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class.
Why weren't there hookups in their rooms? All it took was cabling and
inexpensive, or relatively inexpensive, hardware. Trystin rubbed his forehead.
In a way, it didn't make sense. Yet, so far, everything that the Service did
had a reason, not always a reason Trystin accepted, but a reason. Was it too
expensive? Or old habit? He pursed his lips. That question would wait for
later. He still had to figure out a series of problems on superconductivity
lines and translation engines.
The workstations at the South end of the library were all vacant except for
two-one in each corner. Trystin did not recognize either officer in the room.
He took the console in the middle, easing his gear bag as far under the shelf
that held the console as it would go, and toggling the screen controls before
realizing that he could again use his implant.
The implant link-connect was soft, almost flat, but faster than he recalled as
he called up the engineering index and began to race through the
superconductivity entries.
As usual, none were exactly what he needed, and he wondered if Commander
Eschbech designed his assignments just that way so that they always required
four different references, interpolations, calculations, and sometimes just
plain guesswork.
How was he supposed to come up with the specifications of a
ceramic-carbon-helix design for a supercon line designed to handle a
translation engine with a thousand-light-year limit on optimality? And why?
Trystin took a deep breath.
After completing three of the problems, Trystin rubbed his forehead. The noise
of the implant still bothered him, enough that he had a slight headache. "Good
luck this afternoon," said a soft voice. Trystin looked up at the round face
of Constanzia Aloysia, who had cut her hair so short that the frizziness
almost did not show.
"Thank you." He looked at her again. "Why?" "I saw the assignments board."
"Not Commander Mitchelson?" "Not that bad." She smiled. "Commander Kurbiachi."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome." She looked at the few notes he had scrawled on his pad and
at the screen that showed his engineering work to date. "You do those
problems? He said that they were optional." "If I don't do it all, I get in
trouble." Lieutenant Aloysia shook her head, then brushed something off the
sleeve of her shipsuit. "I thought you wouldn't want to be surprised."
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"Thank you." Trystin tried to put more warmth into his voice.
"That's all right, lit see you in Engineering." As Constanzia left the study
area, Trystin checked the time. Although he hadn't Finished the last problem
and couldn't figure out how to set it up, he was out of time. He gathered his
gear and downlinked from the library system. He hurried out, but no one looked
up.
After bounding down the ramps at a speed less than dignified, Trystin stepped
up to the assignments board in the square foyer off the south end of the
simulator bay. A name in glowing letters appeared next to his-that of
Commander Kurbiachi. He moistened his lips. So far he had been lucky enough to
avoid the commander, although the rumor was that he was fine in class, all
right in the simulator, and murder in actual corvette trainers. Trystin headed
down the corridor toward briefing room three B, the heels of his boots
whispering across the textured plastic floor sealant.
Although his steps had always been heavy--Salya had claimed the Academy knew
when Trystin left the house- the half-gee field in the station kept even
Trystin from sounding like a reclamation tractor.
In the briefing room. Commander Kurbiachi was waiting, his informal greens
crisp, his face smooth and unlined.
"Lieutenant Desoll, ser."
"Sit down. Lieutenant." The commander handed Trystin the worn briefing packet,
but did not sit as Trystin eased into the scratched gray plastic chair. "You
have just had your implant reactivated-is that not correct?" "Yes, ser."
Kurbiachi nodded. "In this session, you will be doing a standard recon run,
through the Jerush system, looking for a rev drone or scout. The parameters
are as accurate and as up-to-date as we can make them. In fact, this session
is modeled after such a run. Yes, we do infiltrate rev systems, and they
occasionally infiltrate ours. Space is quite large, remember."
In turn, Trystin nodded, trying to look alert, despite the distractions
provided by the increased noise of his "improved" implant.
"This session is a review. Lieutenant, for very good reasons. First, you are
going to have difficulty in adjusting to the greater data flow from your
implant. You will be confused and trying to use both manual and implant input
to control the corvette, and you may have difficulty learning how to tone back
on your increased sensitivity. You can do that, you know, but it takes work
and practice, and we haven't given you enough of that yet. Finally, the
readouts and data flows will all be speeded up so that you experience the full
impact of operating under dilation effect."
The commander half turned and took several steps toward the door, hands behind
his back, before turning and walking back toward Trystin. "This simulator
session is usually the most difficult for all pilots. Lieutenant," said
Commander Kurbiachi. "That will not be because there is anything new,
however." "Yes, ser." Trystin nodded.
"As I said, most pilots have great difficulty handling the volume of the data
flows through the implant. I must remind you that for the next several
sessions, you will only be receiving the tactical and basic-maintenance data.
The actual mission is merely a flight from the Jerush Oort area on a recon
runby. You will probably encounter rev patrollers, since they do investigate
any EDI tracks within their system, as do we.
"Unlike most simulator sessions, on this one you may take as long as you wish
on your setup. I would recommend that you do so." Kurbiachi nodded and bowed
ever so slightly.
"Thank you, ser." Trystin bent and picked up his gear bag and followed
Kurbiachi out into the simulator bay and the smell of plastic, ozone . . . and
tension.
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