“Skipper, if you bring us hard to port, I can get off a few shots from our starboard missile tube,” Cardones said urgently, but Honor shook her head.

“No.”

“But, Skipper—!”

“We’re not going to do a thing, Rafe,” she said flatly. Cardones whipped around to stare at her in disbelief, and she smiled at him, her eyes like brown flint. “Not a thing except let her close… and bring up the grav lance,” she said very, very softly.

· · • · ·

Johan Coglin listened to the thunder of his pulse as his ship braked with all her power. Fearless limped slowly and painfully to port, turning her starboard side toward him, but her acceleration was a crawl. Even with Sirius’s node damage, it would take her less than five minutes to reach pointblank range.

Jamal sat stiff and silent at Tactical, poised over his missile defense panel. A small sigh of relief had escaped him as Sirius’s turn brought his undamaged forward sensors to bear, but he obviously dreaded what Fearless’s broadside might do to him.

Only it wasn’t doing a thing, and Coglin felt a bubble of vengeful laughter tearing at the back of his throat. He’d been right! The cruiser’s armament must have been gutted—no captain would pass up the opportunity to fire his full broadside down the throat of a wide open impeller wedge!

He completed his turn, swinging the vulnerable front of his wedge away from Fearless, closing at an oblique angle and presenting his port broadside to her. The range fell with flashing speed, and his smile was ugly.

“Range five hundred thousand,” Cardones said tautly. “Closing at three-three-nine-two KPS.”

Honor nodded and eased the helm another degree to port. Her crippled ship turned like a dying shark, and Sirius plunged towards her.

“Four-eight-five thousand.” Cardones’s voice was harsh. “Four-seven-five. Four-six-zero. Four-four-five. Rate of closure now four-zero-two-one KPS. Time to energy range one-one-point-nine seconds. Time to grav lance eight-two-point-six-five seconds.”

“Stand by grav lance.” Honor’s voice was quiet, and her mind raced. Would he come all the way in? Or would he stand off? He had less than a minute and a half to make his mind up, and if no fire came at him…

She sat very still at the helm, gloved right hand poised lightly on the stick, and watched the range fall.

“Give her a broadside at four hundred thousand,” Coglin said softly. “Let’s see how she likes that.”

“Four-zero-zero thous—”

Even as Cardones spoke, Honor whipped Fearless up on her side.

· · • · ·

“Shit!”

Coglin slammed a fist into his chair arm as the limping cruiser spun suddenly. Damn it, didn’t Harrington know when it was over?! She was done. All she could do was stretch out the agony, but she didn’t seem to know it, and her turn presented her impenetrable belly stress band even as he fired, as if she’d read his mind. He’d more than half expected it, but that didn’t make him any happier to see it.