The Parafaith War (33 page)

Both torps were aimed at the revvie scout closest to the Morrigan. Two torps from the Morrigan followed.

Trystin turned the Willis into a head-on-head course, and, once the tubes were reloaded, fired two more torps, this time at the trailing rev, followed by two more salvos of two each.

Again, the Morrow lagged in releasing torps. Two revvie torps flared against the Morrigan’s shields’ but, though they pulsed amber, the shields held.

Those of the revs did not, and the scouts vanished into dust and energy.

The troid ship lumbered on, and one of the corvettes, apparently trying to avoid something, veered toward the troid. A flash of energy jabbed outward from the mass of nickel-iron, and the corvette vanished.

Trystin got the readouts, even as he kept the Willis turning.

“Modified thruster-they’ve got enough power on the troid to handle that sort of deviltry,” said James.

A thruster that could deliver enough punch to blow a corvette’s screens at four hundred kays?

The two groups of cruisers edged forward as the troid inexorably bore down on them.

“Approaching launch point in one minute ship time,” Trystin announced.

“Stet.” James pulsed back to Liam. “Regular torps on standby; load and arm the reds.”

“Loading red one, and two, at this time. Captain. Three and four standing by.”

On the screen, while the Willis seemed to move toward the large pulsing blip that was the revvie troid, the actual data showed the asteroid ship was the one doing most of the moving. “Point Five,” Trystin announced. “I have the con.”’ “You have it, ser.”

“Red one is ready.” Liam’s voice was tinny and calm. “Ignite red one.”

“Red one is go,” responded Liam. “Red two!” “Red two is go.”

Again, there was the pause for reloading. “Red three!” “Red three is go!” “Red four!” “Red four is go.” “Changeover to standard torps.” “Changing over this time.” “Shields!”

“Shield in place. Captain,” Trystin responded. “Desensitize.” “Desensitized.”

Although the ship grav remained, Trystin could sense the stresses as the Willis turned and accelerated away from the troid. The cockpit remained a ventilated coffin, and Trystin focused on the implant’s simulation of the troid-busters’ course line toward the rev.

“Calculate,” he direct-fed, asking the mainframe for wave-front clearance after the moment of impact had passed.

“Wave front has passed.” The words flicked across his mental screen.

Trystin waited for a time before announcing, “Plus three after impact.”

“Remove desensitizing. You have the con. Lieutenant.” “Receiving input. I have the con.” The screen showed ten corvettes boxing in the last two revvie scouts near the orbit of Kali-and a faint point of energy inside the screens of the Tokugawa. Trystin triggered the implant-too late. EEEEEEEeeeeee…

The eruption of white energy that had been the Tokugawa blasted across all wavelinks and shivered right through Trystin. For a moment his thoughts froze, and his nerves burned, even down to his fingertips.

The rev that had dropped off the screen had just stayed put, totally shut down, hoping for a shot from inside a ship’s screens. And he’d gotten it.

The revvie scout went up in energy at the impact of three torps from the Mishima and the Muir.

“Guess we’ll have a new marshal.” James shook his head.

Trystin tried not to frown, instead scanning the screens. No revvie scouts remained, and only warm chunks of fragmented nickel-iron registered on the cruiser’s screens.

“Sledge team, this is Sledge Control Alternate, return to base. Return to base.”

Trystin eased the Willis into a thirty-degree turn and backed off the thrusters, automatically checking the accumulators. They were fine, no roughness or hiccuping or roughness in power transfers in either direction. He nodded to himself.

“That was better,” announced James. “It helps to have a few more ships.” “This time.”

“They’ve got a twenty-year lag,” the captain added. “I thought that when I was down on the perimeter, too.” “You think they’ll keep escalating the amount of force they throw at us?”

“One way or another.” Trystin rechecked the accumulators as he spoke. The power flows remained smooth. He eased the thrusters back even farther, since the Willis was the last cruiser in the formation, and there would be an approach bottleneck anyway.

“Iron Mace two, this is Sledge Control Alternate, interrogative status.”

Trystin flicked across the maintenance boards. Outside of two marginal sensors, the Willis was in relatively good shape-except for having only eight torps left. Logistics was not letting Liam overstock torps, one Major Sasaki or not, not after the rather hurried and unpleasant departure of Commander Frenkel. The Willis now got everything it rated-immediately-but not one thing extra.

Trystin pulsed the status information to James. “Green, ser, except for sensors and torps.”

“Sledge Control, Mace two here. Status is green beta-armament.”

“Stet, Mace two. Interrogative status upon resupply.” “Sledge Control, this is Iron Mace two. Anticipate status will be green upon resupply.” “Thank you, two.” Trystin looked at the captain.

“They’re trying to figure out the standby duty rotations. Probably all that went up with the Tokugawa. “

Trystin wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. Why was it he sweated so much and James, except when piloting in and out of locking status, seemed so cool?

After waiting for the other cruisers to complete their approaches, the Willis crept in toward outer orbit control, slipping up beside the wall of metal and composite-slowly, slowly, until, with a faint clunk, she melded with the station.

“We have lock-on. Apply mechanical holdtights and prepare for power changeover.” After magnetizing the holdtights, Trystin called up the shutdown list. “Accumulators…” “… discharged.” “Fusactor…” “…standby.” “Compensators…” “… open.”

Trystin cleared his throat of the dust that never quite seemed to leave the ship, no matter how scrupulous the cleanup.

“Senior tech … power changeover.” “Changeover, ser.”

As the full grav of orbit control pressed Trystin into his couch, he took a deep breath.

“Time to go up to ops and debrief. It should be short this time.”

Trystin slowly pried himself and his damp shipsuit out of the couch.

Trystin’s boots whispered on the heavy plastic of the locking tube. He glanced back past the automatic locks that would close if the pressure dropped, but the lower corridor was almost empty, except for a young tech headed back to the Mishima.

Trystin wiped his forehead, still warm, even though he’d had a cool-down and a shower after his exercise in the outer orbit station’s high-gee workout room. At times, he wasn’t sure whether the downtime of two to six months between troids was better or the busy times when the revs were attacking. He didn’t run the risk of getting killed in downtimes, just being bored. The outer orbit station’s facilities were limited, and strained by the force buildup, and James had a tendency to philosophize too much about the old Shinto times.

Since Mara inner orbit control hadn’t ever been built to support large numbers of Service craft, most ships had to dock at Parvati outer orbit control, although they were all rotated through Mara orbit station for relief.

Trystin sniffed. The corridor, like all station corridors, smelled faintly of plastic, metal, and ozone, with an underscent of oil. He paused at the lock as Muriami, wearing the duty stunner, stepped toward him.

“Lieutenant?” asked Tech Muriami. “The captain was asking for you earlier. He’s in his stateroom.” The tech’s careful tone alerted Trystin. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“No, ser.” “Thank you, Muriami.”

Trystin carried his exercise bag to his stateroom and dumped it next to the console. Pretty soon, he’d have to do more laundry, and that was a pain. He went back into the passageway, closing his door.

The captain leaned out of his stateroom. “Trystin … need to talk a moment.” A lock of short black hair fell across his face, and he slowly pushed it back. “Yes. ser.”

James left the door open. He was sitting in the plastic chair with the purple cushion on it when Trystin closed the stateroom door.

“Sit down.” The captain gestured at the chair on the other side of the small circular plastic table anchored to the deck. A half-empty glass bottle rested on the table, and James held a glass in which two fingers of an amber liquid remained.

Trystin sat. His eyes flicked to the half-empty bottle and the label.

“Scotch. Actual Cambrian Scotch. Not … so good as the old Earth kind, but that’s gone … damned Immortals.” James took another swallow from the glass, then poured another three fingers into the glass. “Yes … I’m drunk, soused, stoned, fried, shroomed-you name it. Wouldn’t you be?” He looked owlishly at Trystin. “Only reason I’m alive is you. You know how that feels?” “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would. In fact … I did.” James fingered the glass. “Damned fine pilot you are… ought to be a major. You’ll make it … but you won’t make subcommander. Know why?” Trystin waited.

“Because you look like a friggin’ rev, and nobody wants a commander who looks like a rev… . It’s going to get worse,” James emphasized, overannunciating, pausing between each word. “They have people in their belts smelting-belts… smelts, nice rhyme-mining, building. They got people everywhere. And they all produce. What do we have? We had technology and honor, but they got technology now, and honor is not enough.” He paused and looked at Trystin. “You got honor, but it’s not enough.” “I’d like to think so.” James snorted. “You don’t drink, do you?” “Wine, ser.” “Sit down.”

“I am sitting.” Trystin was glad the ship was in standdown. Then, being in standdown was probably why James had the bottle. Where had he gotten Scotch at three hundred creds a bottle? Of course, three hundred creds probably meant nothing to a Sasaki. “Do you drink?” “Wine.”

“You drink wine. So you’re not a dyed-in-the-blood Revenant, and you drink tea, and they don’t. How about cafe?” “I don’t like the taste.”

“Good man. .Tastes like boiled revvie boots, even if they don’t drink it.” “Ever tried sake?” “Once. I like wine better.”

James took another quick swallow. Trystin waited. “You believe in revealed truths, Trystin? Like the revs believe that every so often the Prophet will return? Jesus, then Brigger or Younger, whatever his name was, and then Toren?”

“They believe it,” Trystin said slowly. “Personally, I have a hard time believing in a God that has to use prophets to deliver his word.”

“So do I. Honor, that’s what’s important. You got honor, Trystin. Look like a friggin’ rev, but you got honor… .” He picked up the bottle. “I’ll be fine. We’re on standdown. Another two months before that next troid arrives. Plenty of time to get sober.” He poured more into the glass. “Get out of here, and let me drink.”

Trystin closed the door behind him, after a look back at the dark-haired major holding the two-thirds empty bottle. He paused in the narrow corridor.

Did the captain drink just because of the stresses? Or the isolation? Captains were isolated. And James, because he was a Sasaki, was more isolated than most. Who could a Sasaki trust as a pilot officer? A Doniger, with equal prestige and position? A Desoll, of old stiff-necked anglo heritage? If he were James, would he trust Trystin? How would he cope with the isolation, the looks, the implications that he only had the triple bars because of his name?

Trystin frowned. They were all isolated, when you got right down to it. In a strange way, the connection of the system nets and implants isolated Service officers more than their ancient predecessors. Allowing instant data access reduced the need for contact, and the politeness and formality of the whole Eco-Tech culture made personal contacts so superficially smooth that most people didn’t even see the isolation. At least Trystin hadn’t, not with his having to worry about survival on one level or another.

He shook his head. Had anything really changed since he’d left Mara? He was still waiting and trying to stop revs, except the stakes were higher. Still waiting and reacting-and knowing it wasn’t enough, because too many of the damned paragliders still got through. No wonder James drank.

And as for the drinking … anyone but a Sasaki or a Doniger or a Mishima would be in trouble… but who was about to accuse the captain? And why?

Trystin walked past his stateroom and up to the near-dead cockpit, calling up the visual screen, so he could look out at the cold, cold stars, and out into the darkness beyond the unseen Kali where the seemingly endless line of Revenant troid ships continued to bear down on Parvati.

Trystin squared the ship on its troid-buster course. I have the con. Lieutenant.”

“You have it, ser.”

“Red one is ready.” Liam’s voice-tinny as always-reported through the net and both pilots’ implants. “Ignite red one.” The captain’s voice was cold. “Red one is go.” “Red two.” “Red two is go.”

The wait for reloading was shorter, but still perceptible. “Red three.” “Red three is go!” “Red four.” “Red four is go.” “Changeover to standard torps.” “Changing over this time.” “Desensitize.” “Desensitized.”

“Full shields. Get us clear. Lieutenant.” “Shield in place. Captain. I have it.” Trystin rechecked, and dropped ship’s grav to point two while throwing the extra power into the shields, and dropping the ship’s nose almost straight down, while torquing up power from the fusactor and the accumulators, letting the fusactor rise to one-hundred-ten-percent output for almost a standard minute before dropping output to just shy of max. Scattered telltales began to flash amber. Trystin shut down the ventilation system and shifted the last of the power for gravs into the thrusters.

With what he’d done, the internal simulation of the ship’s position was almost useless, and he ignored the simulated position on the representational screen, waiting until he felt the wave front had passed.

Trystin swallowed. With the screens essentially dead, the ship’s ventilation off, and the grav system bypassed to throw power to the thrusters, the cockpit was again a stuffy coffin, except that the steady acceleration pinned the crew in place.