unless she looks
like she’ll catch Dee.” He rose, started toward the
elevators. The dogs rose as he approached.
“Father!” Benjamin called. “Hold on.
They’ve gone Norm.” Storm turned.
“Abhoussi’s inherent velocity is aligned with
Dee’s and he’s closing fast. He’s accelerating.
Catch point about nine hundred thousand kilometers out.”
“Computer?” Storm asked the air.
“Active,” a Cassius-like voice replied.
“You following the current situation?”
“Affirmative.”
“Analysis please.”
The machine confirmed Benjamin’s assessment. It added,
“Smaller target is decelerating on a line of approach to the
ingress locks. Traffic Comm has docking control. Larger target
still accelerating in line of approach. Probability nine-zero plus:
Intent is to take hyper with the smaller vessel within its
influential sphere.”
“Free missiles,” Storm ordered. “This Abhoussi
is damned smart,” he told Cassius.
“He jumped on the only chance he’s got.”
By snagging Dee with his more powerful influential field
Abhoussi could neutralize the yacht’s drive and drag her
beyond the range of Storm’s superior weaponry. He could then
drop hyper and deal with Michael at his leisure.
It was a tactic as old as spatial warfare, though a dangerous
one. Both ships could be destroyed if either’s drives were
far out of synch.
“That man was a McGraw,” Cassius guessed.
“Only a pirate would have the nerve to try it.”
“Free guns on the outstations,” Storm ordered.
“Commence action. You’re right, Cassius. He’s got
guts. Pity he’s wasting them.”
“Some people fear Richard Hawksblood more than they fear
Gneaus Storm,” Cassius observed laconically. “Then
again, he could know something you don’t. You haven’t
analyzed his chances. He comped them while he was talking to
you.”
“Right. Computer. Analyze success probabilities for the
assumed mission of the larger target, henceforth desig Enemy, Bogey
One.”
Practically trampling Storm’s final words, the computer
replied, “With Traffic control of Friendly, probability six
five plus. Without Traffic control, probability four seven plus.
Analysis of random minetracks incomplete.”
“Pretty good,” Cassius observed. “I’d
buy those odds myself.”
“And win. He’s got the jump on us. Traffic, put Dee
on his own hooks. Cassius, take the gun-control master.”
Storm himself assumed control of the master board commanding the
mines and missiles protecting the planetoid. “Computer.
Probability of Enemy success with new board control.” The
machine was a cryocyborg unit. It could enter the skills of known
human operators into its probability equations.
“With Friendly free of Traffic control and analysis of
random minetracks complete, probability three one plus.”
Storm was pleased. He and Cassius made a difference.
He did not like the ever-present plus. The computer was
weighting the probability shift in Abhoussi’s favor.
Storm examined his board. None of his active mines or
hunter-killer missiles would pass close enough to Abhoussi to
detonate. The weapons in line of approach were inactive for
Michael’s sake.
He blew several nearby mines. Maybe he could rattle
Abhoussi.
He suspected the plus was being awarded because Abhoussi was
performing better than the average Ship’s Commander profiled
in the computer. Richard did not hire average men. No merc captain
did.
Storm punched more fire buttons. He did no good. Abhoussi was
crawling into Michael’s safety shadow. The only sure way to
stop him was to activate weaponry in the approach path.
“Bogey One, probability of success, four two plus,”
the computer announced, and almost immediately raised its ante to
four three, four four, and four five. Storm cursed softly and
continuously.
“Time to jump?” he demanded.
“Twenty-three seconds optimum.” Then the computer
added, “Hit, beam, remote station twelve. Field anomalies
indicate a temporary
like she’ll catch Dee.” He rose, started toward the
elevators. The dogs rose as he approached.
“Father!” Benjamin called. “Hold on.
They’ve gone Norm.” Storm turned.
“Abhoussi’s inherent velocity is aligned with
Dee’s and he’s closing fast. He’s accelerating.
Catch point about nine hundred thousand kilometers out.”
“Computer?” Storm asked the air.
“Active,” a Cassius-like voice replied.
“You following the current situation?”
“Affirmative.”
“Analysis please.”
The machine confirmed Benjamin’s assessment. It added,
“Smaller target is decelerating on a line of approach to the
ingress locks. Traffic Comm has docking control. Larger target
still accelerating in line of approach. Probability nine-zero plus:
Intent is to take hyper with the smaller vessel within its
influential sphere.”
“Free missiles,” Storm ordered. “This Abhoussi
is damned smart,” he told Cassius.
“He jumped on the only chance he’s got.”
By snagging Dee with his more powerful influential field
Abhoussi could neutralize the yacht’s drive and drag her
beyond the range of Storm’s superior weaponry. He could then
drop hyper and deal with Michael at his leisure.
It was a tactic as old as spatial warfare, though a dangerous
one. Both ships could be destroyed if either’s drives were
far out of synch.
“That man was a McGraw,” Cassius guessed.
“Only a pirate would have the nerve to try it.”
“Free guns on the outstations,” Storm ordered.
“Commence action. You’re right, Cassius. He’s got
guts. Pity he’s wasting them.”
“Some people fear Richard Hawksblood more than they fear
Gneaus Storm,” Cassius observed laconically. “Then
again, he could know something you don’t. You haven’t
analyzed his chances. He comped them while he was talking to
you.”
“Right. Computer. Analyze success probabilities for the
assumed mission of the larger target, henceforth desig Enemy, Bogey
One.”
Practically trampling Storm’s final words, the computer
replied, “With Traffic control of Friendly, probability six
five plus. Without Traffic control, probability four seven plus.
Analysis of random minetracks incomplete.”
“Pretty good,” Cassius observed. “I’d
buy those odds myself.”
“And win. He’s got the jump on us. Traffic, put Dee
on his own hooks. Cassius, take the gun-control master.”
Storm himself assumed control of the master board commanding the
mines and missiles protecting the planetoid. “Computer.
Probability of Enemy success with new board control.” The
machine was a cryocyborg unit. It could enter the skills of known
human operators into its probability equations.
“With Friendly free of Traffic control and analysis of
random minetracks complete, probability three one plus.”
Storm was pleased. He and Cassius made a difference.
He did not like the ever-present plus. The computer was
weighting the probability shift in Abhoussi’s favor.
Storm examined his board. None of his active mines or
hunter-killer missiles would pass close enough to Abhoussi to
detonate. The weapons in line of approach were inactive for
Michael’s sake.
He blew several nearby mines. Maybe he could rattle
Abhoussi.
He suspected the plus was being awarded because Abhoussi was
performing better than the average Ship’s Commander profiled
in the computer. Richard did not hire average men. No merc captain
did.
Storm punched more fire buttons. He did no good. Abhoussi was
crawling into Michael’s safety shadow. The only sure way to
stop him was to activate weaponry in the approach path.
“Bogey One, probability of success, four two plus,”
the computer announced, and almost immediately raised its ante to
four three, four four, and four five. Storm cursed softly and
continuously.
“Time to jump?” he demanded.
“Twenty-three seconds optimum.” Then the computer
added, “Hit, beam, remote station twelve. Field anomalies
indicate a temporary
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