Angelmass

"Okay, okay, come on in," the operator said. "I'm calibrating now."

"Thank you. Out."

Chandris snapped off the comm and got the Gazelle moving. "Jiselle?" Kosta asked.

"The comm supervisor I talked to after we were attacked and I had to bring Hanan back in a hurry,"

Chandris explained.

"And the blue-three?"

"I copied the authorization codes from Forsythe's cyl before I gave it back," she said. "I figured they might come in handy someday. So, what do you think? Did he fall for it, or is he whistling up the watchdogs?"

Kosta shook his head. "You're the expert on human reactions," he reminded her. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," she said, peering at the displays. "He sounded convinced; but you can never tell with that sort. He might stay rolled over, or he might just as easily decide to check it out."

Kosta grimaced. "And if he calls Forsythe's office to check on that blue-three, we're dead."

"Only if he gets through to Forsythe himself before we 'pult," Chandris said. "If we can get aboard Central before the cord goes pop, we should be able to shut down the net and keep anyone from coming after us."

"So the plan is to get through as fast as we can?"

"Right, only without looking too obvious about it," Chandris agreed. "Of course, with a rescue mission we're supposed to be in a hurry anyway. I'd say we've got a pretty fair chance of making it."

"Okay," Kosta said. "I just wish the odds were better than just 'pretty fair.' "

"You want certainties, go into theology," Chandris said, studying her monitors. "I just hope none of these warships takes it into his head to take a look at us."

Kosta blinked. "Warships?"

"Sure look like that to me," Chandris said. "But hey, you're the expert on military hardware."

Kosta leaned closer to his displays, his fingers fumbling for the magnification control. Preoccupied with the Angelmass problem, he hadn't even focused on the other ships flying around them. But now that he actually took a good look at them...

"You're right," he said, the back of his neck tingling. Last night, Forsythe had talked about a suspected Pax invasion of Lorelei. Could Commodore Lleshi's task force have made it to Seraph already? "I don't like this."

"Just stay cool," Chandris advised. "They're EmDef ships; we're an EmDef rescue mission. Just one big happy family. But if they hail us, let me do the talking."

"Right," Kosta murmured, his eyes flicking across the various displays as he adjusted the views. If there was a Pax task force on its way, and if it was close enough to be in deceleration mode, there ought to be a set of visible drive glows out there somewhere.

He was still searching, wondering if the glow was being hidden by one of the ships blocking his view, when Chandris spoke again. "Okay, get ready," she said. "Here we go." There was the usual almost-felt jerk as the catapult threw them across Seraph system—

And abruptly a blaze of light exploded from the displays.

"What in—?" Kosta yelped.

"It's Angelmass," Chandris snapped. She did something to her board, and the light faded from painful to merely intense, then vanished completely into comfortable darkness as a small black spot positioned itself over the center of the blaze. "Sorry—the sunscreens hadn't been recalibrated."

"They shouldn't have had to be," Kosta said, his eyes flicking over the numbers. "At least, not this much. Oh, hell."

"What?" Chandris demanded.

"Take a look at the proximity numbers," Kosta said. "Angelmass is... friz. No more than a couple thousand kilometers out."

Chandris hissed between her teeth. "That close?"

"That close," Kosta told her grimly. "It's not only on the move, it's picking up speed."

"Then we'd better get this kickshow on its feet," Chandris said. From behind Kosta came the roar of the engines, and he felt himself being pressed back into his seat. "We'll go around and dock at the catapult end—that's where you'll be doing your work."

"Right," Kosta muttered. "Let's just hope they left the door unlocked."

"The ships are nearly in position, High Senator," General Roshmanov reported, crossing to where Forsythe and Pirbazari were sitting and pulling over a chair for himself. "Another twenty minutes, max."

"How soon until the Komitadji is in combat range?" Pirbazari asked.

Roshmanov shrugged uncomfortably as he sat down. "That depends on how destructive they want to be," he said. "We know the Pax has long-range subnuclear missiles that can probably take out a million square kilometers at a shot. A dozen of those properly placed, and there would be precious little left of Seraph for them to conquer."

Forsythe felt his stomach tighten. "Fortunately, that's not their style."

"Not their preferred style, anyway," Roshmanov agreed. "Though I suppose that if we make enough trouble they might switch to that out of pure spite."

"The Pax runs on profit, not spite," Pirbazari said. "Besides, I don't think we have to worry about being that much trouble."

"No," Roshmanov conceded heavily. "I'm afraid we don't."

For a long minute none of them said anything. Forsythe gazed at the tactical display, listening to the low background murmurs filling the EmDef command room, occasionally able to pull snatches of specific conversations from the general hum.

His phone, when it rang, made him jump. Pulling it out, he tapped it on. "Forsythe."

"High Senator, this is Lieutenant Hakara at Central Switchboard," a woman's voice said. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but Seraph Catapult Control has apparently been calling all around Shikari City trying to locate you."

"Me, personally?" Forsythe asked, frowning. He was hardly in the official chain of command here.

"What about?"

"I don't know, sir," Hakara said. "I can co

"Yes, go ahead."

There was a click, a long pause, and another half dozen clicks at various pitches. "High Senator Forsythe?" a man's voice said tentatively.

"Speaking," Forsythe said. "Who is this?"

"Raymont, sir. Traffic controller on the Seraph Angelmass Catapult. It's—well, it's a little late now, sir; they've already gone through. I was wondering if you wanted us to send a backup shuttle along with them. Or behind them, now."

"If this is supposed to be making sense, it's not," Forsythe growled. He didn't have time for games.

"Who and what are you talking about?"

"Why, the rescue mission, sir," Raymont said. "The blue-three code. The woman on the Gazelle said—"

"The Gazelle?" Forsythe cut him off.

"Yes, sir," Raymont said. From the sound of his voice, it sounded like he was suddenly having trouble breathing. "She said someone had been accidentally left aboard Central, and that you'd personally authorized a rescue mission even though the catapult was officially shut down, because a blue-three supersedes other orders..." He trailed off.

"I see," Forsythe said, his voice sounding calmer than he would have expected it to. Preoccupied with the incoming threat, he'd completely forgotten about Kosta and his theories about Angelmass.

"When did they go through?"

"About two minutes ago, sir," Raymont said, sounding thoroughly miserable now. "Shall I send a shuttle after them? We could have something prepped in fifteen minutes."

Forsythe looked up at the tactical. "No, don't bother," he said.

"Or one of the EmDef ships could get there even sooner," Raymont offered. "We could recalibrate while it gets here—"

"I said don't bother," Forsythe repeated firmly. "Close down the catapult again, but leave your net operating. Sooner or later, they'll be wanting to come back."

"Yes, sir," Raymont said. "I'm... yes, sir."

Forsythe closed the phone, noting peripherally that General Roshmanov had disappeared sometime during the call. "Kosta?" Pirbazari asked quietly.