Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [86]
Even knowing that, Brand could not, would not, change his ways. Honoring his feelings had saved his life more than once—and he had donned his dress uniform for the funerals of a roomful of by-the-book officers, too many of them friends.
As the patrol group left the fifth planet behind, Brand left the bridge for a quick, unannounced tour of Indomitable’s ready stations.
By that time, the crew had been standing at conflict-yellow alert for fourteen hours straight, and the fine edge of their vigilance had been blunted by fatigue and boredom. As more and more crew members came to the conclusion on their own that ILC-905 was clean, personal chatter, laughter, and even friendly roughhousing crept in to change the atmosphere in the gun batteries and on the flight decks. Conflict-yellow was in danger of being treated just like any other watch—peaceful, routine, business as usual for a warship under way.
Brand’s visit put an end to that. Sweeping through station after station like a cold shower, he infected them with his own restless apprehension.
“Asteroid belt coming up next,” he said, peering through a gunsight. “You going to be ready, aren’t you, son? Have to be more ready than they are.”
Extracting a promise, Brand moved on.
“Asteroid belt coming up,” he said, poking his head into a fighter cockpit. “You have everything you need to do your job, Lieutenant? You know one pilot can be the difference.”
Collecting a vow, Brand continued down the line.
In less than an hour, he was back on the bridge. He left behind him as a residue of the lightning tour the conviction that the commander knew something—that something was going to happen.
Brand did not know what was going to happen. But he was not surprised when something did.
Like many single-star systems, ILC-905 had an asteroid ring between the outermost rocky planet and the innermost gas giant—the remnant of a planet that never was, torn asunder by the giant’s massive gravitational field.
Like most asteroid rings, this one’s density was low. It was only a minor obstacle to navigation, and a poor place to hide anything larger than a probot. Despite what he said on his tour, Brand did not expect to find an Imperial shipyard cached there.
Nor did he expect a Yevethan thrustship to drop out of hyperspace almost dead ahead of them, six million kilometers on the far side of the asteroid ring.
Like a giant strobe, the instantaneous flash known as Cronau radiation put the arriving ship not only on the screens in Folna’s elint center, but on the other ships’ screens as well. Alarms began to keen on every deck as Brand upgraded the alert to conflict-orange.
“What was the phase shift?” he demanded, bounding out of his chair.
“Phase shift is negative,” said the tracking officer. “She’s heading away from us.”
“Going where?”
The navigator turned his head to answer. “If I had to guess—third planet, just like us.”
“What are the chances they’ve spotted us?”
The tactical officer leaned over the plot table and studied the geometries. “Very small, in my opinion. We couldn’t have spotted them at this distance if they’d just been cruising along in realspace like we are. Having them fall out of hyperspace like that was an incredible break.”
“Maybe not,” said Brand. He turned toward the viewpane and looked out at ILC-905, crossing his arms over his chest. “If they did move one of the shipyards here, they’ll have created some long supply lines for themselves. This could be a pretty popular spacelane.”
“That could be, sir,” the tactical officer agreed. “If they’re trying to use the yard, and not just hide it.”
Brand nodded. “Comm—”
“Yes, sir?”
“Signal the