Jerry Pournelle - King David's Spaceship

“Mass,” Kleinst corrected. “We needed a pilot who had experience in no gravity. Of those few available, Freelady Graham and I mass the least. I was needed on other duties.”

“And what’s your plan now?” Jefferson demanded.

“There is a transmitter aboard,” Kleinst said. “When the ship achieves orbit it will be turned on to provide a signal so that Prince Samual’s Hope can be located in space. We had hoped your ship would be able to assist.”

“No reentry capability, “Jefferson said.

Kleinst looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded. “Correct. We were unable to provide for a return from orbit within the time limits available.’’

“And you call that a spaceship?” Jefferson demanded.

King David had been listening quietly. “That, I think, is a matter to be discussed between your superiors and my advisors, is it not, Lieutenant? Prince Samual’s Hope has carried one of my officers to space. Does that not make it a spaceship?”

“Don’t answer,” Greenaugh’s voice said. “Don’t even discuss the matter with them! ”

“Yes, sir,"Jeff said.

He tried to remember Mary Graham’s face, but he couldn’t. It had been too long ago that he inspected the Makassar party. She’s one hell of a lady, Jeff thought. I wouldn’t have got in that gunpowered coffin for an earl’s coronet. Hope she makes it.

He turned and like the others stared at the empty indigo skies.

The ship rose in fire and thunder.

Mary Graham lay on the leather-strip couch, unable to move, her face drawn into a rictus grin by the acceleration. Despite the couch and its shock mountings, the vibration was fierce. She felt sharp, stabbing pains in her abdomen.

For all that, she felt better than she had while she was waiting for the launch. That had been a time of real terror, an hour stretched into years of waiting and wondering and remembering.

You wanted to be important, she told herself. Well, lassie, you’ve managed that, if you haven’t got yourself killed. But I wish it didn’t hurt so.

The noise gradually died away as the ship rose above the atmosphere. The vibration was no better, and the acceleration continued to increase. With the cannon’s roar muted she heard other sounds. The clatter of the feed mechanism pushing an endless stream of heavy shells into the rotary feed hopper. The steady whirr of the big gyros. Clicking sounds as punched steel ribbons fed through the clockwork mechanism. The ribbons controlled the gear mechanism that controlled the gyros; they might call her a pilot, but she knew better. Those steel ribbons were the actual pilot, and she was no more than a passenger.

How long does this go on? I can’t stand a lot more of it. What am I doing here?

Finishing a job.

Maybe. And maybe not. Even if I live through this, there’s no guarantee the Empire will accept this thing as a real spaceship. But it’s all we have, and they certainly

wouldn’t accept it if there were no passengers at all. Somebody had to ride Prince Samual’s Hope, and she was the most logical choice. Young, strong, with experience in space…

It had made a lot of sense at the time she proposed the idea. First to Kleinst, then to Malcolm Dougal. She hadn’t convinced Nathan, but there hadn’t been much he could do to stop her. She wasn’t married to him yet.

Would she ever be? Did he want her? He’d been furious, and could he live with someone he couldn’t control? That’s silly, he’s known since Makassar, and he’s always wanted me as much as I wanted him, and O God, do I want him now.

She felt dizzy, and the acceleration and vibration increased constantly. She couldn’t open her eyes.

O God, make it stop!

She woke to silence and the sensation of falling. The silence wasn’t complete. The gyros continued to whirr, but the cannon was silent. She unbuckled the straps holding her to the couch.

Her body ached. Not just the dull ache she’d expected from the acceleration. This was stabbing pain, pain so intense it was like a bright red veil across her eyes, pain all through her lower abdominal region, pain made worse when she touched herself or moved her legs.

I’ve got to get up. I’ve got to turn on that — transmitter. Or what Kleinst called a transmitter. Nothing like the box Lieutenant Farr kept at Navy House in Jikar.

But first I’ve got to know. Are we in orbit, or -

She floated to the viewport. A river of stars swung past, then Prince Samual’s World. The ship was rolling, not fast enough to create artificial gravity, but definitely rolling.

Once each minute her world was below. Not a whole world, only a large disc. She wedged her head against the port and waited, cautiously experimenting with her legs to see if she could find a position that might alleviate the pain even a little.

Gradually she detected motion. She was moving across the Major Sea, and if anything she was drawing away from Prince Samual’s World.

Later she’d get out the sextant and take angles, but it looked good. The Hope was in orbit. Maybe. Time for the transmitter. She pushed away from the port and over to the bulkhead. The transmitter was nothing but a vibrator, some coils, and a gap across which a fat electrical spark jumped when she pressed the keys.

Dit dit dit. Dah dah dah. Dit dit dit. Which stood for S.O.S., which stood for something so ancient that no one knew what it might be. Did the Empire still use S.O.S. as a distress signal? The First Empire had. Longway was certain of it. So why wouldn’t the present day Imperials?

Not that it mattered a lot. The Empire knew she was there. Nathan had arranged that. Their observer would tell the Imperial Navy ship all about her. She wound the clockwork that controlled the spark gap. An endless tape fed through it. Dit dit dit. Dah dah dah. Dit dit dit. A thick wire from the spark gap led through insulators to a mess of fused quartz, through that to outside the ship. She tried to imagine the signal going through space, reaching out to Tombaugh. Dit dit dit. Dah dah dah. Dit dit dit.

Now they’d hear it and come get her-

But there was nothing to do but wait, and time passed slowly.

If only I didn’t hurt so bad. We didn’t expect this. What’s wrong with me? Acceleration? Vibration? Something awful. God, it hurts …

Gradually, though, the pain lessened. It wasn’t as bad if she stayed curled into a tight ball. She pushed herself to the couch and drew a strap loosely across herself and lay there.

Time passed slowly. There was a counter on the tape mechanism driving the transmitter. Not a very accurate clock, but the best she had. It told her that thirty minutes had gone by. She stretched her legs experimentally. Not too bad. Painful, but she could stand it. And there was something wrong with the gyros. Batteries weakening. They were slowing down.

If they slowed enough, she’d have to try to control the ship herself. There were big wooden levers by one of the ports, and she could use them to control the jets mounted in a ring around the ship. If they didn’t run out of peroxide for the jets, she might be able to control tumbling. She hoped she wouldn’t have to. Kleinst wasn’t sure she — or anyone else — could do it by eye with nothing but the viewports to guide her.

The stars were still rolling past, first the stars, then Prince Samual’s World. The ship was rolling, but it wasn’t tumbling yet. She wondered if she should cancel the roll motion. Kleinst hadn’t been sure about that. It might be difficult, and the Empire surely had ways to stabilize the ship.

No, damn it, she thought. We’ll do as much of this ourselves as we possibly can. She took off the cords that held the control levers in place, and experimentally moved one of them. There was a subdued sound, more a rushing than a roar, and the stars swung more slowly.