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I believe we took four days or more to reach our destination passing from the Arabian Sea into the Persian Gulf; the journey was quite uneventful, we spent the days doing very little, looking at the water, playing cards, eating, dozing and listening to even more of Deanna Durbin over the inter-com.
He felt nothing but a vast fatigue, an overwhelming weariness, not so much of body, but of nerve and spirit too. Rip broke the silence with a question aimed at the tech. "Can you signal below?" "Going to give up?" The fellow brightened. "Yes, there's an inter-com I can cut in." Rip stood up. He unbuckled the belt about his waist and laid it on the table disarming himself.
And from all traces he could pick up, they were lost as far as the authorities were concerned. On the other hand, the Patrol might indeed be as far knowing as its propaganda stated and the Queen was running headlong into a trap. Only they had no choice in the matter. It was the ship's inter-com bringing Ali's voice from the engine room which broke the concentration in the control cabin.
"More likely it'd be evidence at our trial for piracy " their words must have reached Ali on the ship's inter-com, for his deflating reply came back, to remind them of why they had made that particular landing. "Do we move now?" "Check first," Rip said into the mike. Dane looked at the visa-plate.
Ali should know " Rip reached for the inter-com mike. "Engines!" "So you are alive?" Ali's voice had a bite in it. "About time you're contacting. Where are we? Besides being lopsided from a recruit's scrambled set-down, I mean." "In the Big Burn. Come top-side. Wait how's Weeks?" "He has a devil's own headache, but he hasn't blacked out yet. Looks like his immunity holds in part.
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