ready to go. What's the plan, sir?" came back the disembodied voice. Hudson had moved quickly.
"I was hoping you had a good idea," Quinn replied. "Right now I want you clear. Establish an outbound vector and hold it. Normal transponder codes. Keep in contact. If you don't hear from me in two hours, head back to Earth by yourself. Shouldn't take you more than three or four thousand years. If the bugs pick you up first, remember your manners."
Buccari exhaled through a tight smile and checked tactical. The symbol for a planetary body had been showing up for several hours: Rex-Kaliph Three, the third planet from the system's star.
"R-K Three's coming up in sector two," she said. "Might be reachable."
Quinn nodded. "Hudson, get a downlink from the computer. Check tactical. Sector two. Planet in range. Head for it. Good luck, Ensign. Cleared to launch."
Buccari switched the comm master back to the weapons circuit, clipping Hudson's response. "Status, Gunner!" she demanded.
"Main control's predicting three-sigma," Wilson answered. "Mains are spooling. Power forty-five percent and climbing. Should have enough power to fire in four minutes, and we'll finish syncing optics any second. Rhodes'ss going batshit with shortcuts."
"Okay, Sharl," Quinn said, bringing all of them onto primary circuit. "Let's take care of business. How many decoys left?"
Buccari checked the weapons console. "Three."
"Start laying decoys at sixteen hundred. How many kinetics?"
"Twenty-three heavies and a couple hundred dinks," she responded. She brought her eyes up and scanned the infinite blackness, not seeing—nothing to see. Her attention was drawn back to the evacuation. System panels indicated launch bays had depressurized. A distant, sharp thunk followed by a high-frequency rumble vibrated the ship's metal fabric. Status lights changed, indicating bay doors had resealed. A lifeboat and the EPL—the Endoatmospheric Planetary Lander—had launched. The greater part of the corvette crew was away, thrown into the black void.
Chief Wilson broke in. "Fire control has active track. We're warbling the signal and he's jamming, but we have sporadic lock. Power weak but steady. My board is green. Beta three point two and dropping. Passing manual control to the flight deck."
"This is Buccari," she replied in sterile tones. "I have fire control. Arming sequence now."
Quinn flipped back a red switch cover on his overhead. Buccari gave a thumbs-up. Quinn armed the energy weapon. Amber lights appeared on her weapons panel; a soft bell-tone sounded in the background. She flipped switches; amber lights turned green, and the tone took a higher pitch. Quinn disabled the alarm while Buccari stared at the firing presentation on her ordnance console. Range reticules moved inexorably closer; the enemy ship was established on track, only seconds from long-distance weapons range. A tail chase: she had too much time—time to think about what to do, and time to worry.
"Firing range?" Buccari asked.
"Hold until four hundred. We'll have him for lunch," Quinn replied.
Buccari looked up. The enemy had already shown far greater range. Proximity alarms sounded. Weapons circuit became hot. Gunner Wilson narrated a stream of weapon status and contact information. Buccari interjected terse preparatory commands while Quinn maneuvered the corvette, optimizing weapon release angles. His maneuvers were ragged; the battle-damaged thrusters were out of alignment, and power inputs were intentionally asymmetric in desperate attempt to slew the ship from its ballistic trajectory.
Wilson: "Bogey at ten thousand, sector six. Overtaking velocity point eight. Engagement radius in thirty. Optical scan in tight oscillation."
Buccari: "Roger that. Holding fire, all switches green." Wilson: "Bogey at six thousand, sector six. Trajectory is veering high and starboard. Now sector five. Scanning." Buccari: "Stand by to deploy decoys."
Quinn manhandled the maneuvering jets causing the corvette to buffet and accelerate laterally. Despite the jerking excursions Buccari' s movements were measured and precise.
Wilson: "Bogey at sixteen hundred, sector five. Bearing constant. Optical lock is firm. He's firing at the decoys."
Buccari: "Roger lock." She pressed a switch on her weapons board. A salvo of kinetic energy missiles, sounding like popcorn popping, streaked their unholy fires across the flight deck's viewing screen. Quinn rolled the corvette ninety to port and fired a new set of maneuvering thrusters, unmasking additional weapons ports. Buccari pickled another set of kinetic energy missiles.
Wilson: "Bogey at a twelve hundred. He blew our decoys away, and he's got us locked in!" Screaming radar lock-on warnings reverberated through the corvette. The enemy was preparing to fire, the high-pitched whooping sickenly familiar. There was no way to evade the impending explosions—not without exhausting their