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voice speak inwhat she could call a normal tone.) "And Booda's ass, man!
You're supposed tobe Mate on this ship! You're not sitting in that chair
to stop it fromfloating away! Earn your pay! If the computrician misses
a reading, back 'erup! Today! Not next year!" The brief silence was
punctuated by athroat-rumbling, disgust-filled, "Damn!" The growl and
the disgust belonged toone Captain Bogar Kokudza. Known throughout the
spaceways as the BogeyMan-along with a long list of other nicknames that
usually began withexpletives. Short and stocky, Bogar's age was seventy-
five years-ess, all butfifteen spent on the decks of spacers. He. looked
twice that. And five timesas mean (which he was). He was known for
riding his crew and pushing his shipsbeyond their operational envelope.
He was also good. Damned good. Which waswhy Lizina had hired him.
Officially Bogar had listed as Windrammer's captain.
He wasn't. He was a no-nonsense, hard-nosed, unrelenting training
officer thatdrilled and grilled the spacer's crew like a man obsessed.
Lizina had givenhim two weeks to turn her and her untrained crew into
spacefarers. Bogarintended to do just that, or kill them trying. Two
weeks was all he had. Atthe end of that time. 101 his own ship-a big
spacer-was to be released fromdrydock after a series of modifications
and systemry updates. "Ten kloms out,"
Chane called to his captain-in-training. Lizina hit the forward
maneuveringrockets. Wind-rammer's momentum decreased to point-oh-five.
"Bring it down topoint-oh-one! We want to dock, not jar Panishport out
of orbit!" Bogar's growlburned down the back of her neck. "Oh-five is
standard docking procedure!"
Lizina protested. "Some would call a quick wham-bam 'standard love-
makingprocedure'!" Bogar snarled in instant reply. "But if it's slow and
gentle,
it's a hell of a lot more satisfying. Bring it down to point-oh-one\"
Lizinadid. Windrammer's prow gently slipped into the waiting maw of the
dockingberth. A metallic clang rang through the ship as cradling collars
locked aboutthe hull. "Systemry check," Lizina called out, and she toed
open intrashipcomm. One by one Windrammer's crew reported fully
functional systemry. Lizinaswitched off each system. Her ship now lay
sleeping, safely tucked in itsberth. She swiveled around to face Bogar.
He sucked at his lips and shook hishead. "You forgot your cargo check
with the port authority." "Windrammerdoesn't carry cargo." Lizina stood
and stretched. Every muscle in her bodyached. She felt as if she had
been hunched over the con for a week instead of
a mere hour. "All ships carry cargo, even the liners. Especially
privatespacers. It costs to sail the Tachyon Trail. A pleasure craft can
makeexpenses by hauling cargo. Get on the comm and see what's
available." Bogarjabbed a stubby finger toward the console. 102 Lizina's
lips opened toprotest. She swallowed her words (and pride) before they
were formed. Dammit!
He's right! He's always right! And, yes, there was a shipment of
medicalequipment that needed to be jumped tpdlanatia in two days. Lizina
took theconsignment. "We make our next long flight in two days then,"
Bogar said when
she turned back to him. "In the meanwhile, we practice. We'll pop out a
fewthousand kloms, maneuver, bring Windrammer back in. Then do it
overagain." "Do it again and again and again until we get it right,"
Chane saidunder his breath. Bogar's coal-black eyes cut to the young
man. "You're doingit right, now! Space don't allow wrong! Those who do
it the wrong way aredead! Now you're going to learn to do it perfectly!
