It took several minutes for the explosion’s interference to fade enough for Charon to punch a fresh com laser through to Farnese, and a white-faced Prestwick Thornegrave stared in horror at the face of the woman who had just killed four thousand of his personnel.

“I regret the necessity of that action,” she said flatly, “but if any of your surviving vessels fail to comply instantly and completely with any instructions they receive, I will repeat it. And I will repeat it as many times as I must, Citizen General. Is that understood?”

Thornegrave stared at her, and his mouth worked, but no words came. Her expression hardened, and a small tic developed at the corner of her mouth as he gaped at her like a beached fish. He tried frantically, but he couldn’t get a single word out, however desperate his effort, and Rachel Yang shot one look at him, then punched buttons at her own com station. Thornegrave’s face vanished from the transmission to Charon, and hers replaced it.

“This is Citizen Commodore Rachel Yang,” she said flatly. “Your instructions have been received and will be obeyed, Admiral Harrington. Our communications are badly disorganized up here at the moment, however. Please give us a little time to get our net back up so that I can pass the appropriate orders to the other units of the convoy.”

“Very well, Citizen Commodore,” Harrington replied. “You have five minutes to instruct your vessels to stand by to be boarded. My people will come aboard in battle armor and with heavy weapons. Any resistance—any resistance at all, Citizen Commander—will be met with lethal and overwhelming force.”

“Understood,” Yang got out through gritted teeth.

“Be very sure that it is, Citizen Commodore, because most of my people have been on Hell for years, even decades. They won’t hesitate for a moment to kill anyone who resists. In fact, they’re probably looking forward to it.”

“Understood,” Yang repeated.

“Good.” The right side of Harrington’s mouth curled to bare her teeth in what might conceivably have been described—by someone other than Rachel Yang—as a smile. “Then there’s just one more thing, Citizen Commodore. You will inform your captains that any effort to abandon ship, scuttle their vessels, or wreck their computer nets will also be considered justification for the use of lethal force. Your ships are our prizes, and they are StateSec vessels. As such, and in light of what State Security has done to the prisoners on this planet, neither they nor your personnel are protected in our eyes by the Deneb Accords. They would be wise to remember that.”

She never raised her voice. It remained conversational, almost normal, but liquid helium lurked in its depths, and Rachel Yang felt something shudder deep down inside her as she nodded in silent submission.

Chapter Forty-Seven

“PREPARATIONS complete, Milady,” Captain Gonsalves said formally from the com display, and Honor nodded back gravely. For forty-seven hours, every available hand had labored frantically. Now it was time.