectacular to watch. Now, he discovered, it was equally unspectacular to experience.
    There was no sensation. None at all. One second they were pulling 0.9 gee through the Tampies’ Kialinninni system, with a dull red sun off their port stern; the next second, they were doing exactly the same thing except with a dazzling white sun directly ahead. “Marlowe?” Roman asked.
    â€œNothing, Captain,” the other said, shaking his head. “No glitches or transitions on any of the inboard sensors. Outboard scanners…no transitional data on any of them, either.”
    â€œWhat’s the time-quantum on the sensors, the standard half picosecond?” Roman asked.
    â€œBetter than that, sir,” Marlowe told him. “The manual claims 0.05 picosecond; I’d guess it closer to 0.1, myself.”
    A tenth of a picosecond or less. Zero time, by any reasonable definition. “Thank you. Lieutenant Kennedy? We have Alpha located yet?”
    â€œWorking on it, sir,” Kennedy said. Her voice was its usual unawed self, as if Jumping space horses was something she did every week. “Computer’s got the ecliptic plane identified, and it’s calculating from the Tampies’ data where the planet ought to be. It’ll be a few more minutes.”
    Roman nodded, keying his intercom as mention of the Tampies brought a sudden idea to mind. “Captain to Handler. Sso-ngii, are you able to speak?”
    There was a short pause, and then the screen lit up with the Tampy’s image, his twisted face almost lost between the amplifier helmet and the red-white neckerchief. At least the sleeping animal wasn’t in view this way. “I hear, Rro-maa,” Sso-ngii said. “What is your wish?”
    â€œDoes Pegasus know where the planet is we’re heading for? Can it sense it, I mean, from here?”
    The Tampy’s face was unreadable, as usual. “I do not know,” he whined. “I know space horses can see many distant stars and solid objects within telekene range; that is all.”
    â€œYeah,” Roman grunted, annoyed despite the fact he’d half expected that answer. One of the more maddening Tampy characteristics was their steadfast and muleheaded refusal to ever speculate aloud unless and until they had absolute proof one way or the other. Pressing Sso-ngii on the