Gaunis stared at the Esprit's silent, awestruck bridge crew and the screens above in barely controlled horror.

Something had gone awfully, dreadfully wrong.

The missiles had appeared alongside the black-hulled Confederate vessels and detonated according to plan. But instead of glowing white-hot and going dead in space as Westlex's ship had done at Calton, the vessels had survived, and the attacking Patrol vessels had gone dead instead. And if reports from Terra and the few remaining functioning Patrol vessels could be believed, the Confederacy's fighters had survived as well. Gaunis feared he now knew why he had not heard from the dreadnoughts he sent to Mars.

Only by dint of its distance from the battle was the Esprit still functioning at full capacity. The other dreadnoughts, along with most of their fleets, drifted dead in space above Terra, surrounded by clusters of tiny emergency lifecraft launched by crews attempting to escape what they undoubtedly believed to be a uniquely malfunctioning ship.

What were those crews feeling as they broke away from their paralyzed motherships only to discover all vessels similarly disabled, no rescue ships waiting to receive their escape craft? Gaunis frowned at the thought.

But now he noticed something else, something that eased the horror he felt at seeing his fleet lying helpless in space. The four Confederate vessels that had taken the brunt of his missile attack—Stingray Two, the Cheops, and the two heavy freighters—weren't moving in to complete the destruction of their attackers or aid their companion ships in the small pockets of fighting that remained. They weren't doing anything at all.

The Esprit's bridge crew seemed to realize the same thing almost simultaneously. Excited chatter broke out, silenced an instant later by Commander Soto's sharp command to ready all weapons and bring the Esprit in on the crippled Stingray.

Gaunis smiled, his feelings of shock and dread swept away as he realized that, so long as the Esprit survived, the battle was not lost. Victory was only as distant as the time it would take for his ship to sweep in and destroy the powerless Confederate vessels.

Satisfied that Commander Soto had full control of the ship and crew once again and was moving toward an efficient razing of the four helpless Confederate ships, Gaunis turned to the comm to organize his remaining vessels.

Moments later, the Esprit began firing on the kilometer-long target of Stingray Two. The dreadnought's missiles blew massive holes in the sleek wedge shape while her energy weapons sliced chunks out of what remained of the ruined black hull.

The Esprit's scanners indicated that Stingray Two's fighters were still operating, yet they did nothing to stop the methodical destruction of their mothership. Instead, they were easing away from the vessel, using only maneuver jets to escape, flying blindly into the gathering mass of still functioning Patrol vessels Gaunis had sent to destroy them.

As the High Admiral watched the Confederate fighters' slow movements, he realized that, although they had survived his missile attack, they had not come away unharmed. He studied the scanner readings on the nearby boards, hoping to discover what remained of the Confederate ships' systems, but the Esprit's sensors were not sensitive enough to detect what had happened to the vessels.

However, the scanners began to register something closer: the weak, barely discernible power readings from Stingray Two began to increase. Like some sinister black ghost, the dead vessel was coming back to life.

It was starting to move.

Gaunis turned his eyes to the main screen to watch as the black wedge rotated slowly in space, turning to face the Esprit.

The High Admiral gawked.

The vessel had the ability to move, yet rather than fleeing, it was turning to face its attacker!

"Captain, pull back!" Gaunis ordered as terrifying memories of the destruction of the Kinsa filled his head. "Get us away now. Divert all power to forward shields."

The image of the black ship began to recede rapidly as the Esprit ceased firing and backed away at full speed. The Stingray did not give chase. Instead, a hazy blue aura appeared around it. The aura grew brighter and a wave of azure light rolled along the ship's length, aft to fore, seeming to gather intensity as it went.

Shafts of blue-white lightning crackled around the vessel, arcing from one section of hull to the next, jumping side to side, and then arcing forward again. Finally the lightning converged at the vessel's tip in a crackling blue ball… and kept coming. Straight for the Esprit.

The energy missile streaked through space, hurtling at the dreadnought. There was no way to outrun it. Gaunis braced for impact and hoped desperately that the Esprit's shields would hold.

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The ball of energy splashed against the bow of the dreadnought. Her shields dissipated some of its force, but its white-hot core drilled through and struck the ship with annihilating force.

The Esprit shuddered and, for a brief moment, the bridge was lit by blinding white illumination from the wall of viewscreens. And then the light faded and died.

Gaunis looked around in relief as normal bridge lighting returned. The screens were blank, but the computers were undoubtedly working to reroute their systems. The crew went into instant action, damage control parties moving quickly to begin repairs.

The High Admiral drew a quick, relieved breath, and then checked the readouts beside him. The attack had destroyed the Esprit's forward firing systems and wreaked havoc with the remainder of the dreadnought's shields. He checked the sensor readings, pleased to see that many of them continued to function, and then he almost smiled. The energy readings from Stingray Two were gone, completely dead. The vessel had made her last attack, throwing everything she had into it, but it had not been enough. The Esprit had survived.

A gasp came up from the bridge, and Gaunis raised his gaze from the sensor board in time to see the screens come back on, revealing the impossible.

Another Stingray was sweeping in beside the still form of Stingray Two.

* * *

The first thing Jonathan noticed as Stingray One dropped into normal space and the main screen came to life, was that someone had hit the Esprit, and hit her hard. Despite the weakness of the image, he could easily make out the massive pit of twisted metal that had once formed the infrastructure of the dreadnought's bow. Parts of the wreckage were still glowing. No reflected EMP had done that. So what had?

Sensors detected no other functioning ships in One's limited range. To starboard, Stingray Two hung lifeless, large slabs missing from her hull and immense cavities blown in her sides. A single dreadnought drifted nearby, silent, dead. The jury-rigged communication system Lieutenant Dakk had set up using one of the shuttle's systems told of only a few remaining pockets of fighting.

"The Esprit is retreating, Captain," the sensor station reported. "She's beginning to turn away."

Jonathan watched as the huge vessel turned her back—and her still functioning weapons—toward Stingray One. But he did not think Gaunis was planning to fire on him. The High Admiral was turning his ship because not even the Esprit could make a corridor-run in reverse.

Jonathan's expression darkened as the Esprit began to accelerate away.

Not this time, you bastard.

"Aerhom, bring us in behind the Esprit, full acceleration. Rojsa, use whatever forward guns you have available. Hit that ship with everything you've got."

Stingray One banked after the fleeing vessel.

The Esprit began returning One's fire the instant the black ship was within range, but with only the limited head-on profile of the Stingray at which to aim, the dreadnought could not hope to do much damage.

The Stingray drew nearer to her target. Her forward guns seared into what remained of the dreadnought's shields, and then broke through them. Unaimed, the beams sliced into the Esprit wherever they struck, cutting through her rear hull, tearing into her drive system, sending flaming pieces of hull and infrastructure whirling off into space.

Something in the rear of the vessel exploded with enough intensity to overcome the brilliant light of the other detonations, but still the dreadnought continued forward.

"Captain, the Esprit's drive!" The sensor officer's shout broke Jonathan's mesmerized gaze. "I'm getting the same kind of readings we got from Admiral Len's yacht. We must have hit something vital."

"Cease fire!" Jonathan ordered instantly. "Aerhom, ease back a bit. They have to realize what's happening. Let's give them room to abort their run."

But the Esprit did not abort.

"What is Gaunis doing?" Jonathan asked. "He has to know what will happen if he activates his drive."

But would that knowledge be enough to stop him? Or had defeat pushed Gaunis so far over the edge that he was willing to fly his ship—and his entire crew—into certain death?

* * *

"No!" High Admiral Gaunis leaned far over the observation deck railing and glared down at the Esprit's bridge. "Continue the run! We must escape."

From the floor of the bridge, Battle Commander Pascal Soto watched him, a vague expression of pity on his face.

"Death, High Admiral, is no escape." He turned to the Esprit's commander. "Captain, abort the run."

"Soto!" Gaunis's accusing cry echoed through the bridge of the shuddering, wounded dreadnought.

Commander Soto looked up to see Gaunis pawing at a hip where he had ceased carrying a weapon decades ago.

"Captain, belay that order!" Gaunis snapped. "Resume the run immediately." He raised his weaponless hand to point a trembling finger at Soto. "Arrest that man. And keep firing!"

Soto turned his back on the High Admiral and found the dreadnought's captain looking to him for orders. "Full stop, Captain. Bring down the weapons."

Another cry sounded from the deck above the bridge, a long, low, keening howl that raised the hair on the back of Soto's neck.

"Contact the black ship, Captain," Soto ordered. "Tell them we yield."

Almost against his will, Soto turned to look at the observation deck again, but the High Admiral was gone.

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