Two hours earlier, the C.S.S. Dryden had killed its rotation, moving for the first time in fifteen days back to zero-gee. An hour earlier, the last course change had been implemented, bringing the ship into as close a direct vector with the target planet of Arachne as possible. And now, with five minutes remaining on the clock, the bright red mass-line had finally appeared at the center of the helmtank and was beginning its leisurely stretch toward the edge.

They were almost there. Almost to Arachne… and the Tampies who would be waiting for them.

Captain Haml Roman gazed at the mass-line a moment longer, wishing one last time that someone else’s ship could have been tapped for this mission.

Appearances and assurances apart, the outcome was about as much in doubt as Arachne’s orbit, and it soured his stomach to have to be part of the charade. But neither the Senate nor the Admiralty had ever been in the habit of asking his opinion on such matters. Probably just as well.

Four minutes to go. Reaching over to his intercom board, Roman keyed for his passenger’s cabin; but even as he did so the door to Roman’s right slid open and Ambassador Pankau floated onto the bridge. “Captain.” he nodded, giving himself a push that sent him gliding across the bridge in Roman’s direction. “We have an ETA yet?”

“I was just about to call you, Mr. Ambassador,” Roman nodded back, wondering distantly how Pankau managed to maintain that stiff dignity of his even while floating like a child’s balloon across the room. “We’ll be making breakout in just under four minutes.”

Pankau caught the back of Roman’s chair to stop his momentum and set his feet firmly into one of the vel-grip patches in the deck. “How long to Arachne from there?”

“Shouldn’t be more than a few hours. Maybe less, depending on how close in we get before breakout.”