A Fighting Chance by William C. Dietz Read Free Book Online Page B

a wall. The barge, which was covered with a thick layer of marine growth, had clearly been there for a long time and was stretched lengthwise across Durkee’s path.
    That forced the cyborg to turn right to bypass the obstruction, a detour that would consume valuable time. Meanwhile, Durkee’s sensors were feeding him information on the water temperature, a current that was running left to right, and the target’s position relative to his. All he had to do was think about the targeting grid in order to summon it up. The submarine was a sausage-shaped blob of orange light located at the center of the crisscrossing amber lines. A tone sounded as Durkee rounded the north end of the barge and came into range.
    The multipurpose missiles loaded onto Durkee’s racks could be used in a wide variety of environments, including the one he was in. But the cyborg knew that the surrounding liquid would slow the missiles down. And once the bugs became aware of the attack, they would use the lengthy “flight” time to employ countermeasures. So Durkee wanted to close the distance between himself and the sub. It was something Rona-Sa had been emphatic about. “You will have the advantage of surprise the first time you fire. But not the second.”
    Of course, if Durkee waited too long and the sub got under way, the opportunity to destroy it would disappear. So a compromise was in order. And, because the target was currently broadside to him, Durkee decided to go for it.
    He paused, brought his missile launchers online, and “felt” them deploy from recesses located along the top surface of his hull. Then, as the ready lights appeared, he fired. There was an explosion of bubbles as the missiles sped away. Durkee “heard” a tone and felt a momentary sense of jubilation as the weapons locked onto their target. But that emotion was snatched away as the sub began to turn toward him. The chits knew! They had been a little slow on the uptake, just as Rona-Sa predicted they would be, but they were reacting now.
    The cyborg swore as the sub fired a salvo of minitorps from side-mounted tubes. The underwater flares exploded, forcing the guidance systems in Durkee’s missiles to choose between the original heat source and new ones. One of his weapons fell for the ruse and veered away. The other hit the sub and exploded. But it was still in the process of turning. So even though some damage had been done, the Ramanthian ship remained operational.
    That was too bad. So was the fact that the sub was equipped with torpedo tubes in addition to deck guns. Durkee’s onboard computer had a tendency to belabor the obvious. “Two enemy torpedoes have been fired and are running. Estimated time to impact is thirty-two seconds. Thirty-one . . . Thirty . . . Twenty-nine . . .”
    Despite the fact that Durkee’s war form could operate underwater, it hadn’t been designed to battle submarines and had no defense against incoming torpedoes other than the thickness of its hull. So all Durkee could do was fire another salvo of missiles in hopes of scoring a lucky hit. Meanwhile, he was backing around the sunken barge in an attempt to take shelter behind it. The strategy worked to some extent as one of the Ramanthian torpedoes hit the wreck and exploded.
    Durkee’s brain registered the momentary flash of light and “felt” the resulting concussion. But his senses were immediately overwhelmed by a searing pain as the second torpedo struck his right foreleg and blew it off.
    Durkee knew that when his war form took a hit, the onboard computer was programmed to provide him with negative feedback by stimulating his thalmus and somatosensory cortex. The idea was to force cyborgs to protect their extremely expensive bodies. The fact that it was artificial didn’t make the pain any less excruciating, however.
    What happened next was more a matter of instinct than logic. Even though Durkee had lost a leg, he could still move, albeit not very gracefully. Alarms