“Throw down your weapons!” he barked suddenly. His voice boomed and roared through the cavern, hugely amplified by his armor’s external speaker, and the people before him jerked in surprise. Faces swung towards him, and two or three of them dropped their weapons, raising their hands in sheer reflex.

“No, Goddamnit!” someone screamed. Heads whipped around, and blinding light and searing heat flashed from the cave wall three meters to O’Brian’s right as the man who’d screamed fired a plasma carbine desperately in his direction. The sergeant didn’t even blink, but his eyes glowed with a hard, vicious light. He didn’t repeat his surrender demand. His rifle muzzle angled slightly to the right, and he bared his teeth as he squeezed the trigger twice with cold deliberation.

The non-explosive darts screamed across the cavern at two thousand meters per second, and Tadeuz O’Brian was qualified Expert Marksman with the pulse rifle. Body armor slowed them, but it couldn’t possibly stop them at such a short range, and they struck precisely where he’d intended—a centimeter below Colonel Bryan Westerfeldt’s navel.

The sergeant stood fully upright, listening to the clatter of weapons on stone. He started down into the cave, and the cold, bitter hate at the core of him hoped the ghosts of the NPA’s slaughtered patrol could hear the high, tearing screams of the gutshot bastard dying on the floor before him.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

COMMANDER Honor Harrington sat in her command chair and watched her displays as HMS Fearless tore through space under maximum emergency power. The cruiser accelerated at a steady five hundred and twenty gravities—more than five kilometers per second per second—in pursuit of the freighter Sirius; Honor’s face was still and cold, a mask against her own anxiety, while her mind churned behind her eyes.

She was almost certain she had it right… but only almost. And if she was wrong, if she hadn’t guessed correctly after all, if—

She chopped off that train of thought and made herself lean back. The timing of Sirius’s departure could mean only one thing, she told herself, and Brigham’s projection of her course confirmed it. Sirius was, indeed, headed for the Tellerman wave, and the Tellerman was one of the “Roaring Deeps,” the most powerful grav waves ever charted. More than that, it headed almost directly towards the People’s Republic of Haven. If there truly was a Peep battle squadron out here, the Tellerman would take Sirius to meet it at two and a half or three thousand times the speed of light.

Back in the early days of hyper flight, spacers would have avoided something like the Tellerman like death itself, for death was precisely what it would have meant for any starship that encountered it, but that had changed.

The original hyper drive had been a mankiller, yet it had taken people a while to realize precisely why that was. Some of the dangers had been easy enough to recognize and avoid, but others had been far more difficult to identify and account for—mainly because people who encountered them never came back to describe their experience.