Timothy Zahn - Angelmass

"They haven't," Pirbazari confirmed darkly. "Their commander seems to have done a very good job of anticipating our defense tactics."

Forsythe curled his hands into fists. Number Four's lasers caught the next Pax missile in line, sparking another of the brilliant triangular blasts. Again, the incoming antimissiles died in the explosion. "They're not going to make it, Zar," he said quietly. "They're not going to have time to destroy all those missiles before the last ones get there."

Pirbazari sighed softly. "I know."

"The ship's got shielding," someone across the room said, his voice sounding desperate. "Maybe it'll be enough."

"No." Pirbazari pointed at the screen. "See the ID they've attached to the last missile in line? It's a Pax Hellfire missile. Subnuclear warhead, extreme armor penetration, heavy electromagnetic scrambling. If it hits, the catapult will be gone. Along with the rest of the ship."

"Then why doesn't it get out of there?" someone else croaked. "Why the hell doesn't it get out of there?"

"Shut up," Forsythe ordered. "Can't you see it's trying?"

Number Four's drive had come to full power, driving it onto a vector perpendicular to the path of the incoming Pax missiles. Forsythe found himself holding his breath again as the catapult ship picked up speed. If the ship's electronic search-dampers worked—if the Pax missiles missed the fact that their target had moved out of their path—

"No," Pirbazari said suddenly. "No!"

"What?" Forsythe asked, his eyes searching the screen for a new threat. But there was nothing he could see. "What?"

"It's out of position," Pirbazari said, pointing. Somewhere along the way, he'd put his phone away.

Now, abruptly, he was hauling it out again. "Don't you see? By moving away, it's now dragged the catapult focal ellipse completely out of the net area."

A cold hand closed around Forsythe's heart. "Which means if something comes in—"

"They can't throw it out again," Pirbazari said viciously as he jammed the phone to his ear. "Come on—answer. Answer."

But once again, it was too late. Even as the next enemy missile in line was destroyed, a Pax warship appeared in the center of the net region.

But not just any warship. This thing was huge; bigger than any spacecraft the Empyrean had ever dreamed of creating. Bigger even than the original colony ships that had brought their ancestors to these worlds. A long, dark, monstrosity of a ship, bristling with weapons, everything about it resonating with arrogance and power and death.

The Komitadji had arrived.

Someone gasped a strangled curse, his voice stunned and awed and terrified. The big warship was already on the move, putting more distance between itself and the catapult focus as it lumbered toward the Harmonic and the EmDef destroyers surrounding it.

And, of course, toward the Number Two catapult ship.

The destroyers saw the danger, of course. But even as they scrambled away from the liner to turn to this new threat Forsythe saw that, for one last time, EmDef had been outthought and outmaneuvered.

For the next few minutes, until the destroyers could get back in position, there would be nothing but Number Two's own defenses and shielding between it and the Komitadji.

The Komitadji didn't need even that long. Ten seconds later, a dozen high-power lasers flashed simultaneously from the warship's bow, all of them focused with surgical precision on the catapult end of the ship. With a roiling mass of vaporized metal and a flare of blue-white fire, the catapult equipment was gone.

And with it, the catapult.

"That's it, then," Pirbazari murmured. "The Komitadji's here to stay."

"We have to stop it," Forsythe said, his heart thudding in his ears. "We have to attack. Slow it down, get more catapult ships into position—"

He broke off, staring at the screen in disbelief. Instead of attacking, the EmDef ships were turning away from the Komitadji. Not just the catapult ships, but the destroyers, too. All of them were turning away.

Turning away and running.

"What's going on?" Forsythe demanded. "Where are they going?"

"They're retreating," Pirbazari said. "The order just came in to—"

"Order?" Forsythe echoed. "What order? Give me that phone."

"Sir—"

Forsythe snatched the phone out of his hand. "This is High Senator Forsythe," he bit out. "What's going on?"

"The EmDef forces are withdrawing, High Senator," a young-sounding female voice answered.

"I can see that," Forsythe snapped. "Turn them around. All of them."

"Sir?"

"You heard me," Forsythe said. "Turn them around and attack."

No one replied. "Soldier?" Forsythe said. "Did you hear me? Soldier?"

"High Senator, this is General Roshmanov," a new voice came on. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, there's a problem," Forsythe ground out. "Why are your forces withdrawing in the face of the enemy?"

"Sir, there's no way those destroyers can stand up against something that size," Roshmanov said. "It would be nothing less than suicide."

"It would be war," Forsythe insisted. "Isn't that the reason EmDef exists? To risk and possibly give their lives in the defense of the Empyrean?"

"To give their lives in battle, yes, High Senator," Roshmanov said. "But not to throw them away for nothing."

"And how do you know it would be for nothing?" Forsythe countered. Vaguely, he was aware that his voice was rising, but at the moment he didn't give a single damn. "How do you know until you try?"

"Sir, if you would just take a look at the size of that—"

"So it's big," Forsythe snarled. "So what? Do you always give up and surrender without a fight just because you're not sure you can win?"

Pirbazari was tugging at his sleeve. Angrily, Forsythe shook off his hand. "You listen to me, General," he said. "You're going to attack, and you're going to attack now. Get those ships back together and hit it."

"I'm sorry, High Senator," Roshmanov said, his voice icy cold. "This is an EmDef matter, and an EmDef decision. And I will not order men and women to their deaths for no reason."

"General—"

"Sir!" Pirbazari said insistently, tugging even harder at his sleeve. Forsythe threw a glare at him—

And what he saw made him pause for a second look. Pirbazari was staring at him, his eyes narrowed, his mouth slightly open, his throat muscles taut. Staring at him as if at a stranger. "Sir," he whispered hoarsely, his head jerking slightly to the side.

With an effort, Forsythe tore his eyes away and looked around him.

They were all staring at him. All of them. All of these high government officials gazing at him in astonishment or furtive disbelief or even out-and-out fear.

And not all of them, he realized suddenly, were looking at his face. Some of them were gazing in confusion at his neck, where his angel pendant glittered against his shirt.

Rather, his fake angel pendant.

Slowly, with a supreme effort, he lowered the phone away from his ear. Pirbazari was ready, taking it from him and tucking it quickly away. "It's all right, sir," he said. "This is just a retreat. It doesn't mean the war is lost."

Forsythe took a deep breath, let it out in a ragged sigh. "I know," he said, his voice sounding strained but mostly under control again. "How long till they're here?"

"From that distance?" Pirbazari's eyes darted to the screen, came back again. "Less than a day if they push it. No more than three even if they're not in any particular hurry."

"They'll be in a hurry," Forsythe told him grimly. "Trust me."

"We should know for sure in an hour or so, once we see what kind of vector profile they set for themselves." Pirbazari hesitated. "Which leads to the question of how we announce this to the public."

Forsythe looked back at the screen. "We don't," he said.