A bright red light began to blink on the master communications panel, and Vice Admiral Reynaud never remembered getting out of his command chair. He simply found himself suddenly standing behind the com officer, as if the blood-red flash that announced an emergency Priority One signal had teleported him there. And perhaps it had, a distant corner of his brain thought as he watched over the com officer’s shoulder and the message began to appear on her display. But that thought was far away and unimportant compared to the content of the short, terse sentences, and his thoughts reeled as he read the estimate of what was headed for Medusa and all the orbital warehouses, freight transfer points, repair shops, and supply bases that served the commerce which poured through Basilisk daily.

He stared at it for one more moment, mouth dry, then wheeled to face the rest of his staff.

“Listen up, everybody!” he snapped, and heads turned throughout the control room, for they had never heard that particular harshness from him. “There’s an unidentified task force headed in-system. Vice Admiral Markham estimates it at a minimum of twenty superdreadnoughts and fifteen to twenty light cruisers.”

Someone gasped in horror, and Reynaud nodded grimly.

“I’m sure the terminus picket will be getting underway shortly,” he went on, “but even if they could get there in time, there aren’t enough ships in the system to stop this kind of attack. Which means—” he inhaled deeply “—that I am declaring Case Zulu. Jessie—” he looked at his senior watchkeeper “—you’re in charge of organizing the evac queue. You know the drill: neutrals and passenger ships first, bulk carriers last.”

“I’m on it, Mike.” The woman waved for two assistants to follow her and headed for the huge holo tank that plotted every ship movement within five light-minutes of the junction, and Reynaud laid a hand on the com officer’s shoulder.

“Pass the word to the standby courier, Angela. Download Markham’s dispatch and my own Case Zulu, and get it on its way. Jessie—” he looked back over his shoulder “—clear a priority route for the courier as soon as Angela’s finished.”

Jessie nodded, and Reynaud wheeled and beckoned to another controller.

“Al, you and Gus are in charge of short-range com traffic from here on out. I want Angela undisturbed on the Fleet com, just in case.” Al, the senior of the two nodded, and Reynaud went on in a voice which was both calm and urgent. “There’s going to be hell to pay when some of the merchant skippers figure out what’s going on. We’re ten light-hours from Medusa out here, but they’re not going to be thinking about that, and they’re going to demand priority to get their own precious asses out of here. Don’t let them browbeat you! Jess will give you the movement schedule as soon as she’s got it organized. Stick to it.”

“Yes, Sir,” the senior man said, almost as if he meant to salute—which simply wasn’t done in the ACS. But Reynaud had already turned away, eyes searching for yet another officer. She had to be here somewhere, but he couldn’t seem to spot her.