"No—I know you too well, Ash," she said. "Not the way you'd give it to him." She pushed herself up and stood in front of me. Her eyes kept getting wider and wider. "Ash! You're crazy. If you think you can fight your way out of this—" her voice broke. "You know you don't have a chance. I've seen Harry's fleet in action. This is one ship, Ash—one ship!"
Her entire body was radiating urgency. She was standing stiff-legged, every muscle quivering, trying to get her words through the desperate red haze that was building up in front of my eyes. I couldn't see her very clearly.
But I could see her well enough to laugh at her.
"Fight?" I said. "Fight? I've had fighting—all the fighting I'm ever going to do. I've been fighting too much, too often. I had a name and a friend, once—and I had a girl, once, too. Now all I've got is a job, and some orders, and a conscience, maybe. No—I'm not going to fight." I threw back my head and laughed again. I reached out and grabbed her arm. "Come on—you're going to have a grandstand seat."
I pulled her up the companionway and into the control room, and threw her into the co-pilot's seat. I pulled out my gun.
"Reach for those controls," I said, "and I'll blow your hand off." She sat in the chair, her face gray, staring out at Thorsten's fleet.
I reached over and switched the radio to Thorsten's frequency.
"Thorsten!"
"Yes. Holcomb?"