Because when he walked up against a guy like that something went snap inside, he went hyper and he couldn’t think, that was the whole damn problem—
So calm down, don’t do that?
It was why the Fleet had recruited him, it was what they trained him to do, split-second, hyped and half crazy, and they wouldn’t understand he didn’t come with an off switch…
Except maybe Graff understood. But Graff wasn’t answering pages today…
Damn him.
A little hyped. They said, You can relax now. But there wasn’t any sleep. Just the boards, alive with lights. Hands knew where to go and went there. Hell of a way to teach. But they said, “This is a sim tape. Familiarization. It won’t prioritize for you. Just give you the handedness of the boards….”
“Got it, yeah. No trouble.”
“Don’t fight the sims, Kady. You want to bring that pulse down.”
“Yeah. I’m not fighting it.” Happy as hell. God. I want this thing, don’t want to screw it up—God, I don’t want to screw it—
“Calm.”
“Yeah, yeah.” So don’t get excited, Kady, don’t go after it, ride with it, just float and enjoy it—
“Lot better, lot better, Kady. How’re you doing?”
She laughed. Laughed like an idiot.
“You all right there? You know what you’re doing?”
Her hands were reaching. She wasn’t doing it. But she didn’t object. The sequence made complete sense. “Jawohl, mate, piece of easy, there.”
Clumsy direction, then. Her hand shook. “Shit!”
Boards went dark. Direction stopped. She grabbed for the B-panel and the fuse conditions, and the examiner said, “Abort, abort, it’s all right.”
“What did I do?” Her heart was going half light. The drug made her light-headed and she hated the sensation.
“Tape error. Not yours. Relax.”
Made her mad. They had no right to screw up. But you didn’t get mad while you were at the boards, you paid attention. All attention. Save mad for later.
“Ms. Kady.” New voice. “That was a system abort. Don’t worry about it. You can stand down.”
“Thank you.” Cold and calm. Same as you did when something went seriously wrong. She flipped the board-standby switch. Habit. Fool, she thought. It was a toy-board anyway.
“Thank you.” Another delay. “You can get up. Go to the room with the red light showing. You are in .9 gravity.”
“I think I can remember that,” she muttered.
“Some don’t.”
“Thanks.” Anger was the immediate reaction. She was embarrassed to beg; but, putting her foot off the platform: “Do I get another try on mat abort?”
A hesitation. Somebody had blanked a mike. Then: “How are you feeling?”
“Good enough for another try.” Self-disgust. “If I can get one.”
“Get back in the chair, then.”
Thank God. She was all but shaking. And damped that down. Fast.
“Pulse is up, Ms. Kady.”
“Yeah. Re-start.”
“Hyped as hell,” came a mutter from the earplug. Faint. Then at normal volume: “The yoke is an automated assist. It is changing its responses. Do you perceive that?”
“Yeah.” Absolute relief. They hadn’t told her the sim could do that. “But I got my own numbers. Let’s shorten this. What are you, IMAT?”
“IMAT or CSET. A or B, select your format, input your actual license level.”
“No problem.” She took B, ran her numbers in, hoping she remembered them, hoping she was still that sharp, and watched the readout for response profiles. “Shit! Excuse.” 12.489 sudden g’s on a tenth of the yoke range. She cut it back, re-calced in her head, thinking she could have a seriously pissed examiner if she dithered too long, but dammit, she needed the fine control on that hairline correction in the sims and you had to have it wide enough if they threw you an emergency. Hell of a thrust this sim was set for—different than shuttle controls by a long way…
Forgot to ask if time counted. Too late to spare a neuron. You did it right, that was all, you did it real, hell with them… set the controls to your own touch and take the time it took, they should have effin’ said if there were criticalities not on the instruments—it was a new kind of adaptive assist, piece of nice, this was…. All kinds of interlocks and analyses it could give you. Mining in the Belt, you adapted your jerry-built and most egregiously not AI ship by whittling a new part out of plastic, and what you saw on your boards was a whole lot of hard-to-read instruments, not an integrated 360° V-HUD with the course plot and attitudes marked in glowing lines. This thing was trying to find out your preferences, arguing with you when its preconceptions thought it knew you. But it would listen. —Damn it, machine, soyez douce, don’t get cheek with me … used one of these things ten plus years ago, she had, but, God, that had been an antique, against this piece…