Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
I could navigate my way around the Imperium Galaxy well enough with the use of Space Gates, but I couldn’t do Cross-Dimensional Navigation to save my fucking life. My brain simply didn’t have the capacity to see the obstacles lurking around the various stable worm holes because of the distortion field thrown by the worm holes’ gravitational fields. Someone who could see past those distortions was a rare and talented individual.
Yorrin, my pilot, was already at his station. As a Talon’teen Monk, he only piloted in order to spread the Gospel of his God, Amok the Lover of All, to the known universe. He accepted no pay for his services and always wore a baggy gray yernba skin robe and hardened leather sandals on his three-toed feet.
He was the best pilot I had ever had and the only crew member allowed to abstain from wearing the standard uniform of black trousers, black boots, and a fitted black top with long sleeves and a white collar and cuffs. That was because his hairy skin was sensitive and prone to getting rashes if he wore anything but yernba skin. And if there’s anything that smells worse than an infected rash on a Holbub, which was Yorrin’s species, I don’t know what it is.
Well, maybe Gurflug smelled worse—it was a definite possibility. I side stepped away from the big Galafruxian and took a deep breath of clean air the minute we left the lift. Being cooped up with him was going to be no joke if I gave him the navvie job—he really was going to have to shower.
“Greetings Captain Turk,” Yorrin said graciously, nodding his shaggy head at me. Some have compared his species—the Holbubs of Forkin Prime—to an animal from Old Earth called a “sloth.” I had looked up a picture once and agreed with the assessment. Yorrin was soft-spoken and calm at all times, which was one reason he was such a good pilot, especially if we got into a sticky situation and had to lose an Imperium tail. He never panicked—he just did his job and did it well.
“Greetings, Yorrin,” I said. “These two are here to apply for the navvie gig,” I added, nodding at Gurflug and the boy.
“Ah yes, greetings, my friends. May the peace of Amok be upon you.” Yorrin nodded his shaggy head at them both calmly. “I thought you only had one candidate to consider, Captain,” he said, rising from the pilot’s station. Moving in his slow, careful way, he came to stand beside me.
“I did, but then this young pup came asking for a trial,” I said, nodding at the boy. “Says he’s got no blind spots,” I added.
Yorrin’s bushy brown eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“No blind spots? That’s impossible,” he said.
“That’s what I was trying to tell your Captain,” Gurflug burbled indignantly. “And yet he insisted on letting this little snot come along.”
I studied the boy to see if he would get angry but he kept his cool.
“I can prove my claim,” he said, lifting his chin. “Ask me to plot a course to anywhere—I can do it.”
“All right,” I said. “We’ll try you both. Who wants to go first?”
“I do!” The boy’s hand shot up, as though we were in school. I couldn’t help thinking that it probably wasn’t long since he had been a pupil. He was clearly of age—but only just barely. Why, he still didn’t even have the faintest trace of whiskers on his chin—his skin looked a smooth and soft as a baby’s.
“Fine, you can go first,” I said to him.
“No—I should go first,” Gurflug demanded. “I am the senior navigator here!”
And without further ado, he wedged himself into the padded nav chair and grabbed the navigator’s helmet. He adjusted the silver band rapidly and then shoved it down over his temples and closed his eyes in concentration.
I don’t usually tolerate a subversion of my orders, but the big bastard wasn’t under my control…yet.
“All right,” I said, grimly holding on to my temper. “Plot me a course to the Triplex Cluster—that’s where we’re going.”
We watched on the viewscreen as a star map appeared along with the wormholes all marked in different hues. The distortion around them was strong—they looked like blurs of indistinct color to me. The colors ran and bled because of the distortion field, hiding any possible pitfalls or dangers in the direct vicinity of the wormhole entrances and exits.
But despite the fact that the wormholes were nothing but smears of color on the screen, it was clear that Gurflug knew what he was doing.
In just ten minutes, he had plotted a route with only seven jumps that got us from the Imperium Galaxy to the outer edge Triplex Cluster. I had to admit—I was impressed.
When he was finished, the big Galafruxian took off the nav band and looked at me triumphantly.