Which, upon mature reflection, was perfectly all right with Lieutenant Commander Harris. It only took cleaning up the aftermath of one or two pirate attacks to make any naval officer… impatient with the entire breed.

He turned back to his own panel and began setting up his attack profile. It didn’t look like it was going to be very difficult. The ship they were pursuing massed no more than fifty thousand tons, little more than twelve percent of an Edward Saganami-class cruiser like Jessica Epps, and no hyper-capable warship could mount very much offense or defense on that limited a displacement. Of course, she wouldn’t have needed a lot of armament to deal with the completely unarmed and defenseless merchies upon which she preyed, and he felt a grim satisfaction at the way the tables had been turned in this instance.

He’d just locked his launch sequence into the loading queue for his broadside launchers when his earbug buzzed. He listened for a moment, eyebrows rising in surprise, and then turned towards his captain.

“CIC’s just picked up another impeller signature, Ma’am,” he reported.

“What?” Ferrero turned her chair to face him. “Where?”

“Approximately seventy million klicks at one-zero-seven by zero-two-niner,” he replied. “She’s headed straight for our bogey, too, Ma’am,” he added, and the captain frowned.

“Why the hell didn’t we see her sooner?” she asked. It was probably a rhetorical question, but it carried a lot of irritation, and Harris understood perfectly.

“I don’t know for certain, Ma’am,” he told her, “but from the accel she appears to be pulling, she’s got to be military. Either that, or another pirate, and CIC estimates her tonnage is around three-fifty k-tons.”

“What is her accel?” Ferrero asked, eyes narrowing. Assuming that displacement figure was even remotely accurate, the heavy cruiser-sized newcomer was much too large for a typical pirate. It might be a privateer licensed by one of the Confederacy’s innumerable “revolutionary governments,” but that seemed unlikely.

“CIC makes it right on five hundred and ten gravities from a base velocity of right on six-point-five thousand KPS,” Harris replied. The captain’s surprise showed, and he nodded. “Like I say, Skipper—she’s got to be military, and she’s running her wedge with just about zero safety margin on her compensator. Our closing velocity is approximately seventy thousand KPS on her current heading, and the only reason we wouldn’t have seen a wedge pulling that kind of power and coming almost straight towards us a lot sooner than this is because she was hiding it under stealth.”

“Any com traffic from her, Mecia?” Ferrero demanded.

“None, Ma’am,” the lieutenant replied.

“Well, see if you can raise her,” the captain directed. “At that much tonnage, she’s almost got to be a warship, not another pirate coming to our idiots’ assistance. Still, I don’t want any misunderstandings here. Be polite and extend my compliments, but this is our bird, not anyone else’s.”

“Aye, aye, Ma’am,” McKee agreed, and began speaking into her hush mike. “Unknown vessel bearing zero-three-seven, zero-two-niner, this is Her Majesty’s Ship Jessica Epps, Captain Erica Ferrero, commanding, in pursuit of suspected pirate bearing zero-zero-six, zero-one-five from our position. Captain Ferrero extends her compliments and requests that you identify yourself and advise us of your intentions. Jessica Epps, clear.”