Eye of the Storm

CHAPTER TWENTY

“The ship is primarily crewed by Marro,” Mosovich said, bringing up a hologram of the snake-like enemy. “Call ’em Snakes. Standard weapons are flechette shotguns for the majority of the enlisted and rail subguns for the officers and senior NCOs. They’re ship’s crew so they’ll have some training in security but Himmit indicate that weapons for the enlisted are locked down unless they are preparing for boarders.”

“That would be us,” Mueller said.

“Correct,” Mosovich replied. “But we are supposed to be hitting them by surprise and fast. If we hit them fast enough, they’re not going to get many guns distributed. And they’re Navy, they’re not going to be highly trained in them. Himmit concur on that.”

“The Himmit don’t have to fight them,” Mueller said.

The briefing was taking place before the whole SRS group and the mentats. It had been carefully explained to the latter that Mosovich and Mueller went way back and Mueller was always the devil’s advocate.

“Another race we may encounter is the Kotha,” Mosovich said, bringing up a hologram of the massive cephalopods. “They’re leaders of the Hedren forces and may be in officer positions.”

“Ugly,” Mueller said.

“And they can use all those tentacles to wield weapons,” Mosovich noted. “Keep an eye out for these guys; they’re reputed to be very bad news.”

“The main threat is going to be the Porkies,” Mosovich said, bringing up a slide of the Glandri. Who did look, a bit, like porcupines. “They’re primarily trained as populace controllers but they’re also the Imeg’s body guards. We’ll know we’re close to the Imeg when we hit them. They’re primary weapon is a neural scrambler. At low power it’s a very painful stunner. At high power it tears up neural pathways and has an effect like nerve gas. Our armor has had a layer of metal fibers added that might mitigate the effect. But don’t bet on it. Getting hit with one of those things is purely gonna suck.

“Three shuttles. Each will carry one third of each team, the command team will be distributed and the adepts will be distributed. Lock on to this zone, breach with firepaste. Clear the compartment and head out.

“The ship is about three hundred meters long and just chock full of compartments. The Himmit’s best guess on where the Imeg is going to be hanging out is here… ” he said, pointing to a spot on the hologram. “It’s a portion of officer’s country that sometimes is converted to carry a squadron commander. That will be the primary target for Alpha Team.”

“Got it,” Major Kanaga, the Alpha Team leader said. His team name, Moustache, dated to when he’d been a very junior officer and attempted, unsuccessfully, to grow one. The huge bulge of Redman in his cheek, however, was his real trademark. And he still couldn’t grow a mustache.

“Charlie Team’s mission is to secure the mentats that will be accompanying,” Mosovich continued. “They have some capacity to defend themselves but they are primarily going to be defending us from the Imeg and that’s probably going to be occupying all their time. Do not hesitate. Kill anything that gets near them.”

“Clear,” the Charlie Team leader said. Major Sheldon ‘Boxcar’ Hildyard was tall and lanky with bright red hair. Also fast as a thief in combat.

“Bravo Team will move behind Charlie in support,” Mosovich said. “You’re our reserve and back-cover.”

“Clear,” the Bravo Team leader replied. Major Reuben ‘Ugly’ Kimple got his tall and blond looks from both his maternal and fraternal grandmothers. He got his bulk from his maternal grandfather. Where he’d gotten his movie-star gorgeous face was a mystery all the family was still trying to answer.

“Upon securing the mentat we won’t screw around with finding a different way out,” Mosovich said. “Bravo will follow the trail of bodies and blown hatches. Alpha will cover the rear. Ingress and egress will be trained with at least two routes in and out and multiple side-options. Clear?”

“Clear,” the team leaders chorused.

“Mentat Chan?”

“We are taking fourteen adepts,” Chan said. “Two masters, myself and Indowy Master Shaina, nine class six adepts and three class five. During the preparatory phase they will work to support and improve the Des Moines’ cloak. We believe that this will permit us to close to within no more than five thousand meters of the Hedren cruiser before we are detected. Eight of those adepts are human. Five will remain on the Des Moines to shut down the cruiser and its defenses. Three, including myself, will accompany the strike team. The six Indowy adepts will remain on the Des Moines. They will ensure that the Des Moines remains combat functional through the entire engagement and give support to the assault adepts as well as preventing broadcast by the Imeg or the ship. Assuming that between the adepts on the cruiser, myself and the two sixth level that will accompany me we can prevent the Imeg from interfering, we believe we can prevent the cruiser from escaping or even firing its weapons. If we cannot, things will get interesting. I would make a note.”

“Go,” Mosovich said.

“The purpose of this mission is for we adepts to gain an understanding of the methods of our enemies,” Chan said. “We may determine, quite early, that fourteen adepts including two masters cannot successfully hide a ship from Imeg and or cannot successfully secure them. We simply do not know the abilities of the Imeg. In the event this is the case, the mission should be aborted.”

“For anything involving sohon, you’re calling the shots Mentat Chan,” Mosovich said. “If you say abort, we abort. On the basis that we won’t, I’ll continue. Upon securing the Imeg adept we will move to the shuttles and egress from the ship. Upon rendezvous with the Des Moines the cruiser will be destroyed.”

“What if they grab our shuttles?” Mueller asked. “Or blow them?”

“Chance we’re going to have to take,” Mosovich said. “We’re short bodies as it is. And more bodies means more shuttles.”

“Rig ’em,” Mueller said.

“We can do that,” Ugly said. The Bravo team leader grinned ferally. “Plenty of ways to make them not want to touch them. Stuff we can turn off on the way back.”

“Works,” Mosovich said. “Questions.”

“We’ve got pics of the Kotha and the Snakes and the Porkies,” Moustache said, rolling a ball of Redman in his cheek. “What’s an Imeg look like?”

“The Himmit don’t know,” Mentat Chan said. “They have no images of one. Because the Himmit do not or cannot use sohon, they cannot approach an Imeg without being detected. They assume that some of their lost scouts did so but that is an assumption. We are going to be the first beings outside the Hedren Tyranny to see one. From Himmit accounts, even the Kotha rarely if ever see one in the flesh. They are very secretive. Equally, no one knows what the Hedren look like. But let us first examine the Imeg before we consider facing their masters.”

“We board the Des Moines tomorrow,” Mosovich said. “We’ll hash out the details and routes there and work on our situational awareness. The Des Moines doesn’t have the same configuration but we can work with it in VR. Start getting it on.”

“Mentat Chan,” Captain McNair said as he greeted the party at the boarding tube. “Welcome, again, to the Des Moines.”

“Captain,” the mentat said, bowing slightly. “I believe I should ask for permission to board.”

“Y’all come ahead,” Daisy Mae said, grinning. “We ain’t particular round here.”

“That means permission for your party to come aboard is granted,” Captain McNair said, rolling his eyes. “Mentat Shaina, I see you.”

“Captain McNair, I see you,” the Indowy said, nodding his head. “Entity Daisy Mae, I see you,” he added, actually adding a slight bow. As he bowed he saw a small carnivore, brown and furry, stropping the legs of the entity called “Daisy.” Shaina filed that information away for future analysis.

“Y’all’s set up in a section of the officer’s quarters,” Daisy said. “Put in some appliances for makin’ y’all’s food and a supply for about a week. All the room there was. Y’all need anything, you just announce it. I can ignore things if you don’t want me to see but seein’ as I am the ship, any time you talk to me I’ll hear it.”

“The point to this is that you should require minimum interaction with the human crew,” Captain McNair pointed out.

“My thanks, Entity Mae, Captain McNair,” the mentat said, nodding his head again.

“I’ll lead y’all to your quarters,” Daisy said. “Pretty sure you know the way but it’s fittin’.”

“I cccoulllddd llleaddd thththemmm, Dddaisssy,” said the small carnivore.

Fascinating, though Shaina.

“Daisy Mae is an interesting entity,” Mentat Chan said as the captain led the way to his quarters. He’d been installed in the captain’s cabin. There was, in addition, a small captain’s day cabin near the bridge which McNair would use for the trip.

“She’s a handful,” McNair admitted, while thinking, Actually, she’s at least two handfuls. “But it makes running the ship easier that’s for sure.”

“I think I was actually referring to her entire being,” Chan said. “The reality of it approaches, if you do not mind my saying so, the metaphysical. She is more than just an AI that took on the appearance of a minor actress and her being infuses the ship far more than the nannite systems can account for. In a way, it seems more that the ship infuses her.”

“Ships have souls,” McNair said as he opened the hatch to the cabin. “All good ships and certainly any that have been used for long enough. Daisy doesn’t talk about it much, but the AI she used to be got… changed by being hooked into the Des Moines. The original one that is. I hope that making this new one hasn’t… killed something.”

“I do not think it did,” Chan said looking at the small cabin.

“Sorry it’s not larger,” the captain said, shrugging. “But, you know there’s only so much room on a ship.”

“I was actually thinking how wasteful it was of space,” Chan replied. “Humans who are not Indowy raised are simply used to so much room. I will probably share this with my students.”

“Well, we’ve got bunking for them, too,” McNair said, looking at the cabin. He always found it mildly claustrophobic.

“No, this is sufficient for all of us,” Chan said. “I’m sure that someone has been discommoded by our presence. Since we will be comfortable sharing this room, it is better to let them have their space back.”

“I’ll leave you to get settled in, then,” the CO said. “We’re breaking dock right away. We’re on tight time to make the intercept.”

“Indeed,” Chan said. “Haste is an unfortunate necessity.”

“Hot bunking,” Mueller said, grumpily.

“It’s a warship,” Mosovich replied. “We’re going to need to start work-ups as soon as the mentats are ready. I’m not sure they’re up to keeping up with us.”

“That’s going to be fun,” Mueller said, grinning.

“Y’all don’t do a whole bunch of physical training, do you?” Mosovich said, frowning, as the junior mentat bent over and threw up.

They had started, he thought, with the easy stuff. There was a route in the Des Moines which was pretty close to the route they were going to have to take to get to the place they thought the Imeg might be. So with all the blast doors open they had hoofed it from the notional entry point to the target compartment, working on coverage and general movement.

The SRS team was loaded for bear with leopard-suit space gear, heavy body armor, cloaks and full load-out. The mentats, after Chan’s assurance that they could prevent injury from random shrapnel and bullets, were just wearing cloaked leopard-suits.

About half way to the compartment, Mosovich had had to slow down to let the mentats catch their wind. By the time they got there, two of the junior mentats were pretty much useless. And even Chan wasn’t looking all that hot.

“We do, yes,” Chan said, breathing heavily. “But it is… spiritual based and… very low impact.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Not very aerobic come to… think of it.”

“Reality is we’re probably going to have to be stopping to burn doors,” Mosovich said, not even breathing hard despite wearing better than a hundred pounds of armor, ammo and battle-rattle. He figured that, all things considered, they were more or less going to have to think in terms of clearing the whole ship. He was not going to run out of ammo. “So you’ll get a chance to catch your breath, then. But I bet you’re not much use sohon wise at the moment.”

“No, we are not,” Chan admitted. “And, yes, we must get in better shape. Fortunately, there are excercises we can perform to enhance our advancement in that regard. By the time we reach the target we will be prepared. You have my word.”

“Uh, huh,” Mosovich said. “Hope you’re right. Cause it’s gonna be all our asses if you’re not.”

“Cutting paste.”

The hangar bay was the only place large enough to hold the training facility. Even with VR gear it helped to have a mock-up of an assault area. A series of light walls had been installed indicating the bulkheads of the area they believed the Imeg to be quartering. Heavier doors had been carried along to simulate the hatches they’d have to breach. In some cases they were planning on burning through the bulkheads but most of the time the hatches were a better bet.

Payback, the Alpha Demo specialist, pulled out a length of what looked like silver rope and put a man-sized oval of it on the hatch. The cutting paste was self sticking so he just laid in a detonator and rolled to the side of the door, holding up the activator.

“It may be possible, depending upon many factors, that we will be able to override the hatch controls,” Chan noted on the command frequency. His left hand was gripping the back of the harness of Master Sergeant Field, the Charlie second stick NCOIC who was called, for reasons that even a mentat could not comprehend, Lieutenant Penis. Each of the mentats had a designated SRS lead. It was anticipated that they were going to have to concentrate on controlling the Imeg and couldn’t be expected to also figure out where to go. So they just held on and went.

Sergeant First Class Arden Dugmore and Sergeant Charles Basmanoff, Dumbo and Friday respectively, were covering his back. Behind them two more sticks managed the lower level mentats.

“Better to train as if you can’t,” Mosovich said as Payback fired the charge. The high-energy paste cut through the plasteel as if it were so much paper and as the door began to sag a breaching charge went off, blasting it into the compartment. The Alpha first stick, Recto, Mangler and Sugar Plum, burst through the smoke and cleared the compartment in a buzz of flechettes.

“Clear,” Master Sergeant ‘Recto’ Owen said in a laconic voice. “Unknown alien entity, tentatively identified as an Imeg, in the room. Entity is active.”

“Take down team,” Mustache whispered.

The two and three stick charged through the door and there was a buzz of static on the radio.

“Imeg immobilized. Bagging and tagging.”

The take-down team came through the door with a large Tigger dummy wrapped up in rigger-tape. The stuffing of the dummy had been replaced with sand and it was clear that they were struggling.

“This was fucking Mongo’s idea, wasn’t it?” SFC Sullivan said.

“Yes,” Mueller replied. “And your point, Altar Boy?”

“Exercise terminated,” Mosovich said, looking at his Buckley. “Fifteen minutes twenty-three seconds from entry to take-down. No way it’s actually going to go this smooth, but that’s not bad. Break it down for institutional scab-picking.”

“We don’t have any idea how big these guys are?” Recto asked.

“No clue,” Colonel Mosovich replied. “They could be heavier than the Tigger dummy. They could look like Yoda. No fucking clue.”

“What if they’re, like, beings of pure energy?” Sergeant Alton ‘Sugar Plum’ Sutton asked. The electronics and communications specialist shrugged at the looks. “Dudes, we’re working with wizards. It’s not a stupid question.”

“It is unlikely that they are quantum state entities,” Adept Elijah Hoover said. The sixth level sohon adept was part of the sohon assault trio and, thus, included in the entry team debrief. “Not impossible but the attainment of such an evolved state is one of the goals of the Way. You speak of a species as advanced as the Aldenata. If they have attained such advancement, it is unlikely that even fourteen adepts can contain one of them. In which case, we will find ourselves in a difficult condition.”

“I’ve got a team nick for Hoover,” SFC Cribbs said. His team name was Meister but Chan had already learned that it stood for ‘Drunk-Meister.’ The mentat had been studying the SRS in fascination since the voyage began and was pleased to finally have an opportunity to examine the assignment of such team-names. “I say we just call him Understatement.”

“Whirlwind,” Mangler said.

“Why Whirlwind?” Recto asked.

“The Book of Kings,” Adept Hoover said. “The Prophet Elijah was said to have been taken to heaven on a whirlwind, a dust-devil.”

“Dust-Devil,” Recto said to nods all around.

“Are you going to need to be physically present to control the Imeg?” Mosovich asked, looking at the results of the training so far.

“It is unlikely but possible,” Chan said. “I think that we should be able to control them from practically anywhere on the ship. It is possible, however, that a closer presence may have enhanced effect.”

“Then we’re going to need to work on methods of inserting you into the room,” Mosovich said, nodding but not looking up. “Doors are always crowded places in one of these things. And dangerous places too. Are you going in first or one of your juniors.”

“I think Hoo… Dust-Devil is the better choice,” Chan said. “He has shown the most promise in sohon… control techniques. He seems, in fact, to have much more of a flair for them than construction.”

“Yeah,” Snake said, nodding again. “For all he’s like ‘Me Monk’ he’s got the warrior look. Don’t know if you consider that good or bad.”

“For these conditions and necessities, it is alas good,” Chan said. “I am fascinated by the assignment process of team names. It would be considered the height of insult for a junior to call a senior Lieutenant Penis among the Indowy or those raised by them. I was interested to see the process for assigning one to Adept Hoover.”

“Team names are a sign of acceptance,” Mosovich said, finally looking up. “More than that, really. They’re very complicated. The official reason for them is that they reduce confusion in communication. Everyone has a unique name with no ambiguity. Pilots really started it. But there’s more to it than that. Although everyone recognizes that there are higher and lower ranks on the teams, the necessity is for a sort of fluidity that recognizes that while ignoring it. Master Sergeant Owen, Recto, may give an order to Mangler and it will be obeyed. But in more formal units, Mangler might pass information to a higher authority and then be questioned about it. By eliminating the base thought about who is the higher from a certain portion of the consciousness, by eliminating the ‘Dad’ aspect of ‘Master Sergeant’ from that bit of brain, when Mangler makes a motion for six Glandri, Master Sergeant Owen accepts that data as Recto, a near equal to Mangler, instead of Master Sergeant Owen having to consider the validity of the information Sergeant First Class Dale has passed to him.”

“Interesting psychology,” Chan said, frowning. “One thing that it has been hard to explain to the Indowy, and that even we humans raised by them often forget, is that being superior in position is not always the same as being superior in concepts or current knowledge.”

“Mentat Chan, Adept Hoover, master, student, yada, yada, yada,” Mosovich said, nodding. “There’s a time and a place for hierarchy. In the middle of an entry is not necessarily one of them.”

“We do not normally do… entries,” Chan said.

“It’s going to be a long war,” Mosovich replied. “Better get used to them.”

“I notice that there is no suggestion that I be given a team name,” the Mentat said, smiling slightly.

“You’re heap big mojo,” Mosovich said. “Way too big mojo to think about insulting you. I didn’t, by a stretch, get into the full psychology of team names. But that’s part of it. They don’t want to offend. Another part of it is that while Hoover is also heap big mojo, he just has the… feel of wanting to be part of the team. And since they know they’re going to be depending on him, they’re willing to accept him even though he’s not really ‘one’ of us. He’s a respected associated specialist. They work with them from time to time. Bane Sidhe specialists in one thing or another. Commo, hacking, whatever. So there’s a mental slot for him. Now, Pawle, he’s got less interest in being one of the boys. So they haven’t suggested making a team name for him. Oh, they’ve got one, they just don’t use it around him.”

“Are they aware he may know it anyway?” Chan said, frowning. “Even for a fifth level your communications are not terribly hard to intercept.”

“Wasn’t aware of that,” Mosovich said, shaking his head. “It’s always something. I don’t know if he knows or not.”

“What is his team name?” Chan asked.

“Skank,” Mosovich said.

“Hardly a pleasant name,” the mentat said, his brow furrowing.

“Pawle’s got a real holier-than-thou attitude,” Mosovich said. “If I thought it was going to interfere I would have brought it up. But he does his job, presumably. We won’t really know until we get to the intercept.”

“I hesitate to discuss the issues of junior adepts with you,” Chan said. “They are… complex.”

“And you haven’t noticed that teams are?” Mosovich said, raising an eyebrow. “Just because you guys have got bulging foreheads, doesn’t mean you’re not human with human foibles. Small teams have been working the psychology of that for forever. Want my read on Pawle?”

“I will accept your input,” Chan said, gravely.

“Fine,” Mosovich said. “All you mentats are bright. It’s a necessity. Everybody’s figured out that you’ve got to juggle quantum mechanics in your head while doing whatever it is you do. That takes big bulging foreheads. Pawle was, however, brighter than the average growing up. Which meant that, due to very basic human nature going back to the way that primates in the wild act, others tried to pull him down. Knowing the fact that he grew up in an Indowy environment, my guess would be passive aggressive techniques and occasional mildly aggressive. He probably just got shunned and ignored a lot. He ended up knowing he was smarter than everyone around him but with a massive inferiority complex. He’s apparently arrogant because he’s lacking self esteem. Or am I wrong?”

“You are a student of human nature,” Chan said.

“I’ve been commanding small units of very elite troops for a very long time,” Mosovich said. “I had a lot of classes once upon a time and I think I’ve surpassed most of them.”

“And what would your recipe be for improving Adept Pawle?” Chan asked, honestly interested.

“Pressure him,” Mosovich said. “He’s bright but lazy which, believe it or not, is good. But he’s also very unsure. Put him under pressure so high it either kills him or cures him. If he fails all you have is a guy stuck on stupid at fifth level. If he passes, he’ll gain confidence from it. There are guys I’ve commanded who had esteem problems, but they generally get over them after whatever entry program is used by the group. The problem is that with his attitude he’s a weak link. But sohon’s your side of this op.”

“The problem is the nature of the mission,” Chan said, frowning. “The essentially violent nature of the operation is… very much anathema to most of the Indowy raised. The positions are voluntary. Of my students, only Pawle and Hoover volunteered to enter the enemy vessel. I am, I admit, unsure of the concept of pressuring sohon adepts to exceed their level of comfort.”

“How’s your comfort?” Mosovich asked.

Chan looked at the table between them for a long moment.

“Perhaps too high,” the mentat said. “My father was Admiral Chan Kushao, the senior Chinese officer in Fleet. Unlike the… latter officers, including those of the Race of Han, he was a man of honor.”

“Indra?” Mosovich asked.

“Oh, far earlier,” Chan said, snorting. “He was in command of CruRon Fourteen at Second Diess.”

“That’s where about the only thing we recovered was the Yamato, right?” Jake said. “The rest of the fleet, and all the cruisers, were if I recall clearly, scrap.”

“I was… ten? Yes, ten.” Chan sighed and shrugged. “The younger members were… younger when they were taken in by the Indowy. Many of them barely remember their parents. I can remember my mother crying when father’s shuttle was gone. And I can remember my sisters.”

“They… stayed in China?” Jake asked.

“They did indeed,” Chan said. “One of the reasons I generally work for the Darhel at arm’s length. I have gotten over the rage, but I will admit that I am perhaps less… tamed than the Indowy would wish. So,” he said, looking up. “No, I have no issues with this mission. I am the son of a Chinese admiral, who was the son of a naval captain. Our family was one of the few of the Manchu to survive the Communists, mostly because my great-grandfather saw the writing on the wall and went over to them very early. My grandmother had a list of every Chan who had served under the Emperors going back several centuries. I may be a mentat instead of a ship’s commander or a colonel. But.”

“But,” Jake said, grinning. “What are you gonna do about Pawle?”

“I think he chose to take the active role in his own attempt to get over his self esteem issues,” Chan said. “To prove himself if you will. I also see the issues with that.”

“One way that goes bad is they don’t,” Jake said, nodding. “That is, they crack under the pressure. The other way it goes bad is they over-react and end up a dead hero.”

“Answer?”

“Training,” Jake said. “And selection. You can sort of do both at the same time. Hmmm… ”

“What are you thinking?”

“We haven’t really been training you guys for resistance,” Jake said. “Once we get up to full run, in about a week, I was going to be throwing wrenches in the ops to test my guys. I think we need to do that to yours.”

“Glandri,” Toucher said, pulling back. “Corridor’s packed with them!”

“Alternate four,” Moustache said, automatically. “Payback, seal this corridor.”

“On it,” the demo man said. The door closed and he laid a sealer on it, igniting it as the team retreated.

They turned a corner and hurried down it but before they reached the end there was a rave of sound that filled the corridor.

“Autogun,” Daisy Mae announced. “Lt. Penis and Glasshoppah are graded as terminated.”

“Glasshoppah?” Chan snapped.

“Thanks, Daisy,” Mosovich said, grinning. “See you, Glasshoppah.”

“Glasshoppah?” Chan repeated as the team continued down the corridor.

“How can Master Chan be terminated?” Pawle asked as he hurried to keep up.

“Is it possible?” Master Sergeant Jesse asked. The third stick NCOIC was not a fan of his ‘principal.’ “It’s possible. This is designed as a hard run. You and Dust-devil are on your own.”

“There is… ” Dust-devil said then paused. “Oh… that is not fair.”

“Master Chan is… playing the… Imeg,” Pawle said, panting. “He is attempting to shut down your weapons and prevent our movement.”

“Well, you two had better fucking keep him from doing it,” Hooter said. The second stick NCOIC looked back at Dust-Devil. “How’s it going?”

“He’s a seventh level sohon,” Dust-Devil snarled. “It is not going well. Now let us concentrate!”

Payback laid a strip of cutting paste on the hatch and hit the igniter. It didn’t flare.

“What the fuck?” he snarled.

“Master… Chan,” Dust Devil said from across the compartment. “Wait… ”

The paste suddenly ignited, flaming even hotter than normal.

“Sk… Pawle,” Dust Devil said through clenched teeth. “Hold… reality.”

“I am holding,” the fifth level said, gritting his teeth. “I think I… ”

Suddenly the heavy duty fire-fighting sprinklers cut on, dousing the team in a spray of water like a firehose.

“What the… ” Moustache snarled as they cleared the far compartment.

“My visor just went down!” Mangler snarled, ripping the VR goggles off.

“Fuck,” Buster shouted as his weapon was ripped from his hand.

The walls of the compartment deformed, closing in on the assault team.

“Hold… reality,” Dust Devil said. “Damnit, I can’t fight him and the walls at the same time!”

“I… have it,” Pawle said. The walls had stopped closing in and the water shut off. “Holding. Go, Moustache!”

“Payback,” the team commander said, pointing at the next hatch. Which slid aside.

“We don’t have time,” Pawle said. “MOVE!”

As the team entered the final compartment they found Master Chan seated in a lotus, eyes closed and a faint smile on his face.

“Securing team,” Moustache said.

Alpha’s One and Two darted forward and bounced off a field that was clearly invisible.

“That is not reality,” Pawle said, his eyes closed. “Dust… ”

The second level mentat was suddenly lifted off his feet and slammed into the bulkhead.

“Dust Devil is graded as injured,” Daisy Mae said. “Up to you, Skank.”

“I cannot… ” Pawle ground out.

“You’d better do something fast,” Cheeto shouted. The shooter from Charlie was covering the door of the compartment. “We got Glandri moving in.”

This is not a fair test, Pawle thought. The Imeg would be dealing with the other sohon at the same time. In this case it is only you.

I have factored for that, Chan thought. Don’t think this is the all of my ability, young one. But it is what I would have left if I was also attempting to destroy the attacking ship. And, think, there may be more than one. The reality is that there is no shield about me. Establishing reality is easier than changing it. Establish reality. And if you are talking you are not fighting.

Fine, Pawle thought, savagely.

“Field’s down,” Spice said. He was ignoring the blood running down his nose from impacting the field. “So, do we get to taser Master Chan? Please?”

“Terminate exercise,” Daisy Mae said. “And, no, don’t taser Glasshoppah.”

“Grasshopper?” Master Chan said. “That wasn’t even the name of Kang’s master. It was Kang’s apprentice name!”

“And your point?” Mosovich asked.

“It’s just… wrong,” Chan said. “And, I might add, mildly insulting.”

“That’s the other point of team names… ” Mosovich said.

“So when do I get a better team name?” Pawle asked. “I mean I did defeat Master Chan.”

“You don’t,” Hooter said, shrugging. “Look, once you get a handle, well, getting it changed, like, takes an act of congress.”

The team, less the bosses, was having a bit of down-time. A bottle of high-grade moonshine had appeared from somewhere. The adepts refrained but they were still hanging with the SRS team. Which was a change. Normally they would have been back in their quarters doing whatever it was adepts did to blow off stress. Fucking meditating or making up koans.

“That doesn’t seem… fair,” Pawle said. “I mean, Adept Hoover gets Dust-Devil and I get… Skank?”

“Adept Pawle, my team name is Lieutenant Penis,” Master Sergeant Field pointed out. “I knew a colonel one time whose team name was Buckbreath. Which, trust me, was worse than Skank. And practically nobody used it to his face.”

“See, the thing is, you got to make it your own,” Redman said, shrugging. “You go complaining about a team name, well… ”

“… it shows you’re not confident in yourself,” Mosovich said. “Special operations, submariners, firefighters, they all have team names, they all play practical jokes and they all push all the time. If you can’t handle the pressure, you’re a pussy and don’t belong in the unit. It seems stupid but it’s a constant method of testing to ensure mental readiness to sustain the pressure of high-intensity combat. If you can’t handle a little abuse from friends, you’re not going to be able to handle the abuse from an enemy. The enemy is not going to care about your feelings, they’re not going to let you hold up a stress card. They’re going to try to kill you as hard as they possibly can so that you don’t kill them. Horrible team names, practical jokes, psychological and verbal abuse, they’re all methods that small high-intensity groups use to constantly test for the weak link. Most of them don’t realize it, not intellectually, but they do it. The harder the job, at least ones that require team-work, the more you find people constantly testing. This completes your lesson for today, Glasshoppah… ”

“Skank, toss me a water,” Adept Hoover said, not looking up from the schematic he was studying.

The captain’s cabin, not particularly generous in space, now had eight bunks arrayed in it. There was very little room to raise so much as one’s head. To study the paper schematic, Dust-Devil had it plastered to the underside of the bunk above him and was moving it around using sohon disciplines. He had the schematic for the ship already stored in his nannites but looking at the paper, for him, made it more real.

Pawle, without looking at him any more than he’d looked up, pulled a bottle of distilled water from the compartment behind his head and shot it across the room at very nearly the speed of sound.

Dust-Devil just held out his hand and caught it.

Doesn’t it matter to you that he calls you that… name? Adept Sissy Harris asked. The sixth level sohon adept was the lead for the sohon support team that was going to be staying on the ship. Their primary job was to be making sure the Hedren ship didn’t escape the trap rather than engaging the Imeg directly.

No, Pawle thought back. You either live up to it or you’re not good enough to be on the team. Even if you live up to it, you might not be good enough. But if you can’t take a little pressure like an embarassing team name you shouldn’t even bother.

She was as aware as Mentat Chan of Pawle’s problems. He had always been brilliant at the theory of sohon, but unconfident of his ability to execute it. She had seen vast improvement in the last week and considered his answer carefully.

Do you feel ready to face the Imeg? she asked.

I don’t know, Pawle replied. We don’t know their power. If they are no more powerful than Master Chan, then yes. Especially if you guys give us cover fire.

She could feel the doubt in his answer but it was not the usual self-doubt she had come to expect. It was simply rational unsurety based on their lack of knowledge of the enemy. It also lacked his usual arrogant tone.

The Indowy trained on the basis of interest. They used the open hand, from it you could take what you wished or were able. They encouraged, they praised but they never pressed or stressed. Pressure was anathema to their methods of training.

She was forced to wonder if that was the best way to train humans.

Or at least human males, come to think of it.