‘Toussaint?”
‘The striker will be within torpedo range in two minutes, Captain.”
And the Pontos was stuck in between.
“Stand by. Balogh, open a channel to the striker. Let’s hope their captain comprehends Standard.” She made her voice into a flat, almost mechanical drone. “Shaauri vessel, this is the Alliance ship Pegasus. You have entered human space. Be advised that we will be compelled to fire if you continue on this course.”
No answer. The striker forged on, closing the gap.
“They will not respond, Captain.”
She heard the voice with a start of disbelief and turned toward the door. Ronan stood on the bridge as if he belonged there, gazing at the viewport.
He’d broken his word, but she’d been fool enough to accept it. There was a moment of stillness on the bridge as the crew became aware of the intruder, and then each went back to his or her duties.
All except Janek. He drew his sidearm—the one his observer status permitted him to carry—and aimed it at Ronan.
“Stand down, Janek,” she commanded. “Hold him, but don’t shoot unless you’re attacked.”
“I warned you—”
“I know the shaauri,” Ronan said quietly, disregarding his danger. “Since they have entered human space, they will not be deterred by threats.”
“They’re after you,” Janek accused. “If we give him up, Captain, there won’t be any need for a fight.”
“Enough. Ronan, is there any way to stall them?”
He met her gaze with that deep inner stillness. ‘They disdain long-range weapons, but they will not hesitate to attack with disruptors. It would be best if you do as Ser Janek suggests.”
“Surrender you, in human territory?” She laughed. “Toussaint, prepare to fire as soon as the striker’s within range.”
The tension on the bridge was almost tangible. Ignoring Janek, Ronan had moved to stand just behind Cynara’s chair. She could feel him with her body and her mind.
“In range,” Toussaint said.
“Fire at will.”
Silent and deadly, two of the Pegasus’s precious torpedoes streaked toward the shaauri ship, bypassing the Pontos. The striker’s disruptors caught one of the torpedoes before it had gone half the remaining distance. The second torpedo hit and was brushed aside like a gnat on a seabull’s tail.
“Damage?”
“Minor, Captain,” Taye said. “The striker has decelerated fractionally, but the Pontos is nearly within range of their disruptors.”
If the shaauri considered the shuttle a worthy target. Why should they, when their weapons could take out the Pegasus just as easily?
“It is sh’ei-lostajoi—the Reckoning,” Ronan said, giving the human word a solemn emphasis. “They will show their contempt and approach within your range of fire before they attack. If you were shaauri, you would do the same or forfeit any chance of honorable victory.”
“You mean it’s a test,” Cynara said. “A test of our courage.”
“And of your willingness to die. In old days, one enemy would usually retreat before the shedding of blood.”
“Very tidy,” she said. “Why do they grant us this honor when they generally destroy human ships outright?”
“Because you are in human territory, not an intruder in theirs.”
‘They risk little by getting close to a ship one-tenth then-size.”
“That is why they will wait, reckoning you of small consequence.”
“And perhaps forgetting that we are human. If we attack first—”
“They may destroy you with all honor.” Cynara felt Ronan’s weight rest upon the back of her chair. He leaned close to her shoulder, watching her monitor. “There is a way you may delay them until your warrior reaches your drive field. Do you have access to detailed images of striker-class ships?”
Quickly she called up the scant information Alliance ships had gathered over the years and displayed the most detailed visuals one after another. Ronan studied them and stopped her at the third image.
‘There,” he said, indicating a specific point on the striker’s forward keel. ‘This is the location of their sensor array and the section most vulnerable to attack. If you fire your weapons at the last possible moment, the ship will be temporarily blinded.”
Cynara breathed a prayer of thanks and sent the data to Toussaint’s station. ‘Toussaint, lock in on these coordinates and prepare to fire torpedoes on my mark.”