Starbridge by A. C. Crispin Read Free Book Online

teeth, and brushed her black bangs off her forehead. "Bless you, sweetie. After staying up for most of two nights running, my eyes are closing no matter what I do. But if I drink any more coffee, I'll have to slosh my way to the head."
    They had sat, exchanging desultory comments, for about forty- five minutes, when Joan Atwood approached. "How much longer till Uncle Raoul's limit?"
    Mahree asked anxiously.
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    "Five minutes," Joan said. "I'll be glad to put this craziness behind us and get back on course."
    "Aren't you disappointed?" the girl asked, unable to fathom how her aunt could remain so unconcerned.
    "Hell no. I thought this entire thing was a bunch of malarkey from the beginning, and I told Raoul so. We picked up the last hiccup of a dying star or something." She leaned over to flip off the automatic recording device.
    "Guess I might as well begin dismantling the long-range scanners."
    "But the time's not up!" Mahree protested, knowing it was silly. What difference can five minutes make?-- but she couldn't bear to let her aunt call off the search with even a minute left. This had been their chance to be special. Her one chance, probably--and it was slipping away even as she watched. Her throat tightened. "Please, Aunt Joan! Don't!"
    "Four minutes is going to make a difference? Don't be silly, hon." The older woman switched off the audio receiver, then the flight recorder.
    "Well ..." Yoki got up from her station. "If you're going to take it apart, I'm going to make a run to the head. My kidneys are floating."
    "Go ahead," Joan replied, walking back to her station to take down her tool kit. "You can bring me back a cup of--"
    "Look!" Mahree shrieked, leaping up and pointing at the screen. "There it is!
    That orange wavelength!"
    Both women bolted back to the console.
    "Where?" they demanded.
    "It was only there for a couple of seconds, this time, but I swear it was the same!" Mahree looked up at her aunt, and what she saw in the older woman's expression made her protest, half hysterically, "It was there, dammit! You have to believe me! I saw it! We can't stop searching now!"
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CHAPTER 3
Needle in a Spacestack
    Dear Diary:
    I cry when I get mad, and as I sit here keying this, tears are pouring down my face. I have never been so outraged!
    Tonight I got up and sat out the last of Yoki's watch with her. And, while everyone's back was turned, I saw a transmission blip cross the screen! I know I did! But they don't believe me. Aunt Joan didn't exactly call me a liar, but I could tell she was thinking it. She did suggest that two nearly sleepless nights had made us all edgy and ripe for hallucinating things that weren't there.
    Dammit, I did see that blip!
    It's not that nobody believed me, exactly ... Rob did. Of course, he's hardly impartial. I had to fight back the tears in the control room when Uncle Raoul, Jerry, Paul, then Rob came in. All of them looked at me so gently, so sympathetically . . .
    At least Uncle Raoul ordered Jerry to program a search pattern around the coordinates I'd noted on the screen (when I thought to look for them, that is, which was a full second or two after the blip had already disappeared). And, even more important, he ordered the long-range watch extended until midnight tonight. I can tell he's really hoping we find something--not like Joan and Simon.
    "I've got it!" Jerry announced. "Look at that!"
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    "What?" Every occupant of the control cabin rushed over to the communications console. Rob, who'd been dozing in the copilot's seat, swung down so abruptly that he banged his shin on the footrests. He swore as he limped over to join the others.
    Across the darkness filling the holo-tank, orange zigzags crawled. Jerry switched on the audio and deep yips interspersed with static and electronic squeals filled the bridge. "Get a directional reading!" Rob demanded. "Can we cross-vector with the original one?"
    "Give me a minute!" Jerry's fingers flew over the board.
    "Is the recorder on? Are