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"Right. Computer. Analyze success probabilities for the assumed mission of the larger target, henceforth desig Enemy, Bogey One."
Practically trampling Storm's final words, the computer replied, "With Traffic control of Friendly, probability six five plus. Without Traffic control, probability four seven plus. Analysis of random minetracks incomplete."
"Pretty good," Cassius observed. "I'd buy those odds myself."
"And win. He's got the jump on us. Traffic, put Dee on his own hooks. Cassius, take the gun-control master."
Storm himself assumed control of the master board commanding the mines and missiles protecting the planetoid. "Computer. Probability of Enemy success with new board control." The machine was a cryocyborg unit. It could enter the skills of known human operators into its probability equations.
"With Friendly free of Traffic control and analysis of random minetracks complete, probability three one plus."
Storm was pleased. He and Cassius made a difference.
He did not like the ever-present plus. The computer was weighting the probability shift in Abhoussi's favor.
Storm examined his board. None of his active mines or hunter-killer missiles would pass close enough to Abhoussi to detonate. The weapons in line of approach were inactive for Michael's sake.
He blew several nearby mines. Maybe he could rattle Abhoussi.
He suspected the plus was being awarded because Abhoussi was performing better than the average Ship's Commander profiled in the computer. Richard did not hire average men. No merc captain did.
Storm punched more fire buttons. He did no good. Abhoussi was crawling into Michael's safety shadow. The only sure way to stop him was to activate weaponry in the approach path.
"Bogey One, probability of success, four two plus," the computer a
"Time to jump?" he demanded.
"Twenty-three seconds optimum." Then the computer added, "Hit, beam, remote station twelve. Field anomalies indicate a temporary reduction of efficiency in Bogey One drives. Probability of Enemy success, three one steady."
Storm smiled. "Good shooting, Cassius."
Cassius was too busy to acknowledge the applause. He bent over his master console with the intensity of a virtuoso pianist, totally immersed in his art, webbing Abhoussi with beams of destruction.
Storm turned to his own master, secured it. He had not rattled Abhoussi at all.
He leaned back and watched Cassius while fighting off visions of Pollya
The odds against Abhoussi lengthened. Storm fidgeted. He placed little faith in computer analyses. He had beaten their odds when they had been five-to-one against him. The best games machines, with brains cyborged in, could not take into account all the human factors of a battle situation.
"Hit, beam," the computer a
"Catch time," Storm asked. It had been telescoping, but Abhoussi had been hand-over-handing it up the scope.
"Eleven seconds."
Storm smiled. Abhoussi was climbing an ever-steepening slope. One more perfect shot from Cassius would do it.
Again he paid his chief of staff his due. The man was not just trying for hits, he was sharpshooting Abhoussi's facility for dragging Michael off to neutral space. And that at a time when he could have eased up and allowed his most hated enemy to perish.
Storm grabbed a mike, called the ingress locks. "Get a boat ready for rescue work. Have it crewed and standing by for astrogational instruction. Is Lucifer there yet?" He cut off before he received a reply. The computer was chattering again.
"Hit, beam. Major drive anomalies. Probability of generator damage nine zero plus. Probability of Enemy success, one three minus."
Storm moved to Traffic. "Contact the cruiser," he told the watchstander.
"Bogey One commencing evasive maneuvering," the computer continued. "Probability that Enemy is attempting to disengage, nine five plus." Abhoussi had accepted defeat.
Establishing the comm link took longer than the action had. Abhoussi was more interested in survival than in chitchat.
When the pale-faced Ship's Commander finally responded, Storm asked, "Can you manage your generators yourselves, Commander? Any casualties you can't handle? I have a rescue boat standing by."
Abhoussi gulped air, replied, "We'll manage, Colonel. We took no casualties."
"All right." Storm blanked off. "Cease firing," he ordered.
The order was u
Was Abhoussi telling the truth? He had the feel of a man who would let his people die the death-without-resurrection before putting them into the hands of an enemy capable of using them against his employer later.
Storm called the ingress locks again. "Cancel the boat alert. We won't need it." Then, "Cassius, let's go meet Michael. He'll have an interesting story. Might even tell the truth."
"Good show, gentlemen," Cassius told the watch-standers. "Run a full systems check before you go off duty. See that Supply and Weapons know which mines and missiles to replace." His hard gaze darted from face to face. No one met it.
Storm peered into the shadows. The ravenshrike had concealed itself. It was alert.
"I think we did all right," he told Cassius as they followed the dogs into an elevator. "It was my kind of battle. Nobody got hurt."
"They should all be so chesslike."
A shadow moved in the shadows of a corner of Combat. The eyes of Storm's ravenshrike burned as they watched Homer and Benjamin. Homer slipped into the still warm seat before the mines and missiles board. The blind man caressed trigger switches and status boards with his sensitive fingers. He listened for his sporadic psi. He depressed an activation key, paused, tripped a fire switch.
Daggers of flame scarred the deep space night two light seconds from the Fortress. A swarm of hyper-capable seeker missiles went looking for Commander Abhoussi's cruiser.
The vessel had not traveled far.
Alarms screamed aboard the warship. Automatic weapons responded.
Constellations vanished behind a veil of fire. Abhoussi's engineers seized their only chance. They kicked in the damaged generators. The cruiser twisted away into hyperspace, leaving fragments of itself behind. The seekers, unaware of the cruiser's destination, began cutting lazy search patterns over half-light-year quadrants.
Homer's faint and seldom reliable psi touched upon a remote, short-lived scream. He leaned back and smiled at an aghast Benjamin. "It's done."
"Ah, Homer... " Benjamin could not think of anything to say. He could not meet the eyes of the watch-standers.
Their faces were long and grey. Storm was going to cut their hearts out for not stopping this.
The ravenshrike shuddered as it sensed the psionic scream and the pure disgust of the Center watch. It wrapped itself in wings and shadow, closed its eyes, and awaited its master's return.