He checked the time display. Another eleven minutes. And whoever was in control on Hades had begun to figure out what Citizen Rear Admiral Yearman had in mind, he thought with cold, vicious pleasure. They were still trying to bluff, but their “com officers” had grown increasingly nervous, questioning the task group’s vector and asking for clarification of its intentions. They’d been doing that for the better part of two hours now, and at first, Yearman had dictated a series of glib responses, each of which had seemed to ease their minds a bit, at least temporarily. But for the last twenty minutes, the citizen rear admiral had simply ignored their transmissions, and the bastards had to be becoming frantic.

Good, he thought coldly. You go right ahead and sweat it, you pricks. You’ve killed my friend—I’m sure of it now—and for that, I’m going to kill you. So enjoy the minutes you’ve got left!

“Seven minutes to vector cross, Ma’am,” Warner Caslet reported, and Honor nodded. They were right on one-point-three million klicks short of the invisible spot in space she had named “Point Trafalgar,” and there was no sign that the enemy had noticed them yet. The capabilities of Peep electronic warfare systems were limited compared to those mounted in Allied ships, but her people were using the ones they had for all they were worth. And given the fact that their sensor hardware, active and passive alike, was identical to that of their opponents, they had a very clear idea of what the Peeps might be in a position to see. So far, the strength of the radar pulses being picked up by their threat receivers remained well below detection values, and unless something changed, they should stay that way until the range had dropped to no more than eight hundred thousand kilometers.

And my estimate of their flight path was just about on the money, too, she reflected. In fact, the intercept she was about to achieve would be a far better one than she’d dared hope for. With only minimal steering burns to adjust her own trajectory, her ships would split the interval between the two Peep forces almost exactly in half: seven hundred and seventy k-klicks from the lead force, and seven hundred and thirty from the trailer. She smiled at the thought, but then her smile faded as she raised her head and looked around her bridge once more.

So far, her plan appeared to be working almost perfectly. That was rare enough to make her automatically suspicious, with the irrational certainty that Murphy’s Law had to be waiting to strike and she simply couldn’t see it. But even if everything continued to go perfectly, she was very badly outnumbered by the Peeps’ firepower, and her people were still hardly what she could call a well-drilled, efficient fighting force.

And most of us don’t have skinsuits, either, she thought, then smiled once more, grimly. This seems to be becoming a habit for me. I suppose I’d better see about breaking it.