''It's never been used for anything,'' Nelly told Kris. ''It's an F minus if there is such a thing.''
''They've got to flip ship soon, start slowing down, or…'' Tom swallowed the rest of that thought.
''They won't be able to adjust their course to account for the jump point's wandering,'' Addison finished, ''or they'll hit that jump and end up somewhere in the next galaxy, if the points go that far.'' He turned to Kris, not easy under acceleration. ''You Longknifes know more about that than I do.''
Kris risked a snort. ''Trust me. I don't know anything about jumps. Whatever you may have heard happened to Grampa Rayon Santa Maria, it's not hereditary. Let me make this decision early and make it clear. We are not going into a jump with this energy on the boat. Any questions? Any discussion?''
''Great by me,'' Tommy said.
''Engineering, what's your condition?''
''No change, ma'am. Three lasers fully charged. Capacitor full. Reactor is holding just outside the red. Everything looks stable.'' So Kris ordered another six-hour nap rotation. As she was about to take her own, Tom frowned. ''I'm getting action on jump point Juliet. That's not too far from Mike.''
''What's it connect to?'' Kris asked.
''Lots of Rim worlds. Just not so stable as to be one you want to use on a regular basis.'' And two minutes later, jump point Juliet coughed out six blips.
''This is Wardhaven corvette Typhoon to ships that just exited Paris jump Juliet. Identify yourselves,'' Kris demanded—and waited to see if the commodore had friends coming.
''This is Society cruiser Patton, out of Wardhaven,'' drawled a female voice; Kris exhaled the breath she was holding. ''I hope the party's not over, and you folks haven't drunk all the beer. I'm leading Scout Squadron Fifty-four. It was no picnic getting these collections of junk and ice up to speed.''
''Patton, this is Ensign Longknife, acting captain of the Typhoon. AttackRon Six launched an unauthorized attack on the Earth fleet. We are in pursuit of Hurricane and Scirocco.''
''Good God, woman, I'll say you are. You're not going into a jump at that speed are you?''
''I'm not, but I'm not so sure about them. You game for trying to cut them off from jump Mike?''
''Good gravy, boys, they saved some of the fun for us. Scout Fifty-Four, follow me. General pursuit. Shoot ‘em if you got ‘em.'' And the Patton let off a long-ranging shot herself. During the Iteeche War, laser ranges had tripled.
Still, the six inchers on the Patton were only good to 60,000 kilometers. By the time the residual beam hit the Hurricane, the energy level was no worse than a warm summer day at the lake on Wardhaven. Still, the Patton's shot did reach straight and true to warm the Hurricane.
Kris had her board check the vectors. With Squadron Fifty-Four accelerating and the Hurricane locked into its course both by its hellacious speed and need to stay on a line to jump point Mike, the flag was in trouble.
Fifteen minutes later, that trouble was highlighted by a message intercept. ''General McMorrison to ComAttackRon Six. Your situation is hopeless. You will be cut off long before you can jump. If you jump, it is suicide. Cease acceleration and prepare to be boarded.''
''Yeah, right, in an hour or ten,'' Kris muttered.
''Holy Mother of God,'' Tom half prayed. ''The Hurricane's accelerating: 3.4, 3.8, a full 4 g's.''
''He's going to come apart,'' Addison shook his head. ''Ma'am, do you want me to accelerate?''
''Engineering, flag's gone to four g's. Any suggestions?''
''No ma'am. Just a fact. You order us to four g's, and I swear, I'll crawl up to the bridge and lead a mutiny personally. You want to spend the rest of this trip in the brig with Thorpe?''
''No, Commander. I just wanted your opinion. I have no intention of arguing with you.'' Kris flicked her commlink again. ''Hurricane, Scirocco, this is Longknife. Be advised, the engines on these liquid metal boats can't hold four g's. You are risking catastrophic failure. You hit the jump at this energy level, and you don't know where it will take you. Do those of you not in on this conspiracy really want guys like the commodore deciding whether you live or die?''
''Think anyone is listening?'' Tom asked.
''We'll know soon.''
A minute later Scirocco cut power. ''Hurricane, call it quits,'' Kris called. ''You don't have any future. Don't let the commodore drag you down. Somebody over there put a stop to this before the ship blows out from under you.''
No answer. Kris studied the track of the Hurricane on the screen, matched it against her refined estimate of the jump's actual location. With the Patton as a gravimetric arm, she got a much better reading than the Hurricane could. She tested for the location of the jump point one more time and smiled.
''Hurricane, you have misjudged the jump. It's to your right. I repeat, Hurricane, you are going to miss the jump entirely. Cut your acceleration and prepare to be boarded.''
''She's zigging to the right,'' Addison said.
''And waving just a bit too much of her engines at me,'' Kris muttered. She dialed her three lasers into a loose pattern, put in the best estimate she had of range, and selected one-quarter power. Shooting a three-laser salvo, she got a good spread. All missed, but number four missed the least. Quickly, Kris tightened her pattern and re-formed it around number four. Again, she racked up three misses, but this time number two was closest. Reworking her solution, tightening her salvo spread, Kris moved her fingers over her battle board as quickly as three and a half g's allowed.
She had juice for two more shots.
Again number four was closest. Kris adjusted her salvo for her final shot as she listened to Tommy praying fervently for the lives of the Hurricane's crew. Kris had gotten three shots off without the corvette changing course.
She paused for a second, her fingers on the fire buttons. The flag began a zig to the left. Kris made a quick adjustment and fired.
For a long second she waited. She'd shot the Typhoon dry to wing the flag, slow her down, make her unstable, and just maybe help any sane person on board get a drop on the commodore.
Somewhere in the Typhoon, radar and laser pulses went out and came back. Somewhere gravitational and optical systems did their measuring. Somewhere a computer assessed all that feedback and reported it to Kris's battle board. It seemed like ages that the blip on her screen continued, unaffected, on its way. Then the blip wavered for a second and began a wild series of loops.
''By God, Kris, you winged ‘em!'' Tommy screamed.
''Just a second,'' Addison shouted. ''Just a second. Yes. They're out of range of the jump. They can't make the jump.''
Kris let her hand collapse on the commlink ''Hurricane, you are out of control. You cannot make the jump. For God's sake, cut your engines before they explode. Don't let that bastard kill you all,'' Kris pleaded. ''Damn it, I fired a captain. You can sack that damn Sampson.''
The Hurricane seemed to settle again on its course. Then all acceleration died.
''This is Captain Horicson. I am surrendering the ship to a junior officer. The commodore is unconscious. What do you want me to do?''
''Put one g deceleration on your boat,'' Kris ordered.
''See that Sampson gets some medical attention. There are a lot of officers that want to have a word with him.''
''They can have him,'' came back from the Hurricane. ''He damn near killed us all.''
So the strange tale of Attack Squadron Six ended. The celebration at Paris 8 was long finished and the fleets long gone to their respective homes before Kris got the Typhoon, Hurricane, and Scirocco down to a manageable speed. Most of Scout Squadron Fifty-four didn't miss the festivities, but Patton drew the duty of rendezvousing with the remnants of AttackRon Six to pass reaction mass.