Derelict For Trade

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Except for the bleep from the computer consoles and the occasional rapid tick of keys, the control deck of the Solar Queen was silent.

Dane Thorson watched the tall, panther-lean man in the command pod, and felt his guts tighten.

Captain Jellico’s gaze stayed on the constantly changing displays and readouts on his console. His face was emotionless, as always, but the subtle signs of tension were there to be read in the whiteness of the blaster scar on his cheek, and the taut muscles of his back.

At the astrogation console Steen Wilcox leaned forward, his fingers working steadily as he coaxed displays and readouts from his navputer—numbers that flickered so fast across the displays they were incomprehensible to Dane.

But Dane didn’t have to be able to interpret them. As assistant cargo master, he had no job right now. He had squeezed into the back of the cramped control deck only because he couldn’t just sit in his cabin, like his senior, Jan Van Ryke, or in the mess with the steward, Frank Mura, and the medic Craig Tau. Dane was not able to play a game of cards like those two, apparently ignoring the tension gripping the ship—nor did he have Van Ryke’s unflappable attitude toward life. Dane knew they were in danger, perhaps the worst they’d faced yet, and he had to face danger straight on.

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