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price of defeating, and ultimately exterminating, them had been horrific. “No, they’re not the Bugs. We know the Baldies asked—crudely—for Bellerophon to surrender. And they’re not using us as a food source. They just want to push us aside.”
    “They don’t take surrenders in the field,” countered Mackintosh. “And they kill our wounded on sight.”
    “True. But, oddly, they seem to eliminate their own wounded as well, and they ignore disabled ships, or those which pose no threat. No, they are not the Bugs—but they’re sure not us, either.”
    Mackintosh had recovered most of her color. “So, if they don’t talk much, how do they communicate?”
    “That’s just what I was wondering, Sam.”
    “Light? Pheromone emissions?” offered Witeski.
    “Could be, but there’s nothing in any of their command-and-control technology that has any interface for those media. But what if—” And Krishmahnta stopped herself, wondering how to proceed without reinvoking the memory of the Bugs. “What if they do have some kind of mind-to-mind contact? That could travel at light speed, couldn’t it?”
    Mackintosh frowned. “For all we know, and given the myriad of ways in which quantum entanglement produces phenomena which seem to exceed the cee limit—”
    “Warp point is hot, Admiral,” announced Velasquez tightly.
    Postures straightened. Eyes became intent on screens, on the holoplot, or both.
    A red blip popped out of the purple hoop, edged forward a bit—and was then gone. Another two of the cyan-lattice minefield icons disappeared with it. There were plenty more, but—
    “ Balu Bay is relaying data. A mother lode of it, Admiral.”
    Krishmahnta leaned back. Fair exchange. Maybe better than that. “Commander La Mar, signal to Balu Bay . ‘Well done. Choose a new vantage point, this time at four light-seconds’ range, your discretion regarding position. Passive sensors only.’ ”
    Thirty seconds later, the green delta of the Balu Bay lost her silver mast and began to move.
    Ten seconds after that, three red motes—smaller—tore out of the purple hoop, headed toward the Balu Bay ’s old position—and promptly disappeared from the plot the moment they paused as if pondering the unexpected emptiness before them.
    “RFNS Anzio reports three Baldy SBMHAWKs destroyed, Admiral.”
    Of course. And they did just what I would have done—because if I hadn’t repositioned Balu Bay … “Where’s that data on their minesweeper, Mr. La Mar?”
    Velasquez, the head of Engineering, answered. “I’m integrating it, Admiral. First imaging coming through now.”
    A fragmentary 3-D graphic popped into existence above the holotank’s tactical display. The gridwork outline of the Baldy’s mystery ship rotated slowly: its main hull was shaped rather like a rugby ball. However, that surface was completely hex-celled, like a beehive. A drive cluster protruded from one end.
    Watanabe straightened up. “What the hell is that?”
    “A cluster of one-shot missile launchers, hooked up to a rudimentary reactionless drive,” declared Samantha Mackintosh as she studied her own console. “A surprisingly simple device, really—an outfacing layer of light, one-shot launch tubes, that apparently discharge short-range HBMs with gigaton-level warheads. The overlapping blasts make a clean sweep of anything close.”
    “But still no hint as to how they get that damn thing to reorient and trigger so quickly?”
    “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”
    “Not to worry—we’ll keep working at it. And when I say ‘we,’ I of course mean ‘you,’ Sam.”
    “Of course, sir.”
    Krishmahnta leaned back. “But in the meantime, what do we call that thing?”
    “It’s not an AMBAMM,” maintained Witeski.
    Erica made a mental note: watch Witeski for tunnel vision during a crisis.
    Looking over her shoulder, the unflappable Marian Nduku commented, “Looks like a flying beehive to me.”
    “A beehive on a stick,” amended