“Something’s wrong,” Barrett shook his head. “We shouldn’t be here with so little—”

“Stow that,” Celesta almost hissed. Her entire bridge crew was becoming increasingly on edge as the Darshik flew their lazy patrol below them and the Terran fleet amassed up near the system boundary, just inside the heliopause as the cruisers flared out from the jump point.

The New York had finally made an appearance and Celesta had risked a burst transmission to Admiral Wilton requesting an orderly withdrawal until they could determine what the hell they were looking at, or at least wait until the Ushin arrived for additional confirmation. He’d berated her for wanting to flee in the face of victory and in no uncertain terms told her he thought Admiral Marcum was right and the stress of commanding the Ninth might be too much for her.

She had ground her teeth as she read the message, but sent no reply. It apparently didn’t matter that she had more combat experience than all of the flag officers combined when they smelled an easy victory and the chance to fly back home a hero.

“All the missile barges are deployed,” Accari said. Celesta didn’t bother admonishing his use of the derogatory term for the heavy missile cruisers. “The New York has just sent the final alert over the Link; first volley will be away in … eleven minutes ship’s time.” Celesta did the math and saw that the alert must have been sent over four hours ago given the com lag. It also meant that Wilton’s warning was meant for the main body of the fleet and the Ninth Squadron destroyers would have to deal with the incoming fire after the missiles had already left the launchers.

“OPS, plot a projected arc for the incoming missiles and let me know when we’ll need to activate our transponder to keep from being targeted,” she said. “I want a five-hour buffer on that. Coms! Make sure the Hyperion and the Atlas get the same information.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Ellison said, his speech almost slurring. She looked around at her crew and made a decision based on what they were seeing from the Darshik so far and the fact their fleet’s missiles wouldn’t arrive for some time. She plugged the numbers in at her terminal and, assuming maximum performance of the Shrikes of seven hundred and fifty g’s of acceleration with a maximum velocity of .17c, they were still looking at just over nineteen hours before the first wave arrived.

“XO, stand down first watch,” she said. “That includes you and I. Have CIC send up a qualified bridge officer to take over. Listen up! I want all of you getting down to your quarters for six hours of uninterrupted sleep by way of the mess deck. Go ahead and take the opportunity to get cleaned up and changed and then I want you back on watch in eight hours.”