“One minute to exit from the Matrix,” Mon announced.
Daniel felt a surge of anticipation. There was nothing in the world like it. The moment that a girl drops her pretense of modesty and coos, “Well, maybe one kiss,” wasn’t in the same league.
“Showtime,” Daniel said with a grin. He squeezed Adele’s shoulder and strode back to his console with the economy of a captain who knows every inch and ounce of his ship.
Betts continued obsessively running missile solutions, but Sun turned from the gunnery display and gave Daniel a thumbs-up. Adele had her personal data unit where the console’s virtual keyboard would normally be projected. She raised her wands; a ripple ran across the pastel blankness of the display.
“Entering normal—”
Images flipped in Daniel’s mind. He saw himself from four angles; a trail of future selves stretched to infinity from each possible existence.
“—space,” Mon closing in a gasp rather than the intended shout, as though he’d been punched in the stomach while the word was still in his throat.
Strymon, a blue ball with more land than water, hung 13,000 miles below the Princess Cecile. Three frigates were in geosynchronous orbits at 24,000 miles; the calculated position of the fourth put it on the other side of the planet from the corvette.
Daniel shrank the real-time view of Strymon to a sidebar and expanded the Plot Position Indicator from the right half to his whole display. He’d set the PPI’s field for 300,000 miles above the planetary center. That was an unusually large volume for the purpose, but it allowed him to view the pirate cutters as they entered sidereal space.
“Strymonian vessels!” Daniel ordered, using modulated laser beams directed at the three visible ships. “Surrender at once to the forces of the Republic of Cinnabar. If you attempt resistance, the sixty-eight ships of my fleet will respond with overwhelming force!”
The Princess Cecile had exited directly above the capital, Palia, and the harbor serving it. Lt. Mon had the job of contacting the ships of Commodore Pettin’s squadron on high-power microwave while Daniel warned off the guardships. Under the circumstances, Daniel didn’t think the commodore would object to being left to an underling, though you could never be sure.
The PPI glowed, the pattern shifting like tinsel drifting in still air. Several, then a score, of the pirate cutters had vanished into the Matrix only moments from their first appearance in sidereal space. Now they reappeared, less than half their previous distance from Strymon.
“Strymonian frigates!” Daniel said. The fourth vessel had edged up from the planet’s shadow; the Princess Cecile’s commo suite directed a laser emitter at the Strymonian without further input from Daniel or Adele. “We have no quarrel with the loyal citizens of Strymon, but the traitors who’ve intrigued with the so-called Alliance of the tyrant Porra will be rooted out and punished if they don’t give up immediately. Surrender to the Republic of Cinnabar to save your lives and your honor!!”
Precisely how surrender was an honorable option for the picket vessels was a question beyond Daniel’s ability to answer, but it seemed a useful phrase to throw in at the moment. His father would’ve nodded with understanding.
The High Drive whined at maximum output to hold the Princess Cecile in position above Palia. Because the corvette was well below geosynchrony, that meant braking against its initial orbital velocity. Pray heaven that Mon had a clear link to the squadron!
Only a handful of the pirate cutters remained where they’d originally appeared, well out from Strymon. A gaggle of thirty trembled from the Matrix within 40,000 miles of the planet. Though there was nothing seemingly organized about the pirate formation, Daniel noted with delight and amazement that the ships were in precisely the same relative alignment as they had been before they entered the Matrix a few minutes before.
Woetjans and both rigging watches were on the hull, despite the danger and the fact they had no job to do at the moment. Daniel wasn’t going to land so there was no need to take the antennas down, but he didn’t know—couldn’t know—what the corvette’s next course might be. The riggers waited in case an emergency required an immediate adjustment to the sails.