“Alert! Condition yellow! Quiescent object detected in orbit about target planet, two-thirty o’clock, ten degrees low, circa 75,000 kilometers distant. Extremely massive. Repeat, quiescent. Low level of nuclear activity, but at bolometric temperature of ambient space. Possibly an abandoned space fortress, except for being so massive.”

“Detected objects identified as space craft. Approaching with average radial velocity of 250 KPS. No evident deceleration. Number very large, estimated at five thousand. All units small, about the mass of our scoutboats.”

The gabble went on until Golyev’s voice cut through: “Attention! Fleet Admiral to bridge of all units. Now hear this.” Sardonically: “The opposition is making a good try. Instead of building any real ships—they could only have constructed a few at best—they’ve turned out thousands of manned warboats. Their plan is obviously to cut through our formation, relying on speed, and release tracking torps in quantity. Stand by to repel. We have enough detectors, antimissiIes, negafields, to overwhelm them in this department too. Once past us, the boats will need hours to decelerate and come back within decent shooting range. By that time we should be in orbit around the planet. Be alert for possible emergencies, of course. But I only expect standard operations will be necessary. Good shooting!”

Elva strained close to her screen. All at once she saw the Vaynamoan fleet, sparks, but a horde of them, twinkling among the stars. Closer! Her fingers strained against each other. They must have some plan, she told herself. If I’m blown up in five minutes—I was hoping I’d get down to you, Karlavi. But if I don’t, goodbye, goodbye.

The fleets neared each other: on the one side, ponderous dreadnaughts, cruisers, auxiliary warcraft, escorting swarms of transport and engineer ships; on the opposite side, needle-thin boats whose sole armor was velocity. The guns of Chertkoi swung about, hoping for a lucky hit. At such speeds it was improbable. The fleets would interpenetrate and pass in a fractional second. The Vaynamoans could not be blasted until they came to grips near their home world. However, if a nuclear shell should find its mark now—what a blaze in heaven!

The flagship staggered.

“Engine room to bridge. What’s happened?”

“Bridge to engine room. Gimme some power there! What in all destruction—?”

“Sharyats to Askol. Sharyats to Askol. Am thrown off course. Accelerating. What’s going on?”

“Look out!”

“Fodorev to Zuevots! Look alive, you bloody fool! You’ll ram us!”

Cushioned by the internal field, Elva felt only the minutest fraction of that immense velocity change. Even so a wave of sickness went through her. She clutched at the bunk stanchion. The desk ripped from a loose mooring and crashed into the wall, which buckled. The deck split open underfoot. A roar went through the entire hull, ribs groaned as they bent, plates screamed as they sheared. A girder snapped in twain and spat sharp fragments among a gun turret crew. A section broke apart, air gushed out, a hundred men died before the sealing bulkheads could close.