However, Max was not above bypa.s.sing official channels. He had low level, unofficial contacts with virtually every military establishment in Known s.p.a.ce. Except, of course, with the Pfelung. So, he had Comms and his back room root through every database and sigint intercept for every known Pfelung voice channel, comm frequency, data network, or any other means by which someone could get any sort of voice message, electronic mail message, text message, digital image protocol facsimile message, video call, tachyon semaph.o.r.e, or carrier pigeon with a jet pack and a pressure suit through to the Pfelung Comprehensive Authority for the Harmonious Swimming Together of the Warriors, which is what they called their high command or joint chiefs, to let them know that their continued survival as a species was in jeopardy.

All to no avail. Naturally, Max had notified Admiral Hornmeyer, who had sent a Priority Flash dispatch off to the chief of naval operations, who in turn, as soon as he got the message fourteen hours later, would frantically throw as many forces as he could in the path of the antic.i.p.ated Krag thrust.

But it didn't take a vice admiral in Strategic Plans to know that it would be far too little, and vastly too late. It would be like what the Germans did to the French in 1940. Disaster. The place to stop the Krag was at Pfelung, not Tarsind, or Virkandum, or-G.o.d forbid-Stein 2051.

Admiral Hornmeyer had dispatched a combat group at maximum speed. It would arrive in ten days.

Having no help to send, Max had to go himself. In his one puny destroyer. To stop the whole Krag navy. It was suicide, with the added drama of bringing 214 men and boys along for company.

They might die before even reaching their battlefield. The c.u.mberland was courting destruction from within by pus.h.i.+ng its compression drive beyond the "red line" to propel the s.h.i.+p at the lunatic velocity of 2200 c, about 80 c beyond the vessel's rated maximum. Lieutenant Brown made his obligatory, ritual protest, but he took one look at Max's face and decided not to press the matter. The engineer was unable to make further impa.s.sioned pleas on behalf of his engines; he was too busy trying to keep them from blowing up and the s.h.i.+p from flying apart.

Even at this speed, the two light years between Zoleft and Pfelung was nearly an eight-hour trip. And unless Max could convince them not to fire in a great burning hurry, the s.h.i.+p could not jump into the system because the Pfelung defensive installations covering the jump point would vaporize his destroyer in a few seconds.

"Captain," Garcia said, "as the s.h.i.+p's legal compliance officer, it is my duty to inform you that we will be crossing into Pfelung territorial s.p.a.ce in approximately two minutes and that doing so will be in express contravention of our orders. I will be required to note that fact in my log."

"Understood, XO. And will your log also show a protest of my action?" Garcia had the right to log an official protest of any action he thought to be illegal or outside of the commander's authority.

"No, sir. It will show that the action was taken with my full concurrence and support." Then, so that only Max could hear: "If we live through this, I'll stand right beside you at the court martial."

"I appreciate your loyalty."

"Any time, sir. Far better to hang together-"

"Than to hang separately."

Indeed, living long enough just to get past the Pfelung defenses, much less dealing with the coming Krag attack, was by no means certain. Already, as the c.u.mberland streaked into the outskirts of their system and penetrated their defensive sensor net, the Pfelung were warning him off, telling him in great detail that he was violating their sovereign territorial s.p.a.ce and that if he did not turn about and leave, he would be intercepted and destroyed.

"Mr. Kasparov, some information on what is going on in that system would be very helpful about now," Max prompted.

"Sorry, sir, we have every sensor on active scan, maximum intensity, focused on the area in question, but at this speed the sensor beams aren't moving much faster than we are. I am getting lateral sensor returns from the patrol s.h.i.+ps in this part of the outer solar system now, and I should be receiving data on any vessels at intermediate ranges on intercept courses in about a minute. But as for what's going on near Pfelung, we won't have much in the way of readings until we are almost there ourselves."

"Receiving the transponder codes listed in the freighter's data base," Comms chimed in. As each s.h.i.+p continually broadcast its transponder ID, the signal was there to be picked up as soon as the c.u.mberland was in range.

"Eight of the ten expected freighters are already in place at the freight facility; one is in the traffic pattern to enter it; and one is about a tenth of an AU out, just getting inserted into the traffic pattern. The last s.h.i.+p is still at least two hours from being docked with the other s.h.i.+ps, maybe as long as four or five, depending on the Pfelung traffic control system."

"Tactical, how are we doing?"

"At this speed, we've already blown past the Pfelung system perimeter defense," Bartoli said. "We're moving so fast that by the time they detected us, the interception geometry was hopeless for them. They're far behind us now. They have two cruisers about twenty-five AU from the primary that are moving to intercept-they won't be able to catch us. But we'll pa.s.s through the outer weapons range of one in just over a minute, and of the other one about two minutes after that. Again, given our present speed, and the firing angles, it would be almost impossible to get a hit on us. After that, it gets more interesting. We'll have to reduce speed, and they have other s.h.i.+ps moving into position that will have a much more favorable interception geometry."

"Understood. Comms, any luck opening a direct channel to that pulse cannon battery?

"Negative, Skipper. Cold shoulder all the way. Oh, and sir, one of the Marine sentries is on the comm saying that the doctor wishes permission to enter CIC." That's odd.

"Permission granted." Max decided that if he lived through this battle, he would give the doctor CIC access status. One of the Marines opened the hatch to admit the doctor. Just as the hatch was about to close, Clouseau darted in, zoomed past the doctor's feet, and scampered onto the command island, where he stood, apparently waiting for something.

"Come on in, Doctor. If you would like to have a seat, use the Commodore's Station."

"Thank you. When I was play acting the part of the cutter captain, I got to like knowing what was going on. None of the Casualty Station consoles tie into any of the tactical displays."

He took a seat at the Commodore's Station. Clouseau immediately leaped in his lap and sat up, watching that station's displays with great interest. The doctor spoke to the animal, "I gather you like to be where the action is, just as I do. How unfortunate that I do not like cats." Clouseau curled up on the doctor's lap, still keeping his eyes on the display, while the doctor absently stroked his fur. Clouseau began purring.

"Both of you are welcome in CIC, of course," Max said, before turning to Garcia.

"XO, I think it's time for you to get on your way."

"Aye sir. And Skipper, good luck to you."

"Thanks, XO, to us all." They shook hands, and the XO strode out of CIC. "Weapons, confirm missile tube load out."

"Sir, current missile tube load out is: Raven in tube one, missile is unarmed, warhead is unarmed; Raven in tube two, missile is unarmed, warhead is unarmed; Talon in Tube three, missile is unarmed, warhead is unarmed."

"Very well. Weapons Officer, this is a Nuclear Weapons Arming Order. Arm missile and warhead in tube one; arm missile and warhead in tube two. Do not-repeat, do not-set target at this time."

"Nuclear Weapons Arming Order confirmed and logged. Missile and warhead in tube one armed. Missile and warhead in tube two armed. Targets not set at this time."

"Sir," Bartoli said, "we are coming in missile range of the first Pfelung cruiser." He paused slightly. "He has fired a superluminal antis.h.i.+p missile." Pause. "Missile has gone to active homing mode." Yet another pause. "Missile is locked onto us and is homing. Based on the active homing pulse characteristics, am cla.s.sifying this missile as code name 'Minnow.' Interception geometry is poor, and it is overtaking us very slowly. Point defense batteries locking on. Firing. Missile destroyed."

CIC was virtually silent for about half a minute. Bartoli picked up the narration again from the Tactical Station. "Coming into range of the second cruiser. Second cruiser firing. Missile is superluminal and has gone to active homing. Locked and tracking. Cla.s.sifying as Minnow. Point defense batteries locking on. Firing. Miss. Missile still tracking. Point defense batteries reengaging. Miss. Point defense second layer engaging-rail gun going to continuous firing. Missile range now ten thousand meters. Nine thousand. Eight thousand. Seven thousand. Six thousand. Five thousand. Four thousand. Hit. Missile destroyed."

Bartoli shook his head. "I don't think we'll be so lucky next time, sir. There is a screen of eight cruisers and twelve destroyers in what looks like the Pfelung version of a Zhou Matrix, right in our path and about sixteen AU from our destination. With their superluminal missiles and with the other missile installations and pulse cannon battle stations they've got in this part of the system, there is no way around them, sir. Not if we want to get where we're going in enough time to do any good."

"Then, we'll have to go through them," Max said, his fists clenched with determination. "Alert all decks and prepare to accept incoming fire. We'll pa.s.s through the screen and then see what we can do about those freighters. Comms, keep broadcasting the same message. Maybe someone will get the idea that we're not trying to hurt them, and maybe that will convince them not to shoot." And maybe Santa Claus will come by in his sleigh and act as a missile decoy.

WHAM! A bone-jarring shock shook the s.h.i.+p.

"Stealthed mine," said Tactical. "Intel said that the Pfelung are in the process of developing them, but they're supposed to not be deployed yet." He sounded annoyed, as though Intel had let him down, personally.

WHAM! WHAM!.

"It appears that their information is not entirely up to date," Max observed. "Damage?"

"Damage to several of the amids.h.i.+ps sensor arrays, antennas, and fairings-complete list on your DC subdisplay in about two minutes, Skipper." DC had the answer right away. Minor damage. The way things were going, that wouldn't last long.

WHAM! One of the Environmental consoles went dark. In less than ten seconds, one man and a mid had the access panel open and were replacing the overloaded module.

"Captain," Bartoli said, "based on my a.s.sessment of the number and location of the Pfelung defending vessels and the known capability of their missiles, if each s.h.i.+p fires a full salvo, and if our countermeasures and point defense systems perform as predicted, we will be overwhelmed. Our likelihood of survival is very low."

"Very low? Be more specific. How low? Give me an approximate percent."

"An approximate percent chance of survival? Zero."

Zero. That's low.

"How long until they launch?" Heads turned. The question came from the doctor.

Max nodded to Bartoli, giving him leave to answer. "Just over a minute."

Sahin thought about something for about half a second. Making up his mind, he squinted at the unfamiliar commodore's console, managed to configure it to allow him to key in message text, and started typing furiously.

He said to Comms, "Two days ago, I saved four images to my personal database. My pa.s.sword is 'Harun1453.' You need to broadcast this message and those images to those s.h.i.+ps, on every frequency and band and however else you can."

Max didn't have time to ask what the text was or what the images were. Max didn't have time to ask the doctor to explain. If the doctor's idea, whatever it may be, was going to be implemented in time to do any good, Max had to give the order in the next two or three seconds. He had to make the call: run the gauntlet of Pfelung wars.h.i.+ps or trust his life, his s.h.i.+p, and the lives of 214 men to a Hail Mary pa.s.s being thrown by a man Max had known for only twenty-two days.

Easy call. "Comms. Do it."

Ensign Chin's fingers flew over his console, capturing the text message, accessing and capturing the image files, bundling them in a message packet, and broadcasting them by every means the c.u.mberland had.

"Pfelung missile targeting scanners engaging and locking. They are preparing to fire." Tactical was a veritable fountain of good news today.

It was only after the message and images were sent that Max saw exactly what kind of pa.s.s the doctor had thrown. The message read: "DO NOT FIRE STOP THIS s.h.i.+P CARRIES PRICELESS PFELUNG VITREUM SCULPTURAL VASE KNOWN AS BIRTH OF THE WATERS STOP SEE ATTACHED IMAGES STOP DESTRUCTION OF THIS VESSEL WILL DESTROY IRREPLACEABLE PART OF PFELUNG ARTISTIC HERITAGE STOP PLEASE LISTEN TO US STOP WE ARE NOT YOUR ENEMIES STOP MESSAGE ENDS." Four images of the piece were attached.

"Sir, the cruisers just shut down their targeting scanners." Well, maybe Tactical did have good news every now and then.

"Skipper, incoming from the Pfelung force commander," Comms said. "Text only."

"Let's see it."

"TRANSMIT NAME OF OBJECT OWNER STOP MESSAGE ENDS.".

"Comms," said Max, "send 'Dr. Ibrahim Sahin.'"

"Sending." Ten-second pause. "Receiving."

"IDENt.i.tY OF OWNER CONSISTENT WITH OUR RECORDS STOP PLEASE RETRANSMIT EARLIER MESSAGE STOP MESSAGE ENDS.".

"Quick, Chin, send the earlier message again. Tack on the tactical projection of the expected Krag attack we prepared for the follow-up message. And tell the hangar deck to launch the cutter."

"Cutter away," Tactical announced. The cutter was launched with the XO and ten men aboard. It immediately set course for the last of the ten freighters. The idea was for the cutter crew to board and take the last freighter, then use the freighter's comm equipment and codes to attempt to induce the other freighters not to do what they planned to do.

"Maneuvering, reduce to fifteen c and steer for jump point Charlie." That was the jump point that led in the direction of Krag s.p.a.ce. The one the Krag would come through. "Put us fifty thousand kills away from the jump point and from the cargo facility."

Maneuvering confirmed the order, and the s.h.i.+p began to slow.

"Incoming message."

"THIS IS ADMIRAL CENRUU-MAA 114 STOP HAVE RECEIVED YOUR WARNING AND PROVISIONALLY EVALUATE ITS CONTENT AS TRUTHFUL STOP HAVE FORWARDED MESSAGE TO BATTERY COMMANDERS AND HIGHER AUTHORITY STOP HAVE ALSO RECALLED ON MY AUTHORITY PERIMETER DEFENSE FORCE TO MEET THIS THREAT STOP INNER SYSTEM DEFENSE FORCE UNDER MY COMMAND IS NOW CLOSING JUMP POINT ETA ONE POINT THREE STANDARD HOURS STOP YOU ARE DIRECTED TO NULL DRIVES AND AWAIT PILOT VESSEL THAT WILL ESCORT YOU TO HOLDING AREA STOP MESSAGE ENDS.".

"d.a.m.nit," said Max. "We've got to neutralize those freighters. If they figure out that we're onto them, I'm sure there's a Krag paying close attention on one of those s.h.i.+ps with a remote triggering device, or somewhere in the system, who-"

Max never got to finish his sentence, as what the closely attentive Krag would do manifested itself in the most obvious manner. All ten of the freighters mentioned in the captured Krag data exploded in the blue-white glare of matterantimatter annihilation. Max had never seen an antimatter explosion, as antimatter weapons had never been used by any power in Known s.p.a.ce. Until now.

The explosion instantly vaporized all the affected s.h.i.+ps as well as much of the cargo transs.h.i.+pment facility and about half of the thirty or so s.h.i.+ps docked there, while turning the rest into sharp-edged shreds of metal debris, some the size of ground cars and weighing almost three tons, embedded in the shock wave. Travelling at an appreciable fraction of lightspeed, the shock wave and debris reached the pulse cannon battery covering jump point Charlie a quarter of a second later.

Unfortunately, as its designers had thought the battery would face attack only from the direction of the jump point, the side facing the depot was unarmored. The debris tore through the battery's rear hull in a dozen places like a shotgun blast through cardboard, destroying the advanced fusion reactors that provided plasma for the pulse cannons. Unleashed from magnetic confinement in the reactors' cores, superheated plasma flashed out in all directions, consuming virtually everything it touched.

When the fireball faded, all that was left of the "impregnable" battle station was the 5.3-meter-thick, heavily armored, and ultimately useless glacis plate that formed the battery's hull on the side that had once faced the jump point. Like the British fortifications at Singapore, when the enemy came, the battle station's defenses were facing in the wrong direction.

The door to the heart of the Union was now wide open. The Krag would walk through it any second.

"Maneuvering," Max almost shouted, adrenalin getting the better of him, "head straight for the jump point, bring us to one thousand kills. I want to see the whites of their eyes. Weapons, disable warhead safeties in missiles one and two. Prepare to target designated s.h.i.+ps emerging from jump. Pulse cannons one, two, and three to Prefire. Same with the Stinger."

Weapons confirmed the order.

"Skipper, the cutter is hailing and requesting instructions."

"Signal that it appears he won't need to board that freighter and that I need him to close to within five thousand kills of the jump point, then go to station keeping and stand by." Max turned to his sensor officer.

"Okay, Kasparov, when the Krag come through, I'm going to need IDs fast, so we know who to target first. Quick and dirty-just give me types."

Then, to everyone. "When they come out of jump, remember that they'll be blind, deaf, paralyzed, and stupid for a few seconds. They aren't expecting anyone to be here ready to shoot. We've got to get our licks in fast. Kasparov?"

"Aye, sir, ID by types only, quick and dirty."

So, in about a minute a whole Krag task force was going to come through the jump point, with nothing but a Khyber cla.s.s destroyer and a Type 16 cutter to stand in its way. Max thought of the three hundred defiant Spartans at Thermopylae. Persians who outnumbered them over a hundred to one demanded that the Spartans lay down their weapons. Leonidas, the Spartan king, responded, "Come and take them."

Today, there was no chance to hurl defiant words at the Krag. There was nothing to do now but stand and fight.

"Reading a polarization s.h.i.+ft at the jump point," Kasparov announced. "Flux differential increasing. Estimating transposition in seven seconds from"-pause-"MARK." Everyone counted the seven seconds silently. "Transposition. Contacts! Six vessels."

d.a.m.n the Krag for that trick of being able to push more than one s.h.i.+p through a jump point at a time.

"One vessel just jumped back," Kasparov said.

"That would be the scout," Max said. "He went back to let the Krag know that the battery was destroyed. More will be coming in a few minutes, once the metas.p.a.cial boundary becomes stable enough for penetration in this direction again."

"All targets cla.s.sified as hostile-cla.s.sification is circ.u.mstantial only." Kasparov was, quite properly, jumping to the conclusion that the s.h.i.+ps were Krag because they jumped in where and when Krag vessels were expected to jump in, rather than based on any evaluation of the targets' characteristics.

"Based on ma.s.s signatures only, five remaining targets are as follows: Hotel One is cla.s.sified as corvette; Hotel Two is cla.s.sified as destroyer; Hotel Three is cla.s.sified as... light cruiser; Hotel Four is cla.s.sified as heavy destroyer-maybe a very light cruiser; Hotel Five is cla.s.sified as destroyer."

The Krag didn't send their heavies through with the scout s.h.i.+p, in case the battery was not destroyed.

"Weapons, target missile one on Hotel Three. Target missile two on Hotel Four. Open missile doors on tubes one and two."

"Targeting missile one on Hotel Three and two on Hotel Four, opening missile doors one and two."

"This is a Nuclear Weapons Firing Order. Fire one and two." The small s.h.i.+p shuddered as the launch tubes ejected the missiles at nearly two-thirds of the speed of light.

"One and two away."

At such close range, the flight time was short. The two Krag s.h.i.+ps flashed and were gone, transformed into disa.s.sociated atomic nuclei and electrons by the ignition of two 1.5-megaton thermonuclear weapons, miniature suns flaring and dying as hundreds of intelligent beings suddenly were no more.

"Weapons, reload with Talons. Maneuvering, execute a flapjack. Weapons, abbreviated firing procedure, rear tube only. Make missile in tube three ready to fire in all respects, target on Hotel Five and open tube door."

"Yield, sir?"

"Maximum."

Again, both men acknowledged the orders simultaneously, while Maneuvering gave the orders to execute the "flapjack," the maneuver in which the s.h.i.+p pitched end over end, rapidly swapping bow for stern. Now the stern tube was pointed at the jump point.