Strength and Honor Read Free Page A

turn, forced his chin into his own shoulder, immobile.
    Augustus’ breath puffed against his ear in a whispered growl. “I have the same orders.”

2
    M INUTES GREW LONG for those who waited on the command deck. The deep scowl on the XO’s bold features made her look frightening.
    Commander Dent was already an imposing figure, very tall, heavy-boned, hard-muscled, her head shaved. She had a smooth alto voice that she never needed to raise. Gypsy Dent commanded respect on sight.
    Lieutenant Hamilton’s size did not command respect, but she did. Once you’d been dressed down by the Hamster, you never tested her authority again.
    At five foot one with a dainty frame, Glenn Hamilton held her own among the tall, muscular people who surrounded her.
    That the captain had an eye for pretty Glenn Hamilton was a badly kept secret. Farragut was the only one who didn’t think his affection was obvious.
    The commander and the lieutenant maintained straight-ahead stoic gazes, scarcely moving. Captain Farragut should have reported in by now. Augustus should be dead.
    The command deck was quiet. Time suspended.
    Com silence broke. Several sharp intakes of breath met the hail to the command deck. But the incoming signal was not an internal transmission. The hail was resonant, and it originated from Earth. Congress had recognized the U.S. declaration of war.
    Qord Johnson, the cryptotech, asked Commander Dent, “Commence Divorce Protocol, sir?”
    “Not until we hear from the captain,” said Gypsy. Her scowl took on gargoyle depths.
    Glenn Hamilton blurted, “Something’s wrong.”
    The words were scarcely out when an alarm sounded.
    From somewhere in the ship, dogs barked.
    Merrimack’s dogs seldom barked except in case of fire.
    “Fire,” the systems tech of the mid watch reported. Systems on the mid watch was a young man named Klaus Nordsen. “Fire in the port flight hangar,” Nordsen said, then, immediately, “Hull access hatch opening. Flight deck.”
    The hull access .would be someone trapped by the fire in the flight hangar making his escape out to the flight deck. “Fire crew to port flight hangar,” Commander Gypsy Dent ordered.
    “Hull access hatch closing,” Nordsen reported.
    The atmosphere out there between the hull and the ship’s surrounding force field was thin and cold. A man did not last long out there without an atmospheric suit. And soon enough, young Nordsen announced, “Hull access hatch opening. Cargo bay.”
    It seemed obvious that whoever had just fled the fire in the flight hangar was reentering the ship through the cargo bay’s man hatch.
    But Nordsen then reported, “Cargo doors opening.” Gypsy moved to Systems’ console to see the readouts for herself.
    Nordsen was right. The hatch in question was not the man hatch, which had shut again. What was opening now were the big doors which admitted the passage of cargo. Even over here in the ship’s fuselage on an upper deck, the command crew could feel the pressure change with the big doors’ opening. Atmosphere bled out to the space between hull and force field.
    Nordsen shook his head at his console, still trying to make his readouts fit the actions of men fleeing a fire. “Why would they do that?”
    Gypsy spoke, coldly certain, “That’s Augustus.” The cargo bay was where the Roman Striker was stowed.
    The Striker was a Roman ship, small, long range. Fast, heavily armed. A Striker was custom built to house a patterner.
    A Roman patterner inside his Striker was a nearly unstoppable force.
    Augustus had destroyed his own Striker back on the planet Sagittarius Zero.
    It was the Striker of an earlier patterner that was clamped down in Merrimack’s cargo bay now.
    The fire in the flight hangar was undoubtedly a diversion for Augustus to get at the Striker in the cargo bay and launch himself to freedom.
    “Lockdown. Lockdown,” Gypsy commanded.
    The command deck jolted. Crew felt/heard muffled explosions, probably in the flight hangar.