17 December 2013


I braced in the small space behind and between the pilot's and navigation couches.

I knew I should be in a couch myself, but there was no station for me to man.  Every once and a while I could actually feel acceleration as the utility grav system strained to keep up with the inputs from the controls as Hamilton pushed the old picket ship as hard as the systems would take.   It suddenly hit me why all pilots sounded bored when doing the everyday routine ship-handling.  Compared to what he was doing now, it was like reading about sex...  I'd never ask why we didn't just let the computer fly the ship again.

He was surrounded by the holo-display giving him an all around field of view.  I could see we were maneuvering because the orientation lines would rotate and spin in response to the sometimes violent movement of the controls.

Occasionally Dahveeie, our navigator, would relay a quiet reminder about a vector or obstacle as we made ourselves a more elusive target.

But the art was to her right.

He'd explained it to me once, or tried, it was like explaining color to the blind.

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