“That still leaves a long time frame, potentially,” Iain suggested. “Do you think we can get to this before I’m fifty?”

“How long will that be,” Cygnus asked.

“Twenty years,” Iain told her. “give or take.”

She just turn to him and stared, like he’d just said something incredibly adorable, like a fluffy puppy.

“Oh… you’re so young,” she told him.

“And exactly how old are you?” Iain asked, having noticed her patronizing tone.

Cygnus waved a dismissive hand.

“Never mind that,” she told him. “Let’s go back and start getting this plan in order.”

Maybe it wasn’t going to take twenty years. Cygnus seemed excited enough about finding the way to the shuttlecraft to want to get the plan in gear immediately. Once they were back on the slidewalk, she started up again.

“We have two problems to solve before we can even think about getting on one of those shuttles,” she told him, then tapped a finger on an upraised hand. “One, the Skipper had to be distracted in some way, or we won’t be able to get the bay outer doors open. And when we do, there has to be something out there worthwhile enough to get to.”

A few light years… up until a few weeks ago, that was strictly in the realm of science fiction for Iain. He just nodded.

“We seem to be well above the galaxy,” Iain told her. “When I was defrosted the twins showed me where we were. Up above a galactic arm. Maybe hundreds or even thousands of light years if it was a window and not a screen of some kind.

It had looked pretty real to him.

Cygnus extended her arms and seemed to be feeling the air with her fingers.

“Feels like we’re still in near intergalactic space,” she decided, then lowered her arms back down. “But there’s still plenty of civilizations in the clusters, I remember. And that was some time ago, so they may have spread out a bit. It’s so hard to keep track.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

She paused a moment, expression turning speculative.

“If they haven’t wiped themselves out,” she amended, then turned to him with a smile on her lips. “But let’s not go with glass is completely drunk and smashed on the floor, right? We’ll just have to see what the ship’s trajectory is and what’s close by. We could get lucky.”

“How are we going to find that out?” Iain asked. “Get another look out a window?”

“That probably won’t help,” Cygnus told him. “We’ll probably need a tour of the bridge, get a look at some actual data.”

“How easy is that going to be?” he wanted to know. “I’ve asked Skipper about that. Five times. It never answers.”

“You just have to use the right technique,” Cygnus advised, then went back to that speculative look of hers. “It will depend on how easy Skipper is to seduce.”

“You’re going to seduce the computer program that runs a starship?”

She gave him a look.

“Everything that can think has desires,” she told him with a wink. “Even a synthetic intelligence.”

Iain wasn’t sure how to feel about just how she said that. Weirded out again? Jealous maybe? He wasn’t sure.

When they got back to the cryopod chamber they found an alcove and made out for a while. That eased his budding jealousy, but even afterwards, Iain still found he was concerned.

“It’s not going to be dangerous is it?” he asked. “Tricking the Skipper into giving away that information?”

She patted his cheek, took his hand, then squeezed it.

“Probably not for you,” she said.

“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better,” he told her. “I’m just getting to know you.”

She gave him a smile. For a moment it appeared a little condescending.

“Oh, I doubt I would have lasted this long if I couldn’t outwit a tri-meson brain or two.”

“Again,” Iain couldn’t help asking, “How-?”

She stopped and put a finger on his lips again.

“Hush for now, I’m thinking,” she told him, leaning against a frozen case holding a multi-limbed figure silhouetted under the layer of frost. Iain could feel the cold from where he was, but Cygnus didn’t seem to be bothered at all.

Then she stood right up, her face aglow. Before he could respond, she’d pulled him up to his feet as well.

“I’ve got it!” she told him. And then she gave him a strange look.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She smiled and took his arm in hers.

“It’s probably going to work out all right,” she told him. “Although I’ll need your help.”

“Again, is this going to be dangerous?” he asked.

“Not unless Skipper works itself into a really spiteful mood,” she told him. “But I’m sure it won’t. We’re a friendly pair of consentient passengers. We can charm our way right off this ship and have Skipper thank us for our efforts. Or at least me.”