The Contact Episode Three Page 8

  “But for the radar to pass its data on to us, it needs to know our trajectory. When the pirates reach the cargo, they’ll realise what’s up. In their place, I would find the radar and take the data from it. That would give them our coordinates.”

  The Captain shook his head.

  “That’s not important. Say they have obtained our coordinates. They won’t be able to check their reliability. We could have just set another trap for them.

  “Anyway, they have the data, so what? They can’t intercept the cargo themselves; they don’t have either sufficient thrust or a gripping device. Meantime, we shall be a day’s flight away from the cargo.

  “Even if the company make us go after it, we’ll need ten days to catch up with it. It will have reached protected space long before that. The pirates are not such idiots that they would venture in there. They’d be caught there in no time. Not to mention that they’d also have to catch us up and take us by storm. That would take another ten hours, say, and that’s another 100 hours of catch-up flight.”

  “But our ship’s worth quite a bit even without the cargo,” objected one of the crew.

  “Quite a bit, but a lot less than with the cargo. They have less chance of finding us too. They wouldn’t risk it. I wouldn’t risk it in their place.”

  “As I understand it, you’re taking the radar off the ship?” asked the technician.

  “Yes, we’ll have to kiss it goodbye,” replied the engineer.

  “Fitting it to the cargo, calibrating it... Can you manage that on your own?” Kimble asked the engineer.

  “No problem. The servicing robots will help. I’ll leave one on the cargo in case of any cock-up.”

  “Excellent. Do it.”

  ###

  END OF EPISODE THREE

  Episode FOUR is now available on Amazon

  --Diversionary manoeuvre...

  --Inexplicable error in calculations...

  --Confrontation off Jupiter...

  --Dénouement...

  US link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00L9809FI

  Thank you for reading my book. If you liked it please join the mailing list to find out about new releases by sending an email to the address:

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  MY OTHER BOOK:

  Entangled (a short story)

  Aaron has cheated death once more... the heart attack didn’t kill him, just made him contemplative, walking the corridors of his life’s memories. Read Aaron’s incredible journey, written in a comfortably lazy, lyrical style that evokes all the senses – all the tastes, aromas and sweet touches of life.

  Entangled is now available on Amazon for free

  US link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J9GV08M

  (or just search for “Entangled Albert Sartison”)

  An excerpt from “Entangled”:

  Aaron came to, opening his eyes with some difficulty. He could dimly make out the contours of the room. His surroundings lacked any distinct detail, just random grey-coloured silhouettes and strange shapes which, when looked at more closely, merged into familiar objects.

  He tried to raise himself up off the bed to see more but was unable, his arms were not up to the task - his muscles simply refused to do their job. He would have to settle for just moving his eyes. Moving his head also proved impossible. An impotent weakness enveloped his whole body.

  OK. Now he understood. It was a hospital. Aaron had absolutely no memory of how he had ended up there, which meant it had happened again. His doctor had warned him that sooner or later it would happen, and it looked like that time had come. He had had a heart attack. The second in two years.

  Aaron could feel his teeth chattering as if he were freezing to death. But he was well covered, he was warm, so it was not from cold. It had been the same last time. Maybe fear? No, he was not scared of death. The worst was already behind him. The very fact that he was lying in a hospital bed looking at a hospital ward meant that this time around he had survived again. Everyone died at some point, and one day it would be his turn, but not this time. This time he had pulled through.

  In a way, he was already getting used to the thought of his death. After his first heart attack, he had not been himself at all. Back then, the first time round, when he had also come to in a hospital bed, the doctor had told him what had happened and he had almost broken down. He knew that his life would no longer be the same ever again. Tears had run down his ageing, wrinkled cheeks and he had been unable to stop them. This time, however, it was bearable.

  Suddenly, the door swung open and a doctor came into the ward, followed by a nurse. Aaron could barely make out the outlines of the newcomers, but he could distinguish the silhouettes and hear steady footsteps. In a hospital, only the doctors walk with such confidence. The patients are too weak and visitors tread softly, trying not to make too much noise. They practically walk on their tiptoes. The doctors, however, are a different matter. They stomp around like soldiers on parade. Also, he could smell them. A smell that only doctors in white coats give off. Even with his sense of smell, dulled by noxious vapours after forty years in a factory, he could tell them a mile away.

  "Good morning, Aaron! How are you feeling?" said the taller and leaner silhouette. His voice was encouraging. The atmosphere in the ward seemed to lose some of its melancholy and become more welcoming.

  "Sister, would you open the window please? It is a little stuffy," said the doctor.

  Aaron watched the second, smaller silhouette obediently move over to the window, pull at the sash cord and open it with a rattling screech. Noise from the street burst into the ward. The twitter of birds, the conversation of passersby, the clicking of heels on the pavement. After a moment, Aaron could feel the cool air flowing in from outside. First it touched his cheeks, then it blew down his thinning, grey hair to his shoulders, and soon it enveloped him completely, hugging him in a cold embrace that he could feel even through his warm blanket. The chilly freshness was more than welcome. It had a particular smell, which for some reason he always associated with the smell of watermelons.

  Suddenly he saw an image of himself many years before, also springtime, arriving home from work with a bag containing an enormous, stripy watermelon. He had only been married for a short while and he and his wife had just moved into their first apartment together. Their firstborn could already sit up unaided, and Jessica was pregnant with their second. Hearing the front door close, she popped her head around the kitchen door.

  "Ah, it's you. Wash your hands and sit down. Dinner’s on the table already," she said to him, her words coming out in a rush. In one hand she held an empty baby bottle, having only just finished feeding the baby.

  The food was already waiting for him on the table, and there was a wonderful smell rising up from the steaming plate. Jessica rocked their child in her arms. The baby was looking at the enormous watermelon in his father’s arms wide-eyed, as though it was an unknown miracle.

  Aaron washed the stripy fruit, wiped it dry and took out a large knife. No sooner had he sunk the knife through the thick skin when a crack appeared along the back of the watermelon. The small kitchen was immediately filled with its aroma, an aroma that was the very essence of freshness. He cut off a small slice and tasted it.

  "How sweet it is. The baby will love it. Do you want some?" he asked his wife.

  "Go on then."

  He cut two pieces from the very middle and carefully removed all the seeds, then gave one to Jessica and held the other out to his son. He opened his mouth obediently and Aaron fed him a piece. The boy ate the juicy fruit noisily and happily. As he chewed, he looked at both his parents in wonderment.

  "Do you like it, my little teddy bear?"

  Their teddy bear reached out towards the table where the fragrant watermelon sat.

  "You want some more?"

  The child laughed. It would hav
e been impossible for him not to have liked the sweet delicacy. Aaron cut another piece. They stood like that in the small kitchen and watched as their tiny little son ate watermelon for the first time in his life. Aaron hugged Jessica from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and stroking her stomach. In her seventh month of pregnancy, she was gradually starting to look like a watermelon. And that is what he called her - my little watermelon.

  Jessica came up with the nickname herself. Six months ago when they had been planning their holiday, Aaron had not been able to get time off at the beginning of the summer as he had wanted, only nearer the end. His wife was already pregnant, so did not like the idea of having their holiday three months later than planned.

  "I'll be bobbing about in the sea like a watermelon," she’d said at the time, and Aaron had laughed, imagining what she was going to look like. It really had been funny, and her description proved to be spot on.

  Now, however, he was standing embracing his wife and looking at their son. Jessica tilted her head back slightly and her brown hair brushed against his face. He could smell her hair and feel the warmth of her body. And in her arms their first son sat quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from the watermelon. Aaron knew he would remember this moment for the rest of his life.

  * * *

  US link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J9GV08M

  Albert Sartison, 2014