reduction of efficiency in Bogey One drives.
Probability of Enemy success, three one steady.”
Storm smiled. “Good shooting, Cassius.”
Cassius was too busy to acknowledge the applause. He bent over
his master console with the intensity of a virtuoso pianist,
totally immersed in his art, webbing Abhoussi with beams of
destruction.
Storm turned to his own master, secured it. He had not rattled
Abhoussi at all.
He leaned back and watched Cassius while fighting off visions of
Pollyanna being crisped by Abhoussi’s weaponry.
Hawksblood’s man was firing only in self-defense, but might
have orders to kill if he could not capture.
The odds against Abhoussi lengthened. Storm fidgeted. He placed
little faith in computer analyses. He had beaten their odds when
they had been five-to-one against him. The best games machines,
with brains cyborged in, could not take into account all the human
factors of a battle situation.
“Hit, beam,” the computer announced. “Drive
anomalies. Bogey One no longer accelerating. Probability of
generator damage seven zero plus.”
“Catch time,” Storm asked. It had been telescoping,
but Abhoussi had been hand-over-handing it up the scope.
“Eleven seconds.”
Storm smiled. Abhoussi was climbing an ever-steepening slope.
One more perfect shot from Cassius would do it.
Again he paid his chief of staff his due. The man was not just
trying for hits, he was sharpshooting Abhoussi’s facility for
dragging Michael off to neutral space. And that at a time when he
could have eased up and allowed his most hated enemy to perish.
Storm grabbed a mike, called the ingress locks. “Get a
boat ready for rescue work. Have it crewed and standing by for
astrogational instruction. Is Lucifer there yet?” He cut off
before he received a reply. The computer was chattering again.
“Hit, beam. Major drive anomalies. Probability of
generator damage nine zero plus. Probability of Enemy success, one
three minus.”
Storm moved to Traffic. “Contact the cruiser,” he
told the watchstander.
“Bogey One commencing evasive maneuvering,” the
computer continued. “Probability that Enemy is attempting to
disengage, nine five plus.” Abhoussi had accepted defeat.
Establishing the comm link took longer than the action had.
Abhoussi was more interested in survival than in chitchat.
When the pale-faced Ship’s Commander finally responded,
Storm asked, “Can you manage your generators yourselves,
Commander? Any casualties you can’t handle? I have a rescue
boat standing by.”
Abhoussi gulped air, replied, “We’ll manage,
Colonel. We took no casualties.”
“All right.” Storm blanked off. “Cease
firing,” he ordered.
The order was unnecessary. Cassius had secured his gun
board.
Was Abhoussi telling the truth? He had the feel of a man who
would let his people die the death-without-resurrection before
putting them into the hands of an enemy capable of using them
against his employer later.
Storm called the ingress locks again. “Cancel the boat
alert. We won’t need it.” Then, “Cassius,
let’s go meet Michael. He’ll have an interesting story.
Might even tell the truth.”
“Good show, gentlemen,” Cassius told the
watch-standers. “Run a full systems check before you go off
duty. See that Supply and Weapons know which mines and missiles to
replace.” His hard gaze darted from face to face. No one met
it.
Storm peered into the shadows. The ravenshrike had concealed
itself. It was alert.
“I think we did all right,” he told Cassius as they
followed the dogs into an elevator. “It was my kind of
battle. Nobody got hurt.”
“They should all be so chesslike.”
A shadow moved in the shadows of a corner of Combat. The eyes of
Storm’s ravenshrike burned as they watched Homer and
Benjamin. Homer slipped into the still warm seat before the mines
and missiles board. The blind man caressed trigger switches and
status boards with his sensitive fingers. He listened for
Probability of Enemy success, three one steady.”
Storm smiled. “Good shooting, Cassius.”
Cassius was too busy to acknowledge the applause. He bent over
his master console with the intensity of a virtuoso pianist,
totally immersed in his art, webbing Abhoussi with beams of
destruction.
Storm turned to his own master, secured it. He had not rattled
Abhoussi at all.
He leaned back and watched Cassius while fighting off visions of
Pollyanna being crisped by Abhoussi’s weaponry.
Hawksblood’s man was firing only in self-defense, but might
have orders to kill if he could not capture.
The odds against Abhoussi lengthened. Storm fidgeted. He placed
little faith in computer analyses. He had beaten their odds when
they had been five-to-one against him. The best games machines,
with brains cyborged in, could not take into account all the human
factors of a battle situation.
“Hit, beam,” the computer announced. “Drive
anomalies. Bogey One no longer accelerating. Probability of
generator damage seven zero plus.”
“Catch time,” Storm asked. It had been telescoping,
but Abhoussi had been hand-over-handing it up the scope.
“Eleven seconds.”
Storm smiled. Abhoussi was climbing an ever-steepening slope.
One more perfect shot from Cassius would do it.
Again he paid his chief of staff his due. The man was not just
trying for hits, he was sharpshooting Abhoussi’s facility for
dragging Michael off to neutral space. And that at a time when he
could have eased up and allowed his most hated enemy to perish.
Storm grabbed a mike, called the ingress locks. “Get a
boat ready for rescue work. Have it crewed and standing by for
astrogational instruction. Is Lucifer there yet?” He cut off
before he received a reply. The computer was chattering again.
“Hit, beam. Major drive anomalies. Probability of
generator damage nine zero plus. Probability of Enemy success, one
three minus.”
Storm moved to Traffic. “Contact the cruiser,” he
told the watchstander.
“Bogey One commencing evasive maneuvering,” the
computer continued. “Probability that Enemy is attempting to
disengage, nine five plus.” Abhoussi had accepted defeat.
Establishing the comm link took longer than the action had.
Abhoussi was more interested in survival than in chitchat.
When the pale-faced Ship’s Commander finally responded,
Storm asked, “Can you manage your generators yourselves,
Commander? Any casualties you can’t handle? I have a rescue
boat standing by.”
Abhoussi gulped air, replied, “We’ll manage,
Colonel. We took no casualties.”
“All right.” Storm blanked off. “Cease
firing,” he ordered.
The order was unnecessary. Cassius had secured his gun
board.
Was Abhoussi telling the truth? He had the feel of a man who
would let his people die the death-without-resurrection before
putting them into the hands of an enemy capable of using them
against his employer later.
Storm called the ingress locks again. “Cancel the boat
alert. We won’t need it.” Then, “Cassius,
let’s go meet Michael. He’ll have an interesting story.
Might even tell the truth.”
“Good show, gentlemen,” Cassius told the
watch-standers. “Run a full systems check before you go off
duty. See that Supply and Weapons know which mines and missiles to
replace.” His hard gaze darted from face to face. No one met
it.
Storm peered into the shadows. The ravenshrike had concealed
itself. It was alert.
“I think we did all right,” he told Cassius as they
followed the dogs into an elevator. “It was my kind of
battle. Nobody got hurt.”
“They should all be so chesslike.”
A shadow moved in the shadows of a corner of Combat. The eyes of
Storm’s ravenshrike burned as they watched Homer and
Benjamin. Homer slipped into the still warm seat before the mines
and missiles board. The blind man caressed trigger switches and
status boards with his sensitive fingers. He listened for
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