"Very well," Brim acknowledged. "Make to the other ships: 'Alter course in succession: 48.1 at minus 10 nadir.' Then give me a countdown from five for the turn."
"Aye, Lieutenant," the Chairman intoned, "countdown from five."
KA'PPA rings flashed out past the Hyperscreens as Brim checked his controls. "Stand by to change course," he warned.
"Five..." counted the Chairman, "four... three... two .. .one.. . now."
Defiant careened sharply to starboard as Brim turned onto the new course. Whirling in his seat, he watched the other ships follow, one after the other, in perfect formation. "We'll need combat speed, soon, Nik," he warned Ursis's visage in a nearby display.
The Sodeskayan nodded grimly, then turned to his control panel and went to work.
"Fusion rates for all Power Chambers are now at maximum ratings, Wilf," he reported presently.
Brim nodded. Fresh shades of colors wens already spilling across his power panel as Defiant's eight big cascade accelerators pumped tremendous power into the waveguides.
A thrill tingled along his spine. Was it the coming danger that excited him-or was it simply the majesty of a big warship powering up for combat? He shrugged. It was hard to tell the difference.
He switched his intraship to the odd-shaped sick bay where Flynn and his medical crew were hurriedly setting out instruments and dressings. Behind them, the two long rows of healing machines appeared to be empty-for the moment. He shuddered: he would be lucky indeed to avoid one of those slowly pulsing boxes himself in the next few metacycles, and he knew it. Far below in the scorching heat of "Drive Alley," he watched Gamble and Provodnik scurry among rows of gleaming feed tubes, shouting orders and encouragement to the hard-pressed power stokers, and checking readouts on the howling Admiralty N(112-B) power chambers that lined both sides of the Gallery. He shook his head; scenes like that made him doubly glad he was a Helmsman.
Inside the bridge, Grimsby was busy passing out high-energy snacks and hot cups of cvcesse'. "Ye'll need more than armor and disruptors to fight this battle, young Brim,"
Collingswood's elderly steward predicted as he passed the Helmsman's stations balancing a huge tray on one hand.
"I'll take your word for that, Mr. Grimsby," Brim answered grimly, grabbing a sandwich and a steaming cup. The cvcesse' seared his tongue, but blazed down his throat delectably.
He grinned as he glanced at the right-hand seat, where Aram was fanning his mouth.
"Maybe we can make it that hot for brother Liat-Modal," the young A'zurnian quipped over the thunder of the Drive.
"We'll do our best, young man," Wellington piped in from Brim's left. "Believe me."
"Securing internal space-tight doors," Calhoun warned through the intercom.
Brim shuddered in spite of himself. If Defiant took significant damage in battle, that order could mean life for some-and certain death for others who might find themselves trapped in a melting portion of the ship or doomed to the hideous agony of runaway radiation.
Everywhere he focused the intraship, companionways and corridors were empty and still except for a few carelessly closed hatches swinging irregularly here and there as the ship worked. "Defiant is at action stations, Captain Calhoun," Barbousse reported behind him.
"We've got all three N-ray searchlights sweepin' a forward cone around us."
"Very well," Calhoun said calmly. "Carry on, Chief."
Brim grinned. Calhoun spoke like a man who'd commanded a ship for years-as he probably had in his presalvage days.
Outside on the decks, Wellington's big disruptor turrets indexed through their arcs of fire as firing crews tested their mechanisms for the thousandth time. The long-barreled 155s gleamed dully in the light of the passing stars.
Abruptly, symbols for "The Captain" flashed across Brim's intraship followed by Collingswood's very serious face. "Good afternoon, Defiants," she began presently. "It seems that the tables are to be turned shortly. Within the metacycle, it is we who shall be the hunters-and the Leaguers will be faced with the task of defending slow, helpless transports."
She frowned for a moment, then nodded to herself. "I am taking this opportunity to make each of you aware that we shall soon encounter what we believe to be a strong force of Leaguer warships escorting some thirty troop transports. If we're right, the transports belong to Admiral Liat-Modal, and they must be destroyed."
Brim visualized nearly five hundred fifty Blue Capes at monitors throughout the ship, hanging on her every word. Like most vessels of war, Defiant had few Hyperscreens away from the bridge area-most of her crew were blind to events outside the hull, reacting only to streams of orders from the eyes of the ship on the bridge. Collingswood's willingness to keep them informed was only one of the many reasons why many crews considered her the finest commander in the fleet.
"I don't need to tell you the critical importance of our next few metacycles," she continued,
"or the risks we shall take during them. Numerically, the odds are in our favor, at least for this particular battle. However, since we are going in first, we shall face the bulk of their defenses alone-at least until the more powerful warships catch up. But we've got a good turn of speed, and we're an experienced crew. That's probably enough to see us through-so long as each of us does his and her duty for the Empire. That's no small order, especially with the odds we shall face in the next few cycles, but it's all anyone will ask from you-Prince Onrad, Admiral Penda, Greyffin IV, and myself included." She paused and closed her eyes for a moment, then pursed her lips. "That's about it," she said. "Good luck to each of you. And may the Universe watch over us and our ship." The display faded and returned to its previous view. Brim turned in his seat and watched Collingswood settle back in her recliner, clearly drained of emotion.
"Good words, Regula," Calhoun said quietly. "Not easy, those....."
"We're picking up something at the extreme range of our directors," Wellington announced tensely a few moments later. "From the size and the bearing, I'll guess it's our first contingent from the League."
Brim pegged her report at precisely Brightness:class="underline" 03. Not long afterward, he spotted the ships himself through the Hyperscreens, a constant pattern of long, green Drive plumes standing out in cold relief from the random starry background.
"Bloody good o' the misbegotten zukeeds to stumble in at all!" a wag exclaimed from the rear of the bridge. "Be just like 'em to say they're comin' an' then fail to show."
Brim chuckled as he slowed Defiant's headlong flight-Collingswood's job was to report on the enemy fleet after all, not to race it home.
"By the very Universe," Wellington commented as they drew steadily closer. "They haven't even formed their transports into wheels!"
"You're... right," Calhoun declared as Defiant began to pull abreast of the rearmost Leaguer ships. "Liat-Modal must be suffering from mental saddle sores."
"Perhaps not," Calhoun warned quietly while Collingswood made her report to Onrad in the background. "Those are slow ships over there, noo," he said, indicating the transports off to starboard, "an' a perfect opportunity for the Leaguers to use their benders. We may e'en now find ourselves lookin' down the bore of a hidden torpedo tube."
"Aye, Cal," Wellington acknowledged, busying herself at the COMM sectors of her console. "I've got extra lookouts everywhere," she asserted presently, "especially below in the ventral observation stations."
"Well done, Dora," Calhoun responded with a grin.
Off to starboard, a number of Drive plumes were now arcing away from the convoy toward them. NF-110s, Brim guessed from the throbbing shade of green.