“Then double-check your math.” Anitra strapped herself in. “You’d better carry the one or some shit. Twice.”

<Destination?> Chandra began her calculations. If she was frantic, scared, or nervous, her affect didn’t betray her.

“Anywhere but here,” Epyc Ro said.

“Coordinates entered. On your command.” Robin punched in the course.

“Deflectors on maximum,” Epyc Ro said.

“Why are our deflectors ever not on maximum?” Anitra asked.

“To conserve power,” Robin said.

“Look, I can chip in on the power bill if it will keep the shields up all the time!” Anitra yelled.

“On my mark,” Epyc Ro cried out. “Put us on an intercept course.”

“Cap’n?” Robin asked.

“We testing out these rail guns?” Anitra asked.

“Now’s as good a time. Don’t target. We don’t want them detecting a weapons lock,” Epyc Ro said.

“What, I’m firing by hand?”

“We’ll get you in close enough for good shots. We only need to buy some time.” Robin checked her scanner, but glanced over her shoulder to say, “Think of them as a really long DMX.”

<Communication coming in. They want our ident code.>

“Open a channel.”

“Cap’n?” Robin glanced at her.

The grim set of Epyc Ro’s jaw was her only response.

“Channel open, it is.” Robin opened the comms.

“Identify yourself,” a voice demanded.

“This is Captain Epyc Ro Morgan. Formerly of the Muungano HOVA brigade known as the Hellfighters. Back on O.E., our unit was named for the famed Harlem Hellfighters, a regiment of the New York national guardsmen. They were one of the most decorated units and were given to the French infantry. They spent more time in combat than any other American unit in World War I. However, before then, in Alkebulan, there was an all-female military regiment of the Kingdom of Dahomey called the Mino. One of their battalions was known as the Reapers. Do you want to know who we are? That is who we are now. Anitra, introduce us properly.”

The shots burst in a wild spray. To her mind, everything moved in slow, sweeping arcs, their positions splayed on monitors and view screens, until they passed up close and personal. Anitra continued firing a rapid succession of shots. The patterns appeared curved since the ballistics were fired from a position they were no longer in. Projectiles peppered the outer hull. Targeting nothing, hoping that something in the hailstorm would hit something vital or pierce the hull. Shut down a vital system or rupture something for rapid decompression. The CO/IN ships now reminded her of long caskets.