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"Fire one! Two!!"
Although the rev raised full shields, they weren't enough, and Trystin
permitted himself a tight smile, until he realized that the third scout was
tailchasing, and that was the Willis' weakest shield point.
He calculated, though the data took nanoseconds, then cut the thrusters, and
used the attitude jets to flip the Willis end over end. Another full blast on
the thrusters, and then he diverted the power to the shields. They flared
amber as the rev's torp impacted. Flared amber, but held, as the rev flashed
toward the Willis. "Fire one! Two!" Trystin flipped the ship again, ignoring
his own nausea and a retching sound from aft, and put full power on the
thrusters.
The combination of the thrusters' energy flow and the torps was sufficient,
and entropy was increased with the scattered fragments of another revvie
scout.
Trystin scanned the screens, noting that heavy green-tinged dashes ran from
the Campbell's screen image toward the fragments of the troid. All three troid
killers impacted, and this time the fragments were of suitably infinitesimal
size.
Continuing to power the thrusters, Trystin pushed the Willis toward the
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Mishima.
One of the rev scouts flared away from the other cruiser. Trystin calculated
and grinned. "Fire one! Two!"
The dashes representing the last two torps streaked across the screen toward
the broadside exposure of the fleeing revvie scout.
"No torps remaining. No torps remaining!" the system redlined at Trystin.
The revvie scout vanished from the screen with the twin torp impact. "How...?"
"Shield malfunction. That was probably why he broke off the attack." Trystin
answered the captain's unfinished question as he continued to scan the system.
Two corvettes and the Willis, the Mishima, and the Campbell-those were all
that remained.
Trystin nodded as his senses verified that the Mishima- and Ulteena-had made
it. He hoped the next troid was a long time coming-a very long time-as he
eased back on the thrusters.
"Sledge team, this is Sledge Control Alternate, return to base this time."
Trystin looked at James as the captain broadcast. He hadn't realized that
James was the senior officer remaining. Trystin wasn't sure that James had
known it either until he'd taken stock of the casualties. Trystin wiped his
forehead again. He'd need to do more laundry once they returned to outer orbit
control. This one had been almost as bad as his recurring nightmare.
The accumulators were hiccuping again, and the shields were still running in
the amber, and most of the sensors were operating at reduced efficiencies. He
couldn't mentally sum up the smaller amber warnings.
At least the most sensitive EDI screens showed no troids in range, and that
meant a few months' respite-maybe more.
The crew and the ship all needed it. So did Trystin.
Maybe he could find out about Salya . . . except no one knew, or would say.
Maybe he could make more sense out of a war that got bigger and never changed.
Maybe he could understand what the Farhkans wanted. Maybe . . . he shook his
head. Across the cockpit, James frowned.
45
Trystin eased the Willis into the docking slot. The recon run had shown no
troids and no revs-the
marshal occasionally sent out the cruisers to take advantage of their
longer-range EDI detection capabilities. "Magnetize holdtights."
By the time he and the captain had finished the checklist, through the implant
and the ship's net, Trystin could sense that Muriami had fastened the
mechanical holdtights. "Power changeover." "Standing by for changeover."
Once full station gravity hit the cruiser, Trystin unstrapped and sat up.
"Captain?" came from the quarterdeck.
"Yes?" answered James.
"Dispatch case for Lieutenant Desoll," Albertini announced. "They had it
waiting. One for you too. Captain."
Trystin forced himself to walk slowly back to the quarterdeck.
Albertini extended the case toward him. Trystin wiped his forehead again with
the back of his shipsuit's sleeve before he took the case and opened it. The
first sheet of paper was simple.
Effective the first of sixta-eighteen days away-he was Major Trystin Desoll.
The second sheaf comprised hard-copy orders. He began to read.
"Congratulations, Trystin." James flashed his boyish grin. "I'd guess it's
your promotion to major and orders to your own command." "Maybe . . . I did
get promoted." "When, ser?" asked Muriami.
"One sixta." Trystin continued to read, focusing on the key words.
The captain slowly opened his case. Like Trystin, he frowned.
After a moment. Tech Muriami finally asked, "Captain, ser . . . if it wouldn't
be too much trouble . . . could someone tell us what's happening?" Trystin
looked at the orders again. ". . . on or about 15 septem 796 . . . report to
Medical Center, Cambria, for Farhkan f/up study. . . . Upon completion of home
leave, no later than 32 septem, report SER-COM . . . FFA . . ."
Another Farhkan physical, not that he minded that much . . . and then some
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staff assignment at Service Command? Relatively junior majors didn't get staff
assignments these days-those were for screenpushers or incompetents. Had he
screwed up somewhere that he didn't know?
James Sasaki frowned, then smiled. "What is it, ser? If I might ask?" Trystin
added.
"There were four sets of orders. Yours-and congratulations again-your
replacement's, mine, and my replacement's." "What?"
"They're phased. You go first, and you're actually being replaced by my
replacement for a month or so, and then your eventual replacement comes, and I
go." "That's a little odd, isn't it?"
"Not really. You're being groomed for Something, Trystin, but for what I
couldn't tell you." James frowned again, and Trystin wondered whether he were
just trying to cheer Trystin up. "Someone wanted you to be familiar with
larger ship operations first."
"Where are you going, ser?" Trystin wondered if the major had finally gotten
his promotion, but didn't want to ask. "Strat U." James grinned. "Does that-?"
"Absolutely. I can put on the triangles immediately." "That merits two sets of
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