"He didn't know the Cetagandans were making their attack run till his stolen shuttle cleared the Triumph, " Miles whispered. "Good plan, rotten timing. . . . He could have turned around, he chose to try and run for it. . . ." Oser chose his death? Was that the comforting argument?

The Cetagandans did not so much break off their attack run as

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complete it, in depressingly good order. The score was slightly in the Dendarii's favor. A number of Cetagandan ships had been badly

chewed, and one blown up entirely. Dendarii and Ranger damage

control channels were frantic. The Dendarii had not lost ships yet, but had lost firepower, engines, flight control, life support, shielding. The next attack run would be more devastating.

They can afford to lose three to our one. If they keep coming, keep nibbling, they must inevitably win, Miles reflected coldly. Unless we are reinforced.

Hours passed, while the Cetagandans formed up again. Miles took

short breaks in the wardroom provided for that purpose off the

tactics room, but was too keyed up to emulate Tung's amazing fifteen-minute instant naps. Miles knew Tung wasn't faking relaxation for

morale effect; nobody could simulate such a disgusting snore.

It was possible to watch the Cetagandan reinforcements coming on

across the Vervain system in the televid. That was the time tradeoff, the risk. The longer the Cetas waited, the better-equipped they could be, but the longer they waited, the better the chance that their

enemies would recover too. There was doubtless a tac comp aboard

the Cetagandan command ship that had generated a probability curve

marking the optimum intersection of Us and Them. If only the

damned Vervani would be more aggressive in attacking that supply

stream from their planetary base . . .

And here they came on again. Tung watched his displays, his hands

unconsciously clenching and unclenching in his lap between jerky,

thick-fingered dances on his control panel, sending orders,

correcting, anticipating. Miles's fingers twitched in tiny echoes, his mind trying to get around Tung's thought, to absorb everything. Their picture of reality was getting lacy with hidden holes, as data points dropped out due to damaged sensors or senders on various ships. The Cetagandans flew through the Dendarii formation, pounding . . . a

Dendarii ship blew apart, another, weapons dead, tried to scramble

out of range, three Ranger ships broke away as a unit . . . it looked bad. . . .

" Sharkbait Three reporting," an abrupt voice overrode all other comm channels, making Miles jump in his seat. "Hold this worm-hole

clear. Help coming."

"Not now, " snarled Tung, but began to attempt a rapid redeployment to cover the tiny volume of space, keep it clear of