"Walter Jon Williams - Dread Empire's Fall - 02 - The Sundering" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

Only one message, from Lieutenant Captain Lord Gareth Martinez, three days in transit via powerful communications lasers. She opened the message.

УWell,Corona managed to bungle another exercise,Ф he said wearily. His broad-shouldered figure was slumped in a chairЧhe, like Sula, had been suffering from many days of high gee, and his weariness showed it. His viridian uniform tunic was unbuttoned at the throat. He had a lantern jaw, thick brows, and olive skin; his provincial accent was heavy enough to send razor blades skating up SulaТs nerves.

When they had first met, before the war, they had come together briefly, then came explosively apart. It was all SulaТs fault, she felt: sheТd been too panicked, too paranoid, too far out of her depth. SheТd spent the next several months hiding from him. A conceited son of privilege like Foote was someone she could cope with; Martinez was something else again.

If they were lucky enough to come together once more, she wasnТt going to let them blow apart ever again.

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УI said byzero-one-seven !Ф Martinez said. УWhatТs thematter, there?Ф

УSorry, my lord!Ф Fingers punching the display. УThatТs zero-one-seven, my lord.Ф

УPilot, rotate ship.ФCorona was already a little late.

УShip rotated, my lord. New heading two-two-seven by zero-one-seven.Ф

УEngines, prepare to fire engines.Ф

УMissile flares!Ф called the two sensor operators in unison. УEnemy missiles fired!Ф

УPower up point-defense lasers.Ф

УPoint-defense lasers powering, lord elcap.Ф

Martinez realized heТd been sufficiently distracted by the announcement of the enemy missiles thatТs heТd forgotten to order the engines to fire. He leaned forward in his couch to give emphasis to the order, and his command cage creaked as it swung on its gimbals.

УEngines,Ф he said. УFire engines.Ф

And then he remembered heТd forgotten something else.

УWeapons,Ф he added, Уthis is a drill.Ф

After the drill was over, after the virtual displays faded from MartinezТs mind and the leaden sense of failure rose yet again in his thoughts, he looked out over Command and saw the crew as silent and miserable as he was.

Too many of them were new. Two-thirds ofCorona Тs crew had been on board for less than a month, and though they were taking to their new jobs reasonably well, they were far from proficient. Sometimes he wished heТd had only his old crewЧthe skeleton crew with which heТd savedCorona from capture during the first hours of the Naxid revolt. When he now looked back on that escapeЧthe tension, the uncertainty, the hard accelerations, the terror induced by pursuing enemy missilesЧall that now seemed painted in the warm, familiar tones of nostalgia. In the emergency he and the crew had reacted with a brilliance, a certainty that neither he nor they had matched since.

The old crew were still here, among all the newcomers, but Martinez couldnТt rely on them alone. The new people all had to be trained, had to fit into their roles and perform as proficiently as if theyТd been in their places for years.

There was a whirring in his vac suit as the cooling units cut in, flooding the suit with chilled air and the faintest whiff of lubricant.

УRight,Ф he said. УWeТll have another drill after supper, at 26:01.Ф

Despite the fact that the crew were in their white-and-viridian vac suits, he could detect in the angle of their heads and shoulders a slumping attitude of defeat.

In a manual written for officers that heТd found on the frigateТs computers, heТd read of the old formula:praise-correct-praise. First, the manual recommended, you praised them for what they did right, then you corrected what they did wrong, then praised them for their improvement. In his mind he rehearsed the formula as it related to the current situation.

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