you’re sure.”
Yes, they’d pushed the propulsion systems hard from the moment they’d cleared the Ragnarok ’s maintenance atmosphere. But that was what the ship’s engines were there for. Motive power. Maneuverability. Lek knew his ship. The Wolnadi would do it.
“If I take a sub on target minus–two, can you pick off target minus–three on the way?” Lek asked Smish, just to let the weaponer know what he was doing. Because he already knew that she could do it. If she couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t be asking.
“We’re already good on time, Lek, why push it? Yes.”
She was frustrated with him, because he was pushing her hard, as well. It was an unusual position to be in, a bond–involuntary telling un–bonded troops what to do; but the Ragnarok didn’t have enough bond–involuntaries assigned to make up a second full team after 5.3, so there they were.
Security 5.1, Lek’s team, did have an un–bonded navigator assigned; but Eady was on fifth–week rotation this cycle. And Lek was better than Eady was. “On target. Fire through.”
If she couldn’t make the target minus–two kill before they hit target minus–three, they’d lose points on execution. The flight sphere was set up to maximize the challenge, and the targets were to be taken in order. The targets — the little remote decoys — were moving; Lek just had to move faster. That was all.
“Confirmed,” Murat said approvingly, from his post on observation scan. Lek didn’t have time to congratulate Smish on her marksmanship, though, because she had mere fractions of an eighth to refocus her considerable prey instinct on the next target.
“Minus–two on monitor. Please confirm target acquisition.”
Lek shoved the linear propulsion feeds to the maximum, firing his laterals as he went to spin the ship and finesse its trajectory. The next target was well below the arena’s theoretical floor axis, and fast approaching the boundary, but he could fly through the center of the arena, and that saved time. Nothing to go around.
“Target minus–one within six degrees of escape,” Murat warned. Lek checked his stats. Fleet really did want them to fail the exercise. There was no way to get from one target to the other in time. Was there?
He could do a fly–through, maybe, if Taller could give him a pulse to shield their forward path, and clear the debris from the target so that he could take a direct line on the next without fear of hulling out on some piece of scrap metal —
“I confirm target minus–two. Targeting. Firing.”
Smish was too busy concentrating on her own task to yell at him. Lek was just as glad. He knew what he was doing, and they knew that he knew what he was doing, but his governor would not let him take chances with the ship if he made the mistake of letting himself become nervous about his margins. So he had to avoid getting nervous; or else his governor would conclude that he had destruction of Jurisdiction property in mind, and shut him down.
The sensor screen lit up with the impact report from the target’s remains. The kill was good. “Blow me a hole, Taller,” Lek suggested. “We can still catch the last one.”
Taller sent a plasma burst out ahead of the fighter’s path, shaking his head as he did so. “Whatever you say. But we’re already ahead, Lek, you don’t have to prove anything.”
Lek threaded the Wolnadi through the narrow passageway that the plasma bolt cleared through the debris of target minus-two. “Ahead isn’t good enough. We’re maximizing. Smish. Target acquisition?”
Nobody flattened the line. Nobody had hit all the targets in sequence and on time in the weeks they’d been here. He had a chance. With Smish’s eye for her targets and his feel for his navs, they could do it.
The last target was on–screen. Lek could see it; they were heading straight on, and the subtle blue sheen of the flight sphere’s containment field glowed dimly against the backdrop of black
Yes, they’d pushed the propulsion systems hard from the moment they’d cleared the Ragnarok ’s maintenance atmosphere. But that was what the ship’s engines were there for. Motive power. Maneuverability. Lek knew his ship. The Wolnadi would do it.
“If I take a sub on target minus–two, can you pick off target minus–three on the way?” Lek asked Smish, just to let the weaponer know what he was doing. Because he already knew that she could do it. If she couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t be asking.
“We’re already good on time, Lek, why push it? Yes.”
She was frustrated with him, because he was pushing her hard, as well. It was an unusual position to be in, a bond–involuntary telling un–bonded troops what to do; but the Ragnarok didn’t have enough bond–involuntaries assigned to make up a second full team after 5.3, so there they were.
Security 5.1, Lek’s team, did have an un–bonded navigator assigned; but Eady was on fifth–week rotation this cycle. And Lek was better than Eady was. “On target. Fire through.”
If she couldn’t make the target minus–two kill before they hit target minus–three, they’d lose points on execution. The flight sphere was set up to maximize the challenge, and the targets were to be taken in order. The targets — the little remote decoys — were moving; Lek just had to move faster. That was all.
“Confirmed,” Murat said approvingly, from his post on observation scan. Lek didn’t have time to congratulate Smish on her marksmanship, though, because she had mere fractions of an eighth to refocus her considerable prey instinct on the next target.
“Minus–two on monitor. Please confirm target acquisition.”
Lek shoved the linear propulsion feeds to the maximum, firing his laterals as he went to spin the ship and finesse its trajectory. The next target was well below the arena’s theoretical floor axis, and fast approaching the boundary, but he could fly through the center of the arena, and that saved time. Nothing to go around.
“Target minus–one within six degrees of escape,” Murat warned. Lek checked his stats. Fleet really did want them to fail the exercise. There was no way to get from one target to the other in time. Was there?
He could do a fly–through, maybe, if Taller could give him a pulse to shield their forward path, and clear the debris from the target so that he could take a direct line on the next without fear of hulling out on some piece of scrap metal —
“I confirm target minus–two. Targeting. Firing.”
Smish was too busy concentrating on her own task to yell at him. Lek was just as glad. He knew what he was doing, and they knew that he knew what he was doing, but his governor would not let him take chances with the ship if he made the mistake of letting himself become nervous about his margins. So he had to avoid getting nervous; or else his governor would conclude that he had destruction of Jurisdiction property in mind, and shut him down.
The sensor screen lit up with the impact report from the target’s remains. The kill was good. “Blow me a hole, Taller,” Lek suggested. “We can still catch the last one.”
Taller sent a plasma burst out ahead of the fighter’s path, shaking his head as he did so. “Whatever you say. But we’re already ahead, Lek, you don’t have to prove anything.”
Lek threaded the Wolnadi through the narrow passageway that the plasma bolt cleared through the debris of target minus-two. “Ahead isn’t good enough. We’re maximizing. Smish. Target acquisition?”
Nobody flattened the line. Nobody had hit all the targets in sequence and on time in the weeks they’d been here. He had a chance. With Smish’s eye for her targets and his feel for his navs, they could do it.
The last target was on–screen. Lek could see it; they were heading straight on, and the subtle blue sheen of the flight sphere’s containment field glowed dimly against the backdrop of black
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