“ ‘Mr. Venizelos, you will commandeer the first available Junction carrier to relay the following message to Fleet HQ. Message begins: Authentication code Lima-Mike-Echo-Niner-Seven-One. Case Zulu. I say again, Zulu, Zulu, Zulu. Message ends.’ ” She heard McKeon suck air between his teeth at her shoulder. “That is all, Mr. Webster,” she said softly. “You may transmit at will.” Webster said absolutely nothing for an instant, but when he replied, his voice was unnaturally steady.

“Aye, aye, Captain. Transmitting Case Zulu.” There was another brief pause, then, “Case Zulu transmitted, Ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Honor wanted to lean back and draw a deep breath, but there was no time. The message she’d just ordered Webster to send and Venizelos to relay to Manticore was never sent in drills, not even in the most intense or realistic Fleet maneuvers. Case Zulu had one meaning, and one only: “Invasion Imminent.”

“Captain, are you sure—?” McKeon began, but her raised hand stopped him.

“Time to impellers, Exec?”

“Forty-three seconds.”

“Thank you.” She punched in the new estimate, a corner of her mind noting that Dominica Santos was shaving whole seconds off her original numbers. The time-to-execution display flickered to a new value, then resumed its steady downward march. “Chief Killian?”

“Aye, Captain?” The coxswain’s shoulders were tight, but his voice was calm.

“Come to three-five-seven by one-seven-one, Chief Killian. On my command, I want three hundred gravities acceleration on that heading for ten seconds. Then come directly to two-seven-four by zero-niner-three true and go to maximum military power.”

Stunned silence gripped the entire bridge, deeper even than that provoked by her Code Zulu, and then Chief Killian looked over his shoulder at her.

“Captain, that course—”

“I know precisely where that course will take us, Chief Killian,” Honor said crisply.

“Captain—” it was Brigham this time, her voice very formal “—regulations require me to point out that you will be violating planetary traffic patterns on that course.”

“Noted. Chief Braun—” Honor didn’t even look up at the quartermaster, and her voice was almost absent “—please log the Sailing Master’s warning and note that I assume full responsibility.”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am.” Braun’s voice was absolutely toneless, but his expression was wary, as if he expected her to begin gibbering at any moment.

“Impeller wedge up and nominal, Ma’am,” McKeon rasped, and Honor kept her eyes glued to her maneuvering display, watching the time display tick downward.

“Is that course laid in, Chief?”

“Ah, yes, Ma’am. Three-five-seven one-seven-one. Acceleration three-zero-zero gravities for one-zero seconds. Course change to two-seven-four zero-niner-three true also laid in, Captain.”

“Thank you.” Honor felt McKeon’s tension at her shoulder, but there was no time to deal with that. “Courier boat time to impeller readiness?” she snapped.

“Thirty-six seconds, Ma’am,” Lieutenant Cardones said in a small voice.

“Very well.” She paused for just a beat, and then the timer hit zero. “Execute, Chief Killian!”

“Executing,” the coxswain said in an almost prayerful voice, and HMS Fearless leapt instantly forward and “down” at an acceleration of just over twenty-nine hundred MPS².