The Praxis by Walter Jon Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

you’ve got his boat under control, you can shift your own boat forward to mate with Blitsharts’s hatch.”
    Sula frowned at the simulation, which showed exactly that. It looked possible, but experience had shown her that a simulation was not necessarily cognate with reality.
    The picture cut to Martinez.
    â€œThere are two problems,” he said. “The first is that Midnight Runner’s thrusters still occasionally fire, which may make the tumbling more chaotic by the time you arrive.”
    Oh great, Sula thought. She could do everything perfectly, and then Blitsharts’s thrusters could cut in and cause a collision.
    â€œThe second problem—” Martinez took a breath, “—will be staying conscious. If you attempt to match the movements of Blitsharts’s boat, you’ll be subjecting yourself to an unforgiving pattern of accelerations, followed by a chaotic combination of roll, pitch, and yaw. You will be in severe danger of blacking out.”
    â€œOh. Great.” Sula closed her eyes and leaned the back of her head against her helmet pads.
    Martinez’s closing words echoed in her helmet earphones. “You are the pilot on the scene. It will be entirely up to you whether you attempt this maneuver. I am to tell you from the lord commander of the Home Fleet that no blame will attach to you if you decide the rescue is too risky.”
    Sula opened her eyes. Lord commander of the Home Fleet…
    It wasn’t like there was any pressure or anything. She’d only be performing—or demonstrating cowardice or killing herself or fucking up beyond all possible redemption—in front of the individual who commanded the largest division of the Fleet, the defenses of the capital, and of course her own personal future.
    Thanks a lot.
    Martinez’s image gazed steadily at her from the displays. “I’ll keep sending updates from our sensors here, though of course anything you’ll receive from me will be an hour out of date. I’m afraid there is very little assistance I can offer. You’re truly on your own. Good luck.”
    The image faded, replaced by the orange End Transmission symbol.
    Sula’s fist hovered over the transmit button. “Thank you for sending me on a mission that gives me the choice of suicide or disgrace. Why don’t you come and do it yourself if you’re so smart?”
    She held the fist there for a long moment, hit the transmit button and said, “Cadet Caroline Sula to Lieutenant Martinez, Operations Command. Your message received. Thank you.”
    She hadn’t got as far as she had by being stupid.
    Â 
    S ula managed to stay conscious through the next long deceleration burn, as her pinnace swooped over Vandrith’s north pole to fire her south, directly on Blitsharts’s trail. Her jaws ached from keeping her teeth clamped.
    She started getting data from the ranging lasers tracking Midnight Runner, and she was able to update Martinez’s simulation of the tumbling craft. There was an extra wobble in its roll—sure enough, the yacht’s maneuvering thrusters must have fired and added an extra little complexity to the acrobatics.
    She wondered what could be causing them to fire at random that way. It didn’t make any sense. If an automated pitch-and-yaw program had been initiated to stabilize the craft, the thrusters would be firing more regularly and deliberately, which would have dampened the oscillations, not increased them.
    Could Blitsharts be making brief attempts to solve his problem? Coming out of unconsciousness briefly to fire a thruster, but so disoriented he only made his situation worse?
    That didn’t precisely make sense either, but it was the best guess she could make.
    She studied the simulation. She ate some ration bars. She took a brief nap. And, because she finally couldn’t stand the pressure in her bladder any longer, she urinated into her suit.
    Elimination