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  Crossing the endless, featureless plain of Little B was just about the most boring thing Alice had ever done. She couldn't let her mind go blank, either. Not in this murky darkness. Her helmet light cast a glow that extended just a few centimeters past the toes of her boots, and every once in a long while there was a rock. So she had to concentrate, staring endlessly into the darkness with every bounding step.

  Here in the depths of interstellar space there were no comets, no meteors, no stray chunks of rock. In the countless eons since the planet and moon had broken free of whatever star system had spawned them, any craters that might have decorated the surface had long since been smoothed out. There was certainly no plant life, and no water. Not one thing to vary the plain beneath her, except once in a while a rock.

  Cold white light lanced out from beside her, swept around in a circle, and vanished. Bridger had a hand light, which he turned on for a few seconds once every several minutes. This time, like every other time, it showed nothing but a flat, dull plain.

  Alice pushed off with her left foot, sailing up and forward in a lazy arc. She landed on her right foot, pushed off again. Then her left, then her right. And with every step she yearned for distraction, because she wanted to take her mind off her diminishing oxygen supply.

  She couldn't even chat with Bridger. They had their suit radios turned off, just in case. She glanced at Bridger, then upward, taking in the reason for their caution.

  The battleship was a behemoth in the sky above them. Vast and shadowy, it glowed from a combination of running lights and fires. The ship had rotated somewhat, putting it sideways to the moon and exposing the upper hull. Hundreds of mines had hit the battleship, most of them exploding harmlessly against thick armor plating. Even the missile strikes had mostly been wasted against those massive hull plates.

  A few mines had hit vulnerable points, though. Some of the missile had done real harm, too. She could no longer see the underside of the ship where the missiles had struck, but a rosy glow told her something on the battleship still burned.

  The light carrier, a fair-sized ship in its own right, looked inconsequential next to the juggernaut bulk of the battleship. It trailed behind the larger ship, which seemed odd to Alice. Surely it would be better for the ships to be side by side if they had to fight together?

  Then she saw the reason, and grinned sourly to herself. The carrier, only lightly armored, was using the battleship as a minesweeper.

  Bridger's light flashed again. It swept around in a circle, just like every other time.

  And then it froze.

  "What is it?"

  He didn't answer, and she remembered her suit radio was off. She moved to Bridger's side and looked in the direction of the light.

  The plain ahead was strewn with rubble.

  "It's a missile strike." He couldn't hear her, but she didn't let that stop her. She squeezed his upper arm, and he looked at her. "We found them. They must be here somewhere!"

  There was no way Bridger could have heard her, but he nodded. They bounded forward, stumbling a bit on the detritus that littered the ground. They found the impact point, a low crater that made goosebumps rise on Alice's back. Bridger stepped onto a large rock and moved the light around in a slow circle.

  There was nothing around them. No space-suited figures, no missile launcher, and no radio beacon.

  Bridger turned the light off and let his arm sag.

  "They must be here. We'll do a search. We'll work our way out from here, go in concentric circles." Her voice trailed off. "Wait a minute." She tried to scratch her head, scratched the outside of her helmet instead. "There's no more rubble."

  Bridger met her gaze, tapping the side of his helmet to remind her he couldn't hear her.

  "There's no rocks," she said. "No craters." She swept her arm out in an arc, pointing at the plain around them. "There's no more missile strikes around here." But she could remember the attack. One missile after another had poured down from the sky, until Wasp Nest One had gone silent.

  Except for that first missile. She frowned, remembering. At the beginning of the attack, one missile had slammed into the ground somewhere between the two missile launchers.

  Her shoulders sagged. "We're only halfway there." For the first time in quite a while she shifted her gaze to the displays inside her helmet.

  Her oxygen level was well below half.

  "That's all right," she said, the heaviness of her voice belying the optimistic words. "We used a bunch of air setting up the missile launcher, and then we just stood around for a while. And maybe this crater isn't at the halfway mark. Maybe we're almost there."

  Bridger didn't answer, just tapped the side of his helmet again.

  "You're right," she told him, and looked up the sky, checking her orientation against the stars. "Let's go."

  "I think we're ready."

  Tom nodded to Harris, but didn't speak. Instead he looked around the bridge. Tense, expectant faces looked back at him. He sighed quietly, wishing for the thousandth time that the buck didn't stop with him.

  "The heavy cruiser's still up there," O'Reilly said. "Soon, though."

  Tom nodded absently, tapping at one of the screens on his console. He brought up a video feed he'd already watched half a dozen times. It was the view from an aft camera as the Kestrel fled from Little B toward Black Betty.

  In the video, the heavy cruiser was ahead of and slightly above the light cruiser. Three missiles appeared, rockets flaring bright before shrinking as they raced away from the Kestrel. One by one the missiles vanished, destroyed by laser fire. The last one was quite close to the heavy cruiser by the time it went dark.

  It was possible to zoom in and see the glow of laser batteries, the muzzle flashes from projectile weapons, as the heavy cruiser fired on the approaching missiles.

  The light cruiser didn't fire even once.

  He zoomed in even closer. Tom could see quite a lot of damage on the nose of the smaller ship. There was other footage, showing the moment when the Dawn Alliance fleet had come through the portal beyond Little B. By chance the heavy cruiser had avoided the worst of the minefield. The light cruiser, however, had plowed face-first through a storm of tiny explosions. Her hull plates were pocked with small craters. Her windows were opaque, covered on the inside by emergency patches.

  Her guns were smashed.

  The aft end of the ship was probably fine. If a missile came at her from behind, she'd shoot it down without a problem. She could even spin around to use her aft guns on threats that came at her from ahead, if she saw them in time.

  Her nose, though, was unprotected.

  Probably.

  There was visible damage to her gun turrets, and no sign that she'd fired her forward guns, even with missiles coming at her. It didn't mean her guns were disabled, or that they hadn't been repaired since she cleared the minefield. There was no way to be sure.

  But staying put was no option. They could wait for the light cruiser to cross the horizon, take off, and hope for the best.

  Or launch a missile at her nose, and hope for the best.

  "All right," Tom said. "Let's do this. How long until the heavy cruiser is out of sight?"

  "Six minutes," O'Reilly said. "Franco says the missile is programmed and ready to go."

  Tom nodded. "We'll launch in seven minutes."

  O'Reilly muttered a curse. "The light cruiser's changing course." His body curled forward as he peered into his console. "She's turning east. She's almost over the horizon." He watched intently for a moment, then straightened up. "She's gone."

  Tom scowled, toggling his display. The heavy cruiser was still in sight, a red icon just above the black line of the horizon. He watched as the icon touched the horizon line, then disappeared.

  Trenholm said, "We could run for it." He had the look of a small hunted animal as his gaze darted from face to face. "Now, while both ships are out of sight."

  With no idea when the light cruiser would come back around the
planet and spot them. Tom shook his head. "No. We'll stick with the plan."

  As the minutes ticked by, though, his regret grew and deepened. He couldn't help imagining where the ship would be right now if he'd acted the moment Trenholm made the suggestion. He pictured the range from Black Betty increasing, bringing them closer every moment to the point where they could open a portal and escape.

  The decision's been made. Let it go. Focus on what comes next.

  "She's back," O'Reilly announced, and Tom couldn't be sure if his imaginary escape would have succeeded. It doesn't matter.

  "She's a lot closer," said O'Reilly. "The range is maybe eight thousand kilometers."

  How long since the heavy cruiser went over the horizon? How long until she appears again? It didn't really matter, Tom decided. Once they shot down the light cruiser, they could move the ship. A moment of flight just above the atmosphere would buy them a good ten or fifteen minutes extra. "Let's do it," he said.

  The missile left the ship as the Kestrel rose from the surface. The missile sped away, hugging the surface of the planet, looping in a wide, fuel-exhausting arc. Only when it was directly ahead of the light cruiser did the missile begin to rise. It climbed by gradual degrees into the highest levels of the atmosphere, finally reaching the same altitude as the warship. The tiny onboard computer made minute adjustments, lining up on the nose of the ship.

  Then the missile's rocket engine went cold. Momentum carried the missile forward. It was tiny, moving at fantastic speed, and, without the heat of its engine, nearly impossible to detect. Radar must have picked it up in the last few moments, and perhaps the ship began to turn. There was no way to tell.

  Just less than eight seconds after launching, the missile exploded against the forward hull of the cruiser.

  By that time the Kestrel was no more than a dozen meters above the surface of Betty, but she was rising fast. O'Reilly turned her toward the stricken cruiser and accelerated hard.

  Tom, his gaze fixed on the tactical screen, watched as the Dawn Alliance ship wallowed, losing altitude. "It's a good hit," he said. "We clobbered them." He watched, nerves stretched tight, as the cruiser continued to drop. She wouldn't be able to communicate with the heavy cruiser, not until it cleared the horizon.

  By that time, the Kestrel would be long gone.

  "She's going down," Harris said, staring into his own console. One fist rose, began to pump the air.

  Then his fist faltered. His fingers uncurled as his arm dropped to his side. "Uh-oh."

  Tom zoomed in his display and swallowed a curse. The cruiser was recovering. It was gaining altitude. "Hurry," he said to O'Reilly. "We need to finish her off."

  "I'm not holding back," O'Reilly said testily. "We'll be on them in a minute."

  Tom thumbed a button on the arm of his chair. "Franco. What's the status of that next missile?"

  A woman replied. "Mr. Franco says wait a few seconds. It looks to me like it'll take a minute or two, though."

  The missile bay was a shambles, Tom knew. He hadn't seen the damage, but Franco had described it vividly. They were clambering over chunks of smashed machinery to load missiles by hand. It took time.

  "Tell him we need another shot as soon as possible."

  "He can hear you, Sir. You're on the ceiling speakers."

  "Fine," Tom said. "Franco, we need the next bird to go past the cruiser and circle back. She's running away, so her tail's toward us." Tom thought for a moment. "Better get it to circle wide. We don't want them shooting it down."

  "He says, what range, Sir," the woman said.

  "Close range," said Tom. "Less than five hundred K. Probably less than a hundred. And we'll have a fair bit of forward momentum when we launch, compared to the target."

  "Okay," she said. "He says he can do it. Er, Sir."

  "One more thing," Tom said. "We're still in atmosphere. It's pretty thin, but it's there."

  The woman murmured something, and a man's voice spoke in the background, curt and impatient. Then she said, "He understands. It looks like the missile's pretty much loaded. Should be less than a minute, Captain."

  "Great," said Tom. "Fire as soon as you're ready. Don't wait for orders." He cut the connection and leaned back.

  "Just in time," O'Reilly said. "We're catching up to them now."

  Tom checked his tactical display. The Kestrel was about to overtake the cruiser, but the cruiser was giving them a good run for their money. Her early sluggishness was gone. She was moving quickly and picking up speed, and Tom saw that if this missile didn't finish her she'd escape completely.

  Until she turned around with the heavy cruiser beside her and brought the fight once again to the Kestrel.

  The view from the forward cameras showed five engines blazing away as the cruiser fled. Tom thought of the damage done to the Kestrel's engines and wondered if he should send the next missile into that vulnerable grid of engine cylinders. The missile would never find its target, though. The guns on the back of the cruiser were undamaged, and they'd have no trouble shooting down a missile.

  As if in reply to his thought, a laser turret on the aft hull glowed crimson and an alarm blared from the Tactical station. Bursts of flame appeared just beyond the bridge windows as the cruiser fired a salvo of explosive shells.

  Well, if they're shooting at us, they're not shooting at the missile. "Hold her steady," he barked. "And return fire."

  "We lost Turret One," Trenholm announced, and Tom ground his teeth together. One laser turret was a significant portion of their remaining anti-missile defenses. "Hold steady," he repeated. "Just another-"

  "Missile's away," Harris cried. For an awful moment Tom thought the cruiser had fired a missile. His display showed a missile racing away from the Kestrel, though, and he said, "Evasive maneuvers."

  The ship slewed and bucked, her evasions made more violent by the impact of atmosphere. A thump directly above Tom's head told him a shell had ricocheted without exploding, and he winced. The truth was, the Kestrel was badly outgunned even by a cruiser that had lost half its weapons. The frigate would never survive a toe-to-toe slugfest. "Break away," he said. "Take us out of here."

  Either the missile would hit or it wouldn't. The cruiser would crash, or it would slip over the horizon and warn its sister ship. He'd done all he could. There was nothing left to do but flee and hope they could escape into hyperspace.

  The vibration of atmosphere faded as the Kestrel gained altitude. Tom watched his tactical display, his heart sinking as the cruiser continued to flee. They must have shot down the missile.

  Then a red circle appeared on the icon that represented the cruiser, and Harris let out a whoop. "Got her!"

  Tom watched with growing satisfaction as the cruiser lost altitude. He switched to an aft camera view, zoomed in, and watched smoke billow around the hull of the cruiser as she sank toward the surface of the planet.

  Chapter 24

  "I think we did it." O'Reilly spoke without looking up from his console. "Were we in time?"

  "I think so," Harris said. "There's no sign of the heavy cruiser."

  The damaged light cruiser vanished from the aft camera view, occluded by the horizon. The ship would be sending frantic radio messages, but the heavy cruiser would never hear them, not if she was on the other side of the planet. Of course, the light cruiser had run quite a ways before the second missile brought her down. He switched to a navigation display and said, "How far did we-"

  A fresh icon appeared on the display, a red triangle that rose over the horizon and raced toward the Kestrel.

  "Well, that's torn it." Tom didn't know who had spoken, but he shared the sentiment. He wasted a moment staring at the heavy cruiser as it hurried after the frigate. There would be no escape into hyperspace. The other ship wasn't just better armed, it was faster too.

  "Back to the planet," he said. "Take us down." The curve of the planet was the closest thing to cover he had. It wouldn't save them, but it might put them out of missile range f
or a few more precious minutes.

  O'Reilly dove the ship toward the planet, angling away from the approaching cruiser as he did so. For a moment the Kestrel picked up speed, assisted by Betty's gravity. Tom watched the planet loom closer and closer, fighting a rising despair. This was their last chance, and they'd blown it.

  They hit the upper edge of the atmosphere, bounced, then hit again. The ship vibrated madly, a corona of heat appearing just beyond the bridge windows.

  "Take us up a bit," Tom said. "Keep us just above atmo." The frigate wasn't designed for air. She was about as aerodynamic as a brick.

  O'Reilly nodded, and the nose lifted. In a moment the rattle and glow faded.

  And there was nothing Tom could do but watch his screens and fidget.

  "They're firing," Harris said. After a moment he gave a dry chuckle. "Looks like gravity and atmosphere are playing hell with their ballistics."

  Tom tweaked his tactical display until he could see the trajectories of the streams of shells pouring from the heavy cruiser. Projectiles were simple weapons in the depths of space, where shells would fly as straight as laser beams. Black Betty's mass put a curve in those trajectories, making simple shots just about impossible.

  "Okay, we're safe from lasers now," said Harris. "For the moment, anyhow."

  Tom tapped his console. The Kestrel was following the curve of the planet, flying just above the atmosphere. The cruiser was higher up. As the Kestrel curved around the planet, it put a slice of atmosphere between the two ships. It wasn't much, but magnified by a thousand kilometers of distance, it was enough to make lasers useless.

  "Can we get out of sight of the cruiser?"

  "Hang on," said O'Reilly, his voice tight with strain. "Maybe," he said at last. "Briefly. For a minute or two."

  Tom stared at the tactical display, frustrated, searching for a solution. For a brief time they would be over the horizon and hidden from the cruiser. It would be their last chance to hide. The cruiser was closing with them. Soon it would fire on the Kestrel at point-blank range.