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than its own length, but even before the ion drive cut in it was already moving too quickly for its own gravity compensators. Under the force of the turn Copeland was flattened in his chair, blood from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth running up his face, the turning screws of pressure in his eardrums drowning the roar of the drives which in turn drowned the blaring of the alarms, his eyes swivelling left-right-left as a swarm of assorted movable objects, under the force of the turn, slammed against opposite walls with the unison of a shoal of fish changing direction.
    The turn was completed, the ion drive cut in, and the Wulf left for Anubis 3. The alarms ceased. The floor of the Bridge was strewn with rubble. Someone had activated the rear screen, but Copeland didn’t look back when, exactly as he’d expected, Sixteen veered away from Khan’s seconds before impact and careered off into deep space. Seventeen did the same. And Eighteen.
    “And that,” Copeland told them, “is what will happen to the rest of the convoy. She never attacks undefended civilian targets, remember?”
    The Wulf ’s ion drive reached and held eighty percent. It was fast enough for the star field on the forward screen to start becoming a tunnel shot with rainbow colours; then the filters cut in and readjusted the spectral bands. She only gave us a fraction of Herself, he thought sourly, like a chess grandmaster playing hundreds of games . We only got a fraction of Her.
    “Someone get this mess cleared up. Then I’ll take damage reports. Do we have a visual on Her yet?”
    “No, Captain. She’s still shrouded. But Her speed’s dropping slightly.”
    “Hold our speed at eighty percent. We stay at battle stations.”
    “Signals, Captain. Anubis 3 has acknowledged. And we have a message from Doctor Khan. It says, ‘Thank you, I understand now’.”
    Copeland laughed softly. A pity there was no time.
    “Pilot, hold our speed at eighty percent. We’ll keep chasing Her.”
    “For how long, Captain?”
    “Until She catches us.”
     
    A minute passed. There was no time.
    “Well?” Copeland said.
    “Like you thought, Captain. She’s stopping.”
    “Is She still shrouded?”
    “Yes, Captain.”
    “Right, listen. She’s going to turn and face us. When She does, She’ll drop the shroud. If you get a visual of Her, send it to Anubis 3 and keep sending it for as long as you can; it might help them later. Tell Anubis 3 to keep defensive positions only. After engaging us there’s a chance She’ll simply pass out of the system; that’s what She’s done before, and in any case, after us they don’t really have anything.”
    No time. I should say more. I wish I’d met Khan.
    “Captain, She’s stopped.”
    “Cut speed to thirty percent. Hold battle stations. We have the rest of this time to ourselves.”
    He settled back in his chair, which creaked loudly, and waited for Her image to form on the forward screen. As it started to form, he thought Face of God
     

PART THREE
    T hahl spoke softly into his comm, and nodded. Foord raised an eyebrow and asked “News?”
    “I’m afraid so, Commander.”
    “Afraid?”
    “Ansah, Commander. Her trial is over. ”
    Foord said nothing, and was careful to give no outward indication of what he felt.
    “I’m sorry, Commander,” Thahl added. He didn’t entirely understand the dynamics of human relationships, but in his time aboard the Charles Manson he had acquired a feeling for things unsaid. He knew Ansah once meant something to Foord, but wasn’t sure what.
    The soft lighting seemed to darken, as if the Bridge had its own artificial summer evening. It turned almost to twilight. Movements flickered discreetly round its edges, and low nuanced voices murmured.
    “There’s something else, Commander,” Thahl added. “We’ve been ordered to Horus. To engage Faith when She comes there. Your sealed orders and mission briefing have been transmitted.”
    Foord rose, and turned to