“How now, Vlad?” Jiltanith asked. “Hath not our Dahak but now said their computers are scarce like unto himself?”

“True enough, ’Tanni, but the differences are incremental.” Vlad frowned. “What he is actually saying is that they moved much further into energy-state engineering than before. I cannot say certainly without something to take apart and put back together, but those force field memories probably manifested as solid surfaces when powered up. The Imperium was moving in that direction even before the mutiny—our own shield is exactly the same thing on a gross scale. What they discovered was a way to do the same sorts of things on a scale which makes even molycircs big and clumsy, but it was theoretically possible from the beginning. You see? Incremental advances.”

Jiltanith nodded slowly, and Colin leaned his elbows on the table.

“Bearing that in mind, Dahak, what are the chances of recovering useful data from any other computers we encounter?”

“Assuming they are of the variety Fleet Captain (Engineering) Chernikov has been discussing and that they have been left unattended without power, nil. Please note, however, that Cordan’s command computer was not of that type.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, Captain, that it is highly probable Fleet units retained solid data storage for critical systems precisely because energy data storage was susceptible to loss in the event of power failure. If that is indeed the case, any large sublight unit should provide quite considerable amounts of data. Any supralight Fleet combatant would, in all probability, retain a hard-storage backup of its complete data core.”

“I see.” Colin leaned back and rubbed his eyes.

“All right. We’re five and a half months from Terra, and so far all we’ve found is one completely destroyed Fleet base and two totally dead planets. If Dahak’s wrong about the Fleet retaining hard-storage for its central computers, we can’t even hope to find out what happened, much less find help, from any system where this disaster spilled over.

“If we turn back right now, we’ll reach Sol over a year before the Achuultani scouts, which would at least permit us to help Earth stand them off. By the same token, it would be impossible for us to do that and then return to the Imperium—or, at least, to move any deeper into it—and still get back to Sol before the main incursion arrives. So the big question is do we go on in the hope of finding something, or do we turn back now?”

He studied their faces and found only mirrors of his own uncertainty.

“I don’t think we can give up just yet,” he said finally. “We know we can’t win without help, and we don’t know there isn’t still some help available. In all honesty, I’m not very optimistic, but I can’t see that we have any choice but to ride it out and pray.”

Jiltanith and MacMahan nodded slightly. The others were silent, then Chernikov raised his head.

“A point, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Assuming Dahak is right that Fleet units are a more likely source of information, perhaps we should concentrate on Fleet bases and ignore civilian systems for the moment.”

“My own thought exactly,” Colin agreed.

“Yet ’twould be but prudent to essay a few systems more ere we leave this space entire,” Jiltanith mused. “Methinks there doth lie another world scarce fifteen light-years hence. ’Twas not a Fleet base, yet was it not a richly peopled world, Dahak?”

“Correct, ma’am,” Dahak replied. “The Kano System lies fourteen-point-six-six-one light-years from Defram, very nearly on a direct heading to Birhat. The last census data in my records indicates a system population of some nine-point-eight-three billion.”

Colin thought. At maximum speed, the trip to Kano would require little more than a week…

“All right, ’Tanni,” he agreed. “But if we don’t find anything there, we’re in the same boat. Assuming we don’t get answers at Kano, I’m beginning to think we may have to move on to Fleet Central at Birhat itself.”

He understood the ripple of shock that ran through his officers. Birhat lay almost eight hundred light-years from Sol. If they ventured that far, even Dahak’s speed could not possibly return them to Earth before the Achuultani scouts had arrived.

Oh, yes, he understood. Quite possibly, Dahak alone could stop the Achuultani scouts, particularly if backed by whatever Earth had produced. But if Colin continued to Birhat, Dahak wouldn’t be available to try … and the decision was his to make. His alone.

“I recognize the risks,” he said softly, “but our options are closing in, and time’s too short to scurry around from star to star. Unless we find a definite answer at Kano, it may run out on us entirely. If we’re going to Birhat at all, we can’t afford to deviate or we’ll never get back before the main incursion arrives. If we make a straight run for it from Kano, we should have some months to look around Fleet Central and still beat the real incursion home. Even assuming a worst-case scenario, assuming the entire Imperium is like Defram, we may at least find out what happened and where—if anywhere—a functional portion of the Imperium remains. I’m not definitely committing us to Birhat; I’m only saying we may not have another choice.”

He fell silent, letting them examine his logic for flaws, almost praying they would find some, but instead they nodded one by one.

“All right. Dahak, have Sarah set course for Kano immediately. We’ll go take a look before we commit to anything else.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I think that’s everything,” Colin said heavily, and rose. “If any of you need me, I’ll be on the bridge.”

He walked out. This time Dahak did not call the others to attention, as if he sensed his captain’s mood … but they rose anyway.

“Detection at twelve light-minutes,” Dahak announced, and Colin’s eyes widened with sudden hope. The F5 star called Kano blazed in Dahak’s display, the planet Kano-III a penny-bright dot, and they’d been detected. Detected! There was a high-tech presence in the system!

But Dahak’s next words cut his elation short.

“Hostile launch,” the computer said calmly. “Multiple hostile launches. Sublight missiles closing at point-seven-eight light-speed.”

Missiles?

“Tactical, Red One!” Colin snapped, and Tamman’s acknowledgment flowed back through his neural feed. The tractor web snapped alive, sealing him in his couch, and Dahak’s mighty weapons came on line as raucous audio and implant alarms summoned his crew to battle.

“No offensive action!” Colin ordered harshly.

“Acknowledged.” Tamman’s toneless voice was that of a man intimately wedded to his computers. Dahak’s shield snapped up, anti-missile defenses came alive, and Colin fell silent as others fought his ship.

Sarah Meir was part of Tamman’s tactical net, and she took Dahak instantly to maximum sublight speed. Evasive action began, and the starfield swooped crazily about them. Crimson dots appeared in the holographic display, flashing towards Dahak like a shoal of sharks, tracking despite his attempts to evade.

His jammers filled space and fold-space alike with interference, and blue dots flashed out from the center of the display, each a five-hundred-ton decoy mimicking Dahak’s electronic and gravitonic signature. More than half the red dots wavered, swinging to track the decoys or simply lost in the jamming, but at least fifty continued straight for them.

They were moving at almost eighty percent of light-speed, but so great was the range they seemed to crawl. And why were they moving sublight at all? Why weren’t they hyper missiles? Why—

“Second salvo launch detected,” Dahak announced, and Colin cursed.

Active defenses engaged the attackers. Hyper missiles were useless, for they could not home on evading targets, so sublight counter-missiles raced to meet them, blossoming in megaton bursts as proximity fuses activated. Eye-searing flashes pocked the holographic display, and red dots began to die.