The Honor of the Qween

saturating the defenses. It might cost the Masadans a lot of missiles, but Grayson had already lost nine percent of its orbital resource processing capacity ... not to mention twenty-six hundred uniformed defenders and sixteen thousand civilian workers.

'You know,' the Manticoran admiral mused, looking out through the glass wall across the bustling battle staff, 'there's something peculiar about this whole attack pattern.' He turned to face Yanakov. 'Why aren't they either pulling completely out of the system or continuing straight along the belt?'

'They are continuing along the belt,' Yanakov said in some surprise. 'They're picking off our nodes in a straight-line sequence, directly against the belt's orbit.'

'I know, but why take so much time? Why dash in, hit a single target, then pull back out again, when they could blow their way right along the belt in a fraction of the time?'

'This way they can watch us coming, then choose a different target or even break off entirely, and we can't preposition ourselves to intercept—unless we spread ourselves so thin any force that does catch them will be cut to dog meat,' Yanakov pointed out bitterly.

'No, that's not it.' Courvosier rubbed his chin and frowned as he considered the board. The Masadan raiders tracked slowly across it, retiring from their third attack, and he shook his head. 'Their sensors are no better than yours, right?'

'Probably not as good, actually.'

'All right. Your orbital sensor arrays give you real-time gravitic detection out to thirty-four light-minutes— eight light-minutes beyond the belt on their normal retirement vector. More than that, the Masadans know they do.'

'Well, yes.' Yanakov scrubbed at burning eyes, then rose and walked across to stand beside his friend and watch the display. 'Of course, there's a lot of transmission lag from the more distant arrays—especially those on the far side of Yeltsin—but they're working our side of the primary, so Command Central's got real-time data where it really matters. That's why they pull back out beyond our detection range after each raid, pick a new attack vector, and come charging back in. As you say, our shipboard sensors have very limited range compared to yours. Even if we happened to guess right and place a force where it could intercept them, its commander couldn't see them soon enough to generate an intercept, and we probably couldn't pass him light-speed orders from Command Central in time for him to do it, either.'

'I could buy that,' Courvosier agreed, 'but you're missing my point. They keep pulling back out to the same damned place after each attack, and they have to know you can see them doing it.'

'Um?' Yanakov frowned, and Courvosier nodded.

'Exactly. They keep heading back to the same spot before your sensors lose them. And as they work their way along the belt, they keep extending their flight distance back to that same place with each target they hit. That not only makes them more vulnerable to interception but also vastly extends the time they're spending on the entire operation, yet they keep poking along at no more than point-three cee while they do it. Now why would they be doing that?'

'Well ...' Yanakov scratched his head. 'They're throwing a lot of missiles in each attack. That has to run their magazines low—maybe they've got colliers out there with reloads and they have to return to them to rearm. And I suppose the low velocities could be so they don't have to kill too much vee if we do manage to hide something in front of them.'

'Possibly, possibly,' Courvosier murmured. 'But their timing suggests they had somebody hidden out there, watching when Fearless,Apollo, and Troubadour left. They may think that was our entire escort force, and they may not have any idea those ships are coming back, but they have to know there's a high probability some Manticoran squadron's likely to drop by. That should be a factor in their planning. They ought to be going for a fast decision, hoping to finish you off before some RMN admiral intervenes on your behalf.'

'One already has, in a sense,' Yanakov said with a tired grin.

'You know what I mean.'

'True—but I'm not too sure about your basic premise. There's no commerce between Yeltsin and Endicott. That means no information flow, so how could they know you were ever here in the first place?'

'The fact that we were sending a diplomatic mission—and a convoy—has been general knowledge for months,' Courvosier argued, 'and they must've known we'd send along an escort. Once we arrived, all they'd have needed to make a pretty fair projection of what we were up to is a single hidden picket. And look at the timing. Allow a day or so for their picket to sneak back out to Masada after Fearless left, then another day to mobilize, and they'd be back here just about the time they started shooting.' He shook his head. 'They know at least some of the escorts pulled out, and they're trying to get in before any other Manticoran force gets here to replace them.'

'I don't think they have the technical capability to pull off that kind of operation, Raoul. Oh, certainly they could get a ship in or out. All they'd have to do is translate beyond our detection range and come in with a low- powered wedge, then hide in the asteroid belt. Even if we saw them, we'd probably put them down as routine mining traffic, and getting out would be just as easy. But even if they did that, they'd need sensors almost as good as yours to tell what's happening in the inner system.' Yanakov shook his head. 'No, the timing has to be a coincidence.'

'Maybe.' Courvosier shook himself. 'At any rate, Captain Harrington will be back within another four days.'

'I can't wait that long,' Yanakov said, and Courvosier looked at him in surprise. 'They've taken out close to ten percent of our processors; if I give them another four days, they'll destroy forty years of investment—not to mention killing several thousand more people—especially if, as you yourself have pointed out they should, they drop this in-and-out nonsense and start working their way straight around the belt. I've got to stop them sooner than that ... assuming I can figure a way to intercept the bastards in strength.'

'I see.' Courvosier chewed the inside of his lip for a minute, then frowned intently. 'You know, there just might be something you can do.'

'Such as?'

'You're too tired to think straight, Bernie. If they keep heading back to the same spot every time, you don't have to let them see you coming.'

'You're right.' Yanakov sat back down abruptly, then began punching keys. 'If we know where they're going, we could wait till they pull back from this last attack, then put everything we've got on a course to intercept their retirement vector for the next one!'

'Exactly.' Courvosier grinned. 'Get your people out there, accelerate like hell once the bad guys are out of their sensor range of you, then kill your drives and coast until they start back out after their next attack. What's your max fleet acceleration?'

'Five hundred gees, more or less, for the hyper-capable units,' Yanakov said. 'Three seventy-five for the LACs.' He studied his calculations for a moment, then grimaced and started changing numbers.

'Do the LACs add enough firepower to justify holding your starships back?'

'No. That's what I'm reworking.' Yanakov nodded as new numbers began to come together. 'Okay, that's better. Now, given their operational pattern to date, I think we can assume a sensor window of—' He tapped a quick calculation. 'Call it three and a half hours. Three to be on the safe side.'

'Which means you could be up to—?'

'Approximately fifty-three thousand KPS. And even if they don't come back in at all, that would take us to the point where our sensors keep losing them in ... roughly four hours from Grayson orbit,' Yanakov said, still working at his terminal. 'Given their attack patterns, we can kick our drives back in ... call it three hours into their next run and still intercept even if they pull back out the instant they pick us up!' His hands stilled on the keys and his tired eyes were almost awed. 'By the Grace of God the Tester, you're right. We can do it.'

'I know,' Courvosier replied, but he sounded less enthusiastic. Yanakov looked a question, and he shrugged. 'Oh, it's neat, and I like the notion of using their predictability against them, but there's still something I can't quite put my finger on. It just doesn't make sense for them to give us an opening like this.'

'Didn't someone say the general who makes the last mistake loses?'