“What about the last two?” Todd asked. “The, ah, nassith and the wolly-something.” Neither one had impressed the sailors much.
“They were throwaways, more or less. The n’saith and the wollinid don’t have much technology of their own, but we needed to stop both places for trade anyway.” Dee shook her head. “No, the enkheil and the bür are the important ones. Even Dreelig thought the enkheil would put up a good contest.”
“Beer? This is the name of people?” Tollison asked.
Dee smiled. “The vowel needs a ‘u’ sound in it, but yes, the bür are of the kree. They are extremely warlike. Many years ago they attempted conquest. It was very difficult to get them to desist.”
“I take it we can assume they are very good,” Mannix ventured.
“Oh, yes, very good indeed.” Her smile became wry. “I think the Navy pilots are better. It’ll be a lot closer than what they’ve gotten used to, though.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear they’re at least good at doin’ their jobs,” Peters observed.
“Oh, they’re great in action. It’s just that when they’re not in action they’re impossible to live with.”
Peters chuckled wryly. “We-el, I hope it don’t bust no bubble or nothin’, but you ain’t the first person to make that observation about Navy aviators.”
“Possibly not the first of the second ten million,” Mannix added.
Dee snorted. “Hmph. I think the biggest problem is that they don’t have anything to do when they’re not in action.”
“Why don’t they get out and about a bit?” Mannix asked. “We don’t find ourselves overly stressed, by any means, but we’ve been able to occupy our time without overmuch difficulty.”
“Dreelig again,” Dee explained. “He drew up the contract.” She leaned back in her chair. “To be fair about it, at the time none of us knew anything about you people except that you fought a lot and had busted up a goodish chunk of your planet doing it.” The sailors all nodded—this wasn’t a new concept—and Dee went on, “He included a provision that the officers weren’t to have anything at all to do with the operation of the ship…”
“I think I see where that’s going,” Tollison put in. “Mix in a little paranoia…”
“You got it. The brass—” Dee made a disgusted face and shook her head “—the First Trader and his staff have interpreted that clause to mean the human officers have to stick close to their quarters. It took two llor of argument to get permission for them to do their exercises in the ops bay.”
“And they’re all going a little stir-crazy,” Todd suggested.
“Stir—oh, yes, I remember that idiom. Yes, that’s it exactly. They can’t fly the planes while we’re in high phase, they’re bored with the simulators, they don’t have any other duties, and they can’t get ‘out and about’ as you called it. So they spend their time playing grabass, and I got sick and tired of having my ass grabbed. I’m outa there.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Boom!
It was unquestionably an impact of some kind. The structure of the ship rang like a bell, and the mess room went instantly still. “What the Hell was that?” Todd asked into a hubbub of the same question repeated, with variations, by a hundred tongues in two languages.
“Damn if I know,” Peters said, “but whatever the Hell it was, I reckon we oughta be gettin’ back amongst our own. Racket like that’s likely God sayin’ you oughta be lookin’ for a safe place.”
“Yeah.”
Boom!
Their exit from the mess room was impeded by a crowd of mixed Grallt and humans, all with the same idea, and they didn’t even try the elevator, just headed for the stairway down.
Boom! Crash!
They hit the ops deck as the third impact shook something loose, and rounded the corner into the bay to meet a group of sailors coming the other way. “We’re under attack,” Kellman stopped to tell them. “Todd, get your ass over to your bird and get prep started. Deutsch oughta already be there, send him back for deck gear, his and yours both. Peters, I don’t know where you oughta be…”
Boom!
“My battle station’d be the retarder consoles,” Peters told him. “They ain’t launched yet. You need some grunt labor?”
“You know how to tweak a HEL pod?”
Headshake. “‘Fraid not.”
“Then don’t get in the way.” That was just business.
Peters didn’t take it wrong. “Gotcha. Go get ‘em.”
Boom!
Boom!
Llapaaloapalla had come down from high phase to approach the next planet, which they were told was called P’Vip. The apostrophe was a little catch in the throat, and Peters, like most of the humans, could pronounce it better than the Grallt could. Which had exactly nothing to do with anything… both sets of bay doors were open, and the ship was doing random rotary maneuvers, stars streaming in fits and starts across the opening. Brighter stars were moving crosswise to the streaks, and as Peters watched one of them emitted a streak of light.
Boom! Well, that answered one question.
Deutsch went past at a dead run, and Peters sprinted after. He got to his quarters to find the Third Class rummaging through the wrong locker. “Over here,” he said, and ripped Todd’s cabinet open, tossing the flak jacket on the bunk and wrapping boondockers and helmet in it.
“Thanks,” Deutsch gasped, and took off at another dead run.
Boom! Boom!
Either Llapaaloapalla was tougher than it looked or the bad guys were using something that made a lot of noise without doing much damage. That didn’t make sense either. Peters skinned into his gear with all deliberate haste and headed for his console.
Boom!
Planes were rolling out of the hangar accesses under their own power. Officers were hustling out of their quarters by ones and twos, some of them trying to get helmets on as they ran, not a practical procedure. A little knot of red-helmeted ordnancemen converged on each plane as it emerged, popping catches on the laser pods and reaching inside, no doubt to turn the knob to the right as far as it would go…
Boom! Crash!
A pair of Hornets were the first to get ready, simpler systems and only one driver beating extra crew for the Tomcats. Warnocki was in place, and had the plane directors holding up crossed wands until more could queue up.
Boom! The bay was lit from aft by God’s own flashgun.
“Those bastards are using nukes!” Jacks shrieked. If the vid special effects people had been getting it right, the glowing, expanding cloud couldn’t be anything else. The ship didn’t seem to be maneuvering any more, but some of the stars were still moving. One of them, visible out the bow door, was noticeably larger and slower than the others.
Boom! No bright lights this time.
Warnocki had four ready and two moving into place; he let the first pair go, and they accelerated side by side down the bay, just short of taking out wingtips on the doorframe. A slow count of ten and the second set followed, Tomcats, and another brace of Hornets pulled up, with a mismatched pair coming up behind.
Carlyle’s 105 was last out. Eighteen planes in a little over a minute and a half, and Peters estimated that from the first Boom! to a clear deck was ten minutes or less. Not too shabby for no notice.
Boom!