The Captain followed the outstretched hand, raised the spyglass to his eyes, focused in on the narrow strip of hazy brown emerging between sea and sky, and said with palpable relief in his voice, "Finally."
"You won't be a Captain anymore, once we make landfall. They'll break up the ship for shelter and firewood," observed Father Ordry.
"No one will be happier than I, Father, that I may lay down the burden of these long months," the Captain said, spyglass trembling in his hand. "No one."
I set up the slingshot maneuver before I'd even seen him, to use the planet's gravity well to change my course and pick up speed out towards 82 G Eridani, and there he was, only a few ∆V from my current escape orbit. It's just good luck.
I adjusted my track, I released a ball-bearing packet, I adjusted again, and I cloaked.
He'll never see me. I'll be a barely perceptible shimmer below him, skimming fast just above the atmosphere, when the cloud of ball bearings hit him like a close-range shotgun blast. I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
It's hot, dry land. To get anything to grow here, you've got to water it in blood and sweat, ain't nothing living coming up by virtue of just the rain. The sweat's easy, with the fat sun overhead. It's the blood that's hard to come by.
Used to be a highway come through just on the other side of the butte, but the government widened it, straightened it, moved it far to the East. Don't know if missing persons reports had any bearing on the decision. Now we've got to travel hours just to find people to take, to bleed.
