"Yes," Dominick murmured. The dispatch boat was indeed eating up space, and at a rate that was impressive even for that class of high-speed ship. That implied it was something special.
He smiled, a sudden wolfish grin. "Well, well," he said. "The Manties are being cute, Lieutenant."
"Sir?" Koln asked.
Dominick gestured at his displays. "There's no reason for the average merchie to carry a boat like that." He cocked an eyebrow. "Which implies she's not an average merchie."
For a second Koln just looked puzzled. Then his face cleared. "The Jansci," he said, nodding.
"Exactly," Dominick agreed. "Somewhere along the line, she and the Dorado must have exchanged ID transponders."
And they might not even have tumbled to the deception if the crew hadn't panicked and jumped ship. Typical Manties.
His smile vanished. Unless the hurry they were in wasn't simply panic...
"Full scan of the Dorado," he snapped. "Look for odd energy or electronic emissions."
"Nothing showing, Sir," Koln said, sounding puzzled. "Except that the nodes are acting like they're on standby. That's impossible, of course—that last Crippler blast caught them dead center, and we saw the wedge collapse."
Dominick gnawed at his lower lip. Koln was right—he'd watched the wedge die himself.
So then what the hell was happening over there? Some new technological deviltry the Manties had come up with? A feedback loop in the nodes, maybe; something that would blow up the impellers and fusion plant after the crew had had time to get away?
He couldn't even begin to guess the details. But the details didn't matter anyway. He'd been right the first time: those Manties were the keepers of a ship full of secrets, and they were going to scuttle that ship.
Or at least, they were going to try.
"Man the boarding boats—double-time," Dominick ordered. "Helm, get us in as close as you can—I want the crews aboard as quickly as possible."
He glared at his displays. Because he would be damned if he would let the damn Royalists take his prize—his prize—away from him.
They were nearly finished when the bone-cracking sound of the collapsing wedge once again echoed through the Dorado. "There it goes," Pampas called from beneath the sensor monitor panel. "Hope the breakers can handle all this stress."
"We'll send a nasty letter to the manufacturer if they can't," Cardones said, looking over his own handiwork. Just wrap the receiver pack around the control cables, Sandler had said, and the remote control would be ready to rock. He just hoped he'd wrapped it properly. "How's it going in there?"
"Two minutes," Pampas said. "Maybe less."
The bridge door slid open, and Cardones turned as McLeod stepped in. "Forward sensor interlocks are disabled," he announced. "And I checked the lifeboat on my way back. Everything's ready."
"Good," Cardones said. "Georgio says two more minutes and we'll be off."
"I hope so," McLeod said sourly, stepping over to the helm and peering at the displays. "The Peep's still coming."
Cardones nodded, craning his neck to look at the impeller status display. "Looks like the breakers just closed again," he said. "Georgio?"
"Finished," Pampas said. "Let me make sure the wires are sealed and I'll be right with you."
"What's he doing down there?" McLeod asked, the worry in his voice tinged with suspicion.
Cardones took a deep breath. "He's just taken the compensators off line."
McLeod's mouth fell open a centimeter. "On a ship with a functional wedge? Are you insane? You fire up the impellers—"
His face suddenly changed. "That's why you had me wreck the interlocks," he breathed. "No compensators, no limit protection on the wedge—you fire it up now, and anyone aboard will be smeared across the bulkheads like jelly."
"Yes, I know," Cardones said evenly, looking back at the display. The Peep battlecruiser was on the move now, sweeping in with sudden new urgency toward the Dorado. Preparing, no doubt, to launch its boarding boats...
"Done," Pampas grunted.
"Good." Carefully, Cardones picked up the attaché case that contained Sandler's remote control system. "Let's go."
"They've dropped another boat," Koln announced. "Standard lifeboat this time."
"Never mind the lifeboat," Dominick growled. The boarding boats were in space now, driving hard toward the drifting Dorado, and there was no indication that whatever the Royalists had done to the nodes was gaining any ground. They should have plenty of time to get aboard and shut the system down before it blew.
But now, with the safety of his precious cargo assured, he was taking another look at the people who had tried to deprive him of it.
They were still fleeing, out there in their souped-up dispatch boat. Running as if their lives depended on it.
Which was, Dominick decided, as forlorn a hope as he'd ever heard of. Certainly Vanguard couldn't catch a boat that fast; but then, he hardly had to catch them to make his displeasure known. "Lock a graser on that dispatch boat," he ordered, shifting his eyes to the lifeboat. The merchantman's lower-ranking crewmen, most likely, left to fend for themselves when their superiors ran out in the faster boat.
Well, they would have the last laugh. They would get to see their former oppressors die.
"Graser ready, Commodore."
"Key it to me," Dominick ordered. This one he would do himself. A shame he couldn't use a missile, he thought regretfully. A missile would be even more satisfying, because that way the Manties would have a few seconds to see their doom bearing down on them. With a graser, unfortunately, they would be dead before they even knew about it.
But missiles cost money, and personal vengeance might as well be economical.
On his board, the fire-control command key winked on. Savoring the moment, he reached out a hand to push it.
Ten thousand kilometers away, seated behind Pampas and McLeod in the lifeboat, Cardones gave the remote-control displays one final check. The heading was keyed, the course maneuver settings locked in. All was ready.
Mentally crossing his fingers, he pressed the button.
"Commodore!"
Koln's startled cry cut across the bridge, jerking Dominick's finger away from the firing key before he could push it and jerking his eyes toward the displays.
The Dorado was moving.
Not just a reflexive twitch or jerk, either. The merchantman was swinging around, scattering away the boarding boats swarming toward it, bringing itself nose-on to the Vanguard.
And with its wedge blazing away at full power, it leaped forward.
But not at the pathetic acceleration of a normal merchantman. Not a lumbering, insignificant two hundred gees. Instead, the Dorado was burning through space at an utterly impossible two thousand gravities, fully four times Vanguard's own top rate.
The very shock of it froze Dominick in his chair for that first horrifying fraction of a second. It was insane—the crew would have had to cut the safety interlocks, disable the inertial compensator, and crank the nodes up to a level they couldn't possibly maintain for more than a minute or two before vaporizing under the stress.
Impeller nodes that shouldn't have been operating in the first place!
"Evasive!" he snapped. "Ninety-degree starboard yaw—full power. Port broadside: fire at will."