“What happens if the pieces get through?”
“They won’t,” Thalias assured her. “The electrostatic barrier can slow them down a little, but more important is that the Springhawk has really good, thick armor.”
“Okay,” Che’ri said. But it was clear from her anxious expression that she wasn’t really satisfied. “How come nobody else uses acid?”
“I don’t know,” Thalias said. “I suppose it’s not as impressive as explosives. Probably harder to make the missiles work, too.”
“How come we do?”
“Because when it works, it works really well,” Thalias said, feeling a twinge of sympathy. When she was Che’ri’s age, the officers and caregivers would never answer her questions about things like this. Only later had she learned they’d been forbidden to talk to sky-walkers about these details.
Probably still were, actually, which meant Thalias would likely get in trouble if anyone found out about this. But she could remember feeling terrified during her ships’ battles as she sat alone with her caregiver and wondered what was going on.
Knowing how the ship’s weapons worked might not be much comfort. But then again, it might.
“If the missile gets close enough before the enemy’s lasers hit it, the acid will keep going as a big glob,” she continued. “Pretty hard to shoot down a glob of liquid. Electrostatic barriers can’t do much to slow it down, either, so when it hits it starts eating into the metal of the hull.”
“So it opens the hull to space?”
“Not unless the hull is very thin or has already been damaged,” Thalias said. “But it can destroy any sensors or fire-control systems and corrode any communications links that cross the area. Even better, from our point of view, it blackens the hull metal and creates pits, both of which help the metal underneath absorb the next batch of spectrum laser fire we put there.”
“And that opens the hull to space?”
“It absolutely can,” Thalias said. “It won’t wreck the whole ship, of course—you’ve seen how many emergency bulkheads the Springhawk has down the passageways. But it’s a warning to the enemy ship that we have the upper hand.”
There was another double-clunk, farther away this time. “What happens if one of these pieces hits the viewport?” Che’ri asked.
“Probably nothing,” Thalias said. “The point defenses around the bridge are pretty good, and there are blast shields that can be raised if they see something big coming. And the viewport material itself is pretty strong and thick.”
“I mean, it’s nice being able to see outside when we’re flying somewhere,” Che’ri mused. “But I always worry that we’ll run into something.”
“It’s a risk,” Thalias conceded. “But the viewports aren’t just because we like looking at the stars. There are lots of ways that sensors and electronics can be damaged or distracted or confused. The bridge officers need to be able to actually see what’s going on out there. There are also a couple of triangulation observation areas where other warriors can help aim and focus our attacks.”
“I guess that makes sense.” Che’ri peered closely at her. “How come no one’s ever told me this before?”
“They’re not supposed to,” Thalias admitted. “Actually, there are a lot of things they’re not supposed to tell sky-walkers.”
“Yeah.” Che’ri made a face. “They treat me like a—” She broke off.
“Like a child?” Thalias suggested.
“I’m not a child,” Che’ri flared. “I’m almost ten years old.”
Thalias’s first reflex was to point out that ten years old was well within the definition of childhood. Her second reflex was to try the kind of soothing there, there noises that her caregivers had so often given her.
But as she looked into the girl’s eyes, into all that fear and uncertainty, she realized neither approach would be any good. The two of them were far more alike than Thalias had realized until now, and for her the only thing that could ease fear was knowledge. “I know,” she said, nodding tacit recognition of Che’ri’s assessment of herself. “More than that, you’ve lived through more pressure and stress in the past three years than most Chiss will face in their entire lifetimes.”
Che’ri’s eyes turned away. “It’s okay,” she muttered.
“It’s okay—and it’s going to be okay—because you’re strong,” Thalias said. “You’re a sky-walker, and Third Sight seems to come with a special mental toughness.”
“I don’t know,” Che’ri said, her eyes focused on something light-years away that only she could see. “I don’t feel very tough.”
“Well, you are,” Thalias said. “Trust me. And for whatever it’s worth, most of the things they don’t tell you they also don’t tell anyone outside the military. Most of what I just said I had to dig out on my own after I left.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“Not really. I got a few warnings, though.” Thalias made a show of wrinkling her nose as if in thought. “Though I suppose I might have gotten some other people in trouble.”
That got her a small, tentative smile. “Did they deserve it?”
“I like to think the galaxy runs on balance,” Thalias said. “Those who deserve trouble get it, and those who don’t, don’t.”
“You really think it works that way?”
Thalias huffed out a sigh. “Not even close,” she conceded. “Sadly. You hear that?”
Che’ri looked up, frowning. “No.”
“Exactly,” Thalias said, feeling a small sense of relief. “There haven’t been any more shrapnel thuds. I think the battle is over.”
“I hope so,” Che’ri said, straining her ears. “I hate battles.”
“So does everyone else,” Thalias said. “Well. There’ll probably be some talking now, and Captain Thrawn will let the Lioaoi know he could have flattened their whole planet if he’d wanted to, and then some more talking. Somewhere along in there we’ll be called back to the bridge, and you’ll start us on the path for home.”
“I hope so,” Che’ri said, a shiver running through her.
“Trust me,” Thalias said. “So that leaves us only two questions.”
Che’ri frowned. “Which ones?”