Ghost Ship, page 34
Uncle sighed, remembering the murdered ship scattered on the drifted snow and across the wind-swept rocky plain outside, and wondered if, indeed, the pilot would have chosen this, had he known.
He wondered, but recalled that the pilot had not come here to smile, as much as he may have expected to die, but that he’d come to—
No manual control reacted to his demands, none to the remote he’d built so many years before.
Yes, of course. The lighting and other such housekeeping protocols were powered by the planet’s seasons, and they would go on, but the weapons and devices of Pod 78, those were in fact not merely disabled by automatics—the controls were severed from their aims. The brain of it was gone, the very links from controls to devices had been physically eliminated.
Pod 78 was useless.
He considered that, realized it might not quite be the case. Perhaps some of the pod’s devices might be salvaged; certainly in the long run of time they should not be permitted to be discovered for what they might tell an ardent investigator. A project to be added to his years ahead.
But there, this man of Korval had done what he had come to do, and perhaps that was what the smile meant—he had succeeded at his last task.
Well.
In the interest of thoroughness, he bent once more, placed his fingers against the pulse point in the throat—and straightened, snatching the comm from his belt, finger on the call button.
“Dulsey,” he said in answer to her inquiry. “I need a field ’doc. Immediately.”
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
Sharon Lee; Steve Miller, Ghost Ship
