Lt. Leary, Commanding (63 page)

"
Roger
," Woetjans said. There was physical strain in her voice. Daniel suspected the bosun was bracing herself with the grip of one hand and using the other to put as much force on the end of a come-along as three ordinary crewmen could've managed. "
You handle the bloody course, we'll handle the bloody rig. Out!
"

"
Task accomplished, coming aboard,
" Pasternak said crisply. "
Engineering out.
"

Daniel cut in the additional High Drive nozzles. The icons for Ten and Twelve went solid green under dint of Daniel's overriding command, but they pulsed to show the computer's displeasure.

Daniel smiled faintly. They'd never build a computer that could fight battles successfully: to win, sometimes you had to do things that made no logical sense. You had to be willing to die as well, but an RCN officer was just as willing to die as any machine was.

On the attack screen, three Alliance missile tracks intersected that of the
Petty
. The destroyer was braking at three gravities, thrust that was certain to ripple plates and start seams. The scale was too small for certainty: to the last Daniel was able to hope that what looked like a hit was in fact a narrow miss.

The
Petty
's image deformed. A ball of gas puffed around the destroyer like blood pooling beneath a corpse. The fusion bottle failed then, devouring everything astern of the blast wall in a white flash. Debris from the bow section shotgunned away. Some of the fragments might be suited crewmen, but there was no possibility of them being rescued.

"
Sir!
" Mon said urgently. "
We're accelerating on our previous course. I've figured thrust to produce the greatest possible tangent. Shall I take the conn?
"

"Negative, negative!" Daniel said. "Mr. Mon, I'll determine the
Sissie
's course!"

He checked his display to make sure that he hadn't handed off control to the BDC at some past moment and failed to retrieve it. It was absolutely critical that the course remain
exactly
as he'd set it.

Even if he'd guessed wrong. A ship could have only one captain, and Daniel Leary was the
Princess Cecile
's at present.

One of the stern airlocks cycled with a hesitation noticeable to a spacer experienced in the
Princess Cecile
's patterns. The inner valve had warped, though it must still be sealing adequately or Pasternak's crew wouldn't have been able to use the lock without authorization from the command console.

An RCN missile hit the
Yorck
forward. Three seconds later, a missile from
Der Grosser Karl
spitted the Alliance heavy cruiser at virtually the same frame but from starboard instead of the port side.

The
Yorck
continued on its previous course. A bubble of atmosphere surrounded the vessel, expanding slowly. That the cruiser stayed centered in the ball of gas showed that its High Drive had shut down: until the double impact, the
Yorck
had been braking hard in a desperate attempt to avoid the kill zone.

The
Winckelmann
was so distant from the Alliance battleship that missiles the ships launched at one another burned all their fuel, then continued on ballistic courses. At burnout the missile separated into four segments, closely spaced but nonetheless increasing the coverage area considerably. Though the difference didn't show at the scale of Daniel's display, he knew that the missiles about to intersect both flagships were more likely to achieve hits than those launched at closer targets.

"
Tube Alpha ready!
" Betts shouted. Daniel's finger was already stroking the firing switch. The
thump!
of the missile launching was simultaneous with the
whang!
of Bett's team breaking free the outer door of Tube Beta with a charge of explosive.

"Sir, permission to fire?" Sun begged. He was poised over the key that would trigger the four plasma cannon.

Der Grosser Karl
's Parthian shot continued its track toward the
Sissie
. It was very close to burnout now, but its twelve-gee acceleration had given it more than sufficient residual velocity to overhaul the corvette in another ninety seconds.

"Negative!" Daniel said. "I'll give the order. Not till I give the order!"

Der Grosser Karl
ran through the path of the
Winckelmann
's first salvo. There were seven missiles; the eighth had ruptured the
Yorck
. Either Pettin or his Chief Missileer had done a brilliant job of targeting. It wouldn't have been possible without Adele's intercepted course data, but not every officer would have thought to aim so as to threaten two enemy ships at a considerable distance from one another.

A segment struck the battleship's port outrigger, retracted since lifting from its berth on Tanais. There was a bright flash: metal blasted to vapor by kinetic energy. The secondary shock wave—the ball of glowing gas exploding from the impact at a significant fraction of light speed—hammered
Der Grosser Karl
's hull, whipping the vessel despite its enormous mass.

Though the battleship's targeting had been both hastier and less skillful than the
Winckelmann
's, her multiple tubes made up the difference. The
Winckelmann
's acceleration allowed her to pass well wide of all but three of the twenty-four missiles of the initial launch; regardless, a segment caught her squarely amidships. The flash had an electrical quality to it, high in the ultraviolet.

The missile aimed at the
Princess Cecile
reached burnout and separated. Daniel plotted the four tracks, then careted one and ordered, "Now, Sun! Everything you've got!"

The corvette's plasma cannon rang from both turrets. Surges of ionized nuclei spurted at light speed through the sole opening in the laser array and down the iridium bores.

Inevitably there was some leakage which the refractory gun-tube had to contain. Sun had the weapons on high rate, the four tubes cycling at a combined rate of six pulses per second. That couldn't be sustained for long periods because it didn't leave the guns long enough to cool between discharges.

It was the only chance the
Princess Cecile
had of surviving for a long period, however.

Despite the guns' enormous energy output, they couldn't hope to destroy tons of solid metal thousands of miles away. What they could do, if skillfully directed, was to nudge missiles aside by subliming material off one side as reaction mass.

Tube Alpha showed ready. Daniel launched another missile at
Der Grosser Karl
. With luck, Alpha would be reloaded again in time for another round, a last round if luck or the Gods decreed. The
Sissie
's crew might never know if these missiles too had struck—but they had three certain hits on a battleship, not a bad record to take to a spacers' heaven.

The
Winckelmann
swung into a slow tumble through the void. Her High Drive shut down momentarily, then restarted as Pettin or his replacement aligned the nozzles to counteract the thrust from the missile impact.

The crippled cruiser launched two missiles, then two more. By
God
she did!

"Daniel, the enemy's going to enter the Matrix!" Adele said. Had he ever heard Adele shout before? "Chastelaine's signaled `All units shape course for Sonderfell immediately.' Daniel, they're running!"

Tube Alpha
was
loaded. Betts must have set the transport rollers to overspeed.

Daniel launched again, feeling the missiles in B magazine also starting to move. With Tube Beta in operation, the
Princess Cecile
was in fighting trim—except for mobility.

Segments of the incoming missile arrived. Vapor glowing with the fury of Sun's cannon bathed the corvette for an instant, a flash like lightning across Daniel's real-time display. There was a
click
like a distant whiplash; a few gauges jumped.

The
Princess Cecile
was end-on to the missile, showing minimal cross-sectional area to the threat. Daniel had aligned her with the center of the pattern formed when the missile separated. Three of the segments missed of their own, and Sun's plasma cannon thrust the last enough to the side that only thin-spread gas expanding from the flank of the projectile touched the ship.

Der Grosser Karl
blurred off the display. Moments later the destroyers
Ihn
and
Steinbrinck
vanished also. They'd rerig in the Matrix before they started the long voyage to Sonderfell.

Daniel shook his head. Sonderfell! That route to the Sack was four months of sailing for well-found vessels. No wonder Chastelaine's squadron had managed to avoid being spotted en route! But how friendly the Khans of Sonderfell would be to a force so obviously defeated . . . ?

Daniel smiled. He had a degree of sympathy for Chastelaine as a fellow captain and spacer; but he couldn't say he was sorry about the result, no.

The admiral's decision made perfect sense.
Der Grosser Karl
was a new battleship, many times more valuable than the entire RCN squadron. She'd been badly damaged already and could with further bad luck—Chastelaine would think it was luck—be destroyed. It was his duty as a prudent commander to avoid further losses by withdrawing.

A computer would have agreed to the depths of its electronic soul.

The order to flee caught the
Koellner
and
Giese
with their antennas stowed. Both destroyers cut their thrust to zero to make the riggers' job easier, proceeding on a ballistic course. The
Giese
slipped into the Matrix within three minutes, a very creditable time, but her sister ship barely struggled out ahead of the missiles that the
Winckelmann
and
Active
launched at them for want of a better target.

Daniel shut down the High Drive, then let out his breath and felt all the strength drain from his body. Goodness, he'd merely been sitting at his console for the past hour. It felt like he'd been breaking rocks!

He switched the intercom manually. "Lieutenant Mon," he said. "Take the conn if you please. Coordinate with Engineering as to the best way to proceed toward the flagship while refitting our High Drive and plasma thrusters. Break. Mr. Pasternak, you may resume repairs. Coordinate with Lieutenant Mon."

The
Princess Cecile
was still streaking toward the rim of the Strymon system and the void beyond. The velocity at which she'd entered sidereal space would take days to brake with the High Drive, even if all the nozzles were operating. If Woetjans couldn't get some sort of rig operable with the corvette's own spares, Daniel would have to beg help from the
Active
.

"Daniel?" said Adele. "The
Yorck
is signalling that it surrenders. Commodore Pettin's ships are much closer than we are, but I'm not sure they're monitoring the open channels at the moment. Would you like me to retransmit on the squadron's command link?"

"What?" said Daniel. "Yes, if you would please, Adele. There's no point in having hundreds more of the poor devils die when there's no reason for it."

"
Captain?
" Woetjans said. The bosun was breathing hard. "
We're getting three antennas on each of the aft rings rigged.
Forward we're fucked, maybe even in a shipyard we're fucked, but you'll be able to crawl into the Matrix inside of ten.
Over
."

Daniel beamed. "Woetjans, I'd marry you if I thought I were worthy!" he said. "Break. Lieutenant Mon, the Chief of Rig says we'll have partial sails available in ten minutes. Plot a course toward the flagship, if you please; and also a course back to Strymon, where I expect we'll be directed as soon as the commodore learns who our passenger is. Captain out."

Daniel stood carefully, using the back of his chair as a support until he was sure that his legs weren't going to fail him. When he sat at the console he locked one leg under the chairpost. During the battle just over, he'd clamped it firmly enough that he'd cut off circulation.

"Adele?" he said. "Would you care to come with me to the wardroom? I think it's time to release President Vaughn and offer our apologies. I'd like some company."

Offering Adele his hand, Daniel added—smiling but truthful nonetheless, "In addition, I prefer to have you beside me when I talk to Tovera."

Daniel had left a short imagery loop running on the command console.
Der Grosser Karl
hung in a black field, gouting plasma from its turrets—

Then spewing gas and flame from both flanks as the
Princess Cecile
's fourth missile struck.

Cinnabar forever!

_B
arnes and Dasi, hired to bring Adele's personal gear from Har-
bor Three, walked ahead of her like a noble's retainers. They were joking with one another and whistling, either man able to carry both duffle bags without noticing the weight. Civilians watched them curiously: this wasn't a district that saw many of their sort.

Woetjans and Pasternak both had offered Adele a real escort, as many spacers as she wanted from the crew of Frigate
204
—renamed
Little Sis
while in RCN service. She'd refused. Adele had an increasing disdain for empty state, and to appear with forty or more servants would be making a boast to her neighbors that the reality of her purse couldn't live up to.

"I was a fool to ask for this house back," Adele said to Tovera beside her. "I can't afford basic maintenance, let alone the kind of staff it requires to be run properly."

Tovera shrugged noncommittally. She might not have responded even if she'd been asked a real question. Money simply wasn't something that Tovera cared about.

Adele smiled faintly. Tovera was quiet, self-effacing, and abstemious. Viewed from the correct angle, she was a saint.

"The one with the guy in blue out front, ma'am?" Dasi asked. He gestured with his free hand, an underhanded motion as though he were lobbing a ball.

Adele leaned to look past the two burly spacers. There shouldn't be—

But there was, a well-set-up man in a tunic of blue with silver piping. Adele hadn't hired servants to replace those who'd left with the Rolfes. The deed to Chatsworth Minor had been waiting for Adele in a message locker at Harbor Three, along with the—expected and unnecessary—summons to see Mistress Sand at her earliest convenience, day or night.