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intention to limp back to Imatra if possible.
Dirac, shouting on radio, did his best to forbid that, but whether or not
his orders got through he could not tell. Almost immediately he and
the others on the yacht's bridge saw the damaged vessel destroyed.
SEVEN
Two out of three of the Premier's ships had been destroyed.
The yacht itself had sustained at least one hit, and there were
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dead and wounded on several decks, smoke in the corridors, air escaping and
compartments sealed off. But, once the
Eidolon had
shaken free of the enemy's swarm of brilliant weapons, neither
Dirac nor his ace pilot even considered abandoning the chase and turning back
to Imatra.
In the moments of respite that followed, everyone but the seriously
wounded was issued and fitted with weapons for close quarters, alphatrigger
or eyeblink helmets and the associated gear. The most innovative of
these weapons projected cutting beams that savaged ordinary armor, but let
soft flesh alone, and rebounded harmlessly-or almost harmlessly- from any
properly treated surface. The code embodied in the coating's chemistry
could be readily changed between one engagement and the next, to lessen the
chances of the enemy's being able to duplicate it successfully.
The realization crossed some remote part of Kensing's mind that this
could work out to be an excellent career move.
As a defensive systems engineer, he would benefit from the actual
combat experience he was accumulating.
People, one at a time, were being visited at their battle stations by a
service robot, to get their armored spacesuits coated with the right
combination, fresh from the paint mixer. Other maintenance robots made their
way through rooms and corridors, spraying the stuff on most of the interior
surfaces.
Kensing, now fully suited and armored as were most of the other crew
members, waited at his battle station ready to assist with damage control or
repelling boarders. He heard Frank, in the pilot's seat, grunt something
to the effect that in the circumstances it would now be as dangerous to
turn back as to press on.
As far as Sandy Kensing knew, Premier Dirac had no more previous
experience of actual space combat than Kensing did himself. However
that might be, the Premier went on as usual calmly issuing
orders-calmly consulting as necessary with
Colonel Marcus or other experts before he did so. And as usual
his commands were accepted, instantly and without comment.
Kensing had noticed that this man only rarely and inadvertently intruded his
orders into realms where he was not competent to give them.
Frank Marcus gave the impression of enjoying every moment of the fight. As
soon as he had a few seconds to spare, he called for some kind of sidearms to
be brought to him and connected to one of his boxes. "In case we do get to the
hand-to-hand."
Kensing was busy for a time, overseeing attempts at damage control. The
wounded were being cared for in one way or another. There were a
number of dead, but not enough seriously hurt survivors to fill all the five
still-available medirobot berths.
And still the ship moved on.
Kensing assumed there might now very well be some people aboard who
objected to continuing the mission; but if so, they were keeping their
reactions to themselves. They were private, silent, cautious-because they
knew their master would consider disobedience, or even too fervent
protest, as mutiny, as treason-and here in space, in the face of
the enemy, the law might well justify a ruthless reaction.
Kensing did overhear a couple of anonymous potential protestors asking
each other quietly, off intercom, just how in hell the Premier proposed to be
of any help to the captives on the stolen station, even assuming those
people could be still alive-and even if the enemy could be overtaken.
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Frank Marcus, who must have overheard some similar mutterings,
demonstrated little patience with the malcontents. To
Dirac he growled: "I'm with you. I signed on to fight berserkers, didn't I?"
And Frank went on fine-tuning his personal sidearms.
A little later, Kensing asked Frank in private: "What do you think the
chances are that we'll really catch up with the damned thing now?"
"Actually, having come this far, they're probably pretty good."
"And if we manage to do that, what chance that we'll really ever be
able to communicate with any survivors on that station?
Can we really believe that anyone there is still alive?"
"Kid, you better stow that line of talk. The Boss'll have you fried
for mutiny."
Since departing the Imatra system, the yacht had gained a great deal of speed
relative to ambient normal space. Because each of
Dirac's craft was notably smaller than the berserker-biostation
combination, he had been able to get away with small c-plus jumps,
and the yacht and its smaller escorts had emerged from each with a
slightly greater subluminal velocity.
The borders of the dark nebula were hard to define with any precision, but by
now the
Eidolon was definitely within the outer fringes of the Mavronari. The
difference between this and normal interstellar space showed on instruments,
in a steady thickening of the ambient matter-density. And ahead of the
yacht the obscuring material gradually but inexorably grew thicker.
Now once more the telescopes aboard the yacht were refocused,
bringing the fleeing berserker and its captive into clearer view. The
chase resumed in normal space. The ambush had cost the Premier not
only his two smaller ships, complete with crews, amounting to almost half
his fighting strength, but a little time, a little distance, as well.
Within a matter of hours it became evident that the battered yacht was
again gaining on the battered enemy. But the rate of gain was slow, even
slower than before the ambush; the human warriors, reluctant and otherwise,
aboard the
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