Day after day, neither side made a move. Below, the rebellious Yreka colonists lived under the shadow of interdiction, growing more desperate. The beautiful, long-haired Grand Governor tried to go about business as usual. Something had to happen soon.

Tasia sat in the platcom's lounge of her Thunderhead during another virtual conference with the main commanders in the siege fleet. As usual, Patrick Fitzpatrick advocated a fast strike, to do what was necessary and seize the ekti supplies. "We can attempt to minimize civilian casualties, Admiral. So what if a bunch of defiant colonists have to put up with a few bruises? Tough, I say." His thin lips turned down in a frown. "After all, this is apunishment action, isn't it? So far, it seems like we've been telling them to sit in a corner until they behave."

"Got a problem with being patient, Commander?" asked Admiral Willis, unruffled. "I don't want to shed any blood unless we have to."

Suddenly Tasia's bridge tactician sounded an alarm. "Activity detected down on the surface, Platcom." Similar announcements must have been made on all the other blockade ships.

Admiral Willis disbanded the meeting and told all commanders to take their stations. When everyone had checked in, she addressed her battle group. "So, they're finally making a move. Grand Governor Sarhi knows what her options are-and this isn't one of them."

The bridge tactician looked at Tasia. "Six ships lifting off from four different spaceports across the continent. Each one taking a different trajectory."

Tasia scowled. "They're hoping that at least one will break through the blockade."

Admiral Willis drawled over the general frequency, "Attention, Yreka ships-maybe I wasn't clear enough the first time. Nobody's allowed to leave until you surrender your ekti stockpile."

The scrambling civilian ships continued to roar up through the atmosphere. Like scattering mice, they fanned out, trying to avoid the densest clusters of EDF blockade ships.

"Come on, don't make me do this." Willis sounded like an annoyed grandmother, but the fleeing ships ignored her. "All right, Commanders, you know what to do. Show them the error of their ways."

"Piece of cake," Fitzpatrick said from the bridge of his Manta cruiser.

Tasia transmitted orders as well. "Wing Commander Brindle, tell your crews to force those ships down. Target stardrive engines if possible. Send 'em home with their tails so firmly between their legs they get hemorrhoids."

"Your wish is my command, Platcom."

Brindle's squadron engaged two of the blockade-running ships before they could leave the clouds. Brief jazer pulses shorted out their interstellar engines, targeting with such precision that they left the ships only enough maneuvering power for rough, but survivable, landings.

The Remoras spread out and engaged two more ships. "Four rabbits down."

Tasia looked at the projections. The escaping ships looked innocuous, defenseless. They couldn't possibly get away. Two of the blockade runners wavered, as if reconsidering, then pushed ahead anyway.

Patrick Fitzpatrick said, "I've got these. Everyone else, back off." But he did not send out squadrons of Remoras. As the last pair of ships flew toward open space, thinking they were home free, Fitzpatrick edged his Manta into position. "Watch this."