“We’re back up, Al!” she snapped.

“Understood, Ma’am. I’m initiating circuit tes—”

“Fuck that!” Santos barked. “There’s no time for tests. Just tell the Captain we’re in and give these impellers juice now!”

Honor’s eyes blazed like hot, brown steel as Fearless’s acceleration surged suddenly back up. The maimed cruiser gathered herself, driving forward, and she sensed her ship’s determination like her own. Numbers flickered upward on her maneuvering plot, and her lips drew back in a hungry snarl as Killian read them off.

“Five hundred… five-zero-three… five-zero-six… five-zero-eight gravities, Captain!” the helmsman announced. “Steady at five-zero-eight.”

“Excellent, Chief Killian! Go to Delta-Niner-Six.”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am. Going to Delta-Niner-Six.”

“Their acceleration’s coming back up, Captain,” Jamal reported tensely. “It doesn’t seem—No, Sir, it’s definitely not going all the way back up. It’s leveling off.”

“What is it?” Coglin snapped.

“I make it approximately five-oh-eight gees, Sir. Call it five KPS squared. And she’s starting to make some real evasion maneuvers.”

“Shit!” Coglin caught himself before he punched the arm of his chair again, then glared at the weaving, dodging dot on his display. Goddamn it to hell, what did it take to stop that ship?!

· · • · ·

Lieutenant Commander Santos headed aft, running back towards Central Damage Control. She didn’t know what else had happened while she was up forward, but she knew it had been bad, and—

A fresh, brutal blow threw her from her feet, and she skidded down the passageway on her belly.

The warhead detonated at fifteen hundred kilometers, and twenty-five separate beams of energy stabbed out from its heart.

Two of them hit Fearless.

One struck almost amidships, ripping inward through half a dozen compartments. Nineteen men and women in its path died instantly as it gutted forward life support, slashed through the forward crew mess, and reduced two of the cruiser’s port energy torpedo launchers to wreckage, but it didn’t stop there. It sliced deep, just missing the combat information center, and ripped its ghastly way clear to the bridge itself.

Plating shattered, and Honor slammed her helmet shut as air screamed out through the gaping hole. Her suit whuffed tight, protecting her against vacuum, but some of her people were less lucky. Lieutenant Panowski never even had time to scream; the hit blasted huge chunks of bulkhead into splinters, and a flying axe of steel decapitated him in a fountain of gore, then carried on to smash his entire panel to spark-spewing ruin. Two of his yeomen died almost as quickly, and Chief Braun had been out of his chair, unprotected by his shock frame. He flew through the thinning air and slammed into a bulkhead, stunned and unable to move. He died in a flood of aspirated blood before anyone could reach him to close his helmet for him.

Mercedes Brigham’s suit was daubed and streaked with scarlet where Panowski’s blood had sprayed across her. She’d been looking at the astrogator when he died, and more of his blood dripped down her face where it had splashed before she closed her own helmet. She couldn’t even wipe it, and she spat to clear it from her mouth as she brought her own computers on line to replace Panowski’s.