Tyger Bright by T.C. McCarthy

Author:T.C. McCarthy [McCarthy, T.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Baen Books
Published: 2021-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Win vomited into a vacuum line. The hose had popped from the ceiling and he pressed the mask against his face while suppressing a scream; all his muscles had cramped. Cryo sleep hadn’t agreed with his biochemistry and both hands erupted in pain when he moved them, forcing the fingers to disconnect the chem-tubes one at a time, their ends glinting in the cabin’s light and reminding him of malaysian susuks—charm needles. He threw up twice more during the process and then hit the button to open the chamber, allowing him to spill out and into his quarters. Soon the compound he’d been given to handle sustained high-g acceleration wore off, leaving him with a sensation that he’d been converted into a deflated balloon.

Win knew their route would have taken them in a line that passed through the hydrogen-rich atmosphere of countless gas giants, a delicate mathematical operation that had to ensure more fuel was taken on than was lost in such a massive gravity well. And maybe there had been one or two water runs. Something tugged at Win’s mind; he was supposed to do something when cryo ended.

Get to the ashram . . .

Win struggled into his undersuit. In this weakened state he would never have been able to do it on Earth; weightlessness was a gift. By the time he’d wrestled the armored servo harness out of its locker and squeezed into it, he had a chance to look at the chronometer and froze. He double-checked and hit the button telling it to resync with the ship’s clock, but the answer didn’t change.

Almost a full two years. Gone. Anything could have happened on Earth during such a long period, and Win wondered how much he’d missed during transit. The exit into the corridor outside raised even more questions; Win emerged to see a group of crewmen shackled together, some of them unconscious with head wounds that trailed beads of dark blood and smears of red now covered the previously pristine walls. Three Marines guided the prisoners. Each of them held Maxwell carbines and one saluted to Win, the maneuver tricky in zero g.

“Morning, sir.”

“What happened?”

“We had orders to round up these ones after cryo. Some of them resisted.”

The confusion threatened to make Win nauseous again and he sped in the opposite direction, trying to recall the way to the ashram. His memory resisted. Win saw his recollections as if they’d been dipped in fog that he wiped off before calming his nerve endings, willing his head to stop pounding. By the time he reached the ashram, the communication station was already buzzing and Win paused to look through the glass dome. Wherever they were, the Higgins was alone in empty space, with only distant stars as companions and no sign of the other ships. He grabbed the handset.

“We were out for two years, Zhelnikov. When I woke up, Marines had detained a bunch of the crew.”

“You were out for two years, Win. I came out of cryo a couple of times to oversee things and make sure we came out on top.

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