"A lot of shooting," Sal said. "Less damage, and none of it serious. One of the Fed ships blew up all by itself, but you've won our only victory so far, Stephen."
He looked at her, really at her. Sal was lifting away the hinged groin and thigh pieces. Stephen put the tips of his fingers on the backs of her hands to hold her attention.
"Sal," he said, "the Feds surrendered because they thought I'd tear the whole ship open and leave even the crew to suffocate when their oxygen bottles ran out."
Sal nodded. "I'm glad they surrendered," she said carefully. "That saved many lives."
Perhaps yours among them, my friend. My love.
"They were right, Sal," Stephen said. "I told them that I'd as soon kill them as not, and that was as true as if I'd sworn by a God I believed in. I was ready to kill the whole thousand or more of them."
"You didn't, though," she said.
"No, they surrendered," Stephen said-not agreeing.
"Stephen, if it bothers you so much when you think of what might have happened. ." she said. She paused, wondering if she was willing to go on. "Then the next time, don't do it. But it didn't happen."
"I'd have killed them all," he whispered.
Sal turned her hands to grip Stephen's as hard as she could. Part of her prayed that she wouldn't start to cry; but the tears would have been for both of them, herself and the man she held who couldn't weep for the soul he thought he'd lost.
ABOARD THE WRATH
October 1, Year 27
1847 hours, Venus time
Piet saw Stephen's approaching figure reflected in the brightwork of his console. He spun the couch with a smile of greeting that hardened minutely as he rose to his feet. "I didn't know you'd been wounded, Stephen," he said.
"It's a bruise, Piet," Stephen said. Maybe he ought to wear something high-necked-though he really didn't want even cloth in contact with the swollen, purple-black flesh over his breastbone. "You should see the other guy."
Piet had seen the other guy, many times over a decade. The mangled bodies floating through the compartments of a captured starship were all the same, except perhaps to God.
"Glad you're safe, Colonel Gregg," Simms said quietly. The navigator turned back to his console immediately, as though he were afraid of the reaction.
It always puzzled Stephen that people really did seem to like him. Even people who knew what he was.
"Come view what's happened while you were gone," Piet said. He drew his friend down beside him on the couch turned crossways in respect to the three-dimensional display. "I'd like to get your opinion, and it'll be another hour yet before the Feds complete their calculations."
He touched a control. The blotchy appearance of the enemy after a transit series replaced a real-time image of the Federation globe reformed. The Venerian ships converged on their enemy in a speeded-up review of the battle. Vector lines careted six Venerian vessels moving in line ahead toward a gap in the Fed formation. A sidebar along the top of the display strung database close-ups of Captain Casson's Freedom and five similar vessels: spherical armed merchantmen, among the largest ships in the Venerian fleet.
The globe began to collapse on Casson's squadron like an amoeba ingesting prey. Four vessels from the Federation rear guard closed, maneuvering with surprising agility. Stephen frowned. Piet nodded, pleased that his friend had noticed. He touched another control. At the bottom of the display appeared an oddly angular vessel, a dodecahedron rather than a sphere.
"The Feds have brought four orbital monitors with them," Piet said. "The living conditions aboard on a voyage of this length must be indescribable, but-"
The monitors were designed for weightless conditions rather than to operate at most times with the apparent gravity of 1-g acceleration. Their decks were onionskins around a central core instead of perpendicular to the main thrust axis like those of spherical-plan long-voyage vessels.
For all their light frames and the discomfort of their crews, the monitors were dangerous opponents for Casson's self-surrounded squadron. The Fed vessels had many times the usual number of attitude jets to provide the agility Stephen watched on the display, and eleven of twelve facets mounted a powerful gun.
The remainder of the Venerian fleet swept down with unexpected coordination on the "east" quadrant of the Federation globe. Feds closing on Casson turned to meet the new threat. Cracks opened in what had almost become a crushing vise. Casson's squadron eased out of the trap.
Stephen looked at Piet with a faint smile. "Your idea?" he said. "Organizing the rescue instead of letting it turn into a mare's nest as usual?"
Piet shrugged, almost hiding his own smile. "I signaled-Guillermo signaled, of course-all vessels to conform to the Wrath's movements. There wasn't time to do more. . and somewhat to my surprise, most of the others did as I asked."
He looked at Stephen and shrugged. "We aren't as tightly disciplined as the Feds, Stephen."
Stephen shrugged back. "Tyranny has certain advantages in the strictly military sphere," he said.
Piet's smile became broad and as hard as a gun muzzle. "Tell that to the captain of the Savior Enthroned," he said. "You might get an argument."
He returned the display to real-time images and pointed. Barges carried supplies and munitions from the Fed transports to the war vessels on the outer face of the globe.
"We can listen to their intership communications and know they're frightened," Piet said quietly. Guillermo and Simms were absorbed in their work; no one else was close enough to overhear. "Short transit series are a terrible strain. Metal doesn't craze the way our ceramic hulls do, but their seams are working badly and many of their ships have gunfire damage."
He looked at the friend beside him and went on, "Only sometimes I think-if we run out of ammunition before we break the Fed formation, what happens then?"
"Then you put us alongside them, one ship at a time," Stephen said. "And we board them. If that's what it takes."
"The commander acknowledges your communication, Deputy Commander," Guillermo said. The Molt raised his voice but didn't turn his triangular head lest he seem to be intruding his personality into a private conversation. "He is relaying it to the remainder of the fleet for action."
Stephen raised an eyebrow. Piet smiled with slight warmth. "We're three transits from a junction that will carry us to within half an AU of Venus, sixty-five million kilometers," he explained. "The Feds will certainly attempt that route. If we calculate our speed and position correctly, though, we can prevent them from taking the third jump unless they're willing to turn their thrusters directly toward our guns at a few hundred meters range. I suggested such a plan to Commander Bruckshaw."
"If they don't make that junction, then what?" Stephen asked.
Piet laughed. "More of the same, my friend," he said. "At least until we run out of ammunition. Then we'll see."
He preserved a light tone up to the final sentence. On the display beside him, the Fed formation looked as perfect as a poised axe.
ABOARD THE GALLANT SALLIE
October 2, Year 27
0813 hours, Venus time
Sal finished her calculations, finished checking the AI's calculations, really. The display reverted from alphanumeric to its previous setting: a view of the Federation globe and, fifty kilometers to one side, the straggling Venerian formation.
Sal lay back on the couch with a sigh. A circle of white light marked the Wrath, otherwise an indistinguishable dot at this scale.