“No environmentals. He doesn’t need them. No oxygen or water, no food. Toss out living quarters, recycling systems—for that matter, every bulkhead and airlock designed to retain an atmosphere. It’s a stripped-down hotrod.”

Mandelbaum stared at the image, her eyes narrowing. Then she nodded and sat back. “Noted. Thank you, Admiral. Captain, be sure to make the Mad Astra a target.”

“Sir,” an officer turned from her console to face Captain Harding. “Signals indicates an approaching ship. Other than the SSE warships, I mean.”

“Distance?”

“Just under two tenths of an A.U., sir, and closing fast. Decelerating at point-five gee. Back-prop puts departure at Olympus Station.”

“Got a transponder ID?”

“Nothing in on-board archives, which probably means it’s pretty new, sir. We’ve queried Earthside, but it’ll be a while for a response.”

Mandelbaum cut in. “Any possibility this is coincidence? That they’re heading somewhere else?”

“Coming right down our backsides, ma’am. And decelerating to arrive at the theater with zero relative velocity.”

“So that’s a no, then.” Mandelbaum turned to Moore. “Any ideas?”

“To be honest, my best guess would be the former captain of the Mad Astra, and possibly some crew. They don’t seem to be able to get past this whole Pritchard thing.”

“Why? What are they going to do, take us on?” Mandelbaum frowned and turned to the signals officer. “Could that thing be armed?”

The officer shook her head. “Transponder details jibe with the silhouette. It’s a miner. Benz-Gilmore 4502, but apparently with some mods. It’s coming in way too hot for a stock 4502.”

Mandelbaum frowned and shook her head, plainly perplexed by the behavior of civilians. “Fine. Signals, hail them. Demand an explanation, and warn them they’re heading for a possible battle zone. And give me an estimated time to reply.”

“Light speed delay, one minute twelve each way, ma’am. Plus any time required to format a response, of course.”

“What about the SSE ships?”

“They’re about two twenty away, ma’am. Coming in more sedately.”

Mandelbaum looked up at the tactical screen, and contemplated the images for a few moments. Graphics of the Navy ships, the approaching civilian ship, and the trailing SSE flotilla competed with vector arrows and velocity annotations. The commodore ran a finger up and down the bridge of her nose. “We may already be too late. The activity on Mercury, Venus, and Mars is almost certainly Pritchard’s doing—”

“Well, no, Commodore,” Moore interjected. “It could also be the Arts that he mentions, although I would find the coincidence of them showing up just as the Uploads gain a foothold a little hard to swallow.”

“Either way, Admiral, it’s bad for us. Does it change our strategy?”

“Assuming we take all of Pritchard’s statements at face value, then we will fare worse at the hands of the Arts.”