clipped to their belts, clustered at the intersection of two corridors. They had firefighting equipment stacked around them. He stopped. "What are you three doing?"
"We didn't know what else to do," said a dark-skinned girl. "We thought we'd find a central spot and watch for damage. We've got fire equipment and hull patches and medical kits." She gestured up and down the four corridors around them. "We can see and hear for a long way."
"That's good thinking," Hammett said. "However, I need you for something else. I need to launch a missile, and I'll have to do it by dead reckoning. That means I need spotters, and someone to run messages." He looked around, making sure of his bearings. "There's an observation lounge that way," he said, pointing starboard. "There's another one to port, but we're going to fire a missile from a starboard tube, so that's the way we'll have to look. The missile tube is on this deck and slightly aft. I'll need you to get a message to the missile bay as quickly as possible when we have a decent target."
The three cadets looked at one another, then at him.
"The missile can't turn," he said. "It will fly straight. The target will have to be pretty much dead ahead, or we'll miss."
The three cadets nodded as one and headed down the corridor. The girl said, "I'll spot. You run. In fact, go to the missile bay now and make sure you know the route."
A blond-haired boy nodded and ran aft.
Hammett followed the other two into the lounge. The long room was deserted, tables and chairs making an obstacle course in the deep shadows. Windows ran from floor to ceiling, and he walked up to the steelglass surface with a cadet on either side.
For a moment he saw nothing but stars. Then, far aft, he saw a flicker of movement. A ship was retreating from the Alexander . It had a strange – alien – design, and nothing near it to give it scale. It was maddeningly difficult to tell the size and range.
Then lines of crimson fire lanced out from two different laser batteries. The angle of the shots gave Hammett an instant sense of perspective. He was looking at a craft no more than a couple of hundred meters from the hull, a ship at most of the size of a one-man fighter. It was strangely built, with lumps jutting out in four directions.
As he watched, laser fire touched the alien hull. There was a burst of white vapour, and then a spray of some dark fluid. The little ship tumbled, then raced away into the dark.
"Good," Hammett said. "We're giving them a fight." He looked at the girl on his left. "We won't waste a missile on a dinky ship like that. We'd never hit it, anyway. Sometimes they clump together and form a larger ship. That's the target we want. Something big." He considered. "Anything big enough and close enough that you're pretty sure we can hit it."
The cadet nodded, and Hammett hurried out. He met the blond boy in the corridor. The kid had a fire extinguisher in one hand. He nodded to the captain without stopping.
Hammett was a couple of steps from the missile bay when three metallic clangs echoed through the corridor. He felt his stomach tighten, and he hurried through the half-open hatch.
Yoon looked up from a half-assembled missile. "What the hell was that, Sir?"
"I don't know."
He turned at the sound of running feet in the corridor. The blond boy stuck his head in and panted, "Did you hear three clangs?"
"Yes."
The boy beamed. "Great! Five in a row means open fire." He vanished from the hatchway, then reappeared a moment later, looking flustered. "Sir." He gave a hasty salute. "I forgot, Sir."
Hammett said, "You can waste your time with that foolishness when the battle is over. Now get moving."
The cadet flashed him a grin and disappeared again.
Yoon said, "Was I ever that young?"
"What have you got, Lieutenant?"
She raked fingers through her hair, leaving a shine of grease. "I need ten more minutes. Well, maybe five more after that to get the missile in the tube." She rubbed her chin,
"We didn't know what else to do," said a dark-skinned girl. "We thought we'd find a central spot and watch for damage. We've got fire equipment and hull patches and medical kits." She gestured up and down the four corridors around them. "We can see and hear for a long way."
"That's good thinking," Hammett said. "However, I need you for something else. I need to launch a missile, and I'll have to do it by dead reckoning. That means I need spotters, and someone to run messages." He looked around, making sure of his bearings. "There's an observation lounge that way," he said, pointing starboard. "There's another one to port, but we're going to fire a missile from a starboard tube, so that's the way we'll have to look. The missile tube is on this deck and slightly aft. I'll need you to get a message to the missile bay as quickly as possible when we have a decent target."
The three cadets looked at one another, then at him.
"The missile can't turn," he said. "It will fly straight. The target will have to be pretty much dead ahead, or we'll miss."
The three cadets nodded as one and headed down the corridor. The girl said, "I'll spot. You run. In fact, go to the missile bay now and make sure you know the route."
A blond-haired boy nodded and ran aft.
Hammett followed the other two into the lounge. The long room was deserted, tables and chairs making an obstacle course in the deep shadows. Windows ran from floor to ceiling, and he walked up to the steelglass surface with a cadet on either side.
For a moment he saw nothing but stars. Then, far aft, he saw a flicker of movement. A ship was retreating from the Alexander . It had a strange – alien – design, and nothing near it to give it scale. It was maddeningly difficult to tell the size and range.
Then lines of crimson fire lanced out from two different laser batteries. The angle of the shots gave Hammett an instant sense of perspective. He was looking at a craft no more than a couple of hundred meters from the hull, a ship at most of the size of a one-man fighter. It was strangely built, with lumps jutting out in four directions.
As he watched, laser fire touched the alien hull. There was a burst of white vapour, and then a spray of some dark fluid. The little ship tumbled, then raced away into the dark.
"Good," Hammett said. "We're giving them a fight." He looked at the girl on his left. "We won't waste a missile on a dinky ship like that. We'd never hit it, anyway. Sometimes they clump together and form a larger ship. That's the target we want. Something big." He considered. "Anything big enough and close enough that you're pretty sure we can hit it."
The cadet nodded, and Hammett hurried out. He met the blond boy in the corridor. The kid had a fire extinguisher in one hand. He nodded to the captain without stopping.
Hammett was a couple of steps from the missile bay when three metallic clangs echoed through the corridor. He felt his stomach tighten, and he hurried through the half-open hatch.
Yoon looked up from a half-assembled missile. "What the hell was that, Sir?"
"I don't know."
He turned at the sound of running feet in the corridor. The blond boy stuck his head in and panted, "Did you hear three clangs?"
"Yes."
The boy beamed. "Great! Five in a row means open fire." He vanished from the hatchway, then reappeared a moment later, looking flustered. "Sir." He gave a hasty salute. "I forgot, Sir."
Hammett said, "You can waste your time with that foolishness when the battle is over. Now get moving."
The cadet flashed him a grin and disappeared again.
Yoon said, "Was I ever that young?"
"What have you got, Lieutenant?"
She raked fingers through her hair, leaving a shine of grease. "I need ten more minutes. Well, maybe five more after that to get the missile in the tube." She rubbed her chin,
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