He waggled a finger toward his console. The four quadrants of the main display were now split into separate screens which he kept in the corner of his eye. “Actually, the fuel feed’s about the only part of the drive system that seems to be working to spec. Three of the plasma nozzles should have been replaced a couple maintenance cycles ago.”
“Princess Cecile to Bremse,” Adele said. “We acknowledge your orders. We’ll orbit at thirty thousand kilometers as soon as we’ve repaired the reaction mass shutoffs. Princess Cecile over.”
The Bremse was laying a defensive array at 44K kilometers above Kostroma’s surface, geosynchronous level. Adele didn’t doubt that the cruiser was willing to destroy a Kostroman vessel that disobeyed its orders, but there were other things going on that might well seem more pressing to the Alliance officers.
Killing a ship was a complicated business. Very different from squeezing a trigger and seeing a face swell, eyes bulging and the first spray of blood from the nostrils . . .
“Bremse to Princess Cecile!” the communicator said. “You’d better stabilize where we tell you, you wog morons, or you’ll be lucky if enough of you gets home that your families can breathe you! Bremse out.”
Daniel’s expression was one that Adele wouldn’t have liked to see had she thought it was directed at her. “The node is big enough to board?” he asked. His left hand on the keyboard was making corrections to the targeting display.
“Big enough for a dozen technicians at once,” Adele said. “I’ve checked the design drawings. There’ll be a programming crew aboard it at least until the whole array is deployed. A boat can take me there using the codes that the shuttles for the work crews use.”
“How big a party do you want?” Daniel asked. “We don’t have combat suits, though.”
Adele sniffed. “There’ll be three or four Alliance programmers,” she said. “Give me somebody to drive the boat and another sailor or two to keep the programmers out of my way.”
Daniel nodded. His finger touched the general call button. “Woetjans, Barnes, Dasi, and Lamsoe to the bridge,” he said, his voice syncopating itself through speakers in every compartment.
Adele noticed distortion. The Princess Cecile, though clean and fit-looking, wasn’t as tight a collection of systems as it might have been if its present crew—communications officer included—had longer to work on the vessel.
“And the Bremse?” Daniel asked. “Can you . . . ?”
“I doubt it,” Adele said. “As a safety feature there’s a lockout chip common to the Bremse and every mine of the constellation. It’s an infinite nonrepeating sequence, not a code I can break. The system won’t even permit me in the node to command a mine to attack the Bremse so long as the lockout’s in place.”
The four sailors came at a shambling run. The weight of continued acceleration showed in the taut lines of their faces, but not in the speed of their arrival. Woetjans didn’t even look strained.
“You’re to take Ms. Mundy in the cutter to track Kay-Kay One-Four-Three-Oh,” Daniel said with perfect enunciation and economy. “That’s the command node of the defensive constellation under construction. There’ll be Alliance personnel aboard, but they shouldn’t expect trouble. In any case, you’ll protect Ms. Mundy and provide her with any assistance she requires. Do you understand?”
Woetjans grinned broadly. “Yes sir,” she said.
“You’ll launch when we’re opposite the planet from the Bremse,” Daniel said to the bosun’s mate. “That’s about seven minutes, so don’t waste time.”
Adele raised herself from her seat, trying not to stagger under the strain of her added mass. Without comment Barnes and Dasi stuck hands under her elbows and lifted her with easy grace.
Lamsoe murmured, “Proud to be chosen, mistress. There’s always something happening where you are.”
“It’s an occupational hazard for librarians,” Adele said with a feeling of amusement that surprised her.
They started down the corridor to one of the circular stair towers. The sailors continued to carry Adele though she dabbed her feet to the deck in stubborn determination not to seem completely helpless.
“Baylor to the bridge,” the general call ordered in Daniel’s voice.