Long View - Rissa And Tregare Part 15

"Here, just below the turret sites-why did they not add another girder ring and omit every second beam from there to the tip? In that case we could squeeze in extra turrets."

He looked more closely. "Hey! I'll have to run the stress factors through the computer, to be sure of it-but I think you've given Peralta some extra firepower!"

He took the drawing to the scoutship; a half hour later he returned. "Well, it works! Want to start figuring the changes?"

"I have already begun." She continued, calculating how best to convert the removed beam segments into a ring-shaped 110.

member-and at what point-with least wastage. Then she began adding and rearranging the necessary runs of power and control cables. She was not concerned with the circuitry itself, but only with physical access. When she finished the proposal, Tregare looked through her notes and sketches. He suggested two minor changes and approved the rest.

The work had taken longer than she realized; it was past time to be asleep.

Now on Carcharodon she had little to do. She finished next morning's inspections in an hour, then accompanied Tregare on the remainder of his own rounds. A little ahead of the usual morning's break, they went to the galley. Over coffee she said, "Except for making a last inspection this afternoon before we leave, I have no more work today. Might it be a good time to learn the projector controls, if Captain Limmer would allow me to use a turret on Left hand Thread!"

Tregare swallowed coffee, then spoke. "Sure. I'm free for a while, long enough to set up a good run of simulations and turn you loose with them."

As they left, others began to come in; Rissa greeted Corane Flerot and saw that Tregare had stepped aside to shake hands with Bartol Hannaway. That residue of worry left her mind.

Downship, across the field to Limmer's ship and then up to its control room, she walked beside Tregare. Holding a sheaf of papers, Limmer met them. "Just going below to look for some spare equipment the men can't find. Nothing critical, but it says here we're supposed to have them." His warped smile came briefly; Rissa no longer saw it as a sneer. "But what can I do for you?"

Tregare explained. "Do you have simulations already programmed, or could I set up a few for her?"

Limmer moved to a control panel, touched switches and observed a digital readout.

"There's a few on here, set up to pipe into Turret Eight-mostly straightforward, chase or be chased. You might want to add some trickier stuff-skew approaches, hit-and-run, multiple targets and the computer being indecisive-you know?" Tregare nodded; Limmer turned to leave.

"Thank you for letting me use your turret, captain."

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"Any time." He paused. "Like to see you both for lunch, if you're free."

"Be glad to," said Tregare. "Something on your mind?"

Limmer shook his head. "Nothing special-just to boot ideas around a little, see how things are firming up."

"Sure." Tregare nodded. "See you then." Limmer waved a hand and left. Tregare turned to the control panel and punched a sequence into the computer, paused, did another, and repeated the process a number of times. "That should hold you for an hour or so, anyway. If you run out and want more, the Repeat b.u.t.ton will rerun the programs in different sequence, with parameters changed enough to make it a new problem."

"Thank you. Shall I go to Turret Eight now?"

"I'll go with you." They climbed and entered the turret; for two, the fit was cramped. He pointed out the auxiliary practice controls. "Here's Start and Stop; there's Repeat. And your range and tuning indicators and controls-remember; right hand controls the circle, and left your range lights. Foot pedal for tolerance override-the less you have to use it, the better. Got it?"

"Yes." On a readout tape at one side of the console she saw a column of two-digit numbers, mostly between 40 and 50. The last number, 44, was starred. She pointed.

"What is that?"

"Scorekeeper. On each problem it prints the percentage of time you had destructive energy level on target, compared to what was possible. Shooting with the override pedal down counts only half points. Last number, with the star, is the overall score for the series."

"And is this a good score?"

"It's fair-somebody's learning. At least he's pretty consistent. But a good journeyman gunner beats fifty, more than not."

"And an expert?"

He laughed. "Might have known you'd ask that. Well, there was an old-timer when I was in UET, a one-eyed old h.e.l.lion with hooks for a right hand. In compet.i.tion-simulated, like here-I saw him hit eighty once, and average seventy-two, with controls he modified himself. On Inconnu, now-anyone who can average sixty is first string."

112.

"I see." She squirmed past and sat at the controls. "Shall I begin?"

"Go ahead. I'll call off your first scores-unless you want me to set for delay between sequences, you won't have time to look."

She shook her head and punched Start. The scope lit with an ellipse slanting left; she pushed at it with her righthand lever, overcontrolled, moved it back. Her left range light was blink- ing; she moved the other lever to extinguish it, then back as the other light blinked-and the circle was leaning again. Back and forth, learning the patterns of coordination, she moved.

A dot appeared within the circle. "That's a hit," said Tregare. The dot vanished.

She concentrated, eyes slightly out of focus to see all indicators without glancing back and forth. The dot came again; this time she held it several seconds, then regained it momentarily before scope and lights darkened and a bell rang. "Twenty-two, "said Tregare.

Again it began. Now she perceived a pattern-the circle tended increasingly to slant left.

Circuit components heating, she recalled, and began to compensate automatically. Range drift was reversed from the first exercise, but also relatively steady. This time when the bell rang, Tregare announced, "Forty-one."

She nodded; she was learning. "Forty-seven." "Thirty-eight"-range drift had reversed halfway through. "That was a side pa.s.s." Then "fifty-three" and Tregare squeezed her shoulder once and released it. "AH right; you're getting it. I'll go take care of some things and see you at lunch."

Already busy with the next simulation, she nodded. When the bell rang she risked a glance at the readout-49-and looked back to see a range light blinking rapidly; her side- glance had given the computer a head start, and she finished with 39. But after that run she made her glance more quickly and was ready for the next move.

Now as she learned to gauge situations faster, her scores- the average of them-improved.

She was sweating, and her hair-worn loose today-fell forward on one side and blocked peripheral vision. She shook it back-the circle tipped and lost its central dot but she recovered it-and ignored the sudden frantic itching of her nose.

113 Her arms and wrists tired-the levers moved only side-to-side and were so placed that she could not rest her forearms on the console's edge. She lost track of time and of the number of simulations she had run.

Her score began dropping-not only from fatigue, but because the runs were becoming more complicated. The first time her range took a discontinuous jump, she was caught by surprise; then she realized the computer had changed targets in mid-exercise. After that, she was on guard and recovered faster.

Finally the bell rang for several seconds; when it stopped, the panel remained dark. She let go the levers-she had not touched the override-and flexed her stiffened wrists and fingers. Only then did she think to look at the final readout.

The starred number was 44.

SHEtook a string from her bag and tied her hair to hang from the back of her head, letting air cool her neck. She looked at her watch-she had been in the turret almost two hours; the time was close to noon. She started downship, paused at a latrine cubicle to relieve herself and wash, and went to the galley. Tregare sat with Limmer at a corner table; she joined them and poured herself coffee. Tregare greeted her. "Well, how'd you do?" "Forty- four, overall. As you said-somebody's learning." Limmer whistled. "On a first series, that's d.a.m.ned good!" "True words," said Tregare. "And I put in some pretty fancy stuff, too, after the basic runs." He sipped from his cup. "Well, how'd you like the job? Mind you-in real action you'd never be at it so long at a time, or without pauses between targets.

On the other hand, you might start bushed, so it evens out."

"With practice, it is a job I can do. And I like the challenge of it. But you make it more difficult than it need be."

"What?" Tregare shook his head. "I know you're not saying you want all easy ones. So what do you mean?"

"The controls, the physical design." She reached out over the table, pantomiming.

"Side-to-side-the motion becomes tiring. Hands and forearms in midair with no resting place.

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Now-" She moved her hands differently. "If the levers moved on a slant-out and back, in and toward one-there would be less fatigue, better performance. And they should be shorter, placed somewhat closer, and the console's edge padded so the arms could rest there."

She looked at him. "Would it be difficult to arrange it so?"

He shook his head. "Not very. Hey-you know? I'd forgotten-I wasn't on weapons much, myself-but the old buzzard I told you about, back with UET? That's pretty nearly the way he modified his controls. The top bra.s.s didn't approve, of course, but the captain did-he liked having the top gunner in the fleet!"

"Then-would you mind, Captain Limmer, if we experiment in Turret Eight?"

"Not a bit. What do you need?"

"Someone of average size and reach, to serve as a model. If I designed for myself, it would not suit the larger personnel comfortably. Given the measurements I will make you a layout drawing this afternoon and we can see if the modification is feasible."

"No problem," said Tregare. "Pivot the lever mountings, is all-then shorten the levers a little and pad the console edge. No need to move anything; the seat's adjustable-which I should have showed you." He looked up. "Well, now-here comes lunch."

Rissa had no more to say; the men also ate in silence. Afterward Limmer asked of Tregare's prospects for additional ships, and the status of tentative deadlines.

Tregare answered slowly, pausing to consider his replies. He concluded, ". . . so I have to decide pretty soon. Inconnu's wasting her time and substance, out there on signal watch-I know that better than anyone. So I've set a day, in my own mind, when I call her in to top off fuel and supplies."

"What is-I mean, what determines that date, Tregare?"

"The day that if Inconnu got signal from an incoming ship, it'd be too late to outfit her to join us. Then, if I don't have six ships, we'd have to give it up." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Even with six, I could use another to guard here in case the Shrakken come." Now his fist clenched. "If only they'd get here now and have done with it!"

"And if they do not?" said Rissa. "What will you do?"

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Tregare shook his head. "I've tried to ignore that decision but I have to make it. Give it all up, if I have what's needed? I couldn't!But to leave this world without protection-"

''At the port, you mentioned defense missiles.''

"Sure, Tari-but the port's all they can defend. The outlying settlements .. ."- Rissa snapped her fingers. "The packet-the locally built ship that took Hawkman to Big Icecube. Could you arm it?"

His eyes narrowed. "Hey! It's big enough-two turrets, maybe three-we've got the spares. And range is where it's limited, not power or maneuvering." He slapped his hand on the table; coffee splashed from his cup. "All right! That settles it. Shrakken or no Shrakken, six ships and we go!"

Limmer nodded. "I'll drink for that." This time, Rissa thought, his grin needed no scars to make it sinister. And the fact that his toast was in coffee dregs did not lessen its impact.

LIMMER sent a man with her to Turret Eight; he sat and put his hands over the table, moving until he found his most comfortable reach. Tregare had been right; there was no need to relocate the lever mountings, but merely to pivot them. She marked the angle on the console with chalk, excused and thanked the crewman, and made her sketches.

She went to Carcharodon and checked construction progress; she found no errors and was pleased to see three projector mountings in place. Tregare joined her as she inspected the third one; then they went downship, met Kenekke at the ramp, and flew back to Base One.

As Rissa landed the aircar she saw Deverel coming out of the scoutship. He met them as they climbed down, and said, "News, Tregare-Peralta's landed! He says give him two days and he'll be here. At Base Two, I mean."

"Good." Tregare nodded. "Tomorrow I'll mark a landing circle for him, to place him for quickest transshipment of weapons. He say anything else?"

"Yes. If anybody's shorthanded, he's got supernumeraries. He made a quick stop at Tweedle of the Twin Worlds, since it was on his way-and found some Escaped UET officers-stranded when the old Underground Railroad got too hot to service."

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"He have any trouble getting away from there?"

"Peralta?" Deverel laughed. "He used fake papers, of course, and filed for a two- week stay but refueled the first night. He turned almost the whole crew loose on sh.o.r.e leave- to paint the town all colors but be back aboard before most of the h.e.l.l they raised could simmer down. Then while UET was still deciding how to start investigating him, he took off without clearance."

Tregare grinned. "That's Peralta, all right. Did they chase him any?"

"Not to show on his screens, anyway. Cla.s.sic misdirection -he headed for Twaddle, fast enough to make a sling turn and go back past Tweedle-just short of plowing air- about four times as fast as anything local could manage on short notice. Anything that went after him was too slow, too late, and going the wrong way."

"He's good, all right-one of the best. I'll be glad to have him along-mostly-"

Rissa looked at him. "You do not trust this man?"

"He's always kept his promises. But he can't seem to forget he was senior to me in UET." Tregare shrugged. "Never mind. It's good news, Hain, and-"

"And let us celebrate it," said Rissa. "Hain-Anse-we owe you two a dinner.

Tregare, is this a good time to pay our debt? In perhaps an hour?"

Tregare touched her shoulder. "Make it two."

FOUR filled the cabin's dining area nearly to capacity. Laughter and pleasantries accompanied the meal. When Deverel complimented her on the meat dish, Rissa said, "I am glad you like it, for it was an experiment. I had not seen stomper prepared in this way, but I recall that it worked well with Argentine beef."

"It's top," said Deverel. "Share the directions with me?" "No, with me!" said Kenekke. "Hain wouldn't follow them, anyway-he's an improviser." Rissa laughed. "Then I shall have to write it down twice." Now, when the talk turned to business, Rissa felt herself a part of it and listened carefully, speaking only to add or ask a fact. When the talk slowed, wine combining with fatigue, the two men excused themselves and left. She closed the door 117.

behind them and turned to hug Tregare. "It was a fine evening, Bran."

"Was?" She laughed and shook her head. "Well-that's better."

NEXTmorning, after inspecting error-free work on Carcharo-don, Rissa went to Lefthand Thread for an hour's gunnery practice. Then, over coffee with Limmer-Tregare called to say he was too busy for the usual morning break-she arranged for a technician to modify Turret Eight's controls. Jury-rigged but workable, the job was done by noon. She lunched early and quickly, seeing no one she knew, and returned to test the results. Her morning average had been 52, including a fair share of complex situations.

Now, seat adjusted to best comfort, she began a series. On the first run, learning the new feel of the controls, she scored 48. Next came a straightforward approach; her readout was a surprising 70. She smiled-surely it was not to be so easy-and ran the rest of the series without looking at individual scores; she knew she was doing well and did not want to give the com- puter the quarter-second advantage of a glance aside.

At the end-she ran the full two hours-the starred figure was 63. Her watch read close to break time, she went to the galley and waited. People entered; the place began to fill. She watched for Tregare. If he did not come soon, she would go and look for him-but there he came and crossed the room to join her.

"How did it go? You get the turret modified?" She nodded. "How does it work?"

Speaking quietly, forcing herself not to smile, she told him her scores of morning and afternoon.

His response did not disappoint her. "Sixty-three? Average? On your third series?" He had leaned forward; now he sat back. "Well, I guess you can quit practicing-you're an in- stant expert."

"I shall do no such thing. Until I have scored eighty and averaged seventy-two, I will practice daily. Then, if I achieve that, perhaps less often."

He laughed. "What if I told you I made those figures up?"

She looked at him. "I do not think I would believe you."

"All right-so I didn't. Well, obviously I'm impressed as all 118.

h.e.l.l. Pleased, too, if that needs saying. Uh-does this mean you won't want to bother learning missiles?"