He transferred a prize crew of three hundred and forty men from the Harpy to the transport and, unable to part with his treasure, moved over there himself along with them. Then, having hastily made repairs, both ships turned back. They moved slowly, traveling against the gravitational currents, and the transport had also nearly lost its maneuverability; several shipboard days had passed when they again sighted the moon Rafale.
Craig was troubled by such proximity to the borders of the Holy Dominion and was about to move further away from the planet's gravity well when a cry came from the Andromeda's sensor station, and soon they all saw what the operator had spotted.
No more than two light-minutes away, a huge white space cruiser was rounding the moon Rafale and heading straight for them at full main drive. Craig, not believing his eyes, boosted the sensor gain; there could be no doubt, though it seemed incredible: before him was the Alatris—the ship he had been chasing and, in his haste, had apparently overtaken.
In reality, the Alatris had been caught by the storm near Samana, and its navigator, Finn Larkin, had taken shelter there behind the planet's gravitational shadow, riding out the storm in a safe sector before resuming course.
Craig did not waste time wondering how the Alatris had so suddenly appeared before him; he simply took it as a sign confirming that fortune, so unkind to him before, had now decided to shower him with gifts. For if he could seize this mighty cruiser and transfer the Andromeda's treasures aboard it, he could, without fear, return immediately to Libertagne.
When attacking a vessel as well-armed as the Alatris, but with a small crew, the most sensible approach was to go straight to boarding, and Captain Craig thought this would pose no difficulty for the faster and more maneuverable Harpy, especially since he considered himself an experienced spacefarer and his opponent a blockhead, a contemptible mechanic.
Therefore, Craig signaled his intentions to Chad, and Chad—eager to settle scores with the man who had once dared to outwit them all, slipping through their fingers like a snake—made a sharp turn and ordered his men to prepare for battle.
Larkin summoned Captain North from his quarters; North ascended to the navigation bridge and began observing on the sensors the maneuvers indicating preparations for battle aboard his old acquaintance, the Harpy. Their meaning immediately became clear to him. Of course, he was a mechanic, but by no means the dull-witted ignoramus Craig had rashly labeled him.
His service in Admiral Tromp's squadron in those early turbulent days, when he had not been overly diligent with engines, had helped him grasp the tactics of space combat as thoroughly as Craig had never dreamed. And now he was calm. He would show these pirates that the lessons taught by the great fleet commander had not been in vain.
If the Harpy could only count on victory by boarding, then the Alatris had to rely solely on its guns. After all, with only two hundred and twenty men capable of fighting, North could not hope for a favorable outcome against an opponent he estimated outnumbered them five to one. Therefore, he ordered Larkin to position as close as possible to the gravitational vector, then to bring the ship broadside to the Harpy's hull. He sent Barrow—a former weapons systems operator from the Alliance space fleet—to the gun deck, placing under his command the entire crew except for sixty men tasked with managing power distribution and maneuvering thrusters.
Chad immediately guessed what North had in mind and swore under his breath—the gravitational currents favored North's maneuver. Furthermore, Chad's hands were tied—he wanted to capture the Alatris intact and undamaged, and therefore could not, before boarding, first blast it with his cannons. He also understood perfectly well what threatened the Harpy if those aboard the Alatris managed to properly use its long-range main caliber guns. And judging by everything, whoever now commanded that ship could not be denied skill or decisiveness.
Meanwhile, the distance between the ships was rapidly closing, and Chad realized he must act immediately, or the Alatris would come within accurate firing range on his starboard side. He could not steer any closer to the vector, so he turned southeast, intending to describe a wide arc and approach the Alatris from the direction of the gravitational current.
Craig observed this maneuver from the Andromeda's deck and, not understanding what was happening, cursed Chad for a fool. He began showering him with even more ferocious oaths when he saw the Alatris suddenly turn left, as if intending to pursue the Harpy. Chad, however, welcomed this maneuver and, engaging additional engines, allowed the enemy to approach. Then, leveling out with all main drives, the Harpy shot forward at near-light speed, intending to complete the planned arc.
North guessed his intention and, redistributing thrust in turn, took up a position such that the Harpy, turning north, would inevitably expose its hull at the range of his heavy guns. To avoid this, Chad was forced to go forward again.
Craig watched as both antagonists, as a result of these maneuvers, moved further and further away from him and, purple with rage, called upon heaven and hell in his fury. He refused to believe his eyes: Chad was fleeing from a dull-witted mechanic!
Chad, however, had no thought of fleeing. Displaying excellent restraint and composure, he bided his time, waiting for the right moment to board. And North, with no less restraint and stubbornness, ensured that he never got that chance.
Thus, the outcome would be decided by the first mistake made by either, and Chad made it. Concerned only with not exposing his hull to the Alatris, he forgot about the frigate's forward cannons and, maneuvering, let the enemy get too close. He realized his error the moment two plasma cannons suddenly spat clots of superheated plasma, shredding his aft sensors and antennas.
This enraged Chad, and in his anger he ordered a salvo from the aft cannons. But these guns were too small, and their plasma fell short. Then, completely incensed, Chad turned the Harpy to deliver a full broadside from the main guns at the enemy, hoping to cripple his engines; after that, dead in space, the Alatris would be at his mercy.
However, due to strong gravitational disturbances and the great distance, his plan failed, and the broadside thundered uselessly, leaving only a cloud of plasma between him and the Alatris. North immediately turned and discharged all sixty of his main guns into that cloud, hoping to strike the Harpy's unprotected hull hidden behind it. The frigate's shields rippled, absorbing part of the impact, and the generator field howled from overload.
This maneuver did not destroy the enemy, but it showed Chad whom he was dealing with and convinced him that such an opponent was not to be trifled with. Nevertheless, Chad decided to risk it once more and rapidly closed in, hoping the drifting plasma clouds would conceal him from the enemy and he could catch the Alatris by surprise. However, this maneuver took too much time. By the time the Harpy settled on its new course, the plasma had almost dissipated; North had divined Chad's plan, and the Alatris, holding course to the vector, was now racing along the gravitational waves at nearly twice the speed of the Harpy, which the gravitational currents did not favor.
Chad made another sharp turn and lunged forward, intending to intercept the enemy and approach from the vector. But North, now a light-minute away, had ample time to turn and, at the opportune moment, bring his main guns to bear. To avoid this, Chad turned again, exposing only his stern to North's cannons.
As a result of these maneuvers, both ships gradually moved so far away that the Andromeda, on whose bridge Craig raged, spewing curses, had become a tiny dot on the northern sensors, and still they had not engaged in a real fight.
Chad cursed the gravity that favored Captain North, and cursed Captain North for so well exploiting the advantages of his position. The dull-witted mechanic, it seemed, understood the situation perfectly and responded to each of his opponent's moves with almost supernatural insight. Occasionally they exchanged salvos from forward and aft cannons, aiming at each other's engines, but the distance was too great, and the shots fell short.
Corvin North, standing on the navigation bridge in the magnificent tactical suit and black steel helmet that had once belonged to the Alatris's captain, felt weariness and anxiety. Cedric Vane, standing beside him in similar attire, the giant Gregor Shaw—for whom no armor of suitable size could be found on the entire ship—and Finn Larkin at the main control console all noticed this anxiety in his voice when he addressed them with the following question:
"How long can such a game of cat and mouse continue? And however long it lasts, the end can only be one. Sooner or later, the gravitational currents will either subside or shift, or we will finally exhaust ourselves, and in either case, we will find ourselves at that scoundrel's mercy."
"But there are still surprises," said young Larkin.
"Yes, of course, and thank you for reminding me of that, Finn. So let us place our hopes on some surprise, though I cannot imagine where it might come from."
However, that surprise was already approaching, and very quickly, though only North recognized it when it arrived. Moving west along the gravitational line, they had nearly reached the borders of the Holy Dominion when, less than a light-minute away, a huge battleship armed with heavy cannons appeared, steering sharply to the gravitational vector, all one hundred and twenty of its guns deployed, and on its transponder burned the flag of the Holy Dominion. At the sight of this new enemy of a different kind, Shaw muttered a curse that sounded more like a sob.
"This is the end for us!" he exclaimed.