The Pursuit of Excellence by Nils Durban

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For once she had felt exhilaration coursing through her veins as they had fallen towards the tanker, ignoring its frantic recognition hails.

She blamed herself for not having noticed sooner the Interceptors which had appeared from around the moon, but the warning icons had appeared on Barbeau's station, not her own. So focused was he upon the operation of drilling through the tanker's hull that he had not identified the threat until it was very nearly too late. As they had ripped themselves away, the drilling rig had been torn off, left protruding from the tanker like the barb of some gigantic insect.

They had accelerated towards New Dubai and the possible sanctuary of its famed Rings, the first of a series of desperate alternative plans that had resulted in this week long pursuit through inter-system space and the depletion of their offensive arsenal.


"So," he sighed resignedly, "this is it, eh?"

She found herself unable to face him then, unwilling even to blame him for the string of calamitous events, culminating in this one from which escape seemed impossible. She knew, as did Barbeau himself, that there could be no question of surrender. Their pursuers were not in the business of taking prisoners. "Look, we can take out these two missiles at least," she shrugged her shoulders, "who knows? perhaps they will run out."

His face hardened with resolve, "do it, and then turn us about."

"What?" Neive gasped, "you really want to go out in a blaze of glory, don't you?"

"Perhaps," he replied, "but it is also an idea, a very simple one, admittedly - do the unexpected."

She mulled it over before nodding slowly, "at least if we close with them rapidly enough it will give their targeting computers more of a challenge than what we're doing at the moment, being slowly reeled in."

"Bon, then make it so."

Neive's fingers skimmed through the projections before her and the Excellence veered away, dropping in its wake the mines that would hopefully take out the latest missiles."

"Wait," Barbeau almost shouted, "how many of those do we have left?"

"The counter-measures?"

"Oui, oui!"

"Just a handful now," as she answered realisation dawned upon her, "the timing would have to be exact, to jettison them right in front of the Interceptor."

"And your better idea is?"

"Okay, you're right. I'll get the computer to run the calcs."

"No Neive," he laid his hand upon her furred one. She could not recall ever having any previous bodily contact with this...this man. The idea had been revolting but now she sensed a bond with him, a kinship that she had not felt for many long years. "I want you to do it, not the computer."


Having executed its manoeuvre The Excellence was now hurtling headlong towards its pursuer, missiles flying past at an alarming regularity, each of them shooting off in wide arcs that would send them zeroing back once more.

"Le tournoi commence!" he murmured.

Unbelievably, they had not already been atomised when Neive began the countdown in her head that would determine the release of the last mines. She glanced at Barbeau, her Captain, his face intense with concentration. She closed her eyes, reached zero and performed her duty.