Rafe glanced at the windows of his office. A lowering gray sky, the warm, almost brownish, tone that meant more snow was on the way. Winter in Nexus City...not a favorite time of year at all. But he had vanquished Parmina and many of his stooges; he had the board's acquiescence, if not their approval, for the licensing negotiations with Vatta Enterprises.

"Emil?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Check with Enforcement and make sure they've sent that message rescinding threats to...whatever that place is where...Space Defense Force is."

"Yes, sir."

"And get their chief up here. We need to have a serious talk." Rafe looked at the sealed message from Termanian and turned it over and over. He could anticipate what it said, and reading it would only reinforce his own bias about the man. He didn't need biases; he needed clear thinking. Had the man said anything, done anything, that had value he should recognize? He looked at the window again and saw the first flakes drifting past.

"Sir? They said they sent the message, but they couldn't stop the ships..."

Rafe stared at his assistant. "Ships? What ships?"

"Uh...they said...it's standard procedure. They sent ships to see if they could catch the wrongdoers—didn't you know that?"

"No," Rafe said. "I did not know that. No one mentioned it. What ships? How many?"

"I don't know...should I ask?"

Rafe looked at him; Emil paled and disappeared from the doorway...to ask, Rafe hoped. Not that he'd wait. He made his own call to Enforcement.

"This is the CEO. Let me speak to your chief, now."

"I—he's on his way up to your office, sir."

"Then let me speak to whoever's left in charge."

"That would be...Assistant Director Malaky...but he's busy."

"Now," Rafe said.

"Er...yes, sir. Just a moment."

"Yes, sir, Chairman." Malaky's tone, bored and annoyed, set Rafe's teeth on edge.

"I understand your division dispatched ships to system ansible Boxtop-zip-figaro-112," Rafe said. "Yet I gave the order to stop any further action against those people hours ago."

"Well, yes, you did, but the ships were already en route—"

"In FTL flight? That was fast."

"Well, no, they weren't in FTL yet, but they were far enough out we didn't think a message would reach them until they jumped—"

"So you didn't even try?"

"Well, it would've been a waste of time, wouldn't it? If they weren't going to get the message before jump anyway? And we're always being told to save expenses..."

Rafe clenched his teeth; the words that wanted to come out would not help the situation. He took a breath. "How many ships?"

"We had information from our agents in Adelaide that this so-called Space Defense Force had three warships of patrol and cruiser size and three fast courier ships, so we basically threw the whole sector force at them. We don't want to lose any of our—"

"How many?"

"Uh...fourteen, sir. That should take care of them and not cost us anything."

Rafe took another careful breath. "The point is, Malaky, that we don't want to 'take care of them'—that's why I had you send that message rescinding the warning."

"That's not what it said."

"What's not what it said?"

"Well...you just said to tell them to disregard the previous messages. You said not to institute action against them. That's not the same as rescinding the warning or telling us to quit what we were already doing. They're still illegals, aren't they? They still meddled with our equipment, didn't they? And they can't be allowed to get away with it. I figure you'd have sent the force along later, but sooner's better if you want to catch them with their pants down."

"Malaky, you will shortly realize that your reasoning is completely and utterly wrong," Rafe said. He was aware that his voice had changed; he knew that if Malaky had stood in front of him, he'd have been hard-put to keep from strangling the idiot. "Tell me now exactly where those ships are, where they were, and what their ETA to that system is. And I'll need their beacon IDs."

"I don't see what you're so upset about," Malaky said. "They're the standard sector force; they left sector HQ when we first notified them, boosted hard to the jump point, and exited...seventy-nine minutes ago, local time. They're in jumpspace now; they'll arrive in two point three standard days."

"Sir?" That was Emil at the door. "Chief of Enforcement Denny Cuthen is here, sir."

"Ping my assistant with the beacon IDs," Rafe said to Malaky. "Now." He switched off, his mind racing. Fourteen ships, to Ky's three? Even old, outmoded ships with less trained crews...at fourteen to three, and hers without a full load of munitions...he had to do something. And killing the chief of enforcement wouldn't be the right something.

"Show him in," Rafe said, settling himself squarely behind the vast desk.

"I'm glad you finally have time to see me." Enforcement's director was a head taller than Rafe, his head shaved bald, his implants bulging on both sides. The access flaps had complex tattoos on them. "You've been upsetting my people, nosing around, and you didn't even see me in person first—"

Rafe looked at him; the man glowered back. He probably thought he looked tough, Rafe thought, but Gary or any of his commandos could have taken him down in seconds. Telltale softness below the ears, the jaw, where muscle had gone to flab.

"You have made a mistake," Rafe said, in his mildest voice.

"No, it's you that made mistakes, sonny," Cuthen said, leaning forward to put his hands on the desk. "You think just because your father ran this company and wanted you to sub for him for a while, that you're the man he is. Well let me tell you something—" He stopped abruptly, his face paling.

Rafe smiled at him, the nose of the weapon he much preferred to a needler—noisy as it was—pointing steadily at the man's face. "You need to sit down and be quiet," Rafe said, in the same calm tone. His hand didn't move. He really did like the feel...it was one of the things that had impressed him about Ky; she, too, carried a Rossi-Smith with bloodbeast-tusk grip. He needed not to think about her right now; he needed to think about this...person...whose face now gleamed with sweat.

"You wouldn't—" Cuthen said, almost a whisper and definitely pleading.

"Waste a round on you?" Rafe said. "That depends. Sit down. Now." He let his voice carry more bite on the last word, and the man sat as if that word had cut his hamstrings. Rafe rested his elbows on the desk and brought his other hand up to brace the first. "You must realize, Denny, that I've killed quite a few men—using the term loosely—and it doesn't bother me. So in your position, you might wish to be careful to answer what I ask without any unnecessary delay or insults."

Emil poked his head in the door. "Sir, there's some data up from—" His eyes widened.

Without taking his gaze from Denny Cuthen, Rafe said, "Later, Emil. And close the door." He felt a chuckle trying to emerge and stifled it. This was more fun than he'd expected, but he couldn't afford fun. Not with fourteen ships aimed at Ky.

"You're...crazy...," Cuthen breathed.

"Now, you see, that's the sort of thing you shouldn't say to someone who's holding a gun on you," Rafe said. He took his left hand away from the other, shook his arm a little, and the hilt of his knife slid into his hand. He flicked it around. "Or a knife. You see, Denny, the first mistake you made was thinking I was some witless playboy pretending to be my father. I'm not a playboy, and I'm not like my father at all...in some ways." He flipped the knife up, caught it, all without moving his other hand.

Cuthen's mouth worked; his eyes had moved to the knife but were now fixed on the gun muzzle as if he could see through the barrel into Rafe's intent. Rafe hoped he could.

"The second mistake you made was thinking that you could keep fooling the company forever, pocketing the money that should've gone to our fleet—"

"I didn't! They kept cutting our budget; it's not my fault—"

"Even a divisional director's salary doesn't cover your expenditures," Rafe said. "Or did you think no one would ever think to look at your financials?"

"You spied on me? On a division director?" Indignation overcame fear, for a moment: a flush of color, but then he paled again.

"It was my assigned job, to learn all I could about the corporation, so I could make the best decisions," Rafe said. "So yes, I followed the money trails where they led." He paused. Cuthen squirmed in his chair. "And one of them led to you. Money came into your department; money left...but not all to the fleet. You paid Despardeaux Materials more than their going rate for spare parts, for instance. Ten percent more. That's...over five hundred thousand a year, and you probably split it with them, didn't you?" Rafe shook his head, waggled the point of the knife. "Naughty boy, Denny. Some men I've been around would carve their initials in your most intimate areas before they killed you, very slowly, for something like that."

"You—you can't. You won't..."

"Oh, I don't know. You fellows down in Enforcement have some nice quiet rooms, I understand..."

"Please—"

"Let's go on to your next mistake. Once I was named CEO, and you figured I was a stupid playboy, you thought you didn't have to follow orders...so when I told you—told you, specifically—to inform all those who had repaired ansibles that they need not worry about our response, you chose to interpret that...loosely."

"I told my people to send messages—"

"How many places did you send ships?"

"Uh...I'm not sure..."

"Really. Are you in the habit of not knowing how you're distributing our resources?"

"No, but...but this was a special case, see. Some of those places, systems we've done business with for years, I could see your point, maybe. They're frustrated, and they're friendly. We can let them go, maybe, though I still think that's the wrong approach. At least they ought to pay a fine. But illegals, like that whatsit you were calling about—that's ridiculous. We can't authorize every privateer or renegade merc company to go meddling with our property."

"This is not 'every privateer,'" Rafe said. His finger wanted to twitch just that few millimeters; he forced it to hold still. He could feel it, the darkness rising to a primeval shape of fury that delighted in Cuthen's fear and would gladly delight in his blood, given the chance. "In point of fact, that is another mistake of yours. The Space Defense Force is new, yes, and small, yes, but it is a legitimate attempt to combine system resources to resist and eventually destroy the menace that attacked and captured Bissonet System."

"How?" Cuthen had moved past that first fear to defiance; Rafe read his physical signs as easily as if they were printed on his face. He was going to try something; Rafe hoped it would be enough to justify serious violence.

"That is my business," he said, knowing it would infuriate Cuthen more. "On my father's orders, I did a lot of undercover work for ISC, offplanet. I have sources you lack, and I know these people are reliable. Now: your deputy tells me that you have sent an entire sector's resources—fourteen of our ships—to attack them. Your life, Denny, depends on what happens. Your physical life, I mean. Your life with this company—your job, your income, and whatever assets we can retrieve from what you embezzled from us—is gone."

The shock on Cuthen's face was almost worth it. Rafe pressed a button on his desk, and Emil opened the door. Rafe was impressed: he not only opened the door, but also remembered which way Rafe's firearm was pointed and positioned himself out of the direct line of fire.

"Emil, have Security escort Cuthen to a secure room; he is not to have any communications device available to him."

"Yes, sir. I have Security standing by...uh...do you have a preference?"

Emil definitely had potential. "Yes," Rafe said. "My personal bodyguards." He was still sifting through ISC's Security personnel records, and another two problems had been found only a few days before. Emil nodded, and two of Gary's finest came in. Rafe didn't mention their names in front of Cuthen. "This is Denny Cuthen," Rafe said. "He has embezzled from this company and he has acted counter to my direct orders in matters that will affect the company adversely. I want him held in a secure location in this building, and I don't want him communicating with anyone."

"Very well, sir," the man Rafe knew as Stan said. He had drawn his own weapon. "Limits, sir?"

"Keep him alive, for the time being," Rafe said. "I suspect he may have concealed communications equipment on his person. Search him carefully." He lowered his weapon to the desk, and slid the knife back up his sleeve, pressing the sheath clip when it was in place.

"You can't—you can't do this!" Cuthen said, his gaze shifting from Rafe to the two guards.

"I think you will find I can," Rafe said. "It would be advisable to go quietly with these gentlemen and cooperate with them."

"If you please, sir," Stan said. "Stand up now, put your hands behind your head, and turn to face the windows." Slowly, Cuthen did as he was told. Rafe, alert to the physical signs, saw the moment when he realized he'd lost everything. It wasn't as satisfying as if he'd beaten the man to a pulp himself, but it was a start.

When Cuthen had been taken away, Rafe looked at the information Emil gave him on the ISC fleet. On paper, it was formidable, even knowing what he knew about the poor maintenance, the lack of upgrades, the mediocre to poor training. He knew what Vanguard was like; he knew Ky had hired competent ex-mercs for her fighting crew. But he knew nothing about the other two ships in her fledgling fleet; he didn't count the courier vessels worth much. And even if the other ships were larger than Vanguard, and even if the courier ships had weapons and could use them, that was six against fourteen...

He called Malaky again. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to send a priority message to that ansible, with urgent instructions not to attack Space Defense Force ships."

"But why—"

The faint whine in Malaky's voice sent Rafe over the edge. "You are relieved of duty," Rafe said. "Stay where you are. I'm on my way." He stood, unable to sit still, and called for Emil as he crossed the office.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm going down to Enforcement. Tell my people to meet me at the elevator on that floor—" If anyone tried to kill him between here and there, he relished the thought of what he could do.

"Sir, do you want me to come along?"

Rafe looked at the earnest young face, and for a moment his rage receded. "No, Emil," he said almost gently. "I need you here."

His guards gave him a brief reproachful look when he came out of the elevator but said nothing, flanking him as he strode down the corridor to Enforcement's warren of offices. "Malaky," he said to the first person he saw. The woman paled and backed up a step, but pointed.

Malaky was standing in Enforcement's communications suite; Rafe's implant gave him the face, in its bland official-image expression. Now the man looked tense, worried, glancing around uneasily. The four on-shift communications operators ignored him, concentrating on their consoles. When the door to the com suite slid open, he looked up.

"Sir—Chairman, I'm sorry, I—"

"You're relieved," Rafe said.

"But sir, I—"

"I said, you're relieved. Sit there." Rafe pointed. His guards took a step forward; Malaky almost fell into the indicated chair. Now the operators looked from Malaky to Rafe. One started to stand, then sank back to his seat. "Who's monitoring ansible Boxtop-zip-figaro-112?"

"Me, sir," said one, raising her hand.

"Do you know who I am?" Rafe asked.

"Er...yes, sir. The chairman, sir. Ser Dunbarger."

"Good. Then you know I have authority for this order." He waited a moment for that to sink in. "You will immediately transmit this message, while I observe. 'To the ISC fleet: Do not attack Space Defense Force vessels. Repeat: Do not attack Space Defense Force vessels under any circumstances'." Rafe watched as the woman keyed in a series of identification and validation codes, and then the message he had ordered. He had seen a lot of ISC fleet orders in the past few days; he recognized many of the codes, and these looked legitimate.

"Sir...," the woman said, glancing back over her shoulder.

"Yes?"

"Sir, you should know they may not get those orders right away. Our system stats indicate that the jump point is many light-hours from the ansible, and there are no relays in that system. Considering downjump turbulence and communications lags, they could engage those ships before they receive it."

"Put it on broadcast," Rafe said.

She paled, with a quick glance at Malaky, but spoke. "Sir...that will put our classified codes out for anyone to pick up—and if I broadcast without them, the fleet commander may decide the broadcast is a hoax."

He wanted to think that was nonsense, but she was right. They should not broadcast the codes, and a prudent commander would reasonably assume that orders without the codes were faked.

"Don't they try to pick up messages when they come in?"

"Yes, sir, but...but not if there's a hostile force. Or"—with another quick glance at Malaky and then at him—"what they think is a hostile force."

"So what you're telling me is that they may not get this message until it's too late."

She looked down at her hands, motionless now on the console. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir, but really—once we send a fleet, it's pretty much out of our hands."

"Very well," Rafe said, trying for an even tone. It was not the operator's fault. "Thank you for the explanation." That came out in a rasp; he cleared his throat. When he glanced at Malaky, the man cowered visibly in his chair, but he had no time to savor that. Ky was still in danger of being destroyed by his own people.

He had to contact her directly; he had to warn her. His imagination raced: she would have known the first message, she would have known the second. She would think ISC had given up pursuit, maybe. When fourteen ships came through the jump point, would she even believe they were ISC? Would she think they were pirates? What would she do? Run, he hoped. He knew in his heart she wouldn't run.

[ Aboard Vanguard ]

Sleep, as Hugh had said, was a duty for ship officers. Ky thought about activating her implant's sleep function again; her thoughts raced, and she felt as relaxed as a steel bar. Instead, she tried visualizing the color pattern she'd been taught as a child, struggling to find the harmony again. That didn't work, either. She tried inventorying every ship component she could think of, but found herself concentrating too hard on that, worrying when she couldn't remember them all.

Good news, then: that could put people to sleep. Stella seemed to be doing well, and Toby. She grinned, thinking of Toby and Rascal. Quincy had said Toby was ferociously bright; she remembered that he had helped install the defensive suite, and then had figured out that it was defective and how to fix it. Thinking of Toby brought up the memory of Rafe, and Rafe was definitely not a soporific thought. Her implant provided a crisper image of that rakehell face than memory could provide. Where was he now? Had he made it safely to his family? Had they rejected him again? Their last conversation—his story about what made him what he was, that attempted abduction, his defense of himself and his sister, the consequences—ran through her mind, word for word. What a thing to have in common with the man you...well, not loved. Were intrigued by, maybe. Felt more alive around, maybe.

"Captain?"

Sighing, Ky fumbled around the head of the bed for the com button. "Yes," she said. "What is it?" She'd been lying in bed for three solid hours, the chronometer told her, and she hadn't slept yet.

"Signal that Bassoon relayed to us. ISC sent another message and said to disregard the previous ones."

"Did they say why?"

"No. Just that."

"That's odd," Ky said. "A relief, but odd. I wonder what's going on with them." Suddenly she felt sleepy; she must have been more concerned about ISC's possible intervention than she'd admitted to anyone, even herself. "Thanks for letting me know," she said. "I'm going back to sleep."

Next shift, she woke feeling much less anxious about the days until the Mackensee relief convoy arrived. If the pirates had been planning to move in after a successful attack, ambush the returning Mackensee convoy, either they had changed their minds or...she didn't think they would attack now. Not that she planned to let down her guard.

After breakfast, she visited Master Sergeant Pitt in the quarters assigned to the Mackensee refugees. "I'm going to visit the wounded; I thought you'd like to come along," she said.

"Thank you, Captain," Pitt said.

As they walked, Ky asked, "How are your people doing? Anything I should know?"

"My best card player won some money off some of yours; if that's a problem—"

"No," Ky said. "Unless they end up owning the ship."

"I don't have much else for them to do, you see," Pitt said. "If you have any lengthy chores—I'm sure there are things you don't want our people to see or touch, but we've cleaned the spaces assigned to us beyond our own standards—not that they were dirty..."

"We have a gym, you know," Ky said. "There's plenty of room for them to exercise; I wouldn't want to expend our ammunition on the firing range, but you could use those facilities in rotation with my people."

"That would be a help, Captain," Pitt said. "They're good people, but just sitting around is not what they do best."

Ky paused and tapped into the ship's internal com. "Hugh," she said. "Would you check the schedule for the gym, and put the Mackensee troops on the rotation? Master Sergeant, how many would you want to send at a time?"

"Half of them," Pitt said.

"Two groups," Ky said to Hugh.

"Will do," he said. "Do you want me to contact you about this, or Master Sergeant Pitt?"

"Me—she's with me now; we're going to visit their wounded."

"A few minutes, Captain," Hugh said. "I'll have a list of what machines are available and all that. Firing range, too?"

"No, not that. But everything else."

In the sick bay, two of the wounded were now in bed, wired and tubed extensively. One was conscious, only lightly sedated. Ky let Pitt approach him while she spoke to the medical staff.

"He's in the best shape," the surgeon reported. "He needs some tank time, and I expect they'll want to revise some of the emergency repairs, but he'll be out of bed in another twenty-four hours. The other one—" He glanced over at the bed where soft snores indicated the inhabitant was asleep. "—had some implant damage and he hasn't come back to full consciousness. The medbox can sustain him, but we think he's just aware enough to start physical therapy. The others—the chest injury's in fast-heal mode; he'll be in the box another three days, and of course he's kept sedated there. The one with the pulped legs—we've been in contact with the Mackensee medical team on Metaire, and they want us to try to save as much as we can for direct tissue transfer after implanting limb-buds. We're doing our best, but I'm concerned that one of the legs is developing anoxia. See here—" He put up a visual that meant nothing to Ky, bands of color on an outlined leg shape. "I'm going to tell Doctor Santino on Metaire this morning that I think amputation is necessary. He may want a transfer back to their facility, now that things have settled down. I presume that won't be a problem?"

Only a matter of microjumping a couple of light-hours and then easing into position near enough for Metaire's shuttles to make the transfer quickly...but that wasn't the medical team's problem. The communications lag might be. "You know we've moved away from Metaire," she said. "Will his condition be stable long enough for them to reply, or do we need to reposition the ship now?"

"I need an answer within an hour," the surgeon said. "Or it may be too late to do anything but amputate."

"We'll move the ship, then," Ky said. She turned to Pitt. "We're going to move closer to Metaire," she said. "Our surgeon needs to talk to your surgeons about some of your people. You can stay here if you like; I need to get to the bridge."

The precision microjump was no problem, with all the practice Ky had insisted on, and Ky reassured Metaire the moment they reappeared nearby that the move was not in response to an enemy threat. When she explained the circumstances, one of Metaire's surgeons and his medical team boarded a shuttle; as Ky had Vanguard ease toward Metaire, the shuttle approached.

Ky went down to the lock to meet them, wondering if there were any way a shuttle bay could be retrofitted to Vanguard's hull. This business of having to transfer personnel by tube made it obvious that Vanguard was just a converted cargo ship. The big cargo bay hatches would admit a shuttle...but that's where her missile batteries and missile storage were. What she needed was a purpose-built warship, designed from the start for war. What she really needed was a government or two to fund such a purchase.

"We want to evaluate him ourselves," the surgeon said after Ky greeted them.

"Of course," she said, leading the way to sick bay. "This is Doctor Moshalla—" The doctors eyed each other a moment, then dove into medical jargon where Ky could not follow. She returned to the bridge and checked in with the other ships.

"We haven't found any other stealthed ships," Ransome reported. "We're fairly sure there aren't any, as I've had one of our people monitoring the channels the pirates used, and they've been silent."

"Excellent," Ky said. "Though that doesn't prove no one's here, it does indicate that if someone is, whatever they know isn't going to the enemy." Or that they knew the enemy was somewhere in FTL flight, on the way. "Keep monitoring, just in case. You have a crew aboard that stealthed ship you boarded, right?"

"Yes, I do, but if you could give us a relief crew—it's pretty unpleasant over there, they say. A bit of a hovel, actually. They cleaned it up as best they could, but it's not up to the standards of my ships."

Ky considered. Mackensee were the ones with spare people, but she didn't want to give them possession of a ship she felt entitled to. But if she let Pitt's people do some of the work aboard Vanguard, she could send a prize crew to...whatever its name was. She'd want to have Pettygrew's tech Lattin along, too, to modify the ansible and see what kinds of scan the pirates had been using.

"We're about to do a medical transfer," she said. "When that's done, I'll come out and put my people aboard her with thanks for your efforts in the meantime."

"That's fine, Captain Vatta. We're honored to be associated with you, and we will keep the ship secure until you arrive."

Before she could contact Pettygrew to ask for the loan of Dozi Lattin, a message came up from sick bay that the surgeons had decided to transfer two of the Mackensee casualties back to Metaire. Preparing them for transport took over an hour; Ky called Pettygrew and Argelos both, and each agreed to lend her one or two people. Argelos recommended his Slotter Key military adviser for temporary captain.

"Will he do what I tell him?" Ky asked. She had still not met the man who had been so negative about her in the beginning.

"Oh, yes," Argelos said. "He's admitted he misjudged you, based on biased reports after you...left the Academy. He was there only one term before being yanked away to be an adviser to privateers. His name's Yamini."

The name meant nothing to Ky. "I'd still like to meet him—at least see his face on the screen."

"Of course," Argelos said. "Bistaf, come over here. Captain Vatta wants to talk to you face-to-face."

The face on the screen was only vaguely familiar. Ky's father's implant had no catalog of Spaceforce Academy's faculty; she finally remembered that he had been a new tactics instructor her last term. No wonder he'd had a negative view of her. "I'm Major Yamini," he said. "You won't remember me—I didn't have you in class."

"You taught junior tactics, didn't you?" Ky asked. "You were in the catalog..."

"Yes. I need to apologize for my attitude, Captain Vatta. When Captain Argelos first told me you were trying to get an organization of privateers together, I thought—well, I thought you were as wild and irresponsible as they'd said when you were asked to resign."

"My question now is whether you feel able to follow my orders, if you are chosen to captain the stealthed ship we found," Ky said.

"Absolutely, Captain Vatta. I have no qualms at all now. And I do have skills you might find useful: that ship's computer may well contain information about the pirates' tactical capacity. I know that so far we have seen them use only fairly simple—but effective—attacks, but if they have something else in their arsenal, I might be able to find and analyze it."

"Very well," Ky said. She was glad not to have to give up any of her own bridge personnel except a pilot. "When we've completed this medical transfer, Vanguard will jump to your position; we'll pick you up. Then we'll go get Lattin, Pettygrew's talented communications tech, and the environmental tech he's offered me, and we'll take you all out to the ship. I expect to be making your transfer within the hour; I look forward to meeting you in person."

"And I you, Captain Vatta," he said.

Ky went on to set up the transfer time with Captain Pettygrew; he offered instead to jump out to the stealthed ship and transfer Lattin directly.

"I worry about clustering our ships like that," Ky said. "But if you want to do it now, that's a good idea. Just be sure to tell Ransome that you're coming in, so he can alert his skeleton crew."

"I'll do that," Pettygrew said. "Then you want me back on station, I presume?"

"Yes," Ky said. "I know nothing seems to be happening, but that's when things do."


Even with precision microjumps and the shipboard ansibles, it took the rest of that day to complete all the transfers and get everyone back on station. But Lattin reported that the enemy prize had a complete suite of advanced scan, passive, active, longscan, and nearscan. "Everything you could want," she said. "All wavelengths—I'd say they spent a fortune on it, except that it's clearly stolen from somewhere. There's a lot of physical damage to what were probably the serial numbers."

"What about the ship herself?" Ky asked.

"They did something screwy to the beacon," Lattin said. "Of course it's damped—all stealth tech does that—but I don't believe the current ID as it shows in the onboard is correct. There's a...it's kind of technical—"

"Never mind," Ky said. "But you think it's not the real ID?"

"No. But I can't tell if it's a stolen ship chip or one they programmed themselves. Most beacon readers won't pick up what I'm talking about, but you really should have it re-registered with a new chip somewhere."

"I intend to," Ky said. "Can you tell if the rest of the AI is reliable?"

"I'm running checks on it now, Captain Vatta. Captain...er...Yamini...he asked the same thing. He said he wanted to be sure the ship didn't do something weird on its own. Oh—do you want me to check the stealth function?"

"Not at present," Ky said. "It's working now; let's leave it alone. Just get that ansible rigged to our frequencies so we can use it without the pirates finding out."

"Yes, Captain," Lattin said.

Ky looked at the arrangement of the ships in the system plot again before she went back to her cabin. The stealthed ship had moved, on her orders, and now was far from where the pirates had stationed it—and where they would presumably expect to find it if they invaded. No single attack, however lucky, could take out all her ships at once. Metaire was still in danger, but Ky had persuaded Colonel Kalin to keep the shields up constantly.

Once in her cabin, she fell asleep almost at once, only to wake in the middle of that shift to a terrible stench that almost made her gag. "Light!" she said; the bedlamp came on. She looked at the bed, half expecting to see a piece of spoiled fruit, but nothing...the inside of her head seemed to tingle and itch, the smell was so strong.

Her implant popped up a message: CONTACT Y/N?

Implant. Implanted ansible. Rafe...he'd said he wouldn't ever use it, but who else could it be? A quick fumble through that folder in the implant and she knew what she should do. But not before securing the ship.

"Hugh," she said, when she had him on the intercom. "I need you to meet me in my office."

"What's up, Captain?"

"I can't discuss it. I'll be there momentarily."

By the time Hugh arrived, she was dressed and had splashed cold water on her face. Hugh looked worried, unsurprisingly. "Are you sick, Captain? Has anyone...done anything?"

"I'm not sick. But I will be...unavailable for a time, and you needed to know that. I can't explain it...not now, anyway. You will need to take over until I am...back. I'll let you know. I'm sorry, that's all I can say, and I need to hurry—"

"Are you going to try to change implants or something? You really should have medical assis—"

"It's not that. I can't say. I could have done this without telling you but that wouldn't have been right..."

"All right, Captain. I won't press you further, but...I get the strong feeling someone should know what's going on." With that he left.

Ky secured the door, retrieved the power cables Rafe had given her, and followed the implant's directions. She did not like the idea of plugging into the ship's power supply—it took an effort of will to make herself close the connection.

And he was there, as if he were standing beside her. The stench faded, replaced by a smell rather like wet leaves. As before, the urgency of his transmission felt like a shout inside her head.

"Ky! Are you there? Answer me!"

"Not so loud!"

"Sorry. You do have volume control..."

She found that and brought the volume down to a manageable level. "I thought you said you wouldn't ever use this thing," she said.

"Except in a dire emergency," he said. "Which this may well be. Are you alone?"

"Yes. Hugh's in command; I told him—"

"About the ansible?" Rafe's voice sharpened.

"No. That he was in charge and I was unavailable; he's puzzled but coping. What is it?"

"A long and miserable story, and I'm afraid you're going to have to listen to quite a bit of it."

"The story of your life," Ky murmured.

"Something like that, yes," Rafe said. "I'll try to keep it as short as I can. When I got to Nexus, I found that my family was missing, and someone had a great interest in anyone who inquired about them. It took me an unfortunate length of time to figure out what had happened, find them, and arrange a hostage rescue."

"Hostage!"

"Yes. My parents and my remaining sister had been abducted; her husband had been killed. My delay in reaching them...resulted in the loss of my sister's baby. Killed by the abductors in front of her and my parents."

Ky could think of nothing to say. After a moment, Rafe went on.

"My father was badly injured; he suffered neurological damage and is in rehab. He wanted me to take over as CEO of ISC; the Board agreed, though some of them probably wish they hadn't. You need to know that the person who instigated the abduction of my family was Lew Parmina—I believe you knew him."

"Lew—but he came to visit us. My father brought him home; he liked him—"

"So did my father, to his cost. I don't know whether he was involved in what happened to your family, but I know what he did to mine. Unfortunately, my father got it into his head that Parmina's friendship with your family made your family suspect. He has drawn a line from Osman Vatta's possession of shipboard ansibles, through your insistence on using them, your aunt's repair of the Slotter Key ansible—"

"She didn't—"

"Our sources say she authorized it; that's enough for him. And then there's Stella's pursuit—now successful—of patent rights to the improved version of shipboard ansibles. He's convinced himself that Vattas were involved in Parmina's treachery. I'm hoping that as his recovery proceeds, he'll think more clearly and understand you had nothing to do with it, but right now—he is a problem, and the people in ISC who were his people are a problem. More immediately, there's an ISC fleet—fourteen ships—headed for the system you're in, with intent to kill or capture you."

"But...we got a message saying—"

"I know. I told them to send it, though my wording was different; the idiots in Enforcement changed it. But they'd already dispatched the fleet, on their own initiative, and I didn't find out about it until now. I've put an urgent message for them on the system ansible, but they may not stop for it before they start shooting. You've got to get out of there now. They're less than sixteen hours out, and that's if Enforcement told me the truth. Since I just arrested their head, they may not."

"We can't leave, Rafe. We're guarding a Mackensee ship full of wounded and our supply ship; the pirates might come back."

"Pirates might; ISC will. Ky, listen—fourteen ships. Including two full-size battle cruisers. I know you've just fought a battle; you can't have a full munitions load. You haven't got a chance—"

"I'm not leaving helpless ships behind for your goons to shoot up," Ky said.

"They're after you, not Mackensee," Rafe said. "I didn't realize—my father's not supposed to be interfering with my management but he called someone in the department, told them about his suspicions, and they've picked you as the primary target." No need to explain his father's dementia or the internal politics at ISC. "You and that Space Defense Force you've put together. It's all a mistake; I can call them back once we're in contact, but they could blow you away before that."

"Do you have their IDs?" Ky asked.

"Yes, but it won't do for you to blow them away, either. That would prove that you're the enemy. You have to get out of there."

"Send me their IDs—and I presume you know something about what armament they carry?"

"Yes, but I can't tell you that. Ky, if you'll just listen to me and get out—"

"Or you could listen to me, when I say I'm not going anywhere."

"Ky—"

"No, listen. The Mackensee ship has had some damage, and it's stuffed with casualties. They're waiting for their relief convoy, which is due in...I forget how many days, but several. It's in transit; they can't contact it. The pirates not only attacked Mackensee—we happened to arrive in the midst of that fight—but they had a stealthed observation ship in the system. We captured that, but not before it reported on the battle, and I'm not sure there's not another one. If I leave, and there is another one, then the Mackensee ship could be a prime target for another attack—and so might the relief convoy."

"Protecting mercs is not your job!"

She felt a wave of heat rush up to her head. " You do not define my job," Ky said. "The way I see it, my job is to protect those who need protection. And this ship does, and I'm doing it."

"You are the most stubborn, idiotic—"

For some reason, that quenched the anger. She made her voice calm. "Rafe. We're wasting time. I need the data on those ships, if only to evade them. Send me the data first. Then we can try to figure some way to ensure that neither my people nor your people end up splattered across space."

"Ky—all right." A moment later, a datastream spit out in the implant. Ky was able to route it to the regular ship interface of her implant, and thence to the bridge.

"Now just a moment," she said to Rafe. "I'm going to try to talk on an external channel." The pervasive smell of wet leaves changed to something peppery—whatever that meant—as she used the implant's interface to the ship intercom.

"Yes, Captain?" Hugh said. "Are you available again? What's this datastream about?"

"I believe those are the ship IDs of fourteen ISC ships that are believed to be on the way here," Ky said. "If the data are correct, someone may have the ship specs in their implant databases. Please check that."

"On the way here to...deal with us?"

"I believe that's the understanding," Ky said. "I have to go now; I'll be back with you shortly." She disconnected the in-ship channel.

"I wish you'd change your mind," Rafe said. He sounded tired, now, tired and worried.

"I can't," Ky said. "Now—quit arguing and tell me everything you know about those ships...and if you need more time, why not contact Stella and relay through her so we can use the shipboard units? It's a lot more convenient."

"She wasn't there," Rafe said. "I did think of that, but she was en route from Cascadia Station down to planetside to inspect manufacturing facilities. And the watchdog at her office wouldn't let me talk to Toby." He sighed; his voice was rough at the edges, as if he were exhausted. "I can't send you much more anyway—it's proprietary; it would be a breach of company security—"

"And talking to me on the ansible I'm not supposed to know about, let alone have, isn't? Rafe, be reasonable: I'm not out to destroy ISC. I have no desire to blow up your ships. But the best way to ensure I don't is to tell me what their performance capacity is, so I can evade them until they've had time to get your messages via ansible."

"All right. All right, here—"

Another datastream flowed into Ky's implant. Range, insystem maximum velocity, FTL engine type, weapons types and numbers, munitions types, range...She blinked. Surely a lot of those data had to be wrong. "Rafe...some of these ships look...a little outdated."

"They are," Rafe said.

"I don't see a minimum-radius microjump listed—"

"It's not in their specs that I could find."

Ky felt her spirits lifting. "When is the last time this fleet went on live-fire maneuvers?"

"I'd rather not say," Rafe said.

That wasn't surprising, if her surmise was correct. "Are their munitions...have they been stored in the ships all this time?"

"All what time?"

"Rafe, those Model R-ZM-200s haven't been manufactured anyplace I know of for over thirty years. And they're incompatible with current guidance systems." And, she did not add, the warheads deteriorated over time...probably half those things wouldn't detonate at all, and the rest might detonate anywhere, any time, once they were unlocked.

"They still outnumber and outgun you," Rafe said. "Numbers count."

"It's true that enough ants can eat a camel," Ky said. "But a camel can walk away before they do." It was too early to feel what she felt—but she couldn't help it. Fourteen ships, yes, but...not particularly dangerous ships.

"You think you can evade them?"

"It's a possibility," Ky said. "Thank you for warning me, Rafe, but I think I need to disconnect now and get busy with my officers."

"I still think—"

"That I should leave. I know. I'll talk to the Mackensee commander, but he's even more stubborn than I am, so don't expect that to happen."

"Ky, please...take care." This time she heard something in his voice she had not heard but once, during that last serious talk.

"And you also," she said, before pulling the plug to the ship's power. A last strange smell, and it was over. Her head felt odd, as if it were too big, but after a few moments the sensation faded and she was able to put away the cables, stand up, and move without any difficulty.

As she'd expected, Colonel Kalin was unwilling to leave the system. "We are supposed to be in this system, and you assure me that ISC has no intention of attacking us —"

"That's what my informant said. But it's still dangerous—"

"Yes, but...the one thing I'm sure of is that my relief will be coming here, expecting to find us here, and if we are not here there will be hell to pay."

"It will not help either Mackensee or ISC if they shoot holes in you by accident."

"True. I will tell our captain to move us a considerable distance away from you."

"That's a start, at least." Ky hesitated, then went on. "There's still the pirate problem. I'm not convinced they won't return...and the longer it is before they return, the more ships they're likely to bring with them. If it ends up as a three-cornered fight—"

"That's very unlikely," Colonel Kalin said. "It would be an amazing coincidence—"

"True. But coincidences happen, and we can't afford to ignore them. I'm going to give you the data I have on those ISC ships—"

"You got this from that...device...on your ship, did you?"

Ky reflected that an ansible in her head was in fact on her ship and thus fulfilled the criteria. "Yes," she said.

"I know we're going to want that technology," he said. "But in the meantime—what you're describing is very dangerous for you, and you have no contractual obligation to us—"

"I'm not leaving," Ky said. "If worse comes to worst, if we're losing...maybe. But not now, not before any shots are fired."

A few hours later, a message came through the system ansible for Metaire. Colonel Kalin contacted Ky—though the lightlag meant she got the message six hours after it came in, two hours after he received it. The Mackensee convoy had picked up one of the messages he'd sent at an interim jump point and had changed their route; they would be insystem days earlier than expected.

"Early enough to be here when ISC arrives?" Ky asked. She wouldn't get an answer to that for four hours.

"Possibly; they said they'd go to full power. By my calculations they could be here a few hours before, or within six hours after. They know about the mined jump-point entrance..."

Ky had another conference with her captains. "We may have an interesting time," she said. "ISC's due to arrive in...something under ten hours. If they don't take care, they'll run into those mines; they may assume we placed them. Mackensee's relief convoy might be here just before or just after them—or hours later. And the pirates—if there are pirates—may show up at any moment. Kalin told Mackensee we were on their side, so we know Mackensee ships won't shoot at us—but whether they'll shoot at ISC if ISC attacks us is another question. I didn't bother to ask Kalin; he wouldn't know. And lightlag in communications is going to be a royal pain, with at least three and maybe four sets of ships."

"You want us to hold our present alignment?" Argelos asked.

"Yes. The pirates are the only ones who might risk coming in on some strange vector. The others will use the mapped jump point, and I expect both of them will come in warily, knowing the jump point might have been mined. Even if the pirates do something odd, we're in a good arrangement for them. Set your crew schedules so the crew you'd most want for battle are rested when we expect things to get interesting."

Ky woke with the knot already in her stomach. Calculations or no calculations, fourteen ships to three was higher odds than she had ever imagined facing. Ransome's Rangers would be effective gad-flies, faster and more maneuverable than anything in that ISC fleet, but their armament was pitiful in comparison. She had only two beam weapons on her own ship; any two of ISC's larger warships should be able to blow her entire fleet away.

Except that ISC's ships should not be as effective as their paper statistics suggested. "Should not" was a slender thread to hang all those lives on...was she crazy to think it might work? If she could slow down the attack long enough, if the captains of those ships downloaded the waiting message Rafe said he'd sent...no one need fire a shot. "If" was an even more slender thread. Had Rafe told the truth? Had he really sent such a message? Were the ISC ships really so outmoded? Or was Rafe playing the role of ISC's chief officer, luring her into a situation she could not survive? Was his apparent concern for her just an act? They had been allies in the past, but he'd always insisted his primary loyalty was to ISC.

She had no alternative, really, other than abandoning Metaire...though with the Mackensee relief force coming so soon, they wouldn't be uncovered long.

"Captain?" That was the comtech again. "It's Captain Yamini."

"What's the problem, Captain Yamini?" Ky asked.

"Lattin picked up something on the shipboard—on a channel the pirates use. She doesn't know the language, but the coordinates of this system were given. And she thinks she's got a direction on another stealth ship in the system. Here—" A string of numerical data came in; Ky shunted it to her navigator. "She doesn't have any data on range, of course."

"And we really don't have time to set up for triangulation and try to capture another signal," Ky said. "Call Captain Ransome and ask him to assign one of his ships to a quick search pattern along that vector, but carefully. That ship may be trying to lure one of us into range."

"Yes, Captain."

"And let's hope that ship doesn't have microjumping capability. I know we can detect the disturbances it'll leave that way, but a stealthed ship hopping around is...not my favorite thought."

"We have contacts," her scan tech said suddenly. "Not at the jump point."

Longscan showed fifteen ships in three-ship formations at that distance. They'd emerged from jump hours ago—the uncertainty smudges were elongated ovals—all immediately red-tagged as armed, weapons live. Ky's stomach knotted tighter. "That's not ISC," she said. "And it's not Mackensee—they were coming into the jump point. Tell Metaire; make sure they have the scan coordinates." Though a message was probably on the way from them to her, as well.

Moment by moment, scan refined the position from first acquisition, the ovals shortening behind and lengthening in front, narrowing as the data showed no deviation in course, no slackening of velocity.

"They came in really fast; they know where they're going; they know they have no minefields to worry about," Hugh said.

"Yup. And where they've been is safe for us," Ky said. "They can't lay mines at that velocity, or reverse vector on insystem. They'd have to microjump—"

"Found it!" That was Teddy Ransome, breaking in on the shipboard ansible. "It is another stealthed observer, and we're taking it out! Furious, your turn! Oh, good shot!"

"They've all left station," Ky said, rolling her eyes. "Give me another all-ships channel—I need to talk to Argelos and Pettygrew."

"Is that ISC?" Pettygrew asked. "They look at lot more formidable than you said..."

"No, that's not ISC," Ky said. "That's the pirates. If we're incredibly lucky, ISC will come barreling through the jump point and run headlong into them, but I don't think we'll be that lucky. Ransome's taking out the other stealth ship—I hope it's the last one—and we're all going to play hide-the-thimble until ISC or Mackensee arrives—or both. Once that stealth ship is gone, we'll start microjumping on those courses we discussed. Metaire knows where to go, and our transport's already in hiding. If it gets too hot—we'll have to leave. Be sure your FTL engines are warmed up."

"They're almost in range to use beam weapons..." Argelos said, looking worried. "You know we can't jump with your precision..."

"Jump now, then, your first vector. Just don't deviate from your plan—we don't want to land on top of you accidentally." Sharra's Gift disappeared from the scan; she would reappear half a light-hour away, in a direction the fight should not propagate. Three minutes later, the pile of garbage she'd jettisoned as a marker sparkled and flared as a beam hit it.

"They're really annoyed," Hugh said. "That was maximum distance; shields would've held."

"But flared," Ky said.

"Got him!" came another cry from Ransome. "All to smithereens, he blew, to the great delight of all the crew!"

"Not all that fancy stuff and poetry, too," Lee said, making a face.

"If they blow up our enemies, they can make up all the silly songs they want," Hugh said. "They're definitely a case of the clock on its side." Lee looked confused; Hugh didn't explain, but Ky chuckled.

"Congratulations, Captain Ransome," Ky said. "Excellent shooting. Do you have the attackers on scan?"

"Yes, we do...I'll bet we could take one from behind; I believe we have the legs of them."

"It may come to that, but right now it would be most useful if you could slip in behind them and give us real-time data on their movements," Ky said. She was watching scan. Metaire, moving in the right direction, had still not microjumped. Kalin had said nothing about problems with the FTL engine...was it functioning? It disappeared from scan and reappeared almost at once, having jumped less than a light-second...that would have been two hours ago, before Ky's crew had detected the pirates. Were they testing the FTL engine? And was that tiny hop evidence of precision, or of a problem?

She should have pushed harder to get Kalin's permission to install a shipboard ansible on Metaire —at no charge, if necessary—so they could communicate in real time.

"Beam discharge, vector data—" Ransome again, sounding as cheerful as ever. Ky's navigator converted the vector data into a line on the screen. The pirates were still over four light-hours away; the beam was aimed at where Vanguard would be on her present course.

"That is the weirdest thing I ever saw," Hugh said. "We know they've shot at us; we know where it's going and when it will get there—and unless it's more powerful than any beam I know about, our shields would hold against it if we let it hit us at that distance. It's child's play to evade it...they're much too far away; I wonder why they're taking these long shots."

"They don't know we've got someone on their tail who can communicate with us in real time. They're trying to take us out before we think we're in range...hoping we don't have our shields up yet."

"And we don't."

"True. Without shields—it could at least knock out a lot of our scan and com equipment on the outer hull." Ky looked back at scan. "I wish Metaire would get out of there. We can't protect her from fifteen of them. That little hop worries me...is she all right?"

"She may be playing stupid," Hugh said. "Trying to lure them in."

"Broken-wing act?"

"Something like that. Dangerous, though—"

"There's something on the pirates' channel, Captain," the comtech said suddenly. "I'm recording—"

"Let's hear it," Ky said.

"ALL SHIPS INSYSTEM! HEAVE TO AND IDENTIFY YOURSELVES! THIS IS THE BLUERIDGE DEFENSE ALLIANCE!" The voice was heavily accented; the face on the screen was of a clean-shaven dark-haired man in a medium blue uniform with gold braid on the collar and epaulets dripping gold fringe. Behind him, they could see what looked like other officers in the same shade of blue, with similar collar markings but no epaulets.

"What the—?"

"Who's the Blueridge Defense Alliance?" someone said. "I never heard of them..."

"Someone else with the same bright idea?" Hugh asked, his brow furrowed. "It's not unheard of for even legitimate forces to fire a warning shot before hailing."

"Who just happened to have shipboard ansibles with the pirates' channels? I don't think so," Ky said. "I think that's the pirates trying to act legitimate. Give me Captain Ransome."

When Ransome came on, Ky said, "Can you strip their beacons yet? They're using the pirates' channels to claim they're the Blueridge Defense Alliance. I don't believe them." He should understand that without being told, but she wanted to make sure.

"Of course, Captain Vatta. Just a moment—got 'em. At least, we've got the first three—here—"

The beacon data indicated that the first three were Blueridge Battersea, Blueridge Belinda, and Blueridge Backfin. Next came Blueridge Alba, Blueridge Ardent, and Blueridge Asera. All had supposedly been built by Blueridge Space Industries, on Blueridge, where all were registered on dates that varied across fifteen years.

"That's not much like a real space militia's way of naming ships," Ky said. "There's a heavy and two mediums in each triad...everywhere else I know about, related names are for related hull designs. And why would Alba be registered thirteen years before Asera when they're the exact same hull type...and look at the serial numbers...squirt that over to the others, see if anyone has any ideas. And where is Blueridge? I never heard of it. Is that their real home base, or have they captured another system?"

"PIRATE VESSELS BASSOON, VANGUARD, SHARRA'S GIFT. HEAVE TO OR YOU WILL BE FIRED UPON. VESSEL METAIRE, HEAVE TO AND PREPARE TO EXPLAIN YOUR ASSOCIATION WITH THESE PIRATES."

"They sound like a legitimate space force," Dannon said. "That might fool traders or even a system defense force."

"How long would it take pirates to get themselves some pretty uniforms and patches and so on?" Ky said. "No longer than it took us, I'm betting." But would the ordinary tradeship captain think of that? If she'd been hailed on normal channels, back when she was a novice captain, she'd have believed the transmission legitimate.

"There's something about that fellow on the screen," Ky said. "I feel like I've seen him somewhere."

"Blueridge isn't in the directory," her navigator said suddenly. "If it's legitimate, it's outside this whole region."

"Captain Vatta!" That was a call from Pettygrew, on one of their channels."

"Here," Ky said.

"One of those serial numbers is—was—on a Bissonet Defense Force heavy cruiser. A friend of mine commanded her; that's how I know. It wasn't built on Blueridge, wherever that is; it was built by Masawa Fabrication, in Bissonet System. I don't know about the others, but I'd bet that all those beacon IDs are faked. And they could all be captured Bissonet warships."

"Aha," Ky said. "So it's our old friends Gammis Turek and company. You have the weapons specs for Bissonet ships of those classes, Dan?"

"Yes, but the short answer is we're in trouble. Kev's ship was built only five years ago; the 'tronics are all up to date as of the time I left. We can't possibly fight them and survive, let alone win."

"That's most unfortunate," Ky said. "And we have to assume they know how to use what they've got, though that premature shot suggests incomplete familiarity. I wonder if that talking head is Gammis Turek after a haircut." She turned to Martin. "Pull Turek's image out of our files and compare, please. If we've got a chance to wipe out Turek—"

"ISC should show up on our scans any moment," Hugh reminded her. "If your source was right about the downjump time."

"Contacts," said the scan tech. "Jump-point entry, low relative velocity, five...eight...twelve...fourteen. High-powered beacons...yep, that's the ISC contingent. It's tightening up; they didn't come in fast, and this shows them working their way through the minefield."

"I think our dance card is about to get full," Ky said. "I wonder what they'll say to each other. With any luck, one set will turn tail and run—preferably the pirates. And I hope the ISC ships pick up their messages from the ansible before they do anything else."

"We have lightspeed data coming in from the Blueridge pirates," her comtech said. "Same message..."

"They aren't sure we have the ansibles; they don't know if we all have them. I wonder what ISC ships will make of it."

"ISC doesn't heave to for anyone," Lee said. "Er...sorry, Captain."

"It's not that message I'm worried about," Ky said, "but the one where they label us pirates. ISC doesn't know that the Blueridge Defense Alliance is actually pirates."


L arge battles in space, Ky remembered being told in advanced tactics, had two main problems: command and control, when ships were far enough apart to suffer lightlag in communications and scan; and debris fields that rapidly made large volumes of space very unpleasant places for ships.

Weapons continued until they ran into something; debris from damaged ships did the same. In the long run, that something might be a gravitational sink, like a planet, but in the short run—in the period of the battle itself—microjumping around anywhere near a space battle risked returning to normal space right in front of—or attempting to occupy the same space as—something lethal.

Already, the tac computer had marked out swaths of the system as potential killzones where it would be extremely dangerous to come out of jump, just from Pettygrew's data on the pirate ships.

"We're going to have to jump out farther," Ky said. "Dan, would Bissonet ships' computers display our view of things?"

"Yes," Pettygrew said. "To anticipate our movements."

"So...they will, or already have, filled what now look like safe zones with bad stuff. I think it's time we put a good healthy distance between ourselves and them...say, a couple of days..."

"That'll put us a long way from the jump point, if we need to get out of the system," Argelos said.

"I don't think we'll need to leave the system entirely," Ky said. "ISC will figure out soon enough that we're not the enemy, and Mackensee already knows it. If Mackensee and ISC team up against the pirates—" She shook her head suddenly. "Wait. We need to tell the ISC ships that the Blueridge bunch are the real pirates. They may not believe us, but we have to warn them. Send it as text, not audio," she said to her comtech. "Tight-beam, from Ky Vatta to the ISC commander: 'Blueridge ship IDs are faked; former Bissonet militia personnel with our force recognized serial number as from Bissonet defense forces. We believe these are the same pirates who attacked Bissonet and other systems. Extreme caution; the Bissonet ships are modern and well equipped. Specs follow.' And then squirt them the weapons specs we got from Pettygrew."

"Yes, Captain. It'll be hours before they get this," he said as he sent it.

"And it may be too late. I understand that. But the evidence that we tried will be around for a long time."

"Message from Metaire," her comtech said. Hours old that would be, too, but better than nothing. "They said get out now; they're jumping to that place you talked about."

"That's no good now," Ky said. "Not with ISC already in the system...I hope they changed to the alternate—" She looked at the tac computer's plot again. "Captain Argelos—you can do a two-day jump, right?"

"Yes, that's no problem."

"All right. Ransome! Are you there?"

"Right here, Captain Vatta. Want us to blow one away for you? I've got him in my sights. That'll shake 'em up a little."

"No, I want you to microjump to these coordinates—" She sent them, one for each of his ships, safely separated by a couple of thousand kilometers. "On my mark. All ships in Space Defense Force prepare to microjump to assigned coordinates—" She counted down, and at "Now!" the monitor screens blanked momentarily, then lit again as Vanguard skipped two light-days away from its previous position.

Here they were safe—for a while—from any weapons that had fired at them before they jumped, and their position would not register on those ships' scans for days. Only the luckiest of random skip-searches would locate them. Unfortunately, they could not see what was going on; their scan lag was the same as the others'.

Within a few minutes, Ransome called Ky. "Why don't you let me go take a look closer in? I can relay scan data to you—you'd know what was going on. I can find Metaire and make sure she's not in danger, or even get really close and tell her where we are. It was helpful before, wasn't it? And it would be much more fun than sitting out here wondering and worrying."

"It's really dangerous," Ky said. "If the pirates and ISC start shooting at each other—and I expect they will—a very large volume of space will be a killzone. Including hanging out behind one of the pirate ships."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that," Ransome said. "None of us are."

"You should be," Ky said. "Have you ever been in a large multiship battle? It could overwhelm your computing capacity." His offer was tempting, though. She wanted very much to know if the ISC contingent would collect its message from the ansible, if the pirates were taking on ISC or fleeing, if the Mackensee relief convoy had arrived.

"There's risk in everything," Ransome said. "And we're small, and harder to find and hit. It would be great sport, eh? Sneak in behind those Blueridge fellows again? And if I blew one up, then ISC would know we weren't the enemy, wouldn't they?"

"Not if the pirates have convinced them that Blueridge is a legitimate military organization." Ky looked into Ransome's eager face. She had the distinct feeling that he was going to do something rash no matter what she said, and after all he had insisted that they weren't completely under her command. "Look, Captain Ransome, your Rangers are very valuable to me as scouts. Now that the larger ships are safe for some hours—as long as we're not located—I appreciate your offer and agree that we should have some closer-in observation. But I want to be sure you're fully aware of the hazards. Scan can't detect everything, in a crowded battle zone. Precisely because you've proven yourselves so valuable, I don't want to lose any of you."

Ransome grinned at her, already eager, she could tell, to throw himself into something risky. "Thank you, Captain Vatta. But I'm sure we can get the information you need without getting caught. We'll toss for the honor; I went last time, and it's only fair to give the other fellows a chance at glory."

Or death. Ky had seen what ship weapons could do; some of the casualties still clung to life in sickbay. But they needed the information, and Ransome and his fellows were all adults. "Go ahead then," she said. "If you can disperse safely, and give me more than one observation point."

"Oh, splendid!" he said. "I'll just tell the fellows and we'll be off."

"Cannon fodder," Hugh said, when Ransome disappeared from the screen. "But he's right and you're right—we need to know what's going on. Especially if some of them start hopping around the outer system looking for us." He shook his head. "I'll say this for him and his bunch: they're brave and they're good ship handlers. No more sense than a bunch of schoolboys, but that much they have."

Ky called the other ships and explained that the Rangers would be going back to provide more current data on the situation. "Do you want to be linked to the reports as they come in?" she asked. "If you'd rather take a shift off and rest your crew, I'll have it recorded for you to play later."

"I could go back as well," prize-captain Yamini said. "After all, this ship can be stealthed."

"No," Ky said. "I don't want to risk my last scout ship. If you want to move back about one light-day, fine, but no closer."

"Then I might do you more good taking high guard," Yamini said. "Looking for anything coming in away from the jump point."

"Good idea. Since we know the pirates have onboard ansibles, they could call in reinforcements." Reinforcements could even be in the system, but far out, able to jump in within seconds to minutes. Ky shivered at the thought of the entire pirate fleet showing up, smashing ISC's fleet and the Mackensee relief convoy, and then coming after her little group. Would ISC—even Rafe—believe it had been pirates who destroyed their fleet when they knew it had come after her?

Before she had time to worry more about that, the Rangers began to report in. Furious, with St. Cyrien in command, tucked in behind one of the Blueridge pirate triads. "We can pick up the pirates' ansible transmissions on their channels," St. Cyrien said. "But we only understand a word every now and then; they speak the most awful jargon. I think it must be a private language or something. Here's a sample—" He forwarded an audio file; Ky shunted it to storage for later analysis. "They're also active on regular com, not tight-beam, to the ISC fleet. Same thing they told us about themselves—a regular military outfit chasing pirates. Claiming you're a notorious privateer turned pirate, on a stolen ship, convicted in absentia of a whole string of crimes. Asking ISC to join them in hunting you down. The ISC commander's answered that he has to pick up any messages on the system ansible first, and they're trying to get him to ignore that. Our jumping out is evidence of guilt, and all that rot. One of the ISC ships has left their initial formation and looks to be headed for the system ansible. If the pirates have an inkling what that message is, I'll bet they scupper him."

"Good work," Ky said.

Glorious, positioned just outside the jump point, offered an analysis of inbound tracks. "No more ships have entered since the ISC ships, and they're now under acceleration; we can't pick up their transmissions easily, but the ship that seemed headed for the system ansible should be there in another four hours. We'll stay here so we can monitor jump-point usage."

Courageous, with Baskerville commanding, was standing by Metaire. "They've had no damage so far, but Colonel Kalin says the captain would like to move farther out. That's a long way from where the action is; unless you need me for direct communications with them, I'd just as soon stay in close."

"We need the communications," Ky said. "When the Mackensee convoy shows up, we need to be able to tell them where their ship is. At least they know, from that one message, that we're on the same side."

Baskerville did not quite pout, but Ky could tell he was disappointed.

"Besides," she said," Metaire may be a warship, but at the moment she's out of ammunition and full of wounded. She needs protection. She's safer alone than with us at the moment, but you're the only way she can have real-time communications to call for help."

"Oh..." Baskerville's expression changed. "So we might be attacked anywhere—"

"Yes," Ky said. "And you will be an enormous help to her. I understand it may seem like just standing out of the way—"

"No, no, that's all right. I understand now. Of course, I'll be glad to escort Metaire."

"Good work, Captain," Hugh murmured from out of pickup range.

"Everyone but bridge watch, stand down and get some rest," Ky said. "I want extra people on scan and communications, power up and weapons on standby."

Time passed, then Ransome appeared on the onboard ansible's screen again. "Mackensee ships just arrived," he said. "Six...I think two troop carriers, two cruisers, a supply ship, and something small—not sure what type. Weapons hot, slow insertion; they're broadcasting a call for Metaire."

"What's your distance on them?" Ky asked.

"About ten light-seconds."

"Give them a situation update while you relay their call to Baskerville so he can pass it to Metaire; the two of you can assist with their communications after that." To Martin, she said, "Ask Master Sergeant Pitt to come to the bridge, please. If the Mackensee relief commander wants to talk to me, I'd like Mackensee representative standing by."

"Captain Vatta!" That was St. Cyrien on Furious. "They just fired on the ship approaching the ansible—I detected discharge. If that ship doesn't change course, in two minutes it'll be a goner. Their cross-ship chatter has increased a lot."

"Either they suspect what's in the ansible message, or they think Mackensee and ISC will automatically hook up—now they'll run," Ky said. "They won't want to face odds against."

"Not until they've done some damage," her weapons officer said. "They might blow the ansible or attack any of the ships out there."

As if to underline those words, St. Cyrien reported again. "They've accelerated; we're sticking with them. Looks like they're going for the ISC ships—which aren't responding...wait...transmission from ISC, Dopplered...I'll get it stretched and send it along...there. ISC got your message, Captain, that Blueridge were pirates, and they're asking about that. That must've triggered—" St. Cyrien's transmission ended.

Ky waited. No one on the bridge said a word; they all looked at her. "Something happened, and I doubt it was good," she said finally, when he didn't come back.

"They spotted him," Hugh said. "If they switched to nearscan as they came closer to the ISC ships, it's got better rear-facing capacity, even under acceleration."

"Captain Vatta, we've lost contact with Furious. " That was Ransome, looking less than ebullient for the first time.

"So have we," Ky said. "His transmission ended abruptly. We'll hope for the best."

"I can't believe—" Ransome began, then changed his tone. "Still, whatever, it's a death in battle, isn't it? Straight to the Heroes' Halls."

Ky felt a sudden urge to smack him, even though it was his friends who had just died. She said nothing; Ransome's face changed again.

"He's—he was—a good fellow."

"An oblique shot could've knocked out his communications without blowing the ship," Ky said, though she didn't believe it.

"That's true...that's very true," Ransome said, smiling again. "I'd better take his place, hadn't I? You still need up-to-date information—"

"That's not necessary," Ky said. "I don't think—"

"And if he or the crew are still alive, then I can perform a rescue before..." His voice trailed away.

"Or you could end up dead just like them," Ky said before she could stop herself. From the sudden stillness around her, she realized that she'd shocked everyone. She took a deep breath and let it out. "Look—we have fifteen ships out there eager to kill us, fourteen—"

"Thirteen," said Ransome. "The first ISC ship just blew. I don't know if it picked up its ansible message or not." He paused. "And the Mackensee commander wants to speak to you. There'll be a twelve-second delay between us; I'll record and then transmit."

"Thank you," Ky said. She glanced around; Master Sergeant Pitt was just inside the bridge; Ky beckoned, and Pitt came nearer.

This Mackensee commander was dark-skinned, thinner-faced than Colonel Kalin. "I'm Colonel Bandes," he said. "We received Colonel Kalin's message; we understand that your group assisted him when he was under attack, and I am now informed by him as well as Captain Ransome that you are able to communicate with your ships in real time without detection by the enemy. We accept your assessment that the so-called Blueridge Defense Alliance is in fact a pirate group. The situation here looks grave: those ISC ships are using obsolete munitions and ship for ship are no match for the pirates. We have been able to contact their commander, and he asked our assistance; together we may be able to drive the pirates off. However, are you able and willing to give assistance beyond communications? Your scout ship did not have complete information on your remaining munitions..."

"We can't sustain a long fight," Hugh said before Ky could answer. "We're down to forty-seven percent of our missiles. Bassoon's at forty-two, and Sharra's Gift at thirty-eight."

"If both ISC and Mackensee are defeated, all we can do is run away," Ky said. "That still leaves Metaire —"

"They could jump out."

"They shouldn't, except at the mapped jump point. The uncertainty could add days or weeks to their time to full medical facilities. And we'd have to go along; we all have Mackensee personnel on board. If the others are destroyed, I see no chance that the pirates would let us all get to the jump point unmolested. All they'd have to do is sit there until we tried to sneak in. Sure, some of us might make it, but...we need them gone."

"That still doesn't change our munitions situation," Hugh said. "And we could get out before the battle's over. So could Metaire."

"Metaire leaving now is a good idea," Ky said. "She's the most critical; she needs to be on the way with her casualties, but Kalin will probably insist on talking to the other Mac ships about it. I'll talk to Kalin first—no, Ransome first.

"Captain Ransome," she said. "Will you stay with the Mackensee ships, to relay communications? I'm going to talk to Colonel Kalin on Metaire, via Courageous, and try to convince him to leave the system now and get those wounded to a permanent facility. I'm sure he'll want to talk to his colleagues."

"Of course," Ransome said.

Baskerville, on Courageous, put her in touch with Colonel Kalin at once, and Ky explained why she thought he should make for the jump point at once, taking his wounded home.

"You make excellent points," he said, lips pursed. "I'll have to clear that with the relief convoy commander before I agree, however."

"Courageous and Furious are both ansible-equipped and can relay your communications in near real time," Ky said. "They're at your disposal for this."

"I'm sure we're going to want this technology," Kalin said. "Thank you again for your assistance—we'll let you know."

"Lattin was so right that we wanted more than one additional channel," Ky said to her com officer. "I never thought we'd need so many, but...it makes sense now." She checked with Pettygrew and Argelos on their munitions status.

"Two more ISC ships blown," Ransome broke in suddenly, his face stern. "One of them from its own munitions, apparently."

"Eleven ISC, four Mackensee...that puts them just one up on the pirates..."

"Nowhere near equal, if those ISC ships are as underweighted as your source told you," Hugh said. "Which, from their performance, I'm beginning to believe. They're big enough...good targets..."

Baskerville's face popped up in its window. "Colonel Kalin says he has permission to withdraw, and requests my escort to the jump point. He says he has mapped the minefield and will make one jump to a few kilometers from it, then proceed to the jump."

"Thank you," Ky said. "I recommend that you do as he asks, but take position on the far side of the minefield from him, where you have clearer scan range. He should be able to give you coordinates—"

"He has, already. Back in a flash!" Baskerville's smile looked tense, but he was still smiling. Ky gave herself a mental shake as his image disappeared. Now she had to reply to the Mackensee convoy commander, Colonel Bandes.

"We're all low on munitions," she said. "I have the only ship with a beam weapon, in the bow, and I have only a twenty-seven-degree arc. We cannot sustain a long fight, and if we're all involved in that, and don't achieve a decisive victory, getting out of the system could be...difficult. I'm thinking our best use is as Labienus—the unexpected reserve."

Ransome must have moved in very close; the delay was only a couple of seconds before Bandes replied.

"You know military history," he said with a tight grin. "I remember—you were in a military academy, weren't you? Yes, you could be very effective as a surprise reserve, if we need it. I appreciate your willingness—otherwise we'd be abandoning this ourselves, as it looks entirely too close...I'm afraid ISC would blame us for losing their fleet, but we can't do what they haven't. My suggestion is that you come in from behind the jump point—even microjump just beyond it if you can—and broadcast a message to those following you—not that there are any—"

Ky grinned. "We can definitely do that. We'll move in so we can respond very quickly indeed. You could set it up with transmissions they'll intercept, about the reinforcements you expect. Maybe that we went off to meet other units of yours and lead them here?"

"Grandmother. Eggs. Sucking. Do you have that expression?"

"Yes, Colonel, we do. My apologies."

"Never mind. We're engaged now. Damn, they're good. Lucky for us our shields are stronger than they thought—"

Ky spoke to her other captains. "If I knew where to send our transport, to meet up with later, I would. But as it is, we'll leave her here, and the three of us will jump here—" She gave them the coordinates. "Weapons on standby; don't bring them live until we jump into the fray."

They emerged from that microjump only light-minutes from the battle; scan monitors filled almost instantly with the data pouring in. Their com was stuffed with backed-up messages from ISC, the first few demanding that they surrender...then the preliminary conversations with the pirates' assumed identities...then with Mackensee, a plea for help that included a plea to Ky if she was within hearing. Communications between ISC and Mackensee...all lightlagged to the point that messages on both sides were obsolete before they could be received.

ISC had lost another ship in those few seconds of transition from the outer system to the region of the jump point; the remaining ten were in two groups of five. The pirate ships had gone into the familiar X-attack formation, two triads—one of them short its heavy component—on each arm. The fifth triad had positioned itself at a distance, on a vector where the pirate shots would not endanger it.

"That's their commander," Ky said; she had channels open to Argelos and Pettygrew so they could listen in.

"Looks like," Hugh said.

"Would your Colonel Bandes catch that?" Ky asked Pitt.

"I don't know, Captain," Pitt said. "You've seen their attack patterns before; he hasn't. He might think it's a reserve force."

"I don't think so," Ky said. "I wonder how close we could get our captured stealth vessel to it..." She called Bandes. "That outlying triad—I think that's their commander, and it might be the head of the whole mess, Gammis Turek."

"You think we should go after him?"

"No—you've got enough going on where you are." From this distance, scan could pick out the flare of shields, even the launch of missile flights. "I'm going to try to sneak the stealthed vessel we captured up to it and find out."

"Good luck," Bandes said. "Aha! Got one!" He transferred his own scan image to Ky; she saw that two ships in one triad had been knocked out; the third appeared to be damaged. "Their missile defense AI isn't as good as ours."

Ky called Yamini on the prize ship. "Can you maintain stealth while microjumping?"

"Not as well as when holding still. We'll leave mass anomaly footprints."

"I'm hoping they won't have time to analyze every little mass anomaly, not with all the ordnance flying around," Ky said. "That outlying triad...I think that's their command group. If we can knock that out—"

"This thing doesn't have weapons to speak of," he said.

"I know. But you should be able to confirm if it's the command group or not by timing its transmissions to the behavior of the other triads. It'll have to say something. They just lost some ships; there'll be adjustments. From there, you'll see what they see. And you may be able to spook them into leaving: when our group comes in as if we're leading reinforcements, transmit on their own channels that you have located the command group and here they are. Have your microjump out programmed in, and hit it—I don't think they can react fast enough to hit you, if that's the first they know of you."

"That's not bad," Yamini said. "If we survive, I'll say it's a great idea."

Ky's scan did not pick up Yamini's movement to the outlying triad; she hoped their scan didn't. Another ISC ship blew; Mackensee's superior shields and defensive suites kept them whole in the maelstrom that now covered hundreds of thousands of cubic kilometers, but that wouldn't last forever. Even military ships had power limits, and enough impact could overload the best shields.

"Looks nasty in there," Pettygrew said. Even as they watched, another pirate ship and two more ISC ships vanished in a scatter of debris. "You aren't going to try to use your beam, are you?"

"Intermittent," Ky said. "My bow shield will be open only as long as the beam's on, and it'll erase anything in its path. I'm not dropping the shields to gain beam time. The rest of you keep your shields up full, and we'll try to stay on the edges." The edges looked almost as unhealthy as the dense interior of the fight; her scan showed red zones in shades indicating the probability of a shield-ripping encounter—most of it at 100 percent.

"I don't care that Bandes hadn't called yet. That's too edgy. We go now," she said. "On my mark, this formation—"

They emerged into chaos, proximity alarms pinging, shields flaring almost at once as debris impacted. Ky had the com on general broadcast. "Labienus, Labienus, follow on...Labienus, Labienus, all units follow on! Target Blueridge beacons!"

She had one of her comtechs monitoring the channels the pirates used in the onboard ansible, and within seconds she heard Yamini say, "Enemy command group in view: enemy command group. Labienus units, mark these coordinates."

A burst of pirate jargon followed, chatter crashing into chatter until one voice shouted something and the channel went silent. Ky microjumped nearer and decided to make another jump before re-orienting the ship for the best angle for her forward beam. Another short jump and—that triad disappeared from scan as Lee brought the ship around to line up the beam.

"I should've taken the shot anyway," Ky said. "It was long but it might've done something—"

Pirate chatter returned, this time sounding more frantic than cheerful.

"He ran," Pitt said, brows raised. "That was their commander and he ran off and left them—"

"Microjumped to somewhere else," Hugh suggested. "He's got an onboard ansible; he can communicate just as well from anywhere except FTL space."

But one of the pirate triads, poised for another attack, now fired a salvo at Ky's group, from far too great a range to be effective, and also disappeared from scan.

"They're pulling out, or they're regrouping?" Ky said, considering. The remaining two triads completed their next attack run but then kept going, boosting to higher and higher velocities.

"Can't catch those," Hugh said. "Not even with the Ranger ships. And they won't get back into position for attack for a long time, the way they're going. If that's not a prep for jumping out of the system, I don't know what is."

"We're not out of trouble yet," Ky said. On scan, yet another ISC ship blew, from what cause she couldn't tell in that mess of danger signals. Then a Mackensee ship, the smallest, disappeared from scan. Ky called Ransome. For once he didn't look eager and happy; his face was pale and streaked with sweat.

"We're in between two bigger ships," he said. "Their shields are helping but...I never saw anything like this."

"The pirates are gone, at least for now," Ky said. "I think we spooked their commander enough that he got out, and now the thing to do is get you and everyone else out of that killzone. Do you still have contact with Colonel Bandes?"

"Yes," Ransome said. "I'll tell him."

The relay continued to work, somewhat to Ky's surprise. "You say they're all gone?" Bandes said. "Our scan's so overloaded, we're having trouble picking out ship beacons."

"If you can microjump out a few light-hours, we can regroup," Ky said. "Can you contact the ISC commander?"

"Not easily," Bandes said. "It's one of the things—their damned protocols, and the lightlag—but I'll try."

In the end, only six of the ISC ships made it out, and two of those had serious damage. The incoming Mackensee convoy had lost its scout ship and had damage to both troop carriers and the supply ship, with a number of nonfatal casualties. Five pirate ships had been completely destroyed; Baskerville, in Courageous, located another limping along under stuttering insystem power, shields down and the missile pods on one side half melted off. Not worth salvage or the risk to personnel if they tried to capture her.

"We can take care of it," Ky told Bandes. "Or, if you want, you can have the honor."

"Did you ask the ISC commander?"

"I'm not sure any of the ISC ships could take it," Ky said.

Bandes chuckled. "Go ahead, then. You've earned the right."

"It's shooting fish in a barrel," Argelos said when Ky told him what they were going to do next.

"Nasty fish. Poison fish. If it bothers you..."

"Me? Not at all. I was gloating, actually." Argelos' first salvo breached the hull, and moments later Ky's and Pettygrew's met in the center of mass and blew it apart.

As the scan for that area filled with multiple tiny returns, Pettygrew said, "Mapping this system is going to be a mess for a while. We'll have to warn someone—I don't even know who—to mark this system off limits for a while."

Ky said nothing; Pitt glanced at her. "What is it, Captain?"

"Just—acknowledging their humanity," she said. "Bad though they were, they were once people. Tiny babies, maybe even children someone loved. People who might have been something other than scum of the universe, if things had been different." She met Pitt's gaze squarely. "I'm quite willing to blow them away, but not to pretend it meant nothing."

Pitt nodded. "I understand that, Captain. Doesn't surprise me."

When they got back to the others, close enough to communicate nearly in real time, Ky found that the ISC commander was particularly angry with her.

"It's all your fault," he said. "I lost ships, crews—all because you had to fiddle around with an ansible you had no right to approach, let alone touch. And as for that—thing—you're using to communicate, it's illegal. You're going to be arrested and tried—"

"I don't think so," Ky said. "Have you picked up your messages from the system ansible yet?"

"What business is that of yours?"

"One of them concerns me, and it comes from a high source in your company. I suggest you retrieve it now."

"You can't give me orders—"

Ky fought her temper down. "I didn't give you an order; I made a suggestion. If you want to ignore it and risk the consequences—"

"What consequences?"

"What would've happened if my ships and Mackensee had jumped out and left you to the pirates?"

That silenced him for a moment; his jaw worked. Finally he said, "All right. I'll look. But I assure you that I am thoroughly familiar with ISC rules and regulations, and with the Uniform Commercial Code as it applies to ISC installations—"

"I'm sure you are," Ky said. She looked at the scan of the system. "As it will be hours before you can retrieve your messages, we're going to set up a defensive perimeter just in case. There will be no call on your resources during that time." When she glanced at the ansible screen, Colonel Bandes' image looked as if he might burst out laughing. She turned to that console.

"I'm impressed, Captain Vatta," he said. "And you certainly picked the right moment to come in. I had just opened my mouth to ask you when you appeared on scan close in. And going after the commander alone—that was overly risky, don't you think?"

Ky explained what she had told Yamini to do. "I hoped it would panic them either enough to let me get a good shot at them, which I almost did—or make them move, or even leave. They'd lost a third of their ships; our doctrine said most forces wouldn't stay cohesive with quick losses that high."

"That's what our research shows, too," Bandes said. "And I have recordings of ISC transmissions that show they were falling apart after they lost the third ship, but couldn't figure out where to go. Their fire was never that effective, but some of them quit even trying to attack the pirates. If they'd had a coordinated fire pattern—but that's post-battle analysis."

"They're really annoyed with me," Ky said. "I hope they'll be less so when they get the message that's waiting for them."

"You know what's in it?"

"In substance, yes. In words, no."

He tilted his head. "You're a very interesting person, Captain Vatta."

Ky could think of nothing to say to that.