But perhaps that didn't matter. What mattered was that Bokamba was a friend.

And friendship was something he most certainly understood.

The Zhirrzh ship's lasers flashed, sending a withering blaze of fire squarely into the group of fighters chasing after the remaining three laser bombers. "Did they get them?" Daschka called over his shoulder.

"They got 'em, but good," Cho Ming said grimly. "Three fighters seriously damaged, one vaporized outright."

Daschka shook his head. "Someone wasn't paying enough attention, I guess. Damn."

"Can't we do something?" Aric asked anxiously, gazing out at the damaged fighters. One of them in particular: speeding along on its last vector, clearly out of control, it was skimming perilously close to Phormbi's atmosphere.

"Like what?" Daschka asked. "Go charging out there and pull them out?"

Aric hissed helplessly between his teeth. No, of course there wasn't anything they could do. Not without revealing their presence to the Conqueror warships and getting themselves blown to bits along with everyone else.

"Besides, we don't have to," Daschka continued, pointing out the canopy. "Looks like there's someone already rushing to their defense."

Aric looked. Angling away from the huge transport frame, almost invisible amid the flashes of laser fire and the brighter explosions of Peacekeeper missiles, was the flare of a single fighter heading toward the damaged ships. "I wonder what he thinks he's doing," he said.

"Maybe trying to distract the Zhirrzh ship," Daschka suggested doubtfully. "I presume he doesn't think he can pluck all three of those wrecks out from under their snouts."

"Well, whatever he's thinking, he's apparently thinking it on his own," Cho Ming put in. "Here, take a listen."

From the speaker on Daschka's console came a sudden cacophony of voices, snatches of conversation picked up as the Peacekeepers' comm lasers swept past the Happenstance's hiding place. From the midst of the clamor came a single voice as Cho Ming did a select-and-enhance: "—mmediately. Repeat: Maestro, return to—"

The voice cut off as the comm laser swept past. "Maestro," Daschka repeated, throwing Aric a frown. "Isn't that your friend Adam Quinn's tag name?"

"Yes," Aric murmured, staring out the canopy and abruptly feeling physically ill. Quinn was here; and if Quinn, then probably Clipper and the rest of the Omicron Four force, too. The men who'd risked their lives and careers to help him rescue his brother from the Conquerors.

And suddenly it was no longer a matter of sitting by and reluctantly watching aliens he respected being slaughtered by the enemy. Now he was watching the slaughter of friends.

"Take it easy, Cavanagh," Daschka said quietly. "Don't get sick on me now. Quinn's good—you know that. He'll make it through."

"I know," Aric said mechanically. Not believing it for a moment.

Another shock wave rippled through the command/monitor room as yet another Human-Conqueror missile slipped in past the Zhirrzh defenses to vent its explosive fury against the outer hull. Another shock wave to rattle the optronics, shatter fluid-main connectors, and throw the warriors and technics around like children's clothwork dolls.

And Supreme Commander Prm-jevev, gripping his couch supports to keep from being shaken off, was no longer smiling. Grimly or otherwise.

"Tell Ship Commander Dkll-kumvit I don't care what else gets through," he snapped to the Elder hovering nervously in front of him. "He and the Imperative are to concentrate on clearing the way for those heavy air-assault craft."

"I obey," the Elder said, and vanished.

Prm-jevev turned his attention back to the monitors, a bitter taste beneath his tongue. Three of the Human-Conqueror warships had already been disabled in the handful of hunbeats since their part of the battle had begun, one of them burned virtually beyond recognition. The small fighter warcraft were being systematically destroyed as they continued to dart in and out of the fight, distracting his warriors, or worse, occasionally managing to knock out one of the Zhirrzh fleet's lasers. His initial reluctance to attack the poorly armed Yycroman civilian spacecraft had long since vanished, and the fleet was busily burning them out of the sky as well. To all outward appearances the Zhirrzh were winning.

But they weren't. Behind their virtually invulnerable hulls the mighty warships were slowly being pounded and shaken and battered into useless hulks. Already the secondary effects of the missile attacks had knocked out more lasers than the fighter warcraft had, and with every lost laser the odds of a given missile getting through rose that much more. It was a race to see which side would disable the other first... and deep within him Prm-jevev suspected the Zhirrzh were going to lose it.

But he couldn't pull back. Not yet. Not while there was still a chance of driving away the defenders and knocking out this center of Human-Conqueror power. And, if extraordinary good luck was with them, perhaps even eliminating the threat of the Human-Conquerors' terrifying CIRCE weapon.

And certainly not while five hundred cyclics of former Supreme Warrior Commanders were watching over his shoulder from the eighteen worlds.

An Elder popped into view. "Message from the Imperative," he said. "Ship Commander Dkll-kumvit reports strong harassment from the Yycroman spacecraft, and that his systems are continuing to fail under Human-Conqueror bombardment. He states he cannot guarantee survival of the assault craft."

Prm-jevev cursed under his breath. Those Yycromae were incredible, the way they threw themselves to their deaths for such little gain. What in the eighteen worlds were they protecting down there, anyway? "Understood," he growled. "Message to the Exonerator: have them move immediately to the Imperatives support. Those heavy air-assault craft have got to get through."

"I obey," the Elder said, and vanished.

"Helm!" Prm-jevev called across the room. "Shift course: twenty angles right, twelve angles beneath. Communicator: order our three air-assault craft to prepare for launch on my command."

"I obey."

Prm-jevev swore again, thoughtfully, as he studied the displays. Somewhere out there, there had to be a hole in the Human-Conqueror and Yycroman defense forces. Not big, certainly, but maybe big enough to slip the assault craft through before they could respond....

And then, suddenly, he heard a muffled gasp from behind him.

He spun around on his couch to find himself looking at an Elder. An Elder who was himself staring to the side in rigid and obvious horror. Prm-jevev opened his mouth to demand an explanation—

"Supreme Commander Prm-jevev!" one of the warriors shouted.

Prm-jevev spun back again. It was one of the warriors at the display console, and he was jabbing his tongue at one of the displays that showed the curve of the planetary horizon ahead of them.

And in the center of that display...

The Supreme Commander cursed again. And this time he meant it.

Another laser pulse flashed past, the beam slashing down toward the Corvine. Quinn twitched away—too late—and there was another burst of vaporized metal from the aft starboard flank. He felt the sudden heat on his thigh; a moment later the smell of freshly cut grass joined in the potpourri of aromas swirling through his head. That one took out the stardrive, Bokamba confirmed. No way for me to fix it.

Which meant that in the increasingly likely event that they were the only two Peacekeepers to survive this battle, there would be no way for them to escape from the system. Understood, Quinn said, trying hard to hide his growing frustration from his tail man. The area around Dreamer and Con Lady was starting to ripple visibly, the sign that their Corvine was getting into dangerously thick air. Even if he and Bokamba could get there without being vaporized, it was going to be problematic whether they could get a tether hooked on to the crippled fighter in time to haul it to safety.