This might be amusing, Ian thought lightly. They must be harmless.
"Ian, I'm getting a printout on the second unit," Shelley said. "It appears to be another ethnic group, it's a Serbo- Croatian Nationalist Liberation Unit."
Serbo-Croatians? Hell, even he was stumped by that.
He looked across at Ellen. "Amaze me and tell me that you know Serbo-Croatian, or whatever it is they speak over there."
"I'd like to lie, but I never even heard of Serbo- Croatian."
Ian didn't answer. He'd let them think that he knew all about them. He took over the data board from Shelley and accessed into their own library and into the library from 287 to find an answer.
After a half hour of silent study, he came to his conclusions. " Stasz, how about firing up our drive and getting us the hell out of here."
"What do you mean?" Richard interjected. "Hell, we're only a thousand kilometers away and closing. Come on, Ian, let's check these ethnic guys out-it might be interesting."
"Look, I'm the historian and the project leader. Trust me. Those Albanians and Serbo-Croatians were neighbors back on Earth. In fact, if you go over to that region today, you'll still find them gleefully slicing each other's throats when the sun goes down. They were doing it for a thou sand years before the Holocaust. Hell, those crazy bas tards helped to trigger a world war. If ever there were two groups of people who enjoyed slaughtering each other, it would be those two. I bet that they searched through all the cosmos just to find each other out here, so they could dress up in their ethnic garb and go at it. So let's just leave them alone with their friendly folk customs."
"Come on, Ian, let's go in just a little closer." This time it was Stasz.
"You're playing with fire."
"And here I thought you were turning heroic on us.
Now the old Ian comes back out again," Shelley said jokingly.
"Okay, go ahead, you crazies. But if they can get aboard this ship, you better learn how to speak Serbo or Alba nian, or whatever it is, damn fast."
From less than a kilometer away they slowly circled the two units. The two colonies were docked to each other by several long tubes. Stasz hailed the vessels on every possible frequency but received no response. However, both ships gave clear indications that their reactors were functioning at full power, and from the exterior mirrors Ian could see reflected images of the inside indicating lights and movement.
It was the half-dozen suitless bodies floating between the two ships that finally sobered lan's companions. Suddenly a number of vessels emerged from the Serbo-Croatian ship, and then from the Albanian. Both squad rons started in their direction and Ian's arguments finally took effect.
"I think we better get out of here," Stasz muttered as he punched up the sublight drive and started to pull away from the colonies.
However, after several minutes it soon became clear that their pursuers were gaining on them.
"You see, I told you so," Ian said dejectedly. "You guys wanted to check them out when I told you not to, and now they're going to force us to attend whatever it is they do to each other over there."
"Maybe they're not hostile," Ellen said hopefully.
"Not hostile? Did you see those bodies that had been deep-spaced? That didn't look too civilized to me."
"They're closing in at point twenty-three kilometers per minute," Stasz interrupted. "I'm pushing her to the max now, but it will take me another half hour to plot out our jump and go through purging and adjustment."
"Can't you speed it up?"
"You want to up our chance of disintegration from 1.4 to 20.2 percent?"
"Might not make a difference," Ian replied.
"Say, take a look at that!" Shelley cried, pointing at the aft screen.
A flash had emerged from the lead Albanian pursuit vessel.
"Looks like a primitive rocket," Stasz yelled. "If it's aimed at us, we're dead meat."
The rocket accelerated and within seconds its course was obvious, as it closed on the lead ship in the Serbo- Croatian pursuit squadron. In a noiseless flash of light the Serbo-Croatian craft disintegrated. The other vessels sud denly turned in their pursuit paths, accelerating away at right angles from their original trajectories. Rotating on their axes, they started to fire back.
"Good old rivalry saves our butts," Richard murmured. "Hate each other too much to let the other one get the prize."
More vessels soon emerged from the two colony ships and a major battle was underway. In the confusion the Discovery was soon forgotten, as each side prevented the other from closing in.
"Say, Stasz," Richard asked imploringly, "would you punch us out of here asap?"
Stasz chuckled and recited again the odds of disinte gration with the jump. But the routine somehow did not have the same effect anymore.
"Albania," Ian repeated, shaking his head, bumming a flask from Richard. He headed aft to hide out when the shift hit.
Ian sat alone in the command bay as the others slept, and for a brief moment he was able to enjoy the total solitude that being the only one awake could bring. After nearly five months of voyaging together, each had learned the patterns of behavior that would generate the least amount of friction. Ian found that reversing his circadian cycle gave him the chance to quietly hide in his work when most of the others were asleep. As the Discovery soared across the vastness of empty space, Ian would spend hours in Stasz's couch contemplating the Doppler- distorted images or prowling through the vast accumu lation of data stored in the ship's memory. And Ian finally realized that he was actually happy. In spite of the fears that still haunted him, he was enjoying himself, perhaps for the first time in his life.
First of all the vast and varied responsibilities of Earth. were gone. All concern about rent, budgets, department meetings, and reviews by the Chancellor had vanished. Ian actually felt healthier, and he had to confess that El len's food, even when spiced with her occasional vitriolic tirades, was far better than his bachelor monstrosities. There was something far deeper, as well. For the first time in his life he felt as if he were doing something im portant, not just dreaming about the lives of others long dead. The sense of accomplishment was almost worth the bouts of terror that still assailed him. He found that he was actually learning to manage the nagging self-doubts when he had to make a decision that could be crucial to his survival, let alone the survival of others.
One self-generated disturbance, however, did give him pause for concern. He was experiencing an increasing number of fantasies about Shelley. She had somehow changed. When they had departed, she was still the kid who was playing at being the grownup housekeeper and guardian for a beloved uncle or older neighbor. Ever since the burning he had received from the Governor's daugh ter, Ian had sworn off females in general and young ones in particular. As a college professor he mainly associated with kids twenty years his junior, and he had learned long ago that they were a quick and easy way to a tribunal hearing on a morals charge.
But five months of close proximity was getting a little too much to deal with. He knew that Stasz had absolutely no interest in Ellen's designs but was turning his attention toward Shelley, as well. But the few grab passes offered by the pilot had all resulted in cracked knuckles. So that possibility was out.
At times he thought Shelley was making a direct pass at him, and then again there were times when she seemed just a slightly gawky grad assistant who was trying to be helpful. But more and more of late, he found himself contemplating the tight slacks that Shelley had taken to wearing, and the press of her body against his when they were hovered over the computer display…