And a million kilometers from Neptune, a red light flashed.
“We have them, Colonel,” Theory said. “Gravitational and virtual-particle confirmation and correlation. It worked.”
From the sound of Theory’s voice, Sherman thought the major didn’t even believe it himself. Sherman was in the virtuality instantly, floating in the Boomerang’s virtual bridge, which was the counterpart of the regular bridge, except that this one gave Sherman readouts graphically, represented in the air about him, a clear view of the space around the Boomerang, and instant control of all ship’s weaponry. What it felt like was growing into a giant and hanging like a wraith over his spaceship, ready to grab his victim.
The Montserrat was several thousand kilometers away. And then the ship began to acquire form and substance as Sherman and his ship drew nearer.
“Anti-grist deployed?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Give me my captains.”
“Quench here, sir.”
“Machination, Colonel.”
“Sleighthand, Colonel.”
One by one the companies reported in, and Sherman then went to officers’ broadband. “We’ve located our adversary,” he told them. “Maximum readiness, ladies and gentlemen. We’re closing on them. Everyone in catapults. Weapons fired up. All pisses taken.”
“Yes, sir!”
He returned to the bridge.
“I don’t think they see us, Theory.”
“Not yet, Colonel.”
“Stay in that jamming range as long as possible. I think it is our best friend right at the moment.”
“Yes, sir.”
They closed further.
“Colonel, the jamming field is tapering. Part of the ship will be exposed in five minutes, if the current rate continues.”
“Have we got the range for a torpedo?”
“Checking. No, sir, not yet. A few ten-klicks short.”
“I want to come out of this field with all guns blazing, Major. Doesn’t matter if we haven’t quite reached optimal range.” Sherman rubbed his stubbled face. “In fact, I want to emerge from a nuclear explosion.”
“I’ll arrange it with Captain Trigger, sir.”
Sherman waited. A dead calm descended on him. He’d never felt so still in his life. Focused. Ready to kill.
“Almost there, Colonel.”
“All weapons to forward.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dead. Calm.
“We’re in unjammed space, sir.”
“Fire.”
The Boomerang erupted like a supernova.
They sped toward the foe.
“Report!”
“Three torpedoes away. All cannon forward. Nuke to the aft, as ordered . . . sir, we have a hit. Torpedo three . . . no, sir. It’s gone through grist five klicks from the ship and ignited.”
Then Sherman saw it—the familiar blossom of antimatter combining with matter and both furiously annihilating one another. The pressure wave hit the Montserrat.
Most of the killing radiation was shunted by that ship’s isotropic coating, but something got through. The Montserrat was rocked, and suddenly torqued at least forty-five degrees.
“Hello,” said Sherman. “We’re here.”
“Sir, we’re cutting through several layers of grist outriders with the cannon.”
“More torpedoes,” said Sherman. “When?”
“Ten seconds, sir.”
“Right. Are my rocks ready?”
“Standing by in the materials catapults, Colonel.”
Sherman had selected some prime specimens from Neptune’s ring to arm his rock thrower with. Each rock was coated with the nastiest grist he had available, as well. Even if they got blasted apart they might still do some damage as pebbles.
So, their vinculum transmissions have just doubled.
So, they know we’re here and are calling in to report.
A thought struck Sherman. “Theory, do we have full merci use at the moment?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Broadcast this fight—broadband across the merci. Shoot me off a camera or make use of some grist.”
“Yes, sir. Transmission is activated, Colonel. Unless they find a way to block it, everyone in the Met can tune in . . . torpedoes armed, sir.”
“Off with them!”
“Yes, sir.”
More streaks through the darkness, homing in. But not to go home.
“Colonel, we are closing on fire-down range.” If the Boomerang did not turn around and apply the engines in the opposite direction at that point, she would overshoot the Montserrat. Can’t have that happening, Sherman thought.
“Time it, Theory,” he said. “I want to give them a faceful of our engines.”
“Yes, sir.”
Another antimatter bloom, this one very close.
“Was that us?”
“Checking. Yes, sir.”
“Throw those rocks.”
“Catapults activated. Rocks away, sir!”
A barrage of stones left the Boomerang, each flying at the ship’s velocity plus some.
“Fire-down range in two seconds, Colonel.”
“Bring us about.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Boomerang turned into a controlled slide, with the fires of its antimatter-reaction engines inevitably boring in on the Montserrat.