He Who Dares: Book Three Read Online Free

couldn’t blame them, they had to go by the regulations in this case after the stink of their fly-by stunt. On other things, like his age, they turned a blind eye.
    “Sierra-Whisky-Gulf 893, you are cleared to maneuver out of the harbor. Hold at point Tango for outbound traffic.”
    Mike cut his undocking time in half, and as it was late at night, there was little or no traffic in the harbor to worry about, not that he didn’t take care. He skimmed the Old Lady across the still water a point or two above the legal limit. If the Harbor Patrol saw him, they didn’t squawk him or light up the night with flashing blue lights. Mike suspected they wouldn’t, not with the urgency at hand.
    “Shit!” He muttered to himself.
    “What?” Gramps asked, looking up from the control board at his screen in the engine room.
    “I can see the Titan, Samson , and the Lady Penelope taking off ahead of us.”
    “Yeah, I expected that once the news got out.” Across the dark waters of Christchurch harbor, Mile could see the white water, and navigation lights of the three tugs all heading into orbit ahead of him.
    “Maybe we should break off, Gramps. There's no way we can get ahead of them.”
    “Luck favors the bold, my son. Never say die.”
    “I know, ‘it’s not over till the fat lady sings’,” hearing Gramps chuckle.
    They reached point Tango and waited for their clearance, and the moment they got it, Mike piled on the power. They were airborne in a matter of seconds, climbing as hard as he could push her, and leaving the AG footprint rooster tail far behind. Even Gramps looked up from his board, but said nothing.
    “Orbital Center, this is Sierra-Whisky-Gulf 893 requesting clearance for an orbital insertion.”
    “Sierra-Whisky-Gulf 893, be advised, I have heavy traffic in the pattern at the moment. Remain at present altitude and heading.”
    “Copy that, Orbital Center.” Mike tapped his board, opening up the search volume around the Prometheus to the max. In all he counted eight tugs heading into orbit as a high rate of knots.
    “Looks like a bloody tug convention up here.” Gramps said, nodding at his repeater screen in the engine room.
    “Sierra-Whisky-Gulf 893, I have an orbital insertion vector for you, stand by for download.”
    “Copy, Orbital Center, standing by for download now.”
    In moments their course for insertion and flight path heading out to the gas giant appeared on his board. Mike’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead realizing this was an even bigger emergency than they were letting on. From the look of the data from Orbital Center, they wanted every deep space tug on the scene as soon as possible. Boosting up and out into the black, Mike took the Old Lady out of the atmosphere and into orbit in less than half a rotation.
    “Sierra-Whisky-Gulf 893, be advised, all inbound traffic is now diverted from your and the other tugs’ flight paths. You have a clear run, and no speed restrictions to your destination.”
    “Thank you, Orbital Center. I copy that.”
    Mike spooled up the inertial compensators up to max, hearing them climb up to a deep rumble. He could feel the massive generator through the soles of his space boots, making him feel at home. Setting the rad and micrometer shield to 90%, he pushed the power bar to its stops and watched the gravities climb upward. They reached fifty G’s, but it did nothing to close the gap between them and the other tugs racing outward.
    “Want to bet some of those buggers will turn back before we are half way there?”
    “No bet, Gramps, I know they will, the Titan is just too fast.” He sighed. “The question is, why did we bother coming?”
    “You can never tell, son, we might just be needed to haul in some life pods, or something.”
    “Damn all credits in that, just a lot of good will.” He muttered to himself.
    “One day you might just be thankful that an old tug like this was around to haul your sorry ass in if you found yourself adrift in a