“Weapon? What weapon?” The Molnar’s replies came faster as his ragged flotilla approached perihelion with Sapphire. “Oh! Naw, that Twister was just some old prehuman rock. The ICC factor on Cynthia was fulla crap.”
Fir Li relaxed, a movement undetectable to any but his colleagues and senior Pups. The idea of a new weapons system had worried him, but…Only an artifact. Valuable, to be sure, but only valuable.
Before he could respond, the Molnar added, “They musta had a spy in the New Eireann system what sent a swifty through the Road ahead of us, ’cause nobody else knew we even had it. They laid for us at Peacock, hijacked the loot, after we did all the work gettin’ it! They took a whole treasure ship, doggy. Matched our course, boarded, demanded the Twister.” A bitter, sly look came over the Molnar’s face. “Someday, I find those hijackers, me. Then we show them Cynthian justice.”
“Justice!”
“Yah, justice. That’s where the boss gives everyone what they deserve; an’ these hijackers deserve everything I’m thinking to give them.”
Fir Li was astonished at the man’s wink, as if he and Fir Li were partners complicit in the same enterprise. “And what of the Ardry’s justice?” he demanded. “Should he give out what everyone deserves?”
The Cynthian ships were accelerating toward the Palisades Parkway, approaching the dead line for kinetic weapons. Fire Control turned with an appeal on her face.
“He can try,” the Molnar told them. “A man has whatever power he can grab.”
Fir Li said, “I will take your advice.” He nodded to Fire Control, and the ships of the Sapphire Point squadron unleashed a timed barrage, each ship firing her kinetics so that all would arrive simultaneously on-target.
It was exquisite pleasure to watch the image of the Molnar khan Matsumo first puzzle over Fir Li’s comment, then a moment later react to his watch officer’s cry. “Oho! Doggy wants to bark,” and he ordered counter-battery fire.
The Cynthian fleet dispersed at high-v, adding jitter to their projected course. Targeting computers guessed at likely course alterations, compensated, and fired again even before new images had been received. Sensor images were seconds, or even minutes old, so Fir Li’s ships had to fire at where the targets would be, based on glimpses of where they had been. Only ULS Justiciar was close enough to see the Cynthian corvettes in “real time,” and flashes on the display showed where her weapons found the alfvens on two corvettes slow to maneuver. Crippled, the corvettes skated off onto the Newtonian flats at the system’s edge, unable to grab space and slow down.
A third Cynthian jittered too much and entered the Palisades at the wrong angle. A hoop of false color on the overhead screen highlighted the Cerenkov radiation that marked its disintegration. A fourth Cynthian encountered kinetics loosed earlier by ULS Victory. “Cu,” said the battle-space manager, “Justiciar has taken damage.” Fir Li nodded. Close enough for precision fire, she had been close enough to receive it. Grimpen leaned toward him to whisper.
“What can we do for Justiciar?”
Fir Li said, “Nothing. Once the dice are cast, they tumble as they will. No one manages a high-v battle space.”
Comm called out, “Cu!” and Fir Li saw the snarling face of the Molnar fill the screen. Behind him, his control room smoldered, alarums clanged, and men and women rushed to their tasks. “Now, doggy, you see how a man dies! Aye-yiii!” And with that cry, he cut communication. A minute later, Traffic announced that the Cynthian flagship had changed course.
And a moment more, the new course had been extrapolated. “He’s coming directly toward us, Cu. He means to ram.”
“So that is how a man dies,” murmured Bridget ban.
Gwillgi grinned. “You have to admire his style.”
“How long before he reaches our position?” Fir Li demanded.
“At that speed, he can’t turn on a dinar,” Traffic said. “He has to shed his tangential velocity. But once he’s normalized, no more than twelve hundred beats. No, he’s accelerating. Make that eight hundred beats.”
Wildbear ordered Hot Gates to shift station, but Fir Li countermanded the order. “Belay that,” he told the helmsman. Wildbear spun to confront his commander.
“Are you as mad as they say? We have to jitter. He’s got the gravity gauge on us.”
“Which means, Commodore,” Fir Li explained patiently, “that a small angular adjustment on his part will compensate for even a large shift by us. We must wait as long as we can before jittering.”
“But…the inertia! Hot Gates wants time to move herself. We have to start acceleration now!”
“Thank you, Commodore. I was utterly unaware of that. Tracking, how long before impact?”
“Seven hundred, Cu, if he continues to accelerate at the present rate.”
“Traffic, give me a deadline. Cuin,” he addressed his colleagues, “the Molnar may have the gravity gauge, but we have topology. We know his starting position and we know his intended final position; namely, right…here.” With his foot, he sketched an X on the deck. “Therefore, we know the sheaf of coordinates along which all his weapons must track. Shields, see to that. Kinetics will be coming in rather fast, and I’d rather they not swiss my ship.”
Traffic displayed the deadline. “If the Cynthian passes these coordinates,” he said, “we cannot move the ship in time.”
“Aye,” Fir Li answered with a fierce grin. “But if we shift much before he reaches that line, he can simply tap his helm and compensate.”
“An exquisite problem in geometry,” said Bridget ban. “I can see only one solution.”
“Have you ever watched a bullfight on Riftside Andlus?” Fir Li asked her. “There is a maneuver called—”
“A Veronica,” supplied Bridget ban. She stood with arms crossed and legs akimbo. Unlike Grimpen and Gwillgi, she had sought neither seat not handhold.
“You may want to strap in,” Fir Li advised her.
“For such a closing speed? Sure, the straps must be uncommon strong.”
Fir Li quirked a smile. “Weapons,” he said. “Fire caltrops. Give him something to think about.”
“At these speeds,” Grimpen commented, “thinking isn’t even in it.”
“Even if we swiss him,” Wildbear objected, “his ship’s mass will continue on the same trajectory.”
“Grapeshot off,” said Weapons. “But his mag fields are up. He’ll deflect most, and the ceramic ones will just glance off his glacis.”
“Did I ask for an opinion, Weapons? The Molnar may have the faith in his defenses that others place in the gods, but he cannot help being distracted for a moment.”
“A grossbeat,” said Tracking. “Approaching deadline.”
“Time flies,” said Gwillgi, “when you’re having fun.” Fir Li grinned but did not turn to him. The point was to distract and not be distracted.
“Power, set alfvens for two leagues.”
Wildbear reared up. “Alfvens? You are mad! We’re too close to the sun!”
“Commodore, you are relieved. Gwillgi, would you indulge me and take custody of Hideo Commodore Wildbear?” The small, wiry Hound did not move, but grinned at Wildbear. The grin was sufficient hold, for the commodore glimpsed his teeth.
“Incoming kinetics,” announced Counter-battery. “Engaged.” Hot Gates shuddered as the fields absorbed the impacts and slewed them around the ship. A thud high above the command deck signaled an airtight door closing.