The sidereal universe returned as though somebody’d rolled back the rug covering Adele’s existence. Things were brighter, sharper, and the communications display came alive with RF emitters. Adele had purpose again, so she was content.
They’d reentered normal space 250,000 miles from Radiance and almost three times as far from Gehenna, on the sunward side of its primary. There were thirty-seven vessels in what Adele had set as her immediate coverage area, a sphere with a million-mile diameter centered between Radiance and the moon. Many of the ships were orbiting Radiance at a lower level, preparing to land or to light their High Drives before entering the Matrix. Those were the normal traffic of a busy commercial port.
Another of the ships was the Bluecher, orbiting Gehenna within the Planetary Defense Array.
“Unidentified ship exiting Matrix,” said a male voice transmitting from the cruiser on microwave. “This is AFS Bluecher. Identify yourself immediately or we’ll destroy you, over.”
“Daniel,” said Adele, clipping the syllables short as her wands arranged the other thirty-six vessels by type at the edge of her display. “They’re calling on tight-beam, that means they were watching us return to normal space.”
Ten of the ships orbiting Radiance were elements of the Commonwealth fleet. They were 600-ton vessels no different from those trading and raiding all over the Galactic North save that their crews were paid—indifferently—by the State, and that they were armed with batteries of short-range rockets. No Commonwealth warship had been aloft when the Goldenfels attacked Lorenz Base four days earlier. That disaster had obviously convinced the Commonwealth government to lock its barn door, now that the horses had been stolen.
“Roger,” said Daniel imperturbably. “And targeting us, no doubt. They’ll have visual identification shortly, but stall them if you can, over.”
Adele opened her mouth to reply to the Bluecher and froze. Good God, would they be able to recognize her voice? She switched her transmission to the upper sideband so that the compression would conceal her voice to most ears—and said, “Bluecher, this is AFS Nymphe, Lieutenant Archimbault commanding. Admiral Raeder sent us ahead to make sure Lorenz Base is prepared to take his squadron in thirty hours time, over.”
If the Bluecher had them under optical observation, they couldn’t pass for a country craft—Adele’s first choice—nor even a merchant vessel from the Alliance or one of the neutral worlds outside the two power blocks. The Princess Cecile’s slim lines and the suit of sails that required a large crew to work marked her as a warship beyond question. The only option was to pretend to be an Alliance warship.
“Nymphe, shut down your High Drive,” the voice ordered after a delay greater than the considerable distance separating the vessels explained. He didn’t make any comment about the fact the “Nymphe”—a real sloop in the Fleet list, one of a series of false identities Adele had ready for emergencies—was responding on a single sideband in the 20-meter range. “Our cutter will board you after you’ve fallen into orbit, over.”
The Bluecher must have a very skilled team on its sensors to’ve been able to spot the distortion of the Sissie’s imminent arrival. Still, they seemed to be fooled—
“Sir, they’re launching!” Sun shouted over the command net.
Daniel’s hands moved. The thrusters and High Drive lit together, braking the Princess Cecile more fiercely than Adele had ever before felt.
“Mr. Betts, fire one!” Daniel shouted as he fought the throttles into balance. The solid CLANG of a slug of vaporized reaction mass ejecting the 30-ton missile rang through the Buzz! and Burr! of the power units. “Fire two!”
Adele didn’t have leisure to call up a realtime display, but the relative positions of the ships on her signals board indicated that the Princess Cecile was diving toward Radiance. She was confident Daniel knew what he was doing, and regardless she had enough things on her plate to occupy her.
The emitter of the laser communicator was formed by fifteen separate light guides. They could operate in unison, in bundles, or as individual lenses sending an ultra-tight-beam message in fifteen simultaneous directions.
Adele split the emitter to target the ten Commonwealth warships and said, “Peacock Throne—” the call sign of the control station in the Palace of Delegates below “—to all Commonwealth vessels. The Alliance of Free Stars is launching a surprise attack on the Commonwealth. Destroy the cruiser Bluecher at all costs! It’s preparing to launch missiles into the spaceport and palace. Destroy the cruiser at once!”