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Cutter 3619 nestled in a cave hacked from a runt comet some-where in Epsilon Indi's Middle Oort. Out in the dark lurked ninety-some sensor buoys and four message 'torps, watching and waiting...

The Cutter's crew were on the books as Pilot / Commander, Co-Pilot / Flight-Eng and a Weapon Systems Operator. Those formalities, like their smart Academy uniforms, were a dozen light-years away.

Jack, Joe and Jeff: Just three lonely, scared young men, content to be bored unto tears. Their craft was a standard deep-space work-pod --a fat barrel lumped by over-sized FieldPoles-- with a mini-hab in tow. Six hard-points carried ferry tanks, six more had ordnance pods. Quite how or why MilSpec just plug'n'played with the Civilian design was a source of quiet debate...

The three rotated Duty, Standby, Sleep between themselves. They ran drills, did maintenance, self-tests. They kept up their studies, grumbled at the food, wondered what madness had made them volunteer.

Their mission profile ran to twenty close pages. Their Captain's hand-written orders were simpler, phrased with a refreshing, if brutal clarity, 'Watch the Pass. If rumbled, run. You call the shots. Take Care.'

Five times in forty days, alarms sounded. Three were fleeting cosmic rays. Two correlated as VELA GRBs, no doubt of interest to Trojan Forward's astronomers when peace returned...

Jack, Joe and Jeff were counting the twenty-some days until relief. At shift-change, Jeff noted that this week's Chicken MRE required more condiments, and the self-test on Snake-eyes Pod#3 now ran 5% slower than #1 or #2--

The comet ice lit blue, then strobed twice more--
"Cherenkov--"
'Skipper' Jack had helm, his visor down. Joe eeled into the Co-couch, closed his locks. Jeff made the first report before he'd drawn a breath.
"Break-out-- Large ships. Estimate three. Confirmed by nearest buoys. Fourier suggests Tagglis. Now smaller spikes-- Five, seven, eight plus/minus two, buoys confirm nine Escorts--"
The ice lit again, brighter--
"Uh, that went off-scale, probable Super-Heavy."
"BMF." Joe nodded, "We just took a week's Rad ration. Systems okay."
"First Alert's off ?" Jack wanted.
"Go-code's sent." Jeff nodded. A light-second out, they had two more 'torps, plus a 'perhaps' fourth which kept glitching, "Vector's the same as--"

The light show replayed, but fainter.
"Two battle-groups--"
And again, fainter.
"Three groups."
"Intel guessed right." Jack nodded.
"Holding the second 'torp..." Jeff puzzled, "Ah ! Two groups heading in-system, one staying put-- They're parked in our back-yard ! Tetrahedron of Heavies, six Escorts in sphere with three scouting-- One's in-bound ? Confirmed-- And they're sharp, we've lost Buoy #25. And #24. Active sweep. That scan brushed us. Again, more power. They've not made us, we're stealthed on that wave-band. Just an Oort lump..."
"They're paranoid." Jack opened a guarded switch, "They might whack it to be sure. Okay, Hi-g alert. And keep that data spooling."
"Good call, Skipper, we've just been pinged. Pinged hard. That's weapon-lock. A launch--"
"We go." Jack pressed the guarded switch, pushed his throttles to the stop.

Their tiny comet burst to bergy bits. The Cutter fled in fog and diamond ice.
"Two more launches. Stay-behind Decoys coming up--"
A flash lit the fog.
"Strike one."
Another flash--
"Strike two, third is in-bound." Jeff's hands danced on his panel, "Aft laser's tracking. Lock, and tag."
A third flash.
"Spectrum of ice, Road-Kill. Triple launch. Second Escort's flanking."
"I'm on it." Joe stated, "Jack, steer this vector. Not optimum, so should throw them."
The Cutter lurched. Jack asked, "Those three in-bound ?"
"We're cooler than debris, they're struggling--"
A flash--
"One ate a rock. Third decoy's acquired, gone active--"
Flash !
"Gotcha ! One still running, request 'Weapons Free'."
"Release logged." Jack nodded.

"Snake-eyes Pod 1, #1--" The Cutter trembled, "And #2 away. ECM hot, they look like Ship Killers-- In-bound is re-targetting--"
Flash !
"1-2's acquired the Escort. They've gone evasive, point-defence throwing the kitchen sink. ECM has lock on their IFF. Point defence frozen. Escort turning, hard boost--"
The small flash was followed by something much larger.
"Anti-matter breach !" Joe stared at his instruments, "Hard kill !"
"We've annoyed them." Jeff stated, "Flanking Escort converging. Another Escort and nearest Taggli are boosting. Flanker's launching, triple, triple. And triple. Counting down to intercept."

"We're clear of the ice-cloud." Jack noted, "g-Gradient falling, but too slowly. Buy us some time."
"Fore and Aft lasers tracking. Tag, tag, tag. First prial are ballistic, minimal threat. Snake-eyes Pod 2, #1, #2, Pod 3, #1, #2 away. Flanker's swerved off. 2-1's drawing fire--"
F-Flash !
"Fratricide. 2-2's past--"
F-Flash !
"They're taking no chances ! Taggli's boosting. Beam-weapons heating--"
"Just a jump to the left..." Jack hummed, stirring his side-stick, "VIFF down and ease to the right..."
"3-1's running on the flanker--"
Flash !
"They took down their IFF to kill it !" Jeff gasped, "3-2's jinking-- And through ?"
Flash- WHOOSH !
"Hard kill !" Jeff gulped, then "Taggli weapon lock-- Break left !"
Jack flicked the side-stick, the Cutter danced. Blue flame poured by to left and right.
"Straddle." Jeff warned.

"Vent the Dirty Tank. And ping those 'torps."
"Dumping now."
"Go-codes sent-- Break right !!"
"And a vector thrust..." Jack spun the Cutter right, "To drive them insane--"
Blue flame licked the hull, the temperature jumped 20 degrees.
"That was too close--"
"Mass meter's green !" Joe called.
"Bringing up the Exponent--"
Behind them, the ice-cloud lit like a vast flash-bulb.
"Now would be good !" Jeff warned.
"Four, three, two, one--" The Cutter's Field Poles warped reality to a Limaon of Pascal. Real Space went away for a few moments, and then again.

"Two light-second hops zig-zag, we're clear." Jack stated, "Damage reports ?"
"Rad pills all round." Jeff grumbled, "Aft laser's cooked. Half the Snake-eyes expended. Others show greens, but I'd bench-test them."
"Ship systems ?"
"Too close..." Joe reported, "Ablative's charred, we've lost stealth. Field stood up to heavy fire-- Vernon Preventer held the phasing together, of course--"
"Of course !" Jeff chorused, without taking his eyes off his board.
"Beyond that, nominal." Joe took a shaky breath, "What's next, Skipper ?"
"Zig-zag the Lo Roads to Oort-4's branch, then coast in."
"ETA ?" Jeff wondered.
"Three or four days... We pulled some wild turns, Jeff, could you check for breakages ?"
"On it, Skipper."
"Joe, there's a zillion data-points to organise, reports to write--"
"I'll get my VR set--"
"But first you'll paint our two Escorts by the air-lock !"