Close at hand, a bell rang shrilly.
Xaymar halted in mid-sentence. Whirling, she flicked a switch on the nearest of the control boards.
A plate like that of a visiscreen flashed on. Swiftly, the woman adjusted dials.
Blurs on the plate resolved into a horde of rising silver ships. Like screaming meteors, they lanced into the sky.
"Sark's ships?" the woman who was a fleshly goddess asked Haral coolly.
He nodded. "Yes. Carriers. Light craft, small and slow enough to fight close-in on a world the size of Ulna."
"But not all Sark's fleet?"
"No. His great raiders would have no room here to maneuver."
"Then Sark himself still lingers at the spaceport, waiting to see how I'll meet this latest challenge."
"What—?"