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"But..." came her rational tones from behind, "...we’ll be going back through time---not forwards."
"Aha! Do you fear we’ll be forced to recapitulate history? Do you imagine we’ll need to live through another feudal age and Communism before we reach where we are today?"
"I said no such thing! Imagining such things is the job of our Planning Officer."
"Imagination, a job? How neatly you prove Zolnerovich’s point."
Milan caught hold of the final rung, at the intersection corridor before Phys/Chem Lab 1.
"I mean, he’ll see to it that we don’t become feudal or totalitarian."
"Oh, old Villecur’ll give it his all. He’ll have the Galactica in orbit to point at, won’t he?"
A vertical shaft descended through the decks nearby: one of the free-fall ‘elevators.’ Out of it popped a shuttle pilot, in her yellow serge zipper-suit. Gripping a rung, she saluted.
"Never mind the formalities. Hurry up!" Milan turned to Ila, now clinging close behind him. "You see! I didn’t find a mouse gumming up the works, but I found a shuttle pilot out of station." The pilot was already floating swiftly toward Phys/Chem. "Oh, and speaking of the Galactica up in the sky, wouldn’t it be funny we kind of regressed---and ended up worshipping it, as a symbol of power in the heavens? Praying to it for rain?"
"How you ever passed screening for this command, I’ll never know," said Ila in amazement.
"Maybe it takes a crazy man to command Russia's first redstar, yes?" Milan patted the little box in his pocket. "Most sorry, Ila, but it's just that I'm a little nervous. Just like you were on our wedding night, if you remember."
She sniffed. "Weddings? Hah! Those happy events will have to wait until sometime after we establish our colony."
"I'll make it a standing order that every female crewmember steer clear of Starbach, then. The handsome bastard will probably try to lock up all the women in a breeding harem for the first ten generations."
"I think he knows better than that! You know damn well our colony can’t function properly without active participations by all female personnel. I, for example, will become a Land Surveyor as soon as I stop being Astrogator."
"You certainly won't become a comedienne." Milan pushed through into Phys/Chem 1, catching hold of the mass spectrometer to search the lab for any flasks of acid poised to crash into the walls whenever acceleration surged. None were, fortunately. Three chemists in black and silver tunics were buckled in their seats.
"Good, good," he said vaguely. Feeling vindicated, he thrust back through the hatch, and deliberately bumped into Ila. Gripping her momentarily, he whispered, "We must preserve the comedy gene. Other planets, other jokes!"303Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmG4MmdZvy7
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When they arrived back on the bridge, Feofil Tig seemed to have satisfied himself that the resonometer was working properly in full harmony with all his other gauges: the temporal symptomometer, retardograph, horologe, horometer, isocalendar and datascope.
"Drive and attitude jets primed for instant firing," reported Tasha Ringkels, while Milan and Ila buckled themselves into their padded bucket seats. Ideally, these jets shouldn’t need to be fired instantly, but there was always a microscopic chance that the ship might emerge from the Flux on collision course with something, an asteroid, the photosphere of a sun, whatever.
"Okay, Feofil, beat all hands to quarters."
A klaxon hooted through the ship half a dozen times.
"Is the P.A. system patched through to Motherland?"
"Da. You may speak now."
Milan flicked on his chin mike. "This is Commander Adamavich of the first redstar, Galactica, calling Ground Control Station. At your word we’re ready to proceed out into the unknown cosmos."
Crackle-crackle…
Ground Control in Siberia delivered a short, uplifting speech to which Milan presently replied in kind, wishing that he could lift up a glass of vodka to toast the mission. There were certainly not going to be any distillery specialists among the colonists.
"…. Ground Control transferring control to Galactica. Launch when ready."
Actually, Ground Control had controlled nothing since the last supply drone left. Milan flipped off his mike for a moment.
"We have just become an independent state, my people."
"The Republic of Galactica," Ila said sternly.
He reactivated his mike. "This is Commander Adamavich. Secure yourselves! We go into the Flux in exactly five minutes from now. Our first time-jump will carry us one hundred and fifty-seven light years. This should bring us to within three light months of a target star which has already been verified from Earth by telescope as ‘promising.’ According to the scientists this jump should seem quasi-instantaneous, which I gather is their way of saying that it might seem to occupy several minutes. Once we emerge, keep in mind that it’ll take us several hours of work to confirm the presence of an Earth-type planet. And if there isn’t one, off we’ll jump again. Let’s hope it’s ‘first time lucky.’ Good luck to us all!" And off with the mike.
