Two seconds more were required to confirm that it didn’t match any known configuration in the target species inventory.

Another four identified the source of the alert positively as weapons fire from the unknown ship.

Three more seconds would have been required to mount an attempt at defense.

However, two seconds shy of that limit, all hell broke loose across the small armada.

The Odyssey’s pulse torpedoes carried a very small electrical charge designed to prevent the weapons from accidently intersecting the position of another torpedo or, obviously, the walls of the launching tubes.

This tended to cause the weapons to spread slightly as they flew, which made the targeting calculations that much more important, especially at long ranges. So by the time the torpedoes reached their target location, they had spread enough that three of the weapons were outside positive lock range of any of the enemy ships and kept on flying past as their three identical siblings went into terminal guidance, their very nature causing them to be attracted to any matter in their path. They corkscrewed suddenly as they came into range and slammed into a ship apiece, sending plumes of plasma into space as they annihilated huge chunks of matter with their explosions.

The three damaged ships faltered in their course, shifting under the impact, then slowly returned to their place in formation as their power came back.

By that time, they had calculated the direction of the attack and had turned their sensors outward, pouring more and more power in the search for their unseen foe as they altered their course to intercept.

“They’re coming around, Captain!” Waters snapped as the changes in the enemy task force finally showed on the plot.

“All of them?”

“Aye, sir, all of them.” The young man’s tone was grim.

Weston frowned. The thermal bloom on the sensors a few seconds earlier had confirmed at least three separate strikes, which seemed to tally with their track of the pulse torpedoes. A fifty-fifty hit-miss ratio wasn’t great, but if his luck held through, Weston would take it and be glad.

“Course?” he asked tensely.

“Looks like…” Daniels frowned, tapping out a confirmation. Finally, he let out a long breath and half smiled, not in amusement, but in relief. “Heading for our previous position.”

“They haven’t seen us yet…” someone whispered.

If that were true, Weston thought, we still hold the advantage. They knew, more or less, where the enemy was, and the enemy didn’t have a clue where the Odyssey was lurking.

“Kill thrusters!”

“Killing thrusters, aye, sir,” Daniels responded, instantly killing the thrusters with a tap of his fingers.

“Mr. Daniels, adjust our stance—one percent thrust only,” Weston ordered. “Put our nose in line with the enemy’s projected position in…one minute.”

“Adjusting stance, aye, Captain.”

Outside, in the cold silence of space, a tiny series of puffs silently pushed the nose of the Odyssey around until they were pointing almost back in the direction they had come.