Perilous Shield

Chapter Sixteen

Marphissa bit her lip as she thought. Defending against slashing attacks was going to be hard. “We need to keep close to the freighters. Right on top of them.”

A gentle touch on her shoulder caused Marphissa to look up and over. Bradamont was there, looking at Marphissa and shaking her head in a barely perceptible way.

Marphissa looked at her display again, then stood up abruptly. “I’ll be right back,” she told Diaz, and left the bridge quickly once more.

As she had guessed, Bradamont was right behind. “Let’s talk,” Bradamont urged. “In your stateroom.”

Marphissa walked to her stateroom, waited until Bradamont entered, then sealed the hatch. “What do you want? I don’t know how to do this. I’ve done other operations. I have some experience. But convoy protection? The one time I did something like that, I was the most junior executive rank and not even on the bridge of my ship.”

“I know what to do,” Bradamont said.

“Please, please, do not give me a talk about how Black Jack saved a convoy at Grendel—”

“That was different. He was badly outnumbered. You have an advantage in numbers of warships here, and you can use that to get through to the hypernet gate without losing any freighters.”

“If you know how to do it, then you should—”

“No. You have to command. Here’s the key. You can’t tether your defending warships too close to the freighters. That’s a natural thing to do, but it’s the worst thing you can do.”

Marphissa sat down, staring at Bradamont. “Why?”

“Because you need to break up the firing runs by the attackers before they get so close to the freighters that you can’t stop them. That means ranging out, hitting the attackers while they’re trying to position for firing runs. Up, down, right, left, all directions. Keep hitting the attackers, and they won’t have a chance to go after the freighters.”

She could understand what Bradamont was saying, but her instincts rebelled against the tactics. “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t make sense. If my warships are away from the freighters, the freighters will be exposed to attack. I can’t put out a distant screen strong enough to stop incoming warships around the entire sphere surrounding the freighters.”

“You don’t have to! It’s an active defense. Watch the movements of the attackers, get your warships out there, and when the attackers start to line up to hit the freighters, hit them.”

Marphissa thought carefully, trying to drive away distractions and fears that hindered her focus. “How do I know where the attackers are going to go, so I can have my warships out in the right directions?”

“That’s the easy part, Asima. The attackers have to go where your freighters are. If you can stop them from doing that, it doesn’t matter where else they go in this star system.” Bradamont knelt in front of her so that their heads were on a level. “You can do this. You’re good. You listen to the movement of your ships, you feel where they should go and how to get them there. You do the same thing when watching other ships. A lot of ship drivers never figure that out and need automated systems to handle everything. Yes, you need more experience, but I’ve seen you handle this ship. You can do this.”

“Am I as good as Black Jack?” Marphissa asked, standing up and taking a deep breath.

“Nobody is as good as Black Jack. But, someday, you might be,” Bradamont said, standing as well to face her.

“I was kidding,” Marphissa said.

“I’m not.”

Marphissa stared again, stunned, studying Bradamont’s eyes and face for any trace of humor or mockery. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes. Now get back on the bridge and get this flotilla safely to the hypernet gate, Kommodor.”

“Is this… some kind of… motivation?” Marphissa asked.

Bradamont gave her a puzzled look. “Yes. Though it’s also true.”

“How strange. I’m used to Syndicate-style motivation. Don’t screw this up or you will be shot. That sort of thing.”

Bradamont laughed. “Now you’re kidding me.”

“No. Really. I’m not.” Marphissa took another long breath, pretending not to notice the consternation on Bradamont’s face. “Stay on the bridge with me. If I’m missing something, if there’s something I should be doing that I’m not, let me know.”

“You don’t need me,” Bradamont said, “but I’ll be there. Purely because I have more experience at this.”

They were back on the bridge seconds later. Marphissa took her seat, feeling some confidence now that she had an idea of what to do. The worry and uncertainty from the watch specialists was almost palpable when she walked back onto the bridge, but as everyone picked up on their Kommodor’s new attitude, the atmosphere lightened a bit.

Marphissa took another close look at the situation. The Syndicate flotilla was coming in from slightly below and to starboard of her flotilla. Her freighters were arranged in two columns of three, one above the other. Loosely arranged in columns, that is, since even automated systems couldn’t seem to keep citizen-crewed freighters from wandering off station a bit like easily distracted packhorses. The warships were ranged in front of and to either side of the freighters.

Her hand went to her display, tentative at first, tracing paths to new positions for her warships well ahead of the freighters. As she filled in the picture, her self-assurance grew. Yes. Manticore and Kraken positioned along the direct intercept vector the Syndicate forces were on. The four light cruisers roving above and below the heavy cruisers, and slightly behind them. The six HuKs outside the light cruisers, to left and right, above and below, slightly behind them, ready to move in support of the light cruisers or the heavy cruisers. She resisted the urge to look back at Bradamont for approval. Everyone else would see that gesture, undermining their confidence in her. Instead, Marphissa made a show of tapping her comm control. “All units in the Recovery Flotilla, this is Kommodor Marphissa. Orders are on the way for new positions. Execute immediately upon receipt.”

Diaz took his worried gaze from the Syndicate flotilla to the orders for Manticore, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he saw them. “Out there?”

“Yes,” Marphissa said. “Out there. We’re going to meet the Syndicate warships and kick them hard before they can get near the freighters.”

“But—”

“Move it, Kapitan.”

“Yes, Kommodor.”

Manticore’s main propulsion lit off, kicking her away from the freighters. All about her, the other warships from Midway surged into faster motion, altering vectors to pull ahead.

“Kommodor?” the comm specialist asked. “The executives commanding the freighters are all calling, asking to speak to you.”

Marphissa waved an angry hand toward the specialist. “Tell them that I will prevent them from being damaged or destroyed as long as I am not distracted by unneeded conversations and as long as they stay on their vectors for the gate. If they try to run, if they scatter, they will die.”

“Yes, Kommodor. I will tell them.”

It felt good to have others responding to her orders. It also felt… scary. They were doing what she said. If it didn’t work, it would be her fault. I suppose I could do the Syndicate thing and blame some of my subordinates, but I won’t. Besides, that won’t bring back the freighters if they have been destroyed.

The distance to the Syndicate mobile forces had been down to eight light-minutes when Marphissa ordered her own warships into their new defensive formation. By the time her warships had reached their assigned positions relative to the freighters, the Syndicate flotilla was only three light-minutes away and coming on at a steady point one light speed, matching Marphissa’s warships.

Three light-minutes at a combined closing speed of point two light would be covered in fifteen minutes.

Marphissa tapped her controls again. “All units in the Recovery Flotilla, this is Kommodor Marphissa. Our primary goal is to protect the freighters. That means forcing the Syndicate mobile forces to break off any attack runs, or, if they maintain attack runs, to disable or destroy those warships before they can get within range of the freighters. Once a Syndicate warship has been forced to break off an attack run, you are not to pursue it. Remain in position where you can intercept other Syndicate attacks. Pursuit is only authorized if a Syndicate warship manages to get past our defensive screen and is actually on a firing run against the freighters. If that happens, that Syndicate warship must be stopped. We have rescued our comrades from imprisonment. Now we must ensure that the snakes do not stop us from getting those comrades home. For the people! Marphissa, out.”

The Syndicate flotilla, badly outnumbered as it was, continued heading straight for an intercept with the freighters, the smooth curve of its vector running straight through the center of the defensive shield set up by Marphissa. The Syndicate ships were in a simple, standard formation, a rectangle with the three light cruisers in the center and the HuKs ranged in front of them. On the display, it looked a bit like a battering ram aimed at the shield of Midway warships. “Is he going to try to blow right through us?” she wondered.

“It’s been tried,” Bradamont commented. “If he did, how much would make it through?”

“If I collapse my defensive shield around his vector and hit him with everything? Not much. But if all he cares about is hitting the freighters, I’m guessing one or two HuKs and one of the light cruisers would get past us unless we scored a lot of lucky hits on him.” Marphissa leaned forward, thinking. “He’s a snake. They don’t worry about how many citizens die. But they do worry about equipment. Ramming through our warships would mean losing a minimum of two-thirds of his force, assuming we didn’t manage to catch and wipe out the survivors after they had managed to hit the freighters. That’s the big question. How badly does he want to hurt those freighters?”

“We don’t know his orders,” Kapitan Diaz pointed out.

“But he’s a snake. He’s in command of the flotilla, meaning he is responding to orders from the senior snake in this star system. What would that senior snake want?”

Diaz made a derisory noise. “He’s a Syndicate CEO, right? So he wants optimum results at minimum or no cost.”

Marphissa nodded. “He’s not going to want to take losses doing this, or at least he’ll want to keep those losses to a minimum. This isn’t a war engagement to them. It’s an internal security action where our losses don’t matter, but they want to keep theirs down.”

“Why is he holding that course, then? We’ll shrink our defensive shield down to hit him with everything when he comes through it. He’ll take heavy losses and not manage to hit the freighters hard.”

“Ah!” Marphissa banged her own fist against her forehead. “That’s what he’s doing! His goal is to get through to the freighters!”

“I thought I said that,” Diaz complained.

“He wants me to concentrate my screening forces! And I’m going to make him think I’m doing that!” Her hands moved across her display, painting new tracks for her ships, fixing that as stage one of a maneuver, then altering the tracks dramatically for stage two. I have to time this right. He needs to think I’m falling for it. “All warships in the Recovery Flotilla, new maneuvering orders are attached. Execute orders at time one seven. Marphissa, out.”

Diaz nodded as he viewed the attachment, then frowned. But he had been trained in the Syndicate system, so he entered the commands into Manticore’s maneuvering systems without asking further questions.

At time one seven, thrusters fired on the cruisers and HuKs of the Midway force, pitching them onto converging courses that would dramatically shrink the size of the defensive shield and allow concentrated fire against the oncoming Syndicate flotilla. What if I’m wrong? Marphissa worried. If I guessed wrong, what happens next will let him get through with a lot more of his mobile forces intact. But I must be right. Sub-CEO Qui may or may not be worried about losses, but he is worried about fulfilling his orders, and he needs his ships intact to do that.

“Five minutes to contact,” the operations specialist announced.

“All units,” Marphissa sent, “engage any Syndicate warship that comes within range. Keep any of them from getting on vectors that intercept the freighters.”

“They’re already in those vectors,” Diaz pointed out.

“Not for long,” Marphissa replied with considerably more confidence than she felt inside.

At two minutes before contact, the second stage of her plan cut in. Thrusters fired again, pitching ships up and outward from the line the Syndicate flotilla would follow to reach the freighters. Even the two heavy cruisers swayed out from a direct intercept of the oncoming Syndicate forces.

Diaz, clearly nerving himself to question her orders, suddenly stared at his display. “What are they doing?”

“What I knew they would do!” Marphissa announced triumphantly.

The Syndicate formation had broken, the individual warships flowering outward in a spreading pattern that would pass above, below, and on all sides of the vector they had been following.

“If we had concentrated around the vector line—” Diaz began.

“They would have passed outward of us on every side! That was Sub-CEO Qui’s plan, to trick us into a compact formation that he would bypass by suddenly spreading out his ships. Now, Kapitan, get one of those light cruisers for me!”

Manticore’s new vector was swinging up and to port, toward the new vector from a Syndicate light cruiser that had bent his vector forty degrees upward to pass over the Midway forces.

Marphissa’s hands flew across her display, ensuring that every Syndicate warship had at least one Midway warship slewing outward to intercept it before it could get past the defensive shield.

Manticore was heading for a light cruiser, Kraken had targeted another, and three of Marphissa’s light cruisers, Harrier, Kite, and Eagle, were swooping down and to the right after the third Syndicate light cruiser. Light cruiser Falcon had a Syndicate HuK in its sights, while the six HuKs of Marphissa’s forces were accelerating onto vectors aimed at the remaining three Syndicate HuKs. The single, rapidly approaching time to contact had dissolved into a dozen different estimates of when different parts of the opposing forces would come within weapons range of each other.

But those estimates began shifting wildly as the Syndicate warships realized that their ploy had failed, and they were facing superior numbers of defenders at every point on the approach to the freighters. Syndicate light cruisers and HuKs bent their vectors even farther, spreading wider and fanning outward to all sides, as they tried to avoid contact with the Midway warships.

The light cruiser Manticore was aiming for twisted to starboard and out, then swung port and in, climbing and turning in a vast corkscrew as it attempted to get past the defending heavy cruiser. Diaz, his face tense with concentration, matched the maneuvers, trying to ensure he would remain on an intercept and not tear past the attacker and leave the light cruiser with a clear path to the freighters.

All around the vector along which the freighters would be coming, similar moves and countermoves were taking place as warships moving at point one light speed, or thirty thousand kilometers a second, twisted through arcs and turns whose width would have been incredibly broad measured against the surface of a planet. The distance required to change direction when moving at such velocities was huge in space as well, but also tiny compared to the size of the enormous, literally limitless-in-all-directions, battlefield on which the warships were engaging each other.

A Syndicate HuK being blocked by two Midway HuKs darted toward what looked like a gap between them, getting past one defender but finding itself unable to avoid the second. Hell lances shot between the two HuKs, hammering at the weak shields and nearly nonexistent armor of the Hunter-Killers, the Syndicate HuK breaking back, then diving away to avoid the second Midway HuK as it stormed into the engagement.

The light cruiser trying to evade past Manticore inadvertently swung for a moment into the missile engagement envelope of Kraken. The automated fire control systems on Kraken immediately pumped out two missiles, doubtless startling Kraken’s crew almost as much as it did the light cruiser. As Kraken continued swinging far to port to block the light cruiser she was pursuing, her missiles tore after the light cruiser being chased by Manticore. Unable to cope with both threats and continue trying to reach the freighters, that light cruiser rolled all the way over and began accelerating away for all he was worth while the missiles thundered in single-minded pursuit.

The single Syndicate HuK trying to get past light cruiser Falcon tried to dart under her, but Falcon had anticipated the maneuver and slammed repeated hell lances into the HuK. The Syndicate warship staggered away, accelerating frantically, holes pitting him where hell lances had punched completely through hull, equipment, and any crew members unfortunate enough to be in the way before the only-slightly-weakened particle beams shot out the opposite side.

The other Syndicate warships pulled away, taking up positions where they hovered relative to the defenders, unable to get through this time but clearly preparing to try again.

The entire bridge team on Manticore gave the impression of sighing with relief as it became apparent the first assault by the Syndicate warships had been deflected.

“Don’t relax,” Kapitan Diaz ordered his crew. “We stopped them, but they’ll be back.”

Marphissa, taking in the sheer volume of space involved in her defensive effort, shook her head. The light cruiser being chased by Kraken’s missiles had managed to outrun them and was now coming back, while the damaged HuK had slowed its retreat and was angling back toward his comrades. Syndicate warships were ranged around the forward portion of the freighters’ track and out to all sides, with great gaps between them. None of them had shifted position farther back than about even with the freighters, wanting to avoid stern chases as they made firing runs. That left a defensive perimeter in the shape of half of an elongated sphere, the long axis running forward of the freighters.

“You were right,” Marphissa told Bradamont. “They’ve spread out in an attempt to make me spread out my own ships. If I tried to defend every point in a region that size, it would be hopeless. Only by focusing on the attackers and stopping them at each specific point where they try to penetrate the defenses can I make this work.”

“You’d still have a lot of problems if you didn’t have the superiority in numbers that you do,” Bradamont pointed out. She must have noticed Kapitan Diaz looking speculatively at her and Marphissa, because Bradamont added something else. “I discussed the theory of this type of operation with your Kommodor, Kapitan Diaz. She is commanding your defense.”

Marphissa took a moment to glance at Bradamont. “What do you think Sub-CEO Qui will try next? Just more of the same?”

“Probably plenty of more of the same,” Bradamont said. “Individual ships trying to get to the freighters if they think they see an opening, and coordinated attempts to break through at multiple points. But you also need to look for him deliberately sacrificing some of his ships by putting them onto vectors that lure a lot of your ships into lunging for them to get in on the kill. If Qui does it right, that could leave big gaps in your defenses that his remaining ships could charge through.”

Marphissa shook her head again. “No. That wouldn’t work. I’ve assigned targets to each of my ships now. They’re not going to go after someone else unless I tell them to.”

“Huh?” Bradamont’s look of puzzlement cleared. “Oh. I forgot. You’re Syndics.”

“What did you say?” Normally, Marphissa probably would have enjoyed knowing that Bradamont had forgotten for a moment at least that she and her comrades had been part of the Syndicate not all that long ago. But a statement that she and they still were Syndicate was another matter.

The heat in her response caused Bradamont to flush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I was thinking about what would work against an Alliance force defending those freighters. But you’ve been trained differently.”

Differently. That was a nice way of describing a system in which failure to obey in all ways meant extremely serious consequences. But… “It’s nice to hear one way in which we’re superior to Black Jack’s fleet,” Marphissa said.

“I guess in this context you are,” Bradamont admitted.

“Kommodor,” Diaz said cautiously, “I believe that the Alliance Kapitan may be right in her suggestion.”

“You do?” Marphissa felt an alarming impulse to slap Diaz down for expressing an opinion contrary to hers. When did I start getting angry at people who didn’t agree with me? When did listening become harder? “You do?” she repeated in a manner more questioning and less intimidating.

“Sub-CEO Qui is a snake,” Diaz explained. “Snakes always think citizens will do things they are not supposed to do. They always think we’re going to do something wrong. And Qui is a sub-CEO. You know what Syndicate CEOs and sub-CEOs are like. They think if they’re not standing right behind you and making sure you do just what they say, you’ll screw up and do what you’re not supposed to. It doesn’t matter how many times they see workers do things right. They still think that.”

“Not all CEOs and sub-CEOs are like that,” Marphissa corrected. “Look at President Iceni. But, otherwise, you have a point. Qui may think that would work, especially since he will assume our ships are controlled by recently promoted executives and workers.”

“They are,” Diaz pointed out. “A lot of them, anyway.”

And, maybe, Diaz was right that not all of those new commanders would adhere to strict Syndicate discipline, lacking enough experience with higher rank under that system. Two of the Midway Hunter-Killers had commanders who had been vaulted up in rank even more rapidly than Marphissa had. “Thank you for bringing that up,” she said. “Both of you.”

After another moment’s thought, she tapped her comms again. “All warships in the Recovery Flotilla, you are to remain focused on the Syndicate warships you have been assigned as targets. You are not to attempt to engage or pursue any other Syndicate warship unless you receive orders from me to do so. I am confident that if you continue to perform as well as you have so far, we will defeat the Syndicate.”

She slumped back, keeping her eyes locked on her display. Why am I so tired? I feel like we’ve been fighting for hours.

Stars in the heavens. We have been.

As the Syndicate light cruisers and HuKs swung restlessly around the protective screen of Midway warships, Marphissa checked the path of the freighters, plodding along en route to the gate, where lay safety.

The transit to the gate would take another forty-one hours.

She stared at the time, disbelieving, then despairing for a moment. All they had to do was keep doing for another forty-one hours what they had been doing for the last few hours, each warship constantly alert to any motion by the Syndicate warship it was targeted on, and Marphissa watching every warship to ensure that none of the Syndicate warships threatened to make it through the defenders and none of the defenders wavered in their responsibilities. Yeah, that’s all we have to do. For another forty-one hours straight. Marphissa clenched her teeth, breathed in through them in a hiss, then spoke to the senior watch specialist on the bridge. “Contact the ship’s doctor. We need to have a good supply of up patches on the bridge.”

“Yes, Kommodor,” the specialist replied, followed a few seconds later by a question. “The doctor wants to know how many would be a good supply.”

“Enough to keep me awake and functioning for the next forty-one hours.”

“Kommodor, the doctor says—”

“I know what the regulations say! Get those damned patches onto the bridge!”

“Yes, Kommodor,” the senior watch specialist said warily several seconds later.

Bradamont went to one knee beside Marphissa’s seat, her voice a low murmur. “What do the regulations say?”

“They say,” Marphissa growled in reply, “that use of up patches for any period in excess of thirty-six hours must be authorized by the senior commander. That’s me.”

“Will you be safe? I can take over for a while if you need to rest.”

Marphissa shook her head, her eyes not leaving her display. “You said it, Honore, and you were right. They won’t let you command them now that they know what you are. I have to do this.”

“Then make sure there are enough patches for both of us.”

“Three of us,” Diaz said.

Marphissa contemplated ordering either or both of them to take rest breaks, then changed her mind. If they can’t do it, I can’t do it. So we three will do it. “Make certain that the watch specialists and other crew members cycle through their watches and get rest,” she ordered Diaz.

“We’ll have to go modified on-watch/off-watch to make that work,” Diaz said. “Eight hours on, four hours off for the duration, with individual shifts staggered. We don’t have enough specialists on board to work the ship at combat status around the clock except by doing that.”

Damned Syndicate economizing on crew sizes. Don’t worry, they would say. If anything breaks, it will be fixed the next time you’re at a dockyard. Cold comfort when you’re fighting a battle! “I understand. I’ve been through that. We have to keep as close to peak combat capability as possible for the next forty-one hours because you can be sure that the Syndicate flotilla will not give us any rest breaks.”

“Incoming message from Colonel Rogero,” the comm specialist advised.

Any message was a distraction she didn’t need, but she couldn’t blow off Rogero. “Yes, Colonel?”

Rogero was on the bridge of the freighter carrying him, wearing his armor. “Kommodor, I wanted to advise you that you need have no fear of any of the freighters acting contrary to your orders. I have soldiers posted on the bridges of each freighter. I’ll keep at least one soldier there on each ship as long as we’re still in Indras, to ensure that none of your orders are misinterpreted, misheard, or misunderstood.”

She could read between the lines on that one. At least one of the freighter executives had thought to bolt or was wavering, only to be brought up short by armed soldiers determined to enforce Marphissa’s orders. “Thank you, Colonel. That does relieve a concern of mine.”

Rogero smiled grimly. “I won’t bother you again unless it is absolutely necessary, Kommodor. For the people. Out.”

“Any problems?” Diaz asked.

“No,” Marphissa replied. “Just some reinforcement for the spines of the freighter executives.”

“Oh. You know,” Diaz added, “they’re not military. The freighter executives and crews, I mean. No weapons, no defenses, they’re just sitting ducks. That can’t be easy.”

“Do you think what we’re doing is easy?”

He flinched at her tone of voice. “No, Kommodor.”

But she thought about it, thought about all of the men and women on those freighters, most of them unable to even see a display to know what was going on, with no means of defense, and nothing they could do but sit and wait to see if hell lances would punch holes in the ships carrying them, as well as holes in the people on those ships.

At least the warships carried what were in theory enough escape pods to carry their crews to safety if the ship was too badly damaged to save. Not their entire crews, of course, because the Syndicate had carefully calculated what percentage of damage on average would render a ship helpless and what percentage of crew members on average would be killed when that damage was sustained, then budgeted for just enough escape pods to save the average surviving percentage of the crew. It was all very scientific, including the calculations that offering escape to the surviving crew members cost less than what would be required to conscript, transport, and train new crew members to replace them.

But for all that, the crews of the warships were better off than those on the freighters. The only escape pod on each of the freighters was designed to handle the crew and perhaps a few passengers. “You are right,” she commented to Kapitan Diaz, “it cannot be easy on those freighters.”

“It’s not easy on you, either, is it?” he asked.

“No,” Marphissa admitted. “There’s a comfort in having someone higher in authority to turn to, having someone else who must make the decisions. Having been frustrated all of my time in the mobile forces by superiors who handled that role badly, I now have the freedom to make the decisions, to make the mistakes, all on my own. Hold on.”

The Syndicate warships had all swung in again simultaneously, veering onto vectors aiming for the freighters. Marphissa watched the entire situation with all of her concentration, trying to spot any place where any of her warships were being outmaneuvered by the Syndicate attackers. She was barely aware of Diaz maneuvering Manticore to engage the light cruiser that was Manticore’s designated target, but Marphissa was fully alert to Manticore’s track on her display, alert to any indication that Diaz might let the light cruiser get past him. She took in every one of her ships’ maneuvers that way, hoping that neither she nor one of her ship commanders would miss something.

One by one, the Syndicate warships, facing intercepts by superior firepower, broke off their runs against the freighters. They went back to positions hovering in front of and to all sides of the Midway Flotilla, roaming restlessly like wolves seeking openings to get at sheep guarded by alert watchdogs.

Over the next several hours, the Syndicate warships tried again and again at irregular intervals, sometimes all at once, other times in staggered rushes, and many times only one or two ships testing the defenders. “Sub-CEO Qui is trying to wear you down,” Bradamont said. “He’s hoping that if he keeps the pressure on, sooner or later, you or one of your ship commanders will get tired enough to make a serious mistake.”

“I can do this longer than he can,” Marphissa retorted. The up patch on her arm was trickling drugs that kept her alert into her body. There would be a price to pay for that as time went on, but, for now, she felt fine.

As the hours and the Syndicate probing attacks went on and on, the Syndicate warships spread wider around the Midway ships, so that eventually they completely surrounded Marphissa’s warships and freighters. The Midway warships were now defending an elongated bubble stretching along the vector that the freighters were traveling to the hypernet gate. In space, any ship could build up velocity if given time. Freighters usually didn’t move too fast, because accelerating and braking cost fuel cells, and transport companies liked to minimize costs, but this time Marphissa had told them to get up to point one light speed and hold it there.

It would have been nice to get the freighters going even faster, but she had to worry about their using up too much of their fuel cells. For that matter, the frequent attacks and counterattacks under way had been a serious drain on the fuel cells of her warships. The Syndicate warships have to be using up their fuel cells as well. How close to maximum were they when this started?

Sixteen hours into the running battle, a Syndicate light cruiser and two HuKs lunged toward the freighters along vectors that invited interception by multiple defending warships. Sub-CEO Qui was finally trying the trick that Bradamont had warned of.

“All units, maintain focus on your designated target. Do not attempt intercepts of any other Syndicate warships unless I order it.”

The light cruiser and HuKs held their approaches until the Midway warships targeting them were nearly within weapons range, then slewed around as fast as they could turn and darted out of range.

At twenty-five hours after the fight had started, every Syndicate warship again attacked at once. Two of Marphissa’s ships, the light cruiser Harrier and the HuK Vanguard, reacted slowly this time. The other Midway HuK, Scout, watching that particular Syndicate HuK tore after its target so ferociously that the Syndicate vessel broke off.

But the Syndicate HuK that should have been stopped by Harrier kept coming.

Marphissa’s eyes flew across her display, too little time available to run intercept calculations, her instincts feeling the next right move in the second she had to decide. “Kite, alter course to intercept new target. Maximum acceleration authorized.”

Had she chosen right? No one was close to the Syndicate HuK, but the light cruiser Kite had the best chance. Kite’s commander will have to push her past the red lines on hull stress to manage an intercept. I might lose Kite to hull breakup and have that Syndicate HuK get through anyway.

Kite was located above and about even with the freighters. The Syndicate HuK was climbing in from partly below and behind the two columns of freighters. If not for the velocity of the freighters themselves, forcing the Syndicate HuK onto a longer approach to catch up, there would have been no chance of stopping the attack at all.

A single tap by Marphissa produced detailed status information on Kite from the light cruiser’s data feed. Her thrusters firing, Kite was angling over and down, her main propulsion lighting off at maximum, hull-stress readings climbing.

An alert appeared next to Kite’s symbol on Marphissa’s display. Excessive hull stress imminent. Reduce acceleration.

She negated the warning, only to have it pop up again. Action required.

Marphissa punched the negate command this time. It appeared once more. “I thought we killed this function in the software,” she complained.

Diaz motioned to the senior watch specialist, who went to work on that.

The vector for the Syndicate HuK formed a flattened curve aiming to pass between the top and bottom columns of freighters. The arc of Kite’s vector was swinging over, sweeping steadily toward an intersection with that of the Syndicate HuK’s projected path.

Another alert appeared over Kite’s symbol, this one blinking in red. Excessive hull stress. Reduce acceleration immediately.

Bradamont had knelt by Marphissa’s seat again. “Can Kite do this?”

“It’s up to her commander,” Marphissa replied without looking away from her display. “Only he can judge whether Kite’s hull can take it.”

Excessive hull stress. Structural failure imminent. Reduce acceleration immediately.

The point where Kite’s vector crossed that of the Syndicate HuK had crept just ahead of where the HuK would catch up with the freighters. The HuK was also accelerating for all it was worth, trying to steal the march on Kite, but wasn’t able to equal a light cruiser’s maximum effort. That’s enough, damn you! Marphissa thought, reaching for her comm controls.

But before she could touch them Kite’s data feed changed. “He’s throttled back a little.”

Had it been enough? The warnings continued to blink their crimson message, and now Kite’s data feed rippled as damage reports came in. “Asima,” Bradamont cautioned, sounding horrified. “If any of those stress points completely blow, that ship will disintegrate.”

This time, Marphissa reached for her override. All ships designed to Syndicate standards contained overrides that allowed a flotilla commander to take over control of that ship directly. She had once vowed that she would never do such a thing.

But it might already be too late.