The Service of the Sword

tentatively identifying it as a merchantman in the two-million-ton range. She was running full out, driving hard toward the relative safety of the inner system.

But she wasn't going to make it. Her attacker was already in energy range and coming up fast, blasting away with lasers and grasers both. 'Damage?' she asked.

'No sign of debris,' Venizelos said. 'They may be firing warning shots, trying to get her to heave to.'

But connecting or not, the sheer number of weapons being fired simultaneously indicated the attacker was at least the size of a light cruiser. Way too big for the average pirate ship—

'Captain.' Wallace's voice was suddenly tight. 'CIC's pulling a Silesian emission spectrum from the raider . . . with something not Silesian beneath it.'

'What do you mean, 'not Silesian'?' Venizelos asked, frowning at him.

But Wallace's gaze was locked on Honor's face. And from the tension around his eyes, she knew there was only one thing his veiled words could mean.

They'd found their Andermani raider.

She took a deep breath. 'Stephen, plot me an intercept course for that raider,' she ordered, still looking at Wallace. 'Full acceleration.'

'Full acceleration?' Venizelos swiveled to face her. 'What about our own convoy?'

'They'll just have to do the best they can,' Honor told him, forcing her voice to remain calm. 'Joyce, inform the other ships we'll be leaving them temporarily. Instruct them to follow our vector so as to stay as close to us as possible.'

Metzinger glanced uncertainly at Venizelos. 'Skipper, if someone else is lying doggo—'

'You have your orders, Lieutenant,' Honor said, more harshly than she'd intended. It was one thing to sit in a calm briefing room aboard the Basilisk and acknowledge orders in a nice safe theoretical way. It was something else entirely to actually run out on ships full of men and women who were trusting her for their safety.

But she had no choice. 'And then,' she added quietly, 'order battle stations.'

On the Dorado's nav display, the distant impeller signature suddenly shifted vector. 'There he goes,' Cardones announced.

'Who, the raider?' Sandler asked, leaving her quiet consultation with Pampas and McLeod at the back of the bridge and stepping to his side.

'Yes, Ma'am,' Cardones told her. 'Looks like he's pulling for the hyper limit.'

Sandler hissed softly between her teeth as she leaned over his shoulder for a better look. 'I don't like this, Rafe,' she murmured. 'There's something wrong here.'

'What, you don't believe there could be two unconnected raiders working the same system?' Cardones asked.

'No,' Sandler said flatly. 'And neither do you. This is some kind of setup, and we both know it. What I don't understand is why Fearless was so damn quick to abandon us.'

'Maybe Captain Harrington knows something we don't,' Cardones suggested.

'Maybe,' Sandler conceded. 'I just hate sitting out here feeling helpless.' She rubbed her chin. 'And you're sure that raider isn't our Peep?'

Cardones shook his head. 'He's pulling way too many gees to be a battlecruiser,' he said. 'Besides, his emission spectrum is definitely Silesian.'

'As far as you can tell from these sensors, anyway,' she said with an edge of contempt. 'I wish we could pull Shadow out from under the wedge long enough to take some decent readings.'

'I suppose we could,' Cardones said doubtfully. Sandler had refused to leave the Shadow behind in an unsecured Silesian port, but the dispatch boat was too big to shoehorn into the Dorado's cargo hold without everyone in sensor range knowing something funny was going on. The solution had been to moor her onto the merchie's hull near the upper bow, where the stress bands would hide her from prying eyes but where she could be slipped in and out quickly if necessary. 'But if someone's watching,' he added, 'that could give away the whole show.'

'I know,' Sandler agreed reluctantly as she straightened up. 'Well, whatever's going on, we don't have much choice but to keep going. Just keep your eyes open.'

'Yes, Ma'am,' Cardones said, frowning as something caught his eye. Had something happened to the Fearless's impellers just then?

Yes—there it was again. A brief flicker, as if the nodes were having trouble keeping the wedge up.

Like something was interfering with them.

A hard knot settled into his stomach. They had only Pampas's professional opinion, after all, that this Peep heterodyning trick wouldn't work against a military wedge. That fleeing raider wasn't far out of the million-klick range; and if he was equipped with the same weapon and was testing its range . . . 

He squeezed his hands briefly into fists, fighting against the almost overwhelming urge to pounce on the com and warn Fearless what they might be up against. But even if he did, there was nothing they could do to counter such an attack except turn and run for it.

And that was something Captain Harrington would never do.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to let it out slowly. You go into battle, Sandler had reminded him, fully prepared to sacrifice some of your own. It was one of the truisms of warfare; and no one had ever promised him that the ones who died wouldn't be his friends and colleagues. It was the life he'd chosen, and he would just have to learn to accept the darker aspects of it.

Fearless's impellers seemed to be running properly now. Taking another deep breath, Cardones fought the demons from his mind and settled down to watch.

The minutes trickled into an hour; and finally, the time was right. The Manty warship had continued her chase, her course taking her farther and farther away from the alleged attacker's alleged victim.

More to the point, that course had taken her away from her own convoy. Even if she turned around right now, it would be over two hours before she could burn off her current velocity and get back.

Which meant it was time to strike.

'Prepare to bring wedge to full power,' he ordered. 'Lieutenant, has CIC sorted out yet which ship is the Jansci?'

'They've run all the transponders in range, Sir,' Koln reported. 'So far they haven't tagged her, but there are a couple that are still being blocked by impeller shadows.'

Dominick nodded. Or Jansci might be running under a false ID. If the Manties suspected there was a leak in their Merchant Coordination office on Silesia, they might have taken such a precaution with this particular ship.

No matter. They were too far out from the inner system to draw attention from Walther Prime's laughable excuse for a government. Once they eliminated the escort, they could cut open each of the merchies at their leisure until they found the one they wanted.

And speaking of the escort– 'Did CIC happen to identify the Manty warship?'

'Yes, Sir.' Koln smiled slyly. 'They make it the Star Knight–class heavy cruiser Fearless. Captain Honor Harrington commanding.'

'Harrington?' Dominick echoed. 'Harrington? The Butcher of Basilisk?'

'Yes, Sir,' Koln said.

Dominick settled back in his chair and sent Charles a smile. 'The Butcher of Basilisk herself,' he repeated. 'Well, well. This is going to be an extra pleasure.'

'Indeed,' Charles said.

A nice, neutral answer; from which Dominick deduced Charles had no idea who Harrington was. No matter. This operation had been intended to kill two birds with one stone: to prove the capabilities of a devastating weapon against the Manties, while at the same time driving a wedge of suspicion between the Star Kingdom and Andermani Empire.