“Yes, Adele?” Daniel said, interrupting Mon’s gloomy assessment of Pettin’s chances if he met the Alliance squadron on equal terms.
“Here are the four vessels on picket duty above Strymon,” Adele said, replacing the Tanais display with her own. “Here are their officers and crew lists.”
Amber sidebars hung beneath the holograms of four vessels—101, 122, 124, and 203. Each was the shape of the Princess Cecile and approximately nine-tenths the size.
“Here are the armament inventories for the vessels,” Adele continued. She frowned. “They appear to be complete, but I don’t see any listing for missiles.”
“Almighty God, I wish I didn’t,” Pasternak said. “I forgot those bastards were optimized to hunt pirates.”
Daniel touched a key, highlighting in red a line in all four tables. “Strymonian frigates don’t carry missiles the way you’re used to thinking of them, Adele,” he said.
He smiled, perhaps thinking as she was of the concept of Adele being used to anything naval. “What they have instead are chemical rockets that actually accelerate faster over the short ranges required than missiles powered by the High Drive. They carry a great number of them because the rockets are so much smaller.”
“Ah,” said Adele in understanding. Three hundred and twelve rockets apiece, launched in clusters of twenty-four at a time. “Yes, well I’m glad that my data were accurate.”
Mon looked as though he were going to blow steam out of his ears, but Woetjans guffawed and said, “By God you’re something else, mistress!”
“Yes, she is,” Daniel said through his own laughter. “And she’s pointed out why I’m not going to go orbit Strymon to warn the rest of the squadron. We can’t do that safely until we’re able to clear the picket vessels at the same time as we give Commodore Pettin the alarm. I have the greatest confidence in the fighting ability of my ship and crew—”
His voice trembled a little. Emotion was never far from the surface of Daniel’s mind. Sometimes like a porpoise it broke into plain sight when he clearly would rather keep it hidden. Adele smiled with sudden affection.
“—but I don’t believe we’d succeed if we alone engaged four frigates as well-crewed and maintained as Officer Mundy shows us these are.”
“Back to bloody Sexburga, then,” Woetjans said. She turned her head, looking for something harmless to slap with her gloved hand. There was nothing in arm’s reach of where she stood; Pasternak watched the movement with more than idle interest.
“If that was the only other choice, Woetjans,” Daniel said, his voice almost musical with his effort to keep it calm, “then we’d try the odds on Strymon. I’m not leaving Commodore Pettin to be massacred by an Alliance squadron during the time we limp to Sexburga. Fortunately, there are other options.”
He switched the image to a navigational display. It probably meant as little to Woetjans and Pasternak as it did to Adele, but Mon nodded and slipped his visor down over his eyes.
“The navigational computer has located us, I’m happy to say,” Daniel said, keying a red highlight in the middle of the projected starfield. “You’ll appreciate—”
He grinned at Adele, who hadn’t really given the matter thought.
“—that my concern at Tanais was to go away rather than to go somewhere in particular. The damage to our sails during entry would have thrown us off course anyway.”
“Seven light-years from Strymon?” Mon said, showing that he hadn’t just been making a show of understanding.
“Yes, and just over twenty-four light-years from Dalbriggan,” Daniel said. “That’s the seat of government of the Selma Cluster. I make it approximately ninety minutes to Dalbriggan in the Matrix with our present rig. Once repairs are complete, of course.”
“Dalbriggan?” said Pasternak. “The Pirate Cluster, sir?”
“Now, five years ago the Selma Cluster became a client state of the Republic,” Daniel said, smiling like a little boy given the gift of his dreams. “The treaty’s quite clear. They’ve sworn to eschew piracy and devote themselves to trade and other wholesome pursuits.”
“Right,” said Mon. “And my little girl was an immaculate conception, being born just before I got back from a two-year cruise.”
“I’m aware that there may be quite a difference between what treaty signatories agree to and what they’ll actually do,” Daniel said. He pressed his palms together and seemed on the verge of rubbing them in the pleasure of his thoughts. “But it also seems to me that not-quite-reformed pirates might make willing allies against a pirate-hunting world like Strymon. Especially if the pirates are told they have the weight of the RCN on their side.”