The Honor of the Qween

'Raoul?' Yanakov's voice was twisted and breathless, and Courvosier bit his lip. There was no visual, but that breathless quality told him his friend was hurt—hurt badly—and there was nothing at all he could do for him.

'Yes, Bernie?'

Even as Courvosier replied, two missiles slashed in on the damaged David. The destroyer's outclassed defenses nailed one of them; the other popped up to cross her starboard quarter at less than five hundred kilometers. The sides of her impeller wedge were protected by the focused grav fields of her sidewalls—far more vulnerable than the wedge's 'roof' and 'floor,' but powerful enough to blunt the heaviest energy weapon at anything above pointblank range. But this was pointblank for the laser head ... and Grayson sidewalls were weak by modern standards.

A half-dozen beams ripped at David's sidewall. It bent and degraded them as it clawed at their photons, and the radiation shielding inside the wedge blunted them a bit more, but not enough.

Three of them got through, and the destroyer belched air. Her impeller wedge flashed—then died as the ship broke almost squarely in half. Her forward section vanished in an eye-tearing glare as her fusion plant's mag bottle went, and her frantically accelerating sisters left the madly spinning derelict of her after hull—and any survivors who might still cling to life within it—astern as they raced for salvation.

No less than four missiles attacked Saul, yet once again, David's sister ship emerged miraculously untouched. Her crude counter missiles were useless, but this time her gunners were ready. Primitive as their fire control was, they nailed two of her attackers; Madrigal got a third, and the single laser head they missed wasted itself harmlessly against her upper impeller band.

Covington was next as the missiles sleeted across what was left of the fleet. Three went after her, but Madrigal picked two of them off just short of detonation. The third got through, and the cruiser took yet another hit, but she shook it off and kept charging.

Grayson didn't.

Only a single missile had targeted her, but it came in on a wicked, twisting flight path, and Madrigal's own evasive maneuvers had taken her away from the cruiser. Her counter missiles went wide, none of her lasers had a shot, and Grayson's faltering drive made her easy meat for its terminal attack maneuver. At least four lasers—possibly more—slashed through her weakened sidewall. The Grayson flagship's impeller wedge went dead, and Courvosier heard the scream of damage alarms over his com link to her flag deck.

'It's up to you, Raoul.' Yanakov's voice was weaker, and he coughed. 'Get my people out of it if you can.'

'I'll try,' Courvosier promised softly as Madrigal's laser clusters opened up against the quartet of missiles still homing on her.

'Good man.' Yanakov coughed again, the sound harsh through the voice and electronic chatter of Madrigal's point defense. 'I'm glad I knew you,' he said faintly. 'Tell my wives I love th —'

The cruiser Austin Grayson blew up with the silent fury of deep-space death. A sliver of a second later, a single missile penetrated Madrigal's over-extended defenses.

* * *

Admiral of the Faithful Ernst Franks gloated as he remembered another battle—one in which Grayson had forced Subofficer Franks' crude destroyer to surrender with demeaning ease. Not this time. This time was different, and his teeth flashed in a feral smile.

The Grayson Navy had been savagely mauled. They were still too far away for him to make out details, but there were only three impeller signatures left, and he nodded as he watched them twist onto a new heading. They must have cleared Thunder's active missile envelope as she crouched amid the asteroids; now they were trying desperately to break away from his own ships. But unlike them, he'd known the ambush was coming and shaped his vector accordingly. He had just as much acceleration as they did, and his apparently suicidal course had placed him inside them. Not by much, but his nine ships would intercept them in scarcely two hours as they struggled to reach home.

No, he thought, in less than two hours, for the survivors must have taken impeller damage. Their acceleration was less than 4.6 KPS?, under four hundred seventy gravities.

* * *

'Commodore, I have a signal from Madrigal.'

Commodore Matthews looked up from the damage control reports. Covington was badly hurt—still a fighting force, but with a quarter of her weapons out of action. Worse, the forward third of her starboard sidewall was down, leaving a deadly chink in her armor, yet something about his com officer's tone cut through his own shock and near despair.

'Put it on the main screen,' he said

The big com screen blinked to life, but not with the face he'd expected to see. He recognized Commander Alvarez, instead. The commander's helmet was sealed, and a gaping bulkhead hole behind him explained why. Matthews could actually see stars through it.

'Commodore Matthews?' Alvarez's voice was harsh and strained.

'Here,' Matthews replied. 'Where's Admiral Courvosier, Captain?'

'Dead, Sir.' There was more than harshness in Alvarez's voice now. There was pain—and hate.

'Dead?' Matthews repeated almost numbly. God the Tester, aid us now, his mind whispered, and only then did he realize how desperately he had depended on the Manticoran to save what was left of Grayson's fleet.

'Yes, Sir. You're in command now.' Matthews couldn't see Alvarez's face clearly through his suit visor, but the other man's mouth seemed to tighten before he spoke again. 'Commodore, what shape are your impellers in?'

'Untouched.' Matthews shrugged. 'Our weapons have been badly hit, and my forward starboard sidewall isn't there anymore, but our drive's fine.'

'And Saul's undamaged,' Alvarez said flatly. Then he nodded. 'We're slowing you down, aren't we, Sir?'

Matthews didn't want to answer that question. The Manticoran ship had taken at least two hits from the last broadside, and one must have gone home in her impellers. Her acceleration was dropping even further as Matthews watched, but they would all have been dead already if not for Courvosier's warning ... and if the Manticoran ship hadn't exposed herself to save them. Besides, abandoning Madrigal would only delay the inevitable a dozen minutes or so.

'Aren't we?' Alvarez pressed, and Matthews clenched his jaw and made himself nod.

The commodore heard Alvarez inhale deeply, then the commander straightened in his chair. 'That makes things much simpler, Commodore. You're going to have to leave us behind.'

'No!' Matthews snapped in instant, instinctive response, but Alvarez shook his head.

'Yes, you are, Sir. That's not a suggestion. I have my orders from Admiral Yanakov and Admiral Courvosier, and we're all going to obey them.'

'Orders? What orders?'

'Admiral Yanakov told Admiral Courvosier to get you home, Sir ... and Admiral Courvosier lived long enough to confirm those orders to me.'

Matthews stared at the hole behind the commander and knew that was a lie. There was no way anyone killed by that hit had lived even briefly, much less issued any orders. He started to say so, but Alvarez went on too quickly.

'Madrigal can't outrun them anyway, Sir. That means we're dead. But we've still got our weapons. You don't, but you've still got your drive. We're elected to play rearguard whatever happens.