Mission of Honor

the Manties' time had run out, and she wasn't wasting any effort on additional attempts to communicate. Nor was she demonstrating a great deal of finesse, although the intelligence officer supposed there wasn't much point being fancy when you were a sledgehammer and your target was an egg.

He'd helped Ou-yang work on her analysis of the sensor ghosts her recon platforms had been picking up, and he'd come to the conclusion that the operations officer was correct. Those 'ghosts' really were there, although it had proven impossible to wring any details out of the frustratingly vague data. Apparently the reports about the efficacy of Manticoran stealth systems had actually understated the case, which didn't make Shavarshyan a lot happier when he reflected on all the other reports which had been so confidently dismissed by naval intelligence at the same time. And to add insult to injury, it seemed the ops officer's fears about the Manties' ability to pick up their recon platforms had been well founded. They'd tried getting in close enough for a better look, and each time their platforms had been detected, localized, and killed before they could get close enough to penetrate their targets' stealth. He wasn't at all certain Solarian sensors could have locked them up that well, but from Ou-yang's reaction, he suspected it would have been at best a toss- up.

On the other hand, there were only ten of those ghosts. Even if every one of them was a superdreadnought, Crandall's force still outnumbered the enemy by a margin of almost seven-to-one, and even if every single story about Manticoran capabilities proved accurate, those were still crushing odds. And if, as seemed much more likely, they were simply more of those outsized battlecruisers, Bautista's confident expectation of a rapid, devastating victory was amply justified.

Shavarshyan wondered if he was the only one who felt dismay at that prospect. He'd continued to hope the Manties might recognize the insanity of taking on the entire Solarian League. Both sides had painted themselves thoroughly into corners, yet he'd hoped—almost prayed—that Medusa would recognize she was dealing with a maniac. That Crandall really would destroy every single Manticoran ship in the star system unless the Manticoran governor gave her what she wanted.

But it would appear Medusa was just as done talking as Crandall. Despite the horrific odds, she'd declined to take the only escape available to her uniformed men and women, and now Hago Shavarshyan was going to be an unwilling party to their massacre. That was bad enough, yet what was going to happen when word of this reached the capital system of the Star Empire of Manticore would be even worse. When the SLN did come face-to-face with a true Manticoran battle fleet—when Manty superdreadnoughts squared off against their Solarian counterparts in anything remotely resembling even numbers—the carnage was going to be incredible. Whatever Crandall and Bautista thought, he knew better, and so did Ou-yang Zhing-wei. And the inevitability of the League's final victory was going to be very cold consolation to the mothers and fathers and wives and husbands and children of the thousands of people who were going to be killed first.

It was like watching helplessly from an orbiting satellite as an airbus loaded with schoolchildren plummeted directly towards a mountainside, and even though none of it had been his decision, he felt contaminated—unclean —as the eagerness of Crandall, Bautista, and the others like them flowed about him.

At least it should be fairly quick , he thought grimly as the battle boards at Ou- yang's station flickered from the amber of standby to the unblinking blood-red of readiness. Then he grimaced at his own reflection. Sure it'll be 'quick;' and isn't it a hell of a thing when that's the best I can think of?

* * *

'So much for any last-minue outbreak of sanity on their side.'

Captain Loretta Shoupe looked up from her displays and wondered if Augustus Khumalo was as aware as she was of how calm his voice sounded. She glanced at his profile as he studied the icons in HMS Hercules ' flag bridge master plot, and the calmness of his expression, the steadiness of his eyes, were not the surprise they once would have been.

He's grown , she thought, with a possessive pride whose fierceness did surprise her a bit, even now. He's no happier about this than anyone else, but if there's a gram of hesitation anywhere in him , I can't see it .

'Well,' Khumalo said with more than a little regret, 'I suppose it's time.' He raised his voice slightly. 'Communications, pass the word to Tristram . Instruct Commander Kaplan to execute Paul Revere. Then contact Commodore Terekhov and inform him that Code Yankee is now in effect. Captain Saunders,' he looked down at the command chair com display tied into Hercules ' command deck, 'tactical command is passing to Commodore Terekhov at this time.'

'Yes, Sir,' Vicotria Saunders replied, and he sat back in his chair. Much as it galled him to admit it, Quentin Saint-James ' fire control was far better suited to manage modern missile fire than his aged flagship's antiquated systems. He'd actually considered shifting his flag in order to exercise tactical command himself, and a part of him wished he had, even now. But efficiency was more important than getting his own combat command ticket punched. And Augustus Khumalo was too self honest to pretend he was in Aivars Terekhov's league as a combat commander.

* * *

'Signal from Hercules , Ma'am,' Lieutenant Wanda O'Reilly announced. 'Execute Paul Revere.'

'Acknowledged,' Naomi Kaplan replied. O'Reilly was the closest thing HMS Tristram 's officer complement had to a genuine problem child, but there was no trace of her occasional petulance in that crisp report. Kaplan gave her a nod of approval, then looked at Abigail Hearns.

'Is your sensor data fully updated, Guns?'

'We're just finishing an update from Commodore Terekhov now, Ma'am,' Abigail replied, watching the waterfall graphic rising steadily on one of her side displays. 'Estimate fifteen seconds to complete the upload.'

'Very well.' Kaplan turned to Lieutenant Hosea Simpkins, her astrogator and, like Abigail, one of her Grayson officers. 'Astro, unless Tactical's update hits a glitch, execute Paul Revere in twenty-five seconds.'

'Aye, aye, Ma'am. Execute Paul Revere in twenty-five seconds from . . . now.'

* * *

Tristram disappeared from normal-space forty light-minutes outside the Spindle hyper limit without fuss or bother. Unlike the translation from hyper-space into normal-space, a stationary upward translation left no betraying footprint behind, and she materialized almost exactly where she was supposed to be in the alpha bands.

'Fleet challenge, Ma'am!' O'Reilly announced.

'Reply,' Kaplan ordered calmly.

'Replying, aye, Ma'am,' the com officer acknowledged, and triggered Tristram 's transponder code.

That transponder had been locked down, for fairly obvious reasons, while the destroyer hid outside Crandall's massive task force. And while Kaplan didn't really anticipate any itchy trigger fingers among the rest of Tenth Fleet's tactical officers, she still felt a profound sense of relief when HMS Artemis acknowledged her identity. Unlike Sandra Crandall, Naomi Kaplan had an excellent appreciation of just how much firepower was waiting for her.

'Very well, Guns,' she said, once Tristram 's right to be there had been confirmed. 'Send the data.'

'Aye, aye, Ma'am. Sending now.'

* * *

'Lord, what an arrogant bitch,' Michelle Henke said quietly, standing between Dominica Adenauer and Cynthia Lecter as the three of them studied the data Tristram had just transmitted to Artemis .

'And this is a surprise because—?' Lecter asked equally quietly, and Michelle snorted in bitter amusement.

'More a case of a confirmation I didn't really want,' she acknowledged 'I did think she might at least inform the Governor her time limit had officially expired, though.'

'With all due respect, Ma'am, I don't see where it makes much difference.' Lecter twitched her shoulders