He looked away from the readout and returned his eyes to the maneuvering display. Fearless’s light dot swept after him, still losing ground but accelerating steadily, and he glared at it and clenched his fists. Damn Canning—and damn Harrington, as well! Yet even as he cursed her persistence, he felt a certain sorrow deep inside for his pursuer. That was a remarkable officer back there, one sharp and quick enough to reduce Haven’s carefully laid plans to humiliating wreckage in less than two Manticoran months.

And now her very success was going to cost her her life.

· · • · ·

“Coming up on fifty-six minutes, Captain. Velocities will match at one-seven-one-zero-six KPS in thirty-two seconds.”

“Thank you, Mr. McKeon.” Honor rubbed her fingers over her thigh, wishing her suit gloves let her actually feel the contact. She glanced over at Webster.

“Lieutenant, prepare to record a transmission to Sirius.”

“Recording, Ma’am,” Webster replied.

“Captain Coglin,” Honor said slowly and clearly, “this is Commander Honor Harrington of Her Manticoran Majesty’s Starship Fearless. I request and command you to heave to for examination. Please cut your drive and stand by to receive my boarding party. Harrington out.”

“On the chip, Ma’am,” Webster said. “Prepared to transmit on your command.”

“Thank you.” She leaned back in her chair and glanced at the maneuvering display, waiting until the velocity of her ship exactly matched that of Sirius, then nodded. “Send it now.”

“Transmitting, aye, Ma’am.”

Almost seven-point-seven million kilometers separated the two ships as Honor’s message raced after Sirius. It took the transmission over twenty-five seconds to cross that gulf of space—twenty-five seconds in which Sirius moved another four hundred and forty-one thousand kilometers. The total transmission time was over twenty-seven seconds, and Johan Coglin’s face went hard as stone as his com officer played it for him. His eyes dropped to the light dot astern of him—the light dot which had stopped losing ground and started, oh so slowly, to overhaul—and he said nothing.

“No response, Ma’am,” Webster reported.

Honor bit her lip but made herself nod calmly, as if she’d expected it. And perhaps she had. Perhaps she simply hadn’t wanted to admit to herself that she’d known all along Sirius would refuse to stop. She was virtually certain Johan Coglin was no merchant service officer. Or, if he was, he held a reserve naval commission, as well. Haven wouldn’t have trusted this operation to a merchant skipper, and a Navy officer would have his orders. He would no more stop than Honor herself would have. Not unless he was made to.

Her mind shied away from the thought of firing into an unarmed freighter, but if Coglin refused to heave to, she would have no choice, and she castigated herself for using all three pinnaces for the Marines’ combat drop. She could have held one of the boarding shuttles for that, fleshed it out with her cutters, if she’d had to, and retained at least one pinnace aboard Fearless. She had the acceleration and the time to overhaul Sirius, and pinnaces were expressly designed, among other things, to put boarding parties aboard ships under way. Her velocity when she overtook the freighter would be barely four thousand KPS greater than her quarry’s. Pinnace impeller drives were far weaker than a regular starship’s, but if she’d dropped a boatload of Marines or even armed Navy ratings as she overran Sirius, its drive would have sufficed to decelerate for a boarding rendezvous.