Straightening, Powell turned and stalked toward her office. She couldn't put the base on alert without old Kodo's direct approval, but, by all the Black Hells of Space, she could intercept, that DropShip with a routine patrol. Routine! Patrol One-Nine ought to be in a favorable position for a quick burn that would swing it close for a look-see. When the patrol was close enough to eyeball the intruder and bring it under its guns, and with other officers there as witnesses, thenshe would show the message to the Admiral.

Maybe then Baldy Kodo would recognize initiative when he saw it.

* * * *

Verthandi was swelling in the Phobos'safter screens. It appeared as a globe of gold and tan mingled with dark green and blue patches at the pole, and painted with the swirls of gilt-edged storm clouds and weather fronts dwarfed by distance. The world's moon, an airless, ancient, and crater-pocked rock a scant 110,000 kilometers from its primary, moved in stately procession along its orbital path. It circled Verthandi about once every four-and-a-half standard days. World and moon filled one of the narrow bridge viewscreens, as stars and glory crowded through the others that revealed the encircling Deep to the instrument-crammed bridge.

Grayson stood on the command podium, just behind the horseshoe of screens and terminals of the captain's seat. He leaned across Martinez's shoulder and pointed at the nav console screen where a pair of blips marked targets tracked by the DropShip around the curve of the planet on an intercept course.

"I see them, Major," she said. There was neither scorn nor fear in her words, but he sensed the underlying tautness. "Escorts, I'd say. They're not shaping for an attack pass."

The ship's senior commtech looked up from his own console nearby. "Incoming message, Captain," he said. "Standard Combine protocol...but their IFF code is a new one."

"We expected that," Martinez said. "It's been a few years since the Invidiousvisited Kurita space and took those recordings. Open a channel, and pipe it up here. We'll play dumb."

Grayson looked across the bridge crowded with ship personnel and instrumentation to catch the eye of their Verthandian employer. He could see the sweat glistening on Erudin's forehead, and he found himself holding his breath. The plan for their approach to Verthandi had been worked out long before the boost from Galatea.

"Inbound DropShip, this is a fleet blockade patrol in the service of the Duke Hassid Ricol and the Grand Fleet of the Draconis Combine." The radio voice was sharp through the hiss of static. "You have entered interdicted territory. Identify yourself."

Grayson picked up the microphone. The encounter had been discussed and rehearsed, but his throat was tight with tension. "This is DropShip Li Tao,inbound to Verthandi with a consignment of military supplies from the freighter Chi Lung."He paced his words carefully, overriding his nervousness. The eyes of everyone on the bridge were on him as he spoke to the unseen fighter pilot in the void beyond. A computer screen by Martinez's right elbow flickered, then rearranged patterns of green light and black into schematic outlines of the approaching fighters, flanked by the cold words of statistics and performance. They were Shilones,canted, twin-finned wing shapes massing 65 tons each, carrying missiles and a trio of lasers. No threat to a real UnionClass, they could savage the lighter armor of the Invidious'sconverted DropShips, and they promised the rapid approach of heavier warships against which the Phoboscould not last long.

There was an awkward hesitation, a pause of a second or so as radio waves crawled between points a sizable fraction of a light second apart. The delay felt endless.

"Li Tao,your IFF codes are obsolete. We will approach to make visual comfirmation."

"Can't help that," Grayson replied in what he hoped sounded like aconvincingly offhand manner. "We've been in the boonies for quite a while. But come on in and eyeball us, if you like. Hope you guys like what you see."

The approaching patrol ignored the attempt at banter. "Make no attempt to alter your present vector. We will give you precise instructions for additional delta-V and vectoring momentarily. You will proceed directly to the Combine base on Verthandi-Alpha. Under no circumstances are you to approach the planet or make any course or thrust corrections without our specific orders."

Martinez arched one eyebrow as Grayson returned the microphone to her console. "Touchy, aren't they?"

Time passed. The Shilonefighters narrowed the range, their thrusters burning furiously to match course and speed with the still-decelerating DropShip. Martinez watched the latest listing of computer predictions of vector and delta-V for the Combine fighters and shook her head. "If they keep burning fuel like that, they’re not going to make it home."

"There's their ride home," Grayson replied, pointing to another blip rounding the curve of Verthandi's horizon. Fresh information spilled across the computer screen. The new target was a LeopardClass DropShip massing 1700 tons. Though lighter and less heavily armed and armored than a Union ,it was still more than a match for the Phobos."If that thing catches us, we've had it."

Having been trained for ground combat in a BattleMech, Grayson shared most Mech Warriors' general dislike for all AeroSpace Fighters. The interservice rivalry between ground-hogs and air-heads was a long and venerable one, dating back to Terran times. In actual battle, that rivalry became an intense hatred for enemy fighter pilots who could cleave the air above a ‘Mech battlefield, leaving a wake of shattered, burning war machines.

Friendly DropShips were, of course, the only way ‘Mech armies had of moving from a JumpShip to a world and back again, and so members of a ‘Mech unit and the crew of their transport could become quite close, despite the good-natured rivalry. When it came to enemy DropShips, however, Mech Warriors both respected and feared them. On the ground, those heavily armed and armored giants could burn down approaching ‘Mechs with almost practiced ease.

Worse was the approach to the battlefields of a new world, when Mech Warriors had to sit and watch the developing battle in space around them, unable to affect the course of events, unable to direct their weapons against approaching enemies, unable to do anything but curse or pray. For Grayson, it was somewhat easier being on the bridge, watching the approach of the enemy. For the rest of the men and women aboard the Phobos,locked in cramped cubicles and surrounded by gray metal and the worried faces of their comrades, the wait must crawl on, unendurably.

And this is what you've trained for so long,he told himself. To lead men and women into battle. Victory or death...Glory and honor...All Grayson felt, however, was an agony of fear that he might have made his last and biggest mistake.

Bridge computers unfolded new equations. The Shiloneswere almost within visual range now. Though much more distant, the Leopardwas moving along a course that would block the Phobosif she attempted to bolt and run toward the planet.

Radio telemetry told of other developments. At least two more fighters were swinging in close orbit around Verthandi from the far side, and another DropShip was readying for boost at the base on Verthandi-Alpha. The Dracos might not be certain that Phoboswas other than what she claimed to be, but they certainly were taking no chances.

Moment by moment, the Phoboswas being boxed in by forces she could not outrun and could never hope to overcome.