where we have no weapon to bear, and where our attitude control systems are too perfectly crippled to maneuver. That's not luck. I'd say this was a prearranged trap.'

    She did not belabor the point that Kildare was well within range to be detected by the approaching fleet. Despite the fact that she was a conversion from the private sector, Kildare's weaponry specs readily identified her as a Fleet vessel. In seconds rather than minutes the Kildare and her crew of seven would be nothing better than a target.

    The particulars of that dilemma had scarcely registered when a voice horned in through the security net that should have kept Kildare's com bands shielded from outside interference.

    'Commander, I'd say your survival options are limited to one,' came an intrusive drawl that made the skin on Jensen's arms roughen to gooseflesh. He knew the inflection, would recognize that grainy timbre anywhere for the voice of MacKenzie James. 'Unless you'd rather get slagged by a plasma charge,' the skiprunner captain continued, 'I'd advise that you surrender your vessel unconditionally to me.'

    Jensen's jaw muscles knotted. The moment held clarity like a snapshot, preserved in time by preternatural awareness of the bridge compartment, with its gray drab walls flecked with lights thrown off by the controls, and set in that dance of shadow and reflection, the faces of his officers, all staring. The pilot wore a stupid expression of surprise; the set of Beckett's outsized jaw showed cynicism; but of them all the greenie ensign was worst, with his wide-eyed, choked-back fear that implied utmost faith in his commander's ability to produce a miracle.

    Feeling the stabbing ache of his ribs and a gut-deep hatred that made him shake, Jensen licked white lips. When he did not

immediately speak, the voice of MacKenzie James elaborated. 'Boy, you'd better decide fast.'

    'Damn you,' Jensen cracked back, though with no channel open Mac James could not hear.

    Beckett said nothing. The ensign looked near to panic, as his awe of his superior officer became shattered before his eyes. Only Kildare's pilot managed the wits to speak. 'The skip-runner could be bluffing. He's got no protection, either, and the whole Syndicate fleet is bearing down.'

Which was not only naive, but stupid, Jensen raged inwardly.