Angelmass

Pirbazari's eyes were darting across the screen, his lips half curled back from his teeth. Except for the ru

With a jerk, Pirbazari snatched out his phone. "Yes," he said, begi

"You're right. Damn it."

But it was too late. Even as he punched in the last number and lifted the phone to his ear, the Harmonic finally made its move.

There was a flash from the liner's midsection, a burst of flame and curling smoke that resolved itself into the fiery tail of a missile. It was followed by another flash as the liner rotated beneath the departing weapon, the second missile bursting out almost directly into the exhaust trail of the first.

Then came another, and another, and another, each new missile emerging just as the liner rotated into position and then dropping into line behind the others like baby ducks following their mother.

Pirbazari swore gently. "The airlocks," he said. "Of course. No weapons bays or pods on a liner; so they just loaded their missiles into the airlocks."

The surrounding destroyers tried to react, their own counterweapons blazing away at the line of enemy missiles. But the EmDef ships were too close to the liner, their antimissile defenses too slow to respond. And the destroyers were too far out of line to move into the missiles' path and take the hits themselves.

Abruptly, Forsythe realized why. The destroyers had, cautiously enough, arranged themselves in defensive formation between the Harmonic and the Number Two catapult ship, the closest and therefore most obvious target for an attack originating from the liner.

But that wasn't where the missiles were aimed. They were, instead, burning space for the more distant Number Four.

The ship whose destroyers were all currently at Number Three.

The EmDef commander saw it the same time Forsythe did. Orders were snapped, and within seconds the destroyers from Number Four were disengaging from their defense of Number Three and circling back around.

Or rather, they were trying to disengage. But with the trap sprung, the Pax fighters now abandoned their attack on the already crippled catapult ship and concentrated their fire on the destroyers. Even as the EmDef ships pulled free and headed toward Number Four the fighters moved with them, nipping at their heels like tigers attacking a group of fleeing elephants.

A sudden flicker of light caught Forsythe's eye. Number Four's defense lasers had found the range, and the lead Pax missile had been flashed into dust. Forsythe held his breath...

But no. The Pax commander had anticipated this one, too. The lead missile was destroyed, all right; but the cloud of debris it had become was still moving along its original vector.

And as Number Four's lasers continued to fire, Forsythe realized that the debris was actually shielding the missiles behind it from the attacks.

Again, the EmDef commander was right on top of things. Another series of orders, and two formations of antimissiles streaked out from Number Four's launchers. The first group swept through the dust cloud and converged on the next Pax missile in line—

This time the flash was bright enough to activate the telescope screen's sun filters, creating a brief dead spot in the view.

But not a circular one, as Forsythe would have expected from a normal explosion. Instead, this dead spot was triangular, stretching forward with the rear apex where the Pax warhead had been. Seconds later, when the dead spot cleared away, the second Pax missile was gone.

So were both waves of EmDef antimissiles.

"I'll be cursed," Pirbazari murmured, sounding more awed than angry. "A shaped charge. They had a shaped charge in that warhead."

Forsythe stared at the screen as Number Four's lasers opened up again and a third wave of antimissiles spat out. "I haven't noticed them use anything like that anywhere else today."

"They haven't," Pirbazari confirmed darkly. "Their commander seems to have done a very good job of anticipating our defense tactics."

Forsythe curled his hands into fists. Number Four's lasers caught the next Pax missile in line, sparking another of the brilliant triangular blasts. Again, the incoming antimissiles died in the explosion. "They're not going to make it, Zar," he said quietly. "They're not going to have time to destroy all those missiles before the last ones get there."

Pirbazari sighed softly. "I know."

"The ship's got shielding," someone across the room said, his voice sounding desperate. "Maybe it'll be enough."

"No." Pirbazari pointed at the screen. "See the ID they've attached to the last missile in line? It's a Pax Hellfire missile. Subnuclear warhead, extreme armor penetration, heavy electromagnetic scrambling. If it hits, the catapult will be gone. Along with the rest of the ship."

"Then why doesn't it get out of there?" someone else croaked. "Why the hell doesn't it get out of there?"

"Shut up," Forsythe ordered. "Can't you see it's trying?"

Number Four's drive had come to full power, driving it onto a vector perpendicular to the path of the incoming Pax missiles. Forsythe found himself holding his breath again as the catapult ship picked up speed. If the ship's electronic search-dampers worked—if the Pax missiles missed the fact that their target had moved out of their path—

"No," Pirbazari said suddenly. "No!"

"What?" Forsythe asked, his eyes searching the screen for a new threat. But there was nothing he could see. "What?"

"It's out of position," Pirbazari said, pointing. Somewhere along the way, he'd put his phone away.

Now, abruptly, he was hauling it out again. "Don't you see? By moving away, it's now dragged the catapult focal ellipse completely out of the net area."

A cold hand closed around Forsythe's heart. "Which means if something comes in—"

"They can't throw it out again," Pirbazari said viciously as he jammed the phone to his ear. "Come on—answer. Answer."

But once again, it was too late. Even as the next enemy missile in line was destroyed, a Pax warship appeared in the center of the net region.

But not just any warship. This thing was huge; bigger than any spacecraft the Empyrean had ever dreamed of creating. Bigger even than the original colony ships that had brought their ancestors to these worlds. A long, dark, monstrosity of a ship, bristling with weapons, everything about it resonating with arrogance and power and death.

The Komitadji had arrived.

Someone gasped a strangled curse, his voice stu

And, of course, toward the Number Two catapult ship.

The destroyers saw the danger, of course. But even as they scrambled away from the liner to turn to this new threat Forsythe saw that, for one last time, EmDef had been outthought and outmaneuvered.

For the next few minutes, until the destroyers could get back in position, there would be nothing but Number Two's own defenses and shielding between it and the Komitadji.

The Komitadji didn't need even that long. Ten seconds later, a dozen high-power lasers flashed simultaneously from the warship's bow, all of them focused with surgical precision on the catapult end of the ship. With a roiling mass of vaporized metal and a flare of blue-white fire, the catapult equipment was gone.

And with it, the catapult.

"That's it, then," Pirbazari murmured. "The Komitadji's here to stay."

"We have to stop it," Forsythe said, his heart thudding in his ears. "We have to attack. Slow it down, get more catapult ships into position—"

He broke off, staring at the screen in disbelief. Instead of attacking, the EmDef ships were turning away from the Komitadji. Not just the catapult ships, but the destroyers, too. All of them were turning away.