GHOST FLEET

CHAPTER I

CONFEDERATION SPACEDOCK BRAVO II

The young officer entered Captain Martok’s office as if he were at home, confident and relaxed.

“Lieutenant-Commander Mart Britlot reporting for duty, sir.”

Martok wondered absently how many times he’d heard that phrase: reporting for duty. Duty. Martok had his own duty, and a dirty one at that. He looked up through his bushy black brows at the tall, young officer, surprised at the ease in Britlot’s voice. Surely he must wonder why he’d been ordered to report while technically still on leave. Martok noted the wavy blond hair, cut regulation style, and the wrinkle-free Fleet Light-Blues. Even freshly arrived from leave, Britlot looked a credit to Fleet.

Britlot’s lightly tanned and wind-reddened face told the Captain that he’d been in weather. Martok looked through the port to the planet below and the starfield beyond. Over a year, now, since he’d been planetside. He wondered what it would be like to look up and not see a steel-grey ceiling above him. Over a year since he’d breathed anything but the canned air of the station.

Martok shook off the comfort of digression, and returned his attention to the task at hand. He leaned back in his chair, looking more comfortable than he felt.

“Sit down, Lieutenant-Commander.” Britlot sat comfortably in the chair opposite, his face not guarded but quietly interested. Martok wished that he’d had that confidence when he’d been Britlot’s age.

He glanced down at the tilted screen which displayed Britlot’s file. A hard-copy rested beside it. Martok liked the feel of hard-copy in his hands. He considered Britlot’s record. The young man was on the fast track for his own command.

“You’ve returned from leave early, Britlot. Eager to get back to work? Retribution isn’t due out of space dock for two weeks, and completion of her refit will take another six.” He shouldn’t delay, shouldn’t wait for Britlot to give him an opening.

Britlot’s smile accentuated his youth. Few attained the rank of Lieutenant-Commander at twenty-six. “Bravo II has a reputation for getting ships out ahead of schedule, sir.”

The Captain raised his bushy brows at the flattery. No, he decided, not flattery, truth. The men and women of Spacedock Bravo II worked hard to maintain that reputation.

“And you wanted to scope out the new systems we’ve installed.” Martok returned his gaze to the personnel file and nodded, then ran his fingers through his greying hair. Britlot had a reputation of his own: hardworking, friendly and charismatic. It made his task worse.

“Exactly, sir.” He hesitated, perhaps at Martok’s guarded expression. “Is there a problem with my early return?”

Martok sighed. “No, Lieutenant-Commander, that is not an issue. I appreciate your dedication.” Now the Captain hesitated. He took a final look at the file to gain time before raising his eyes to meet Britlot’s questioning gaze. He sighed inwardly.

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot, I know of no easy way to say this: Combine naval forces attacked the convoy carrying your parents. Their vessel took severe damage. Your parents did not survive the engagement.” Britlot froze in his chair.

“Didn’t their ship declare itself out-of-action?”

“She was a civilian ship. And, no, she didn’t surrender. My information indicates they had no time to do so.” Martok waited for the outburst that didn’t come.

When Britlot did speak, he sounded tired. “They retired and decided to move to Plestinder. They had everything they owned with them. Did we recover anything?” At the shake of Martok’s head, Britlot’s eyes closed with the loss, then opened again, hard and narrowed. “Permission to put in a transfer request for First Fleet, sir.”

“Permission denied, Lieutenant-Commander. First Fleet doesn’t need an officer with fresh hatred driving him. The Combine will wait for you.”

“Permission to approach Commodore Taglini with my request, sir.”

Though Martok understood Britlot’s insistence, the request rankled.

“Permission denied.” He held the younger man’s hard gaze. “And that’s the final word. Understood?”

Martok readied himself for the insubordination he could see building in Britlot. He hated to have to slap the young man down, but necessity existed.

Britlot surprised him. “Understood, sir.”

“Don’t worry, Britlot,” Martok snorted, “you’ll have plenty of time for revenge. After forty years of bitter fighting, I doubt they will sue for peace before Second Fleet is rotated back to the Combine sector.”

Martok saw Britlot’s gaze go over his head to the scene that graced his wall. He didn’t need to turn to know what had attracted Britlot’s attention. Scimitar, Martok’s last command, her main weapons on full pulse, torpedoes launched, made an imposing holo. Britlot longed for the same, where his ship fired upon ships of the Combine.

Scimitar and her crew had died in defense of the Confederation, they, too, victims of the Combine. At the time, Martok was busy learning the fine art of walking with damaged nerves and muscles—also compliments of the Combine. Martok knew hate only too well. He doubted he could persuade Britlot of its uselessness, certainly not here. Perhaps, if he caught the young man in the Officers’ Lounge, he might do some good.

“Your parents’ law firm possessed a box of effects. They contacted Fleet and turned it over to us. It arrived on Bravo II yesterday.” Martok picked up the satchel from the floor beside his chair and set it on the desk. He noted the hunger in Britlot’s eyes. “Sign for it, and you may leave, Lieutenant-Commander.”

Britlot held his face expressionless as he accepted the release form and thumb-printed it. “I’ll report to Retribution for duty tomorrow, first shift, Captain.”

Martok’s experience bearing bad news allowed him to recognize that Britlot would accept no condolences. Perhaps later, when he’d thought it through.

“You are entitled to leave, to settle your parents’ estate, Lieutenant-Commander.”

“I’ve had my leave, sir, and their estate sits on that desk, Captain. They had no other relatives. My extended family lived on Restovine.”

Martok winced. He hadn’t known that. The Combine had burned several cities on Restovine before an outnumbered and out-gunned Confederation squadron drove them off.

“May I return to quarters, sir? First shift will come early enough.” He gripped the satchel tightly.

“You will take a day off, Lieutenant-Commander, to consider your options.” Britlot’s face remained expressionless to keep Martok’s wrath from descending upon him. Martok sighed mentally. As if he would hold an outburst against one who had just lost the remainder of his family.

“Dismissed, Lieutenant-Commander. My office is open to you, should you so desire.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Britlot rose with Martok and saluted. Satchel under his arm, he walked out of Martok’s office, his stride no longer jaunty.

Martok watched him close the door gently behind him, then returned to his chair. One lousy duty done, one left before he could call it a day. He picked up the file.

Wanderer needed a captain for the hated Sector Seven reconnaissance run. No good had ever come of it; yet canceling the run would be a mistake, especially with the rumors that now drifted out of the Tlartox Empire.

He glanced down the list of available, deserving officers. ‘Deserving’, in this case, meaning something else entirely.

“To hell with duty.”

The Britlot interview had disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. He dropped the file on his desk and limped out to the Officers’ Lounge for a drink.

*

“Captain Martok.”

Martok turned and was surprised to see Britlot approaching down the long, narrow hallway. He had looked for the young man in the Officers’ Lounge the night before, but Britlot hadn’t shown.

“Yes, Lieutenant-Commander, what is it?” Had Britlot decided to resume his leave after all? Or had he decided to take another shot at transfer?

“I would like to take Wanderer out on the recce, sir.”

Martok’s eyebrows rose. Nobody volunteered. Most considered it punishment duty.

“Come into my office, Lieutenant-Commander, and tell me about it.”

Britlot followed Martok into the dark room, where Martok hit the plate that lit the room and the holo of Scimitar. The Captain moved to the outer bulkhead and inspected his plants. The moist dirt gave off a slight odor, which improved the recycled air of the station. He touched the green leaves of his spear plant, enjoying the presence of something growing.

“So, Britlot, you want to take out Wanderer?” He limped to his desk and sat on its corner. “I would like to know why. Only yesterday you wanted a transfer to First Fleet.” Martok motioned Britlot over to the porthole. The planet below filled a quarter of the view.

“Do you know, Britlot, that I haven’t been planetside in over a year? I haven’t made a trip out to the mining asteroids or the agri-station in an even longer time.” He looked out the port and smiled. “Bravo II keeps me busy.”

“A lot goes on here, sir,” Britlot replied, perhaps wondering at Martok’s tack.

“Aye, Britlot, a lot goes on here. Personnel problems take much of my time: who should be assigned where in order to keep the place running at maximum efficiency; defaulter’s table; requests for transfer to the fighting fleet. My staff handles most of that, of course, so when it reaches me I know that real problems exist.”

“I understand, sir.”

Martok laughed. “Do you? Maybe one day you will. Thus, when someone asks for what most consider a punishment detail, I have to wonder why. What problems am I setting up for myself? I don’t like the sound of this, Britlot.”

“I don’t want leave; I have nowhere to go. Fleet is my home, sir.” He looked down at the planet. “What would I do down there? I’ve just come up. Sir, my parents’ effects contain diaries and such. The reconnaissance run will give me time to study them while still serving Fleet. We’ll return before Retribution begins her post re-fit trials.”

Could it be that simple? Martok doubted it. He had never believed in simplicity; life had proven complex. He considered Britlot. No, he would deny this request, also.

“Sir, Wanderer may only be a scout, the reconnaissance run merely routine, but she is a command. If I show I can handle her, and the type of crew she usually gets, I’ll be that much closer to a real command.”

Martok nodded, hiding the smile that threatened to break out. “Now, that I understand, Lieutenant-Commander. Your file says you are ambitious. Very well, you may have her. I’ll have your orders posted before lunch. She leaves in three days; better familiarize yourself with her.” He handed Britlot the crewlist datastick. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.” Britlot saluted smartly.

Martok’s mood lightened. Britlot’s request transformed a distasteful duty into something positive. A good day. Britlot would handle the spacers, misfits though they were. His ambition would see to that. He might even return them a better crew, a gain for everyone.

He sat, pushed his leg into its proper place, and posted the orders. He would, he decided, see Wanderer off personally.

*

Martok stood, waiting, when Britlot and his crew arrived to embark. The men slipped by the Captain as quickly as possible, while Britlot stopped and spoke with him.

“Good of you to see me off, sir.”

“I understand you’ve downloaded a wide range of reports on the Sivon sector, Lieutenant-Commander.”

“Yes, sir. I want to be thorough.”

Martok’s eyebrows rose. “You understate the case, Britlot. You’ve pulled every report, merchanter, Fleet and rumor.”

Britlot heard the unasked question. “I heard about the ghost ships, sir. Our mission takes us into the area of heaviest sightings and I decided that it would be a good way to keep the crew on their toes. An interested crew’s efficiency exceeds that of a bored one.”

“Ghost ships?” Martok laughed. “Scanner ghosts is all.” He sobered. “However, you’ve more than just ghost ships to worry about, now.”

“Sir?”

“Fleet Intelligence is worried about the Tlartox Empire. Their information indicates the Tlartox are restive. Keep a keen eye on those scanners, Britlot.”

“Aye, sir. The Tlartox? They got their fill of us at Tlenfro. Surely they remember that.”

“Precisely what Intelligence worries about, Britlot. And 300 years is a long time. Just do your duty, Lieutenant-Commander. You’ll find Intelligence happier with a comprehensive report about Tlartox activities, or lack thereof, than with any report on ghost ships. Don’t make me regret sending you.”

“No, sir.” Britlot saluted. Martok felt the Lieutenant-Commander’s eyes on him as he walked away. A trick of acoustics brought him Britlot’s whispered words, “Aye, sir, I’ll do my duty.”

TLARTOX HOME PLANET

Sab Tlorth had her doubts. She gave a quick lick at a tuft of orange fur to set it in place.

She took her seat in the Tlartum, her ears at a cautiously interested angle. This vote would decide her future, as well as the future of the Empire, yet those of her klatch must not appear concerned.

Her chair, in the second tier of the circular room, allowed her to look down on almost everyone else, as befitted one of her stature, a Second of her klatch.

“Star Admiral?”

Sab looked up into the grey and black face of someone she should know, but couldn’t place. A klatch Second, like herself, but which one?

“It is good to see you here, Star Admiral Tlorth,” that one said. “Too often your proxy votes for you.”

“The place of a warrior is to serve the Tox; I cannot always attend. Yet a warrior is also of the Tox. This vote carries great importance, and my klatch would not disrespect the Tlartum.” Sab glanced around. Many, like this Second, milled about, attempting last minute conversions. She wondered what pitch he would use.

“This vote is insanity.”

So, directly to the point. She appreciated the novelty. Sab returned her gaze to the Second.

“You feel the Hunt is of such little importance?”

“Tlar never intended that the Hunt take such a dimension, and you know it, Tlorth!”

“Do I?” Sab’s ears went forward a notch and her pupils slitted. The Second brushed back his whiskers nervously. Irritating a Second of the Warrior Klatch and Star Admiral of Fleet hadn’t been his intention. Lucky she wasn’t a Hunter.

“The vote will be close, Star Admiral, but many do not realize for what they vote.”

“We vote for the right to continue the Hunt as we see fit, as Tlar bade us do, the right of any Tlartox. Is that not so, Casull?” She remembered his name. He represented industrialists, she believed.

Casull sighed. “It is not so, Star Admiral. Annulling the treaty will bring war. The choice, no matter the wording, is for war or for peace.”

“Others see it quite differently.”

“Yes, I’m sure they do.” When Sab said nothing, Casull seemed to collapse inside, though his posture remained straight. “Then, I can say nothing to change your mind?”

“Second Casull,” Sab bared her teeth slightly, “the vote has not yet occurred.”

Casull’s grey ears came forward and fire built within once more. “With what time we have left, Second Tlorth, consider carefully. Consider carefully and remember Tlenfro.”

At the mention of Tlenfro, Sab bared her fangs, though her ears stayed upright. “Indeed I shall.”

Casull, not a fool, nodded and left.

Sab sniffed at the air. Grass. No hint of blood to excite the senses, no touch of forest damp to lull the unwary. Nothing that might later call the result into question.

The tiers filled as delegates took their chairs. In the room’s center stood the podium, raised slightly, with the scribes’ desks in a circle about it. Though computers could do the work more rapidly and, perhaps, accurately, computers could be broached. The record of what occurred in the Tlartum stayed in the Tlartum—until carefully edited.

High windows let in the late afternoon light, and the wood of the chairs and tables gleamed. Deep scratches in chair arms told of tight, hotly contested votes. No such scars marred Sab’s chair.

“Three hundred years of humiliation end this day.” A tall Tox with gleaming black fur sat beside Sab.

“Councilor Rennelt, the vote has not yet been cast,” Sab replied.

“The Hunters will not let us down, Second Tlorth. Nor, I suspect, will you Warriors. We know the true stakes.” She bared her fangs. “The Tox are ready. Too long have Tlar’s strictures been undone. The Hunt must be revived.”

Together, they watched the remaining seats fill. Though Sab didn’t personally know everyone, it appeared to her that proxies occupied few seats.

“I understand the human governing bodies divide themselves into groups and sit opposed to one another. Do you suppose this is true, Second?”

“Their vids support that supposition, Councilor.”

“A divided people who vote by Klatch line are not worthy of the stars. Look, the Speaker!”

All eyes went to the Speaker of the Assembly. The clash of voices subsided.

“You will take the news to Tlomega? It would be unseemly were another Hunter spotted doing this. Cries of politics would emanate from the losers.” Rennelt seemed to have no doubt as to the outcome.

“I leave immediately after the vote,” Sab confirmed in a whisper. “The Fleet Admiral awaits the report of her junior. No cause for outcry exists.”

“Good.”

The Speaker called the session to order and the final speeches, diametrically opposed yet each claiming to champion the truth, called to the hearts and minds of the representatives. Sab paid close attention, considering her vote.

Second Casull spoke truth: this vote would decide between war and continuance of the Peace of Tlenfro. With Warrior lives at stake and her fleet under Tood Tlomega’s direct command, she needed to decide wisely. Tlomega wanted action, might care little for loss of lives—warrior lives. Yet Rennelt also spoke truth: too long had they been denied the hunt. The Tox had drifted far from Tlar’s words. Tlar had foretold the drift, yet said: “In the end you will return to me.”

Sab’s stomach jumped as the last representative sat and silence fell across the chamber. No warrior had spoken. The Tox would find that unseemly, as if the matter of their lives or deaths deserved comment. Warriors had but one duty: to serve.

Lights flashed alive on her console, calling for the vote. Sab pressed a claw into either side of the console. Would it be left for war or right for peace? A slight pressure from a claw to decide the fate of the Empire.

Numbers climbed in each column as representatives voted for the Tox. Another chance would not occur during her career, yet a yes vote would bring death to uncounted numbers of her klatch. Humans were prolific breeders; Tlartox were not. And that had been the lesson of Tlenfro. Sab pressed. Ears forward, she watched the numbers mount, each side gaining and losing the lead.

Undisciplined faces told the story. Sab prided herself on her discipline.

The Chair stood, and the excited whispers that had followed the casting slowly faded until silence filled the Tlartum.

“By a counted vote of 268 to 265, Motion 154 of the 2438th Tlartum has gone down to defeat.”

The business of the Tlartum finished, Sab stood without expression and, keeping her ears at a neutral angle, entered the elevator. She licked the errant tuft of fur back into place again and prepared herself for the meeting with Tood Tlomega. Outside, she ignored the journalists who awaited their briefing. They knew better than to question a member of the Tlartum.

Her landcruiser waited at the curb and her driver saluted and opened the door.

“Fleet Headquarters.” The result of the vote became public in one half hour. By that time, those who needed to know would know. In five minutes she would face Tlomega’s fierce eyes. Tlomega wouldn’t bother asking how she voted, she would assume. And that suited Sab.

*

Tood Tlomega glared from behind a massive wooden desk. Souvenirs from a hundred different worlds sat on the desktop and on shelves around the room. Behind her, paintings depicted the glories of the past. Tlartox cruisers and frigates engaged the Others in victorious combat; Tlartox commandos battled through planetside colonies, hunting the despised enemy. Sab affected to not notice the fresh claw marks on the arms of Tood’s chair. In contrast, patches of green grass in corner trays lent the room familiar and comforting aromas.

Tlomega bared her teeth. “We won!” She had seen it in the set of Sab’s ears, cocked at just that angle which she’d come to know. Only those very familiar, and observant, could read her. Sab likewise bared her teeth, fangs exposed and vaguely threatening.

“We won, Fleet Admiral,” she confirmed. “The Tlartum, in its wisdom, has voted down the continuation of the peace with the Confederation. The glories of the past,” she looked at the wall behind her superior, “may now continue into the future.”

The slash of white across Tlomega’s nose and muzzle caused her to look even fiercer than she was, were that possible. Age had faded the dark grey and black stripes on her face, but the white shone.

Tlomega stood and stretched. She bared her teeth again, then spoke. “We have work to do, Star Admiral.”

“Yes, Fleet Admiral.” The Hunt would begin again. The prey waited out there among the stars. This time, there would be no Tlenfro. Sab considered the Others. Wily and without honor, furless and weak, yet their starships equaled those of the Tlartox. How had they accomplished so much, this prey species, these humans?

*

Across the city, a similar meeting took place. Shads Efdur reported the vote to the one known as ‘The Master’. Shads, a large Tlartox whose eyes gleamed with infinite curiosity, had markings much like those of Tood Tlomega, grey and black stripes and a white chin, but his gentleness and compassion set them far apart. Shads Efdur had never used his great strength to the despair of others.

“I’m afraid they outmaneuverd us, Master,” Shads began. “The situation in which the Confederation finds itself, with respect to the Combine, did not help. Their apparent weakness became the deciding factor. Tood Tlomega and her hunters picked their moment well.

“Forty years of war with the Combine has pulled resources away from the Confederation’s border with the Empire, and the necessity of keeping the better part of their navy on their Combine border leaves them vulnerable.”

The white-furred head shook gently and Shads found himself mesmerized by the ovals of dark fur near the Master’s ears. “The Confederation has more strength than it seems, with fleets experienced in war, Shads. Appearances deceive; weakness does not exist.

“Unfortunately, the Empire has gained comparatively more in recent years.” He sighed. “You speak truth, though. The Confederation is heavily engaged far from our borders. A pity they didn’t learn from their past.” The Master cocked one ear in self-mockery. “A shame we have not learned from ours.”

“Then we will see war?” This came from a hitherto silent Tlartox, black-furred and narrow of jaw. She stepped closer, away from the Avga plant she’d been examining, sniffing at its grey-green leaves and red flower.

“We will see war, Miz,” the Master agreed. He considered the pair, noting their subtle movement closer together. A fine couple, he thought, pleased at the luck that brought another one of the Hunters over to their side.

Shads felt himself quite naked before the wisdom of The Master. A jolt went through him as The Master said the fateful words, “And we know what we must do.”

“If they find out, they will brand us traitors. It will not matter that what we do, we do for the good of the Empire as well as the Confederation,” Shads said wearily.

“I know,” soothed the older Tlartox, “yet we must do so, regardless. A claw to the throat will not be so sharp should we succeed.” He paused and drank from the goblet which sat on the bare desk. “We need to convene meetings with the cells in, say, ten days. Tell Tlantho to set it up.” He lowered the goblet. “I had hoped it would not come to this.”

CHAPTER 2

CONFEDERATION SPACE FREIGHTER CARIEL

A Captain’s main problem, Larrsh thought as he stomped up the narrow passageway to the bridge, rests in the fact he is never off-duty. He yawned as he buttoned his shirt. A closed hatch confronted him, and he growled his disapproval, though standing orders required just that. While one hand entered the code to open the bridge hatch, the other rubbed at his eyes.

“What gets me out of my pit at this ungodly hour?” Larrsh demanded as he entered the cramped quarters of the bridge. His first glance took in the navtank, whose holo showed the Kendar star-system. The faint yellow track that depicted Cariel’s course ended near the second planet of the system. No silver track detailed their projected course. The ship stood at a complete relative stop. The monitors showed the shifting greys of hyperspace. No red alarm lights lit any of the comp panels.

First Mate Elnar Ecovin, singularly fixated on the holo, spun about at his voice and surprised Larrsh with his obvious relief at his Captain’s arrival. Ecovin fingered the medallion hanging about his neck, clearly displaying his worry to any acquainted with his mannerisms.

Larrsh made the effort to focus and become Captain.

“Why have we not dropped to normal space, Mr. Ecovin?” He completed the buttoning of his jacket.

Ecovin, his voice pitched higher than normal, replied, “Sir, Kendar’s beacon doesn’t respond on any frequency, nor does the station itself. Our detectors can’t even find the beacon.”

Larrsh raised an eyebrow. “I see. Navigator?”

Janny Trumnor looked up from her seat beside the holo, her worry less evident than Ecovin’s. Lack of experience, the Captain decided. Her composed young face radiated confidence, the blonde hair pulled back and clasped behind her head.

“Navtank confirms us in position to the 99 point 99th percentile, sir. We are in Kendar’s emergence zone. I’ve rechecked the comp.” Her voice contained no trace of worry.

Larrsh turned to the third member of the bridge crew, the Comm-op tech. “Sil?”

“Comm reads green, Captain. I’ve sent the emergence signal twice on each frequency. No response.”

Not good. The three looked at him expectantly and, as Captain, he could not allow his own growing apprehension to show. “Probe?”

“Dropped,” Ecovin replied. A probe, like an emergence beacon, existed partially in normal space, partially in hyperspace, thus allowing communication between the two. “Reads clear, Captain, but no beacon in normal space, either. It hasn’t dropped completely—unless they’ve taken it in for repairs. Wish we had a naval probe or two; damn civilian probes are only good for several thousand kilometers.” He was now chewing on his scraggly moustache, a habit that Larrsh hated. He also wore his hair just a bit too long, an irritant in that Larrsh’s own hair had been reduced to a thin band about his head.

“Good work,” Larrsh said easily as he dropped himself into the Captain’s chair. “Web in.”

Ecovin took his chair, and the rest of the bridge crew fastened their emergency restraints. “Sound Emergency Emergence Stations, First.” He smiled as the three turned their heads. “Only a precaution.”

A klaxon sounded, and the tech acknowledged incoming comm. “Sir, everyone has checked in.”

With greater calm than he felt, Larrsh gave the order. “Drop, Mr. Ecovin, if you please.”

Ecovin grimaced, then entered the emergence sequence into the comp, and the grey of hyperspace disappeared from their monitors to be suddenly replaced by the blackness of normal space, lit by its background of stars.

Navigator Trumnor’s eyes went wide as she checked her scope against the navtank. She turned, white-faced, towards the Captain and First Mate who appeared frozen in their command chairs. She swallowed twice before attempting to speak.

“Captain, sir, we are not where we are supposed to be.” In the sudden quiet, all could hear the tremor in her voice.

“That is patently obvious, Navigator.” Years of practice allowed the Captain to maintain an even voice. “The question is: Where are we?”

Navigator Trumnor swallowed once more. “I have no idea, sir. I’ve never seen the starfield from this position before, not even in sims.”

“Action Stations!”

“Sir?” Ecovin was chewing at his mustache again.

“I will not be taken by pirates, First. Action Stations!”

“Sir!”

The action stations alarm sounded, and within moments a red-faced woman appeared on the bridge. Heavyset, the run from her emergence station had her breathing harshly.

“Second Mate Bevortin relieving First Mate Ecovin, sir.”

“Good. Quickly, now, First, to the auxiliary bridge.”

The First Mate rushed through the hatch, giving a brief shrug to the Bevortin’s questioning look before passing her by.

“The situation, Captain?” Bevortin queried as she strapped herself into the chair Ecovin had vacated.

The Captain wiped the sweat from his bald pate and replied slowly, “I wish I knew, Second, I wish I knew. Set the alarm to go off at the first sign of an emergence wave.”

For three tense hours the crew remained at action stations as their officers searched for an answer to their problem.

Cariel, her weapons heated and ready, hung in space, a victim in waiting. Her detectors, set at maximum range, showed nothing. Although the small weapons they carried would be of little use against a well-armed pirate, a spirited defense had saved more than one freighter from pillage.

“Captain.” Trumnor’s relief was evident.

“Navigator?”

“The navtank self-calibration test board is faulty. It has corrupted the database. I’ve never heard of this happening before. Other boards may also have taken damage. We’ve likely been off-course for two weeks, maybe more.”

“How long to repair it?”

“I, I’m not sure, sir.”

“Keep me informed. Second, you have the bridge; I’ll be in my quarters. Cancel emergency stations; go to standby stations; recover the probe.” If he noticed the bridge crew breathing a sigh of relief, he affected not to.

*

Trumnor bent over the circuit boards.

“How long to repair the navtank, Janny?”

Trumnor turned to the Comm-op and smiled at him. “Not long, Sil, maybe a couple of hours, but I don’t want to do that yet.”

“What?”

She had shocked Sil. Trumnor could read that in his face. Had their new navigation officer deliberately sabotaged the navtank? Should he report this to the Captain?

She laughed at his expression. “First we need to find out where we are, Sil. If we run a sim of our run, maybe, just maybe, we’ll find out what course—or courses—we’ve taken these last three weeks. If successful we can figure out more accurately just where we are and take the shortest line back to where we want to go. If not …” she shrugged and returned to her work. It took all her concentration.

“Janny?” Sil interrupted her just as she began to get somewhere. She turned back to him, eyebrows raised. “Janny, have you seen Jimmy-the-One? He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Staring into the detectors almost non-stop, and when he does leave them he just hurries out and then hurries back.”

“Ecovin? I hadn’t noticed, Sil, I’ve been kind of busy. Speaking of which …” Trumnor ignored his plaintive expression. She didn’t need the distractions, especially if the sim confirmed her suspicions. No one even mentioned Sivon sector without a quick look over one’s shoulder, though she’d never known why. She did know that all who could avoided it.

“Captain to the bridge!”

Trumnor looked up to see the First Mate positively white, staring into detectors, eyes flitting from screen to screen. His right hand grasped his medallion and his lips moved in silent prayer—or blasphemy, Trumnor didn’t read lips well enough to tell. She headed towards him, then dodged out of the way as Captain Larrsh barreled through.

“They’re back. This time off the port bow. Extreme range.”

“They?” The Captain squinted into the detectors.

“Three of them, Captain.”

“And how long would it take for a vessel to get from the position of the last sighting to this one?” A trickle of sweat ran down Larrsh’s face.

“Too long, Captain. They haven’t had the time.”

“Can you read an outline—anything to tell us who they are?”

“Maybe now. Let’s see.” Ecovin played with the controls and the image on the screen faded, blurred, sharpened. Sharpened some more, grew in size, though still fuzzy.

“Starfire!”

“Blood and Bones!”

Ecovin started shaking and hastily sat down in the closest chair. “Vandoo,” he whispered.

“Who are the Vandoo?” Janny asked. She had never heard of such a race.

The captain turned as if he hadn’t heard her. “Where are we, Navigator?”

Trumnor gave her best guess. The information staggered him.

“Never mind your damn sim. Get that thing fixed. No, first lay in an approximate course to Kendar. We go to hyperspace as soon as you have it. Then fix that damn navtank.” He glared at her. In her surprise, she had frozen. “Move, damn you!”

Never before had Trumnor heard him upset, let alone angry. No, she amended as she began the careful computations she hoped wouldn’t land them in the nearest star, never before had she heard him scared.

Fifteen minutes later they jumped to hyperspace, and Trumnor busied herself repairing the navtank. With relief she watched it cycle through the checks. All systems showed green.

“Want help?” Sil asked when she began the tedious job of rebuilding the database.

“Thanks. We’ll start with the major nav-points, then our itinerary, Kendar, Prelax and Bravo II.”

Bevortin entered to relieve Ecovin. Trumnor bent to her task, warning Sil with her eyes. Sil ignored the warning.

“What do you think Fleet will say when we get to Space Dock Bravo II?” he asked Ecovin.

“Fleet?” Ecovin answered with scorn. “When have they ever listened to us?” He kept walking, but Trumnor heard the shaky whisper as the hatch closed, “Vandoo.”

CONFEDERATION REPAIR DOCK BRAVO II

“I do not find vindictiveness an admirable character trait.” Commodore Taglini’s dark eyes dared any to respond.

Heads came up around the table, eyes questioning, but no one giving voice to the questions. The subject on the agenda had been ship dispositions.

“Commodore Taglini, perhaps you could elaborate.” Captain Martok, as second-in-command, placed himself forward to take the weight. The other officers sat expectantly. The routine status meeting had turned into something quite different.

“I see Lieutenant-Commander Mart Britlot commands the scout ship on the Sector Seven ‘Observe and Report’ run for the third consecutive time, Captain. I don’t care whose blacklists he is on, I will not have this on my station.” Taglini glared at Martok, daring him to defend his actions.

All eyes shifted to Martok, for mission assignments fell in his domain. Martok smiled.

“You had me worried, Commodore. Lieutenant-Commander Britlot volunteered for that mission, almost insisted on it. No one likes the O&R runs, so I let him have them.”

The table relaxed.

“Captain Martok, why has he requested that duty?”

Martok looked at the lined face of the woman opposite and sighed. “Captain Benteel, the latest supposed sighting of a ‘ghost ship’ came from that sector.” A groan passed around the table. “Britlot has professed an interest.” Eyes rolled at the understatement.

Benteel nodded. Everyone now knew of Britlot’s obsession. “Even so, Captain, that length of detached duty is hard on an officer, whether he requests it or not.”

Martok closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he saw Commodore Taglini watching him. Martok nodded. “When he gets back in I’ll have a talk with him.” He did not look forward to it, necessary or not.

“That finishes dispositions.” Taglini brought up the next file on his screen. “All that remains is the Dock report. What is the state of Torrent’s repair?”

Captain Benteel leaned forward. “She sustained considerable damage in First Fleet’s action with Combine forces, Commodore. We’ve patched the hull, and have restored air-integrity. In two weeks we’ll have weapons and life-support back up to specs.”

“You have one week, Captain. Light a fire under your people.”

“Commodore, my crew does not slack.”

“Work them harder. We need Torrent’s dock for Bristle. She’ll be here in one week.”

A head came up at that. “Bristle, sir? Isn’t Bristle a Class B mothball?”

“Your point, Commander Teller?”

Teller swallowed. Taglini didn’t really expect a reply and Teller’s wisdom precluded any attempt.

“Expect additional personnel on station. Torrent’s crew will return for her space trials and a refit crew for Bristle will follow. Captain Benteel, the status of Searcher?”

“We have completed repairs. Fleet can assign a crew and she’ll be ready for action as soon as they work her up, sir.”

“She belongs to us, now, Captain.”

“To us, sir?” Martok asked.

“Fleet decided that we need at least one modern scout in the area.” He allowed his gaze to touch each officer.

“They are worried,” Benteel finally said.

“Indeed. Rear Admiral Knerden has decided to pay us a visit. I’m sure he’ll explain everything in his briefing. Does anyone have anything else?”

No one spoke. The Admiral’s visit, along with Bristle’s refit, could mean only one thing.

“Dismissed.”

The officers trooped out, leaving only Captains Martok and Benteel behind. Benteel closed the door.

“Commodore, isn’t refitting Bristle a violation of the Tlartox treaty?”

“Sit down, Listra, Kale.” Taglini waited until they seated themselves. He picked up a small model of a Confederation ship from a display and turned it over and over in his hands. Finally he, too, sat.

“Listra—and this is not to leave this room though the Rear Admiral will likely announce it—in a year, perhaps less, it is unlikely that there will be a Tlartox treaty.”

“Good God, sir,” Martok said. “War on two fronts?”

“Not necessarily, Kale. The Tlartox have asked to reopen negotiations on the treaty for several years running. Intelligence believes that their patience has run out. No one knows exactly what they want, though I doubt they wish for war. Tlenfro taught them a lesson they’ll never forget.”

“Tlenfro happened 300 years ago, sir. One can forget much in 300 years.”

“Perhaps. Kale, I want you to look into the Britlot matter. I have studied his file. I think he has more than just a ghost ship sighting driving him. You know his parents died recently?”

“Yes, sir, I had the duty of informing him.”

“We don’t need another casualty, Kale. Find out what troubles him. Get him help if he needs it.”

“Aye, sir.” Martok stood and limped from the room.

“Tag, you look tired.”

“I am tired, Listra, and I don’t see it getting better anytime soon. Two years until retirement, two long years.” The Commodore put his head in his hands and sat quietly for a time. “I don’t know if I’m up to it any more.”

“Balderdash, Taglini,” Benteel said, her voice bright. “You’re just an old phony who wants me to shoulder some of his responsibilities. Well, not yet, Commodore, not yet.”

Taglini grinned at her, and they both rose.

“I will, however, ensure that Torrent passes inspection within the week.” She patted the Commodore’s arm. She turned back when she reached the door. “The Tlartox, Tag? Good God, as Martok would say, what you won’t do for a retirement party.”

“Just don’t forget the wine, Captain,” Taglini called after her. He studied the model for a minute before replacing it in the display. Contact with its base created a chattering sound and Taglini jerked his shaking hand away. Though the Combine front lay far away, the Empire could conceivably reach Bravo II. Yes, all he needed was war with the Tlartox Empire. Bravo II had seemed a quiet place to spend the last of his enlistment, but lately he had his doubts. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

At his desk, he closed the repair file. Britlot’s file replaced it on screen. Taglini frowned and closed it, too.

“Ghost ships,” he muttered.

*

Lieutenant-Commander Britlot docked the scout vessel, and shut down all non-essential systems. The crew disembarked, and Britlot fingered the datastick as he strode down the hallways to Captain Martok’s office. ‘Uneventful’ described the run, yet he had not wasted the time. He now had a new theory to check out on his next run.

“Enter.” Captain Martok no longer enjoyed having young Britlot in his command. His orders from the Commodore didn’t improve his disposition.

“Captain Martok, Lieutenant-Commander Britlot reporting. Another clean run. The datastick, sir.” He handed it to the seated Martok.

“Very good, Britlot.” Martok waited for what he knew was coming. Britlot didn’t disappoint him.

“Sir, I would like to volunteer for the next run.”

“Request denied, Lieutenant-Commander.”

Britlot’s surprise showed on his face before he could cover it. “Sir? Have I done something to offend?”

“We find your obsession with the so-called ‘ghost ships’ unhealthy, Britlot.”

“I do my duty, sir.” Britlot countered.

“Yes you do, and you do it well,” Martok agreed grudgingly. “Your crews come back better than when they left. That’s a good recommendation to take with you to your next posting. Captains will be eager to acquire the services of a subordinate like you.”

Britlot didn’t appear happy. “Sir? Next posting? Have I been transferred?”

“The Commodore has his eye on you, Britlot,” Martok replied, ignoring the questions. “He wants to know why you avoid the social amenities of Bravo II and Fleet by volunteering for what is widely considered a punishment detail. He wants to know if you are still fit for command. You can better serve your career by transferring. I doubt you can get your old post on Retribution, but I can ask, if you wish.”

“Sir,” Britlot protested, “I’m happy here.” He thought a moment. “Captain, you say my crews return better than when they leave. I work them, sir; we train diligently.”

Martok smiled without humor. “To what end, Britlot? So they will more rapidly pick up a ghost echo on the scanners? I’ve perused your logs. You do not keep to the regular routes and courses.”

“Regular routes and courses breed familiarity, Captain Martok, and laxness, sir. We train for flexibility.”

Martok’s voice rose, “You are haring off after ghost echoes, Britlot, and don’t pretend otherwise. I don’t know where this obsession came from, but you will curb it. Do you understand?”

“Sir, I do my duty. My reports are exact; they are complete.”

“Sit down, Britlot.” He waited for Britlot to comply, then leaned forward and softened his voice. “Listen to me, son, you jeopardize your career with this. Surely you recognize that. No one wants an officer obsessed with a fiction. After each mission, you hole up in your quarters until the next. You only come out to ask questions of people who profess some knowledge or experience of these echoes. It isn’t healthy.”

Britlot sat, stone-faced. Martok sighed. He had tried. He waited for the Lieutenant-Commander to reply, but Britlot waited him out.

“Very well, Britlot. You are off-duty until I decide what to do with you. You may not have heard that Rear Admiral Knerden is onboard. His briefing will take place tomorrow at 1500 hours. You will attend. Dismissed.”

Britlot stood and saluted. He started to turn to the door, then stopped.

“Sir, permission to approach the Commodore.”

Martok glared at him. “Permission denied.”

“Sir, I would like your permission to approach the Commodore.”

Martok’s eyes widened. That was as nice a way as he’d ever heard it put. Go over his head, would he? The Lieutenant-Commander was about to find himself in more trouble than—oh, the hell with it.

“Very well, Britlot. You have my permission to approach the Commodore. But not prior to the briefing.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Martok laughed without amusement. “Don’t thank me yet. You will probably regret this move. Dismissed.”

The door opened under Britlot’s hand, and he was stepping through when the Captain called him back.

“Britlot.”

“Sir?”

“You’ll hear about this soon enough anyway, I suppose.”

“Sir?”

“The freighter Cariel arrived two days ago. You’ll want to talk with her captain and crew.”

“The Cariel, sir? She was due in shortly after I left. This makes her three weeks late.”

“Yes, Lieutenant-Commander, I can tell time with the best of them,” Martok said heavily.

Britlot would have laughed had not Martok been his superior and were he not resentful of the implications of their meeting. “Aye, aye, sir,” he said and quickly left. He’d never imagined old Martok having a sense of humor.

In his quarters, Britlot indulged in a long shower—a luxury he missed when on scout. While soaping, he wondered if his interest in the ghost ships did threaten his career. And what did Cariel have to do with anything?

His best hope of finding Cariel’s crew lay in the civilian messes. And better to find a crewmember there than going to Cariel herself. A few drinks loosened tongues.

Enquiries at the entrance pointed him to a short dark-haired man with a scraggly moustache. Britlot walked to the man’s table. The smell of liquor, unwashed men and questionable food mixed in the air.

“Good day, sir, I’m Lieutenant-Commander Mart Britlot and I …” The man rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, perhaps hoping some deity might rescue him.

“Gods. Another of them,” the man shook his head in disgust. “You’re not a doctor type are you?”

Britlot laughed, as if genuinely amused. “No, I’m not. And I stay as far away from them as I can. Crazy bastards, and they think they can psyche us.” He laughed again, adding just a touch of bitterness to the laugh. A glass of dark brown liquid rested on the table in front of the man. “Kelvin beer?”

“Yeah. I like it,” the man looked at him suspiciously. “What of it?”

But Britlot’s attention centered on a server, and his arm waved. “Two Kelvins here, please.” He returned his attention to the other. “Mind if I sit?”

“You like Kelvin?” Ecovin’s suspicions remained.

“It’s that aftertaste, sort of like a Cardi exhaust.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” The man brightened a little. “Name’s Ecovin, Elnar to my friends.”

Britlot sipped of the Kelvin beer and smiled, suppressing a shudder. “Elnar, I hear you had an interesting time recently. Tell me about it.” He ignored the noise and smells of the mess.

Ecovin’s reluctance disappeared as he recognized the young officer’s interest; a good story needed a proper audience. The high mucky-mucks, who ignored the only logical explanation, could go to hell. As Britlot’s interest increased without evincing any disbelief, Ecovin opened up and told in detail points he’d glossed over for the other investigators.

An hour later he escorted Britlot aboard the Cariel and, with Captain Larrsh’s permission, Ecovin played the detector recordings for him.

Britlot stared hard at the ghostly images as they played across the screen, squinting as the details blurred, sharpened and then grew.

“Vandoo,” he whispered in wonder.

Ecovin turned to him, surprised that anyone in an official capacity would admit what Ecovin himself knew to be true. “Exactly,” he breathed highly combustible fumes into Britlot’s face. “Ghost ships.” Unconsciously, his right hand rose to his medallion and he began fingering it, a talisman against the evils that roamed the universe.

“Ghost ships,” Britlot agreed, a slightly sardonic smile playing at his lips. “What detectors do you have?”

“Prentill 440’s,” Ecovin replied defensively.

“Pity you didn’t have a Fleet detector, yet the Prentill is reliable. Where were you?”

“That’s the devil of it,” Navigation Officer Trumnor told him, after Ecovin introduced her and left to relieve his bladder, “we just don’t know. And then the Captain and First Mate panicked and I never got the chance for a proper fix. I don’t know what came over them. With the navtank out, we couldn’t record the fix.” She shrugged.

“Shall I tell you?”

Janny Trumnor looked up into his open face, sensed no joke at her expense, and nodded. “Please.”

“You were in the Sivon sector,” he explained as if it should mean something.

“Of course we were,” she said, looking a little disgusted. “I do know that much.”

“Then you don’t know the story?”

Trumnor glared at him. “If you’re going to say something, come out and say it.”

“Sorry. Really. The Sivon sector is where the Adian Émigrés disappeared along with the 22nd Fleet, the Vandoo. That was,” he looked up and did a quick calculation, “two hundred and ninety-eight years ago.”

Memory of her captain, shaken and afraid, came back. “The Vandoo. He said that.”

“Yes. Ten million civilians in over a thousand ships and the entire 22nd fleet left Lormar for some planet an explorer said he’d discovered. They dropped out of hyperspace into hell. Some sort of phenomenon—they likened it unto a small black hole—destroyed the lot. A scoutship escaped and returned. Its only vid record showed a battleship and two transports being torn apart.”

“Why haven’t I heard this story before?”

“You’re not from this sector and, over the years, interest died. Besides, the Confederation considered the Adians fools for disputing the Tlartox treaty; Lormar considered them, and the 22nd Fleet, traitors for leaving. Nobody wants to remember and, given the striving for good relations with the Tlartox Empire, they downplayed it.

“Bitterness on Lormar continued for years. Official histories ignored the Adians. They became a sidebar. After all, they were only one nation from a single planet of a forty planet Confederation.”

“No one went after them to see what had happened?”

“A few intrepid salvage firms decided they might benefit from the disaster. No ships returned or even reported back. That discouraged further investigation.”

“I’d think so.” Trumnor looked up. “How do you know this?”

“It’s a passion of mine. In any event, you were in the sector where the fleet disappeared. The scout reported all comm out. No one could be reached; no signals heard.”

“Our comm went out, even though the Comm-Op swore our set showed green.” Trumnor pursed her lips. “No wonder the Captain was worried.” She wasn’t about to use the word ‘scared’ where it could get back to him, forgetting that she’d already accused him of panicking.

Britlot smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. “Then, about two hundred years ago, came a sighting of a vessel type long since scrapped due to the Tlartox Treaty. If accurate, it could only have been the 22nd. Other sightings followed occasionally. Best guess was that visuals had somehow been thrown out of the black hole—or whatever—and those crews had seen mere echoes of the past: Ghost Ships.”

“This is more than just a passion, isn’t it?”

“Some have called it an obsession,” Britlot agreed complacently. “Now, just let me have your dead-reckoning course and where you came out and I’ll back-track you.”

“You’d actually go there, knowing that, uh, phenomenon might kill you?”

Britlot just looked at her.

Trumnor’s eyes widened with sudden knowledge. “You don’t believe these are echoes or ‘Ghost Ships.’ You think they are real. You’re crazy.”

“Possibly. The data?”

*

“So there you have it, Gentlemen, Ladies, there will be war.” The pronouncement by the tall Rear Admiral shocked the room. Grim expressions replaced the smiling ones that had entered. Mart Britlot had come in smiling. He recalled entering the room on a much lighter note.

“Lieutenant-Commander Renntol, good to see you again.” Britlot smiled at the dark-haired woman.

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot. Back from your latest foray into Sector Seven? Perhaps you’ll remain with us a while.” She allowed him the benefit of her own smile.

“Perhaps,” he allowed.

“Think he’ll give a blow by blow description of the battle, or just dry details?” she asked in a low voice. The buzz of quiet conversation rose as the room filled.

Britlot smiled again, showing his features to best advantage. Tanna Renntol was one of many women who’d been drawn by his wavy blond hair, dazzling eyes and charm. To the old Britlot. “You know the Rear Admiral’s rep, Tanna, we’ll get it all. It could have been us out there.”

“Fortunes of war, Mart. Imagine, with only his section, he fought an entire Combine fleet. He’s a hero.”

“Yeah, while Second Fleet had convoy escort duty.” Recollection of his parents’ fate lessened the bitterness. Someone needed to guard the convoys.

The temperature rose as the room filled; the exchangers could not meet the challenge, and the air slowly grew stale. The door to the inner rooms opened emitting Commodore Taglini, Captain Martok and Captain Benteel.

Renntol and Britlot stood with the rest as Commodore Taglini made his way to the podium. “Gentlemen, Ladies, your attention, please. It is my pleasure to present Rear Admiral Knerden.” The room remained at attention as a tall thin man in Confederation uniform entered. He took the podium without thanking the Commodore. He looked out over the assembled officers.

All available officers from the space dock, from damaged vessels receiving repairs, and from replacement crews had been called to the briefing.

“Gentlemen, Ladies, be seated.” A rush of sound rose then died as the assembled officers sat and adjusted their chairs. The Rear Admiral continued to gaze from officer to officer, his face grim. Suddenly he smiled. “Good of you to come. I’m just back from a place called Plillinth—some of you may have heard of it.” The room resounded to laughter. “Well, we showed the Combine something there that they’ll remember for a long time.” Cheers broke out and the iron-grey-haired admiral smiled again, his eyes alight with pride. “So, without further ado, let me tell you about it.”

Silence fell, and he spoke to a rapt audience. Britlot sat as enthralled as the rest, for the Admiral engaged the imagination with his words. Knerden’s attention to detail allowed Britlot to follow the course of the battle in his mind, and his eyes drifted off to nowhere in particular as he ‘saw’ the Confederation squadrons change a situation of dire threat into one of victory. Briefly his eyes refocused and, to his surprise, he saw Commodore Taglini frowning. He wondered about it briefly before the web of words caught him up again.

Spontaneous applause greeted the end of the story and the Admiral basked in it and then held up his hand.

“Thank you. It’s good to see high morale in Second Fleet and in Support. I know you would like to be back out on the frontier, but I have come to tell you that you are where you are needed.”

Faces sharpened, and the officers waited with expectation. Then came the unexpected.

“Intelligence reports that the Tlartox have voted against renewing the Treaty of Tlenfro. Even now they prepare their fleets for war. So there you have it, Gentlemen and Ladies, there will be war. A second front.”

And that was no good news, Britlot thought. No one smiled any longer.

Rear Admiral Knerden’s gaze wandered over those assembled. Their grim looks reflected his own. Good. Every officer needed to realize the seriousness of the situation. The Confederation required time to build up for a two-front war. These officers would have to buy it.

Victory, though difficult, would come. Eventually. And glory would abound for the strong. He smiled inwardly.

“Questions?”

Britlot had a mind full of questions, but he wasn’t about to put them to a Rear Admiral. A pall of silence settled over the room until one man stood.

“Captain Martok?”

“Sir, do we have a time frame?” Martok’s black brows were the terror of many a junior officer. When he frowned, they joined together into one straight ridge of hair that foretold disaster for someone. They now stood in that straight line.

The Rear Admiral remained unaffected. He gave Martok a wry smile. “That is, naturally, the question.” He relaxed slightly behind the podium. “Our best minds believe we have, at most, three years. The Empire prefers to get what it wants cheaply. They remember Tlenfro and won’t want to risk a repeat. They will need time to reorganize, gather their strength and the wherewithal for a major campaign. Our agents tell us that the vote caught their military off-guard.”

Commodore Taglini recognized Knerden’s strategy, and nodded appreciatively as the mood in the room lightened. It was a subterfuge, though, he knew. The situation three centuries ago differed sharply from that of today. Three hundred years of peace, even if at times an uneasy peace, had disappeared and they would lose planets. Taglini watched the Rear Admiral as he wound up.

“Therefore, Gentlemen, Ladies, your task is clear. You must repair our damaged ships quickly. We shall need every hull we can get our hands on.”

Knerden allowed his gaze to linger on each officer for a moment, and they rewarded him with the minute stiffening of the spine. “You must impress upon your people the gravity of the situation without letting them know the classified aspects of this briefing. Let it slip that we are going on the offensive on the Combine front to put an end to the enemy’s ability to wage war on us. It will be an all-out effort.” Seeing the nods of understanding and acceptance, the Rear Admiral ended it. “Thank you for your attention.” He smiled. “Now back to work. Remember, the Confederation counts on you.”

The assembled officers stood to attention; Commodore Taglini dismissed them. Bravo II’s command staff remained behind as the others exited.

As the officers left, Taglini led the group into a smaller room where Knerden waited. Tension hung in the air, but the Rear Admiral had relaxed. Taglini opened a wall cabinet and brought forth a bottle of Tsliristi wine and glasses. The others gathered about the situation table.

With a faint sigh of regret Taglini pulled the cork and poured the wine—too good for this Rear Admiral. Amber liquid soon filled each glass. He replaced the cork. The station officers looked at each other and waited until Rear Admiral Knerden finally reached for his drink.

“Gentlemen,” Captain Benteel, as junior officer, proposed the toast, “I give you the Confederation.”

“The Confederation!”

They replaced their glasses on the table.

“Sit, Gentlemen, Lady.” Knerden pulled out his own chair and the others followed his lead.

“Well, sir, you certainly got their attention, and ours. The efficiency of the repair dock will improve,” Taglini said.

Knerden gave a small laugh. “Now, Tag, you and I both know that your dock is the most efficient in the Confederation. We all know what my tour represents.”

Yes, a morale booster before the darkness to come. Still, Bravo II was off the beaten path, and the three wondered what else brought about Knerden’s appearance. No one wanted to ask the question, and they all sat sipping wine.

Finally Captain Benteel broke the silence. “Sir, you didn’t come all this way just to tell us to work harder.” Flag rank intimidated her, though she had been in Fleet almost as long as had the Rear Admiral.

Knerden smiled disarmingly. The man had charm, she had to admit, and she wondered why Taglini disliked him. “No, Listra, I didn’t. I’m about to dump another job into your already overworked hands.” He pulled a datastick from an inside pocket. “I have orders here to have you begin preparing and recommissioning vessels from Mothball Fleet C.”

A shocked silence endured until Captain Martok took the plunge. “That bad, sir? Class-Cs are 150 years old. They’ll stand no chance against modern Tlartox frigates and cruisers.”

Knerden fixed him with a stare. “You heard me in the briefing, Captain. We need every—and I stress every—hull we can lay our hands on.” He relaxed and smiled. “But I don’t think you need worry. They’ll simply replace the Class-B recommissions and regular Fleet vessels on interior patrol and convoy duty. Then our front-line fleets will be brought up to fighting strength and can take the war to the enemy!”

Taglini rubbed his heavy jaw, feeling the bristle of whiskers. He should have shaved again before the briefing. He considered. Knerden sounded confident yet, in reality, Tlartox raiders would enter Confederation space and attack convoys guarded by the outmatched Class-C vessels. The old ships would fight, but they would die. In fact, with such a preponderance of weight on the Tlartox side, the Class-C recommissions would need to take their place in the battle line. Taglini glanced around, and knew the others had similar thoughts. Surely the Rear Admiral must know this. Either that or he lived in a world of his own. Knowing the man, Taglini couldn’t decide which was the more likely. Perhaps Knerden just didn’t care.

Martok paled. He picked up his glass and emptied it in one draught. He foresaw a slaughter. As a cadet, he had served in a Class-C trainer. He knew their shortcomings. He closed his eyes, then opened them in time to catch the Rear Admiral’s fierce gaze. Subdued, he nodded. They might have to recommission them, but the Rear Admiral would have to order the inadequate vessels and their crews into battle. He might even have to command a squadron of them, though Martok doubted that.

“Sir, we’ll give you those ships in the very best shape we can,” he promised.

“The very best,” Captain Benteel echoed.

“Thank you,” Knerden looked pleased, even eager. “I’m counting on that.”

The eager look had Commodore Taglini’s stomach jumping nervously.

CHAPTER 3

TLARTOX HOMEWORLD

Shads Efdur led the small group down a narrow alley. “This way. Hurry,” he called quietly. They vaulted a fence into a small backyard and crouched as land cruisers roared by just up the street.

“In here.” Shads pulled open a door leading to a cellar. Ange slipped in, weapon in hand, followed by The Master and Strel. Shads pulled the door closed and hit a switch. A dull light came on. The musty, cobweb-filled space had the appearance of a place long abandoned. Against a wall stood a pile of old boxes; the floor was dirty.

“This way.” Shads pulled on a box in the second row and it slid out and about as if on well-greased hinges, which it was. Dim lights lit the tunnel beyond, and the four quickly moved through the hole and into it. Shads turned off the cellar light, slipped through the hole and pulled the box back into place. He locked it.

The four crouched as they walked the hundred-meter tunnel, avoiding the low ceiling and condensation-slick walls. The stale air spoke of long disuse. Ange snarled as he slipped and acquired a layer of muck on his shiny grey forearm. A quiet hiss from Strel quieted him. They walked on.

None too soon, the end of the tunnel appeared and Shads worked the hidden lock. The hatch swung open and the four stumbled into a cold room, not unlike the cellar they’d come from. Shads closed the hatch and a small light lit the area. At least this room had a clean smell to it. Air circulated. Stairs rose into the shadows and Shads led the way up.

“Relax. We’re safe now.”

“That’s what we thought about the meeting place,” came Strel’s rejoinder. “Hunters everywhere. Had we arrived ten minutes earlier …” He didn’t need to finish the thought.

Shads shuddered at the memory. The sound of gunshots had echoed from what should have been a safe house. With friends trapped, they had run. It hurt. He opened the door at the top of the stairs, and a worried looking Nallin greeted him.

“What’s happened? You’re not supposed to be here.”

That annoyed The Master. “We are here because there is danger.” Nallin should have recognized the obvious. “The hunters discovered our meeting place. We lost friends tonight, Nallin. We have to curl up for a time.”

“Here?” Nallin looked shocked. “But there are four of you. We aren’t set up for this.”

“Oh, for Tlar’s sake, shut up.” Shads had had enough. “We’re tired and dirty. After we groom we’ll have a discussion, see what needs be done.”

“How many did they get?”

“We don’t know that either. We’ll find out soon enough.” Shads didn’t want to talk about it. He recalled the gunfire, shots from two different types of weapons. The heavier thuds came from the weapon Miz carried. She would fight to the death, he knew. He wanted to yowl his pain to the moon.

LORM, CAPITAL CITY OF LORMAR

Relnie Fronel decided she could get used to this, the good life. The warm sun shining on her, a cool drink in her hand, and Lemm working in the garden: a dream come true. And not once in the past month had he looked to the stars with the longing that marked the first few months of his retirement.

She turned her head to watch him tending the catrii. The catrii proved the point. They needed constant attention to thrive in these latitudes and Lemm wouldn’t have planted them had he any ideas of leaving. His long fingers gently rubbed the reddish leaves; the physical irritation would bring on the magnificent blooms. He had such lovely long fingers. She smiled at the thought.

Fleet had had them for the better part of thirty long years. Finally her turn had come and brought with it the joy she had always known would be hers.

“Dad!”

Lemm’s head came up, and he broke into a wide smile. The smile faded, and Relnie twisted to see their daughter, Colli, worry on her face.

“What is it, Colli?” Lemm asked.

“The comm. They say it’s urgent.”

Lemm’s eyebrows rose and he stood, wiping his fingers on his pants. Relnie came around in her chair and stared as Lemm strode into the house.

“Colli?”

“It’s Fleet, Mom.” Colli made her way through the peas, picking a few pods as she approached. Beautiful and blonde, she took after Lemm’s side of the family.

“What does Fleet want with Lemm?” She couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice.

“I don’t know, Mom. They wouldn’t tell me anything. They just said it was urgent.” Her calm eyes regarded her mother.

Relnie’s mouth tightened. “If your father thinks that I’ll stand for this, he had best think again.”

“Why not wait and see what Dad has to say, before we get upset?” She handed Relnie a pea pod. Together they opened the pods and ate the sweet morsels.

Relnie picked up her fruit juice from the table, found her hand shaking, and put it down again, untouched. She saw that Colli had noted the warning sign.

“I’ll take a few pods in to Melsie, Mom. She can be a real tyrant when she wants. Was I ever that bad?”

Relnie laughed. “Bad? That sweet little girl?” She fixed Colli with a sharp gaze. “You, on the other hand, were a terror.”

Colli’s eyes rounded. “Surely not that bad?”

They laughed together.

“Thanks, Colli.”

They saw Lemm appear.

“Melsie is waiting.” She wasn’t fooling anyone and, when she passed Lemm, he let her know.

“Getting while the getting is good?”

“Like you taught me, Dad, staying out of the line of fire. Shields up, old man.”

“That bad?”

“That bad, Lemm,” Relnie replied, having overheard. “You promised me.”

He tried to take her hand but she pulled back.

“I waited twenty-five years for this Lemm. You could have retired five years ago on a full pension, but you had to stay, ‘serve Fleet’ was how you put it. Well, while you were doing your duty I was doing mine. Raising the children you only saw occasionally; keeping them from worry while you battled the Combine; trying to keep from worrying myself.” She took a further step back when he tried again to take her hand. She would not be mollified. “I’ve had enough, Lemm.

“I watched while you made the estate into a fortress, busying yourself with things military, even if you were no longer a part of it. Do you think I like these walls?” She gestured at the tall walls surrounding the large garden, blocking the wind, blocking the sight of the neighbors. “And when you finished that, you stocked the house, planning for what disaster I don’t know, operating as if on a military campaign.” She almost smiled at the memory. Almost.

“But I thought you’d gotten over it when you took up gardening with such passion.”

“Relnie, they need me.”

“I need you, Lemm. I need someone.” The last sentence a threat she never believed herself capable of. And he took it stoically, a final blow. “I don’t know who you asked, what favors you called in, but if you go, that’s it, Lemm.”

“Finished?”

“I hope not, Lemm, I hope not.”

“Listen carefully, Relnie, I didn’t call anyone. I’m happy here. They called; they need me.”

“My God!” Relnie put her hand to her mouth. “When will we start hearing? Those poor families.”

“You never cease to surprise me with your quickness, Relnie, but I don’t believe we lost a major battle with the Combine. I think the grapevine would have let me know before official word came my way.” He looked so grim.

“The Tlartox!”

“That would be my guess.”

“And you have to go?”

“They gave me no choice: Article 487.”

“Bastards.”

“It may come to nothing, Relnie. But I need to know that you’ll wait for me. I won’t spend a day longer with Fleet than is absolutely necessary.” His eyes pleaded with her.

“You’ve never lied to me, Lemm.” She wanted so much to believe him.

“And I won’t start now.”

The sun was warm on her back, yet she shivered. “How much time have we?”

“Three days.” She heard the sorrow in his voice.

“Then let’s do as much as possible in three days.” She had never been one to fight hopeless battles.

Lemm’s slow warm smile returned. “There’s something upstairs I could use help with,” he said.

Relnie heard the huskiness in his voice and followed his gaze to their bedroom window. She returned his smile, took his hand and led the way back to the house. The good life meant taking what you could when you could.

SPACEDOCK BRAVO II

Commodore Taglini stared at Britlot in astonishment.

“Lieutenant-Commander, you wish to take a fully crewed and equipped scout out to hell and gone to check out this will o’ the wisp in the Sivon Sector?”

“Yes, sir,” Britlot replied, voice steady and strong.

Incredible.

“You have read the scientific reports, have you not?”

“Yes, sir, I have. With respect, sir, I believe them in error.”

“You do?” Full captains had quailed before that question delivered in that tone of voice. Britlot, however, maintained his composure. Taglini had no illusions. Britlot did not excel in toughness, he knew; rather he, himself, no longer presented the imposing figure of only a decade past. Another sign he should retire.

“Yes, sir, I do. Certainly their conclusions fall within the realm of possibility, but I have reports of sightings in widely separated areas under too many different conditions to ascribe them all to signals out of time tossed out by a black hole—or whatever.” He paused and, for the first time, Taglini noted a slight nervousness in the officer. “If you wish, sir, I have documentation of twenty-eight reports over the last two hundred years.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of this.” Britlot’s obsession with the Vandoo had become a running joke in the wardroom. Britlot flushed slightly.

“I’m sure you have, sir.”

Insolence? Or merely bitterness over the lack of weight the others gave to his pet theories? Taglini decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Yes, I have, Lieutenant-Commander. I dabble in history, myself, and your report,” he indicated the stick on the table in front of him, “and request don’t stand up. No command officer would grant your request, given this.”

Britlot looked like he’d taken a broadside from one of the ‘Ghost Ships’ he’d been searching for. “So, Lieutenant-Commander Britlot, I’ll have to deny it.”

Britlot’s expression didn’t change, but Taglini had occupied this position often enough to recognize the disappointment. He cursed silently and opened Britlot’s file. Martok should have stomped on this right back in the beginning. Now it became his duty to notate Britlot’s record. A shame the young man couldn’t have let it alone. He looked back to Britlot’s face and stiffened as he realized Britlot was about to make another attempt. Dear Gods, how did one fight such fanaticism? Were it not misplaced, he would admire the determination. The certainty in Britlot’s expression shook him.

“Unless,” he was as big a fool as the Lieutenant-Commander, “unless there’s more. Something which you may have failed to include in your request.

“Let’s cut through the smoke, Britlot. What about the 22nd and the Émigrés has you so fired up?” Foolishness, giving the man another chance; Taglini allowed himself the whim. “You have one minute. Make it good.”

Britlot stared at the Commodore, probably wondering if he meant it. The Commodore wondered the same. Britlot took the plunge.

“You say you dabble in history, sir. Then you’ve heard of Begoine.”

“Of course. The only vessel of the 22nd to escape the Phenomenon.” Taglini stopped short. “Lieutenant Britlot, of course.”

“Yes, sir, I trace my line directly back to Begoine. And now, I’m the last of that line.”

“The last?”

“Restovine.”

It took only the one word. Britlot hurried on, perhaps afraid that Taglini would cut him off. Taglini had no such notion. Begoine.

“Lieutenant Mart Britlot of the Begoine—my parents named me after him—survived five years after his escape from the Phenomenon. He married the only other long-term survivor, Ciely Jan, Spacer, 2nd class, and had a son before the sickness carried him off. His diary passed down his line for the last two hundred and ninety-one years. Each successive possessor took a required oath of silence.”

Taglini’s felt the hunger within. Diaries from a member of the 22nd. A naval historian, he had studied the battles of the 22nd. No other fleet had amassed such a record. No defeats. No retreats. When they went into battle, they won. Their commanders, backed by the Adians of Lormar, argued longest and most bitterly against the Tlartox treaty. The mere thought of a diary existing from that period and those people made him salivate.

“You have this diary?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“And you think that there is something in it that will bear on my decision?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d have to see it for myself, you know.”

“This is not a problem sir.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, sir, I have it here on the station. It will be a simple matter to go and …” Suddenly Britlot understood. “Ah, I see. I received the diary with my parents’ effects. I’d not seen it before and swore no such oath, though I’ve since discovered that all others of my line had.”

Commodore Taglini felt his face soften. An oath-breaker he would not have countenanced. “Good. Well, Lieutenant-Commander, why are you still here? Go get the diary.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

LORM, LORMAR

“Come in, come in.”

Jol Drendol obeyed and walked into the plant manager’s office, wondering again at the huge desk behind which the bald man sat. Did he really find it necessary? “What is it, Trel? One of the boys been playing the fool on the factory floor?” Trel never called him in unless he had a complaint. If it were about something else, Trel would go out to find him. This time, however, Trel merely smiled.

“Nothing like that, Jol. I hurt my leg on the weekend. Can’t go running off after someone like you. You’re too tall, and walk too fast.”

Jol grinned, his eyes now less wary. The thought of the short, overweight man trying to chase him down amused him. “Not serious, I hope?”

“No. A few days rest, the doctor told me, then suggested an exercise regime.” The bald man sighed and wiped some imagined sweat from his brow. “I suppose I’d better do it this time.”

That would be the day. “Sometimes the docs know what they’re talking about …”

“And sometimes they talk to hear their own voices,” Trel completed for him. “To business, though. Fleet has upped the order by twenty percent.”

Jol whistled. That meant a lot of torpedo guidance heads. He did the calculations. “Overtime?”

Trel grinned. “Well, we want to stay away from that. Your union made that perfectly clear in the last contract negotiations. For the moment, the company wants to approach some who’ve recently retired. See if they want a little part-time work for a month or two. And I’d like you to put out the word to the part-time workers that some temporary full-time is available.”

Jol nodded. “That might work. If it doesn’t?”

“Then we ask teams to volunteer for an hour’s overtime.”

“Sounds right, Trel. I don’t think you’ll get much argument. There are always some who’ll trade time for extra cash.” Trel remained silent. Jol liked that about the man. He didn’t talk for the sake of talking. Not like his predecessor, the one who had nearly caused a strike. “I’ll put out the word.”

“Thanks Jol. Oh, and how’s the little one?”

Jol smiled, the action softening his formidable features. “Back at school. Just a virus, I guess. Thanks.” No, Trel was nothing like his predecessor. Trel actually did care about his people. Jol exited the office and headed for the factory floor, his thoughts on the order. Twenty percent more guidance heads. It appeared Fleet had finally decided to get serious about the Combine.

CHAPTER 4

SPACEDOCK BRAVO II

“Twelfth day, sixth month, Confederation year 682,” the blond young man in the dark blue, double breasted uniform jacket of the old Confederation Navy intoned seriously.

“Father was furious. Said if that was what they taught in the Lorm Fleet Naval Academy, I’d’ve been better off going into the merchant marine. Sometimes I don’t understand him. Rather, most of the time I don’t understand him.

“Surely the Veryt Convention serves us all. No doubt but that it has saved the lives of many crews on crippled vessels. Professor Croenot says that it is tantamount to murder to fire on vessels which have no defenses left. The spacers aboard should have the right to declare their ships ‘out-of-action’ and be given time to take to the lifeboats. I agree with him. What good to kill defenseless men and women? Prisoners can always be exchanged. Father, naturally, doesn’t agree. He can be very contrary.

“Father says that war is murder and agreeing to rules and conventions simply makes it into a high-stakes game. War, he says, is uncivilized and should be recognized as such. If we agree that necessity exists, we should fight with all means at our disposal, as ruthlessly as possible, to convince the enemy that it does not pay to continue, thus ending it in the shortest possible time.

“Professor Croenot teaches that if the enemy have no hope of surrender and mercy at our hands, they will fight more desperately and to the death, causing us more casualties. Father, of course, argues the point. He feels that if an enemy’s forces know that every fight will be a fight to the death, they will be reluctant to engage in the first place and their commanders will be more reluctant to send them into battle—lest they revolt. To fight efficiently a soldier must either believe totally in the cause, ready to lay down his life for it or, failing that, must at least believe he will survive. ‘No quarter’ battles teach the reluctant soldier that there is no hope and that, therefore, he should not engage our forces to begin with.

“I find that I agree with both of them. Is it possible that they are both right?

“When I use Professor Croenot’s points, Father’s face turns red and I fear that he’ll have an attack. But I didn’t back down this time and, much to my surprise, after we’d finished, Father told me that he was proud of me. Said that it was okay to have a different opinion, but that I’d better make sure I believe it worth fighting for. Sometimes I just have to shake my head.” Britlot made that very motion and sighed.

“It’s tough. Father knows so much and I’m just learning. He says if it weren’t for the 22nd Fleet, we would have lost this war six years ago. Says that the 22nd alone knows how to fight a war.”

Britlot’s expression cleared. “Only six months until I graduate and, as a citizen of Adia, I can either stipulate that I wish to join Adia’s fleet or place myself in the general pool and be assigned where needed. Naturally I’ll join the 22nd. It is our fleet.”

“An interesting perspective,” Commodore Taglini commented, squeezing the soft ball that usually adorned his desk. Britlot had wondered about its purpose. “I’ll assume that you have a reason for marking that particular section.”

“Yes, sir. I’d appreciate it if we could go through the rest before explaining.” Lieutenant-Commander Britlot spun the archaic disc ahead to the next mark at Taglini’s nod.

The Commodore’s semi-darkened office hid Britlot’s anxiousness—he hoped. Taglini appeared interested enough and had given orders that no one disturb them.

Britlot rehearsed in his mind how he’d tie the threads together. He hoped he had picked the right segments to interest the Commodore in the Adians and the history available in the disk. But would Midshipman Britlot carry the day where his descendant might fail? Britlot took the risk.

“Twenty-third day, third month, Confederation Year 684.”

Midshipman Britlot appeared exhausted. Large sweat circles stained the armpits of his uniform and his face dripped perspiration.

“We won. I think we won. But the cost. Cartene is gone. Blasted out of space. Newest battleship in the fleet. We thought she was unstoppable. The Tlartox stopped her, but they paid.” Pride straightened the midshipman’s tired body. “She didn’t stop firing until they destroyed her last gun and then she tried to ram, even on one engine.

“Tlartox fleet must have thought her gone mad. They turned every gun they had on her and that gave the rest of us our chance. We took it and took no prisoners. It’ll take them a long time to recover from this one.

“The planet Tlenfro lies naked beneath us. Perhaps now the Tlartox will understand what it means to wage war against the 22nd.”

Britlot spun the disc ahead again.

“Eighth day, sixth month, Confederation Year 684.”

Britlot now wore the rank of a sub-lieutenant on his sleeve.

“The war is over and Father is incensed. He says the Confederation betrayed our sacrifice at Tlenfro. ‘The lesson has not yet been learned,’ he rages. Adia argued bitterly against this treaty but we lost the vote. Anger grows at home and in the 22nd. We had them on the run, and now the Confederation has taken our victory from us. We paid the price to take Tlenfro, and now we simply give it back? There will be hell to pay.”

“Fourteenth day, eighth month, Confederation Year 684.”

“Anger has reached a muted crescendo. The treaty calls for disarmament. The 22nd has received orders to disband, to take our ships to the scrapyards. Adia is in near rebellion. Father talks about leaving the Confederation. Where would we go?”

“First day, first month, Confederation Year 687, Adian Year One.” Britlot now wore a Lieutenant’s uniform.

“It is fortunate Adia has always been a great trading nation. Every ship in our merchant fleet, every great liner, every old scow, every ship we could buy or trade for, we have assembled during the last two years. Lormar lies beneath us, but no Adian citizens remain.

“The decision to leave a unanimous one. All ten million of us. And, of course, the 22nd. The council has found a planet for us—beyond the Confederation.

“The mighty Restigouche has already entered hyperspace, along with escorts and the first of the liners. Begoine will scout to the rear, ensuring no Confederation ship follows.

“And they call us traitors. I’ve heard it myself. Yet it was they who betrayed us with that damned Tlartox treaty.” Britlot sneered at the lens. “Down below, the money hungry bastards rush to take what we built. We should have scorched everything before leaving.

“Time to go on duty. I’ll complete this later.”

“Fascinating, watching how the man changed,” Taglini commented as he stood and poured himself a glass of water. He offered the pitcher to Britlot, who declined. His stomach wouldn’t take anything at this point, not even water.

“Still, though fascinating, you’ve shown me nothing exceptional, Lieutenant-Commander.” Commodore Taglini smiled tolerantly. “I’m not unaware that you want me to see that man as a reliable witness, Britlot. Consider your mission accomplished. Now show me what you have.”

“Aye, sir.” Britlot silently thanked his ancestor. “Just one more section, sir.”

Taglini squeezed his ball, moving it from one hand to the other. “Very well.”

“Twenty-fourth day, tenth month, Confederation year 692.”

A pale Britlot stood dressed in a robe. Hair gone, he stood stooped, crippled. His voice never rose above a hoarse whisper and he seemed to slip in and out of reality, eyes focusing then glazing over.

“Last entry, I think. Too much pain.

“Surviving the Phenomenon didn’t help me much. Still, Ciely lives and is healthy, as is little Zent. We had hoped for so much more. It all seems a nightmare now. I dream it every night. The Phenomenon. All those good ships and people. All those good ships and people.”

A grin twisted his mouth, then he coughed, a wracking heaving cough. Finally it stopped. “Should I tell?” His voice barely discernable, cracked from a dry throat. “All those good ships and people.” His focus went and he stared blankly. Slowly he returned, and looked into the recorder. His eyes focused. “No, mustn’t tell. No one here must know.” He breathed out long sigh that ended in another harsh wracking cough.

He shook his head slowly. “All those good ships and people.” A strange light came into his eyes. “But not all the good ships and people.” He bent over coughing, looked up into the recorder once more, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Never tell. Swear them to silence.” His eyes went blank again.

The diary ended.

“What did he mean, there at the last?” Commodore Taglini leaned forward, staring at the blank screen.

“Sir, I believe he meant that, though he mourned the ships and people who had died at the Phenomenon, not all the ships and people died. Recordings from Begoine show only three vessels destroyed and sound-only recordings of distress calls suggest that at least another five or six were involved.

“Begoine trailed the fleet. She dropped last, no doubt about that, and the experts believe that she caught only the end of a great destruction. Reports from Begoine’s survivors told of no comm contact with other vessels, and no other vessels picked up by detectors. We’ve always assumed complete destruction of convoy and fleet.”

“But you no longer believe this.” Taglini rubbed his chin.

“No, sir, I don’t. Not after seeing this diary and not after all the sightings.” He paused. “And now Cariel has reported that her comm went out even though all telltales showed green. They couldn’t contact anyone from where they dropped, yet after returning to our sector of space their comm worked perfectly.” He left that for the Commodore to interpret as he would. Taglini would resent being taken for a simpleton.

“Sir, the 22nd still exists. I know it does. Adia still exists—somewhere.

“As Rear Admiral Knerden stated, we need every hull we can get. If we can enlist the 22nd in the upcoming war, we’ll be far ahead.”

“Son, those old ships would be more a liability than an asset.”

“Three hundred years have passed, sir. A military nation such as Adia would surely have made advances. My studies suggest that they would never scrap their ships. Like us, they would mothball some and use others as training vessels. Those training vessels are the ones which have been spotted.”

“An interesting viewpoint. And, given they exist—and that they’d come back and aid us—their tradition would make them formidable warriors. I see your point, Britlot.”

The lights came up at the Commodore’s command. He looked at the disc in Britlot’s hand. “I’ll make you a trade, Lieutenant-Commander. One scoutship, supplied, in exchange for that disc while you are gone. You’ll have to recruit your own crew.”

Britlot handed over the disc without hesitation. It was, after all, only a copy.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’d have my stripes handed to me if I authorized this mission.” He held up his hand to forestall any objection. “You’ll just have to do your searching on the sly while engaged on the mission I’m giving you.”

*

“Feneya, a moment of your time, please.”

Shoulder length, jet-black hair shimmered in a wave as the woman turned from the juice dispenser. She looked up to Britlot, smiling as she recognized him.

“My, but don’t you look full of yourself, Lieutenant-Commander.” Sub-Lieutenant Feneya Weytok laughed at the excitement Britlot’s eyes could not contain. Another of the young women who found Britlot very attractive, she had gone out of her way to let him know it. He had reciprocated, enjoying her intellect and sense of humor. Two ranks between them made a relationship difficult, but not impossible. To her disappointment, Britlot refrained from carrying it beyond friendship.

Britlot scowled. “Such is not the proper attitude of respect that a lowly sub-lieutenant should display towards one of my rank.” The mock anger in his voice could not conceal the laughter underneath. Sub-Lieutenant Weytok looked suitably abashed. “However, from the executive officer of a scoutship, and second-in-command, I suppose I could get used to it.”

“What?”

“It’s yours if you want it, Lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant?”

Britlot gave her a lop-sided smile and then nodded, quite seriously. “Can’t have a Subbie as XO.”

Feneya laughed, amused at Britlot’s antics. Then she sobered. “You’re not joking?” He shook his head. “What’s the catch?”

Britlot hesitated. “I’m going into the Sivon sector, looking for the Ghost Ships,” he finally confessed.

“They gave you permission for that? You must have talked faster than a space serpent. And isn’t Sivon supposed to be very dangerous?”

“That’s why I must recruit a volunteer crew. If you agree, the promotion is yours—it will go through, I have the Commodore’s word on it.”

“You got this past old Taglini? I can’t believe that!”

“Believe it. Now, are you in or not?”

Sub-Lieutenant Feneya Weytok stood still for a long minute. Then she came to attention and saluted. “Lieutenant Weytok reporting for duty, Captain. When do we leave?”

Britlot returned the salute. “We need a crew, Lieutenant. Any ideas?” Then he gave a wide grin, threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. “We’ll be a great team,” he whispered in her ear.

“Aye, sir, that we will.”

“Well, then, let’s get on with it.”

*

Short, shy and unassuming, Sub-Lieutenant Natya Krirtol had easily topped her class in astro-and hyperspace-navigation yet, to the despair of her teachers, lacked ability to project any sort of command presence. She brushed her medium brown hair back and pinned it. Her mouth was dry.

Rumor had the dashing young Lieutenant-Commander Britlot looking for volunteers for a scoutship. The same rumor stated his enterprise lacked success. Too many officers thought him strange, what with his ‘Ghost Ship’ obsession. She saw her chance in this. A scoutship doing routine mapping and searching. No combat, yet. Perhaps she could get a better handle on this officer stuff on a small ship. Perhaps she could get a little closer to the Lieutenant-Commander.

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot?” Krirtol saluted, cursing her voice for squeaking.

“Yes, Sub-Lieutenant. What can I do for you?”

“I hear … uh … I hear you need a navigator.”

Britlot smiled broadly, and Natya felt weak about the knees. He motioned her to a table in the Officers’ Club and bade her sit while he ordered drinks. His charm matched reports.

“You have experience as Navigator, Sub?” he asked gently.

“I, uh, yes,” Krirtol started off slowly. “Well, not much, but I graduated top of my class.” She wished he would say something. “I’m here as replacement crew.” Gods, what a disaster. Color came to her cheeks; her heart pounded. She should just go. It had been a bad idea from the outset. She had to get away.

“Well, Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol, welcome to the crew!” Britlot raised his glass. “To the mission,” he toasted.

Stunned, Krirtol fell back into her seat, recovered and raised her glass as well. “To the mission,” she confirmed, then added, “and the Confederation.”

Britlot studied his new recruit for a time, which flustered her. She blushed. “When do I report?” she asked, breaking the silence that threatened to devour her.

“You just did.” Britlot laughed, then relented. “Okay, bring me your papers first thing in the morning, and I’ll fix things with Personnel.” He made to get up, then changed his mind. “Natya,” he asked her familiarly, bringing another blush to her cheeks, “would you happen to know of any spacers who might like a little adventure?”

Krirtol thought immediately of Spacer Engineer Uraphret. Friends from early training on, though Uraphret had no desire to follow the command track, they had remained in touch even as Krirtol took officer training. Uraphret was a marvel with her hands. This would be the sort of mission she would like: small crew and a chance to try her hand at all the equipment on a vessel rather than be pigeon-holed into a small slot amongst a large crew on a frigate or cruiser.

“Spacer Engineer Uraphret came on board at the same time as I did, sir. This might be just what she’s looking for. And she’s good,” Krirtol told her new captain.

Britlot devastated her with another great smile. “Subbie, you’ve already contributed to the success of our mission. I’ll look her up immediately. Enjoy your drink.” He rose, leaving a shaken but happy navigator in his wake.

“I did it,” Natya whispered out loud.

*

Uraphret agreed to the post, half convinced because Krirtol had recommended her, and had also enlisted. Next to Britlot, Lieutenant Weytok sat and simply observed as he handled the interview.

She had watched in awe as he had swept through the spacer messes drawing normally sane people into his orbit, working a magic with them that she sometimes couldn’t believe.

Comm-Op Dhine had been the first. A twenty-four year old spacer with an already receding hairline and hooknose, Dhine had plunged in with a recklessness that Weytok saw repeated with Gunnery Spacer Pren Dorvon and Assistant Cook Rawl Tetjuin. Keel Tumjut had signed on as Jak. As such he held no specific classification. He cleaned, stood detector watch, did laundry, or whatever the moment called for. He had also trained in basic medical interventions.

Britlot accepted each at face value, though Weytok had several reservations. During Uraphret’s interview a lanky man in his forties came over and sat without asking permission.

“Engineer Chief Retuwet, sir,” he introduced himself. “I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m from Redoubtable. She’s going to be in dock for a fair time. Shot to pieces, she was, by the Combine. I could do with a job somewhat more relaxing for a short period. Engineering Lieutenant-Commander can do without me for a spell, I think.”

His forwardness, and apparent lack of respect for his officers, took even Britlot aback. Still, lifers and long-time engineering spacers tended to drift that way.

“I’ll talk with Redoubtable’s Engineering Officer and get back to you, Retuwet. My thanks for coming by.”

Retuwet nodded, stood and left without saluting. Britlot turned back to Spacer Engineer Uraphret. “Welcome to the crew, Spacer. You can report to the ship in the morning. Get familiar with her systems.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

*

Retuwet’s Lieutenant-Commander gave up Retuwet too easily for Weytok’s liking, considering that Retuwet was ‘a good man and I hope to get him back.’

“He’s got a temper, though,” the Engineer warned. “Just don’t back down and he’ll calm quickly. He pretends a slight disrespect for officers, but if you respect him, he’ll respect you and follow you to hell.”

That, Weytok thought, remained to be seen.

Still, with Britlot’s easy smile and infectious enthusiasm, he assembled his crew. Weytok shook her head. The mind boggled. He’d ended up disappointing several would-be crewmembers who had applied for positions already filled. It was amazing; rather than be insulted or dejected, they volunteered to help with readying Searcher, their vessel. She had never heard of such a thing. But this was the old Britlot. The brooding of the past several months seemed a distant shadow. Officers, on the other hand, continued to avoid him.

It also amazed her that Taglini had offered Britlot the scoutship Searcher. Of the latest class, and newly refitted, she had first-rate equipment.

And it didn’t end there. After recruiting Retuwet and the third engineer, Tianster, Britlot requested a going-away party for the crew. Instead, Command authorized a send-off party. Everyone, it seemed, from Commodore Taglini down to the lowest Spacer, attended. Amazing.

“It’s the romance of the situation,” Britlot told Weytok after she had stopped dead at the door at the sight of the crowd. “They may think us mad, going ghost-hunting; yet, somewhere down deep, each and every one of them wishes they were coming along. The great unknown beckons, Lieutenant. Adventure.” He laughed gaily, tossing his head back. “Well, I hope the crew enjoys this party. Soon it’s going to be the drudgery of plotting, inspecting, mapping.”

“Mapping?”

“You didn’t think that the Commodore would just let us go have fun, did you?” Britlot took her hand in his, and led her out onto the dance floor. “No, even if we don’t find what we’re looking for, we’ll come back with enough new data to make the operation worth it to him.” He laughed again and pushed her away, then drew her back in the first steps of the dance.

As she twirled into his arms she saw the Commodore and Captain Martok standing in the background, watching them between sips from ornate glasses.

“I’m still surprised you let him go, Commodore,” Martok said as they moved away from the bar and toward the door.

“Look at our people. Great little morale booster, this party, don’t you think?” Taglini dodged a dancing couple as the two cut across the corner of the floor.

“This was your doing, Tag,” Martok accused Taglini. “I wondered who leaked.”

“Well,” came the judicious reply, “I may have made a little suggestion here and there. Bad times loom on the horizon, Kale, and when they arrive these men and woman will have, in the backs of their minds, the idea that someone is out there seeking allies. There will be hope, and that hope may make a difference.”

“And do you believe in these Ghost Ships? The Vandoo?”

Taglini laughed quietly. “No, Kale, I don’t. Probably just what the scientists believe: stray signals thrown out by the Phenomenon. Signals out of time, nothing more. But our people need the hope.”

The two men continued down the hall in silence.

TLARTOX HOME PLANET

“I don’t believe it!” Shads Efdur repeated heatedly. “You have made a mistake.”

The fur on the back of Tep Nallin’s neck went up and his ears flattened. “I don’t make mistakes like that, Efdur. Miz led them to your meeting. They made records; there can be no doubt.” He glared at Shads. Jealous of Efdur’s technical wizardry, he happily inserted the claw in this hitherto unknown weak spot. “And she did it willingly.”

Shad’s pupils slitted. He stepped forward, ready to create mayhem.

“If their records show this, I suppose we cannot deny it. The fault belongs to me.” The two near-combatants relaxed slightly as The Master entered. No fight would occur with him there.

“Vom,” Nallin addressed the Master familiarly, “tell this tuber-chewing—”

“Enough. We have work to do. The hunters still sniff for our scent, and our organization has fallen to disarray. Fortunately Miz knew only of the one cell. Thus, while they hunt us, the others can work.” He lowered himself onto one of the cots in the room and curled up. “Shads, Strel has brought the results of the preliminary tests of the receivers. They did not go well. Find out why. Nallin, make contact with Ange. Find out how we can get out of the city, and back to where we can do some good, without having the hunters upon us. Me, I need my rest.” Vom closed his eyes and almost immediately his respirations slowed and smoothed.

Shads looked at Nallin. He couldn’t hold a grudge. “I wish I could do that.”

The fur on Nallin’s neck lowered as he shook his head in mute admiration. “Sorry, Shads. I was out of line. I know you liked Miz.” It had to be said. The Master, despite appearances, might yet hear and remember. It would not due for Vom to know the depths of his dislike for Efdur.

The two left Vom to sleep.

CHAPTER 5

SEARCHER, SIVON SECTOR

“All stop,” ordered Britlot.

“All stop,” confirmed the Navigator. “Holding steady.”

“Drop probe.”

“Probe away.”

“Good. Any contacts?” Britlot didn’t expect any and, expectations soon fulfilled, stood to leave the bridge. “Call me if you detect anything,” he ordered unnecessarily. He paused outside the bridge.

“Four months of this, and nothing,” Dorvon groaned.

Weytok laughed quietly. “Just pay attention to that telemetry. Last thing we need is for a Tlartox cruiser to sneak up on us while we sleep.”

“Not at war with the Tlartox yet, Lieutenant. Haven’t seen whisker nor tail of one anyway. Almost wish we would. I’ve never been so bored. ‘Let’s find the Vandoo,’ he says; ‘excitement,’ he says. Right.”

“That’ll be enough, Gunner.”

“Aye, sir.”

Britlot grimaced and stepped quietly away from the hatch. Dorvon spoke the truth. Four months of nothing discouraged even Britlot. Only eight to go, maximum.

Britlot sat in the empty mess after taking a snack from the ready-serve tray. So far, nothing interesting. Not even the vaguest trace of anything. Interesting, in this case, meaning a scent of the 22nd Fleet and the Émigrés—or even of the Tlartox. Nothing. Belief drove Britlot but, though the others wanted to believe and enjoyed the thought of being the heroes who found the Adians, four months of nothing had killed the crew’s morale.

Had Taglini not let slip the real reason for the mission, he would not have raised expectations. However, Taglini had let slip and now they all paid the price.

*

“Aye, sir, I have the con.” Natya Krirtol no longer felt panic when she took charge. The first time, her face had drained of blood and she barely spoke during the entire shift, thanking her gods most gratefully when Lieutenant Weytok arrived to relieve her.

After that, each command shift became easier. Now, she almost enjoyed it. She would have been devastated to know that in the beginning Britlot had left an audio channel open and had monitored the bridge from his cabin.

“Mister Dhine, we might as well begin routing the data to the navcomp. We’ll get some of the less joyous aspects out of the way before we drop.”

“Aye, sir,” Dhine replied, fingers flying over his console. “Numbers on their way, sir.”

Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol gave a small sigh of relief. Another of her commands obeyed, the spacer not even hesitating. She wished she had the confidence of the Captain and Executive Officer. Still, she improved with each shift.

“Thank the gods, the captain reduced the wait time another 6 hours, eh Dhine?” Dorvon asked.

“Easy for you to say. The Subbie and I have to compress a full day’s work into 12 hours now.”

Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol heard him but, hunched over her station formatting the report to Bravo II, did not respond. The normal one-day wait might be boring for the crew, but Krirtol missed it. Now she needed to work quickly to get everything done during the one shift.

*

“Captain to the bridge.”

Britlot groaned. He’d just achieved sleep. He toggled the internal Comm. “What is it, Sub?”

“I’ve been demoted?” Lieutenant Weytok’s amused voice came back to him. “Time to drop in after the probe, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary to report.”

“What time is it, Lieutenant?” He wiped the sleep from his eyes as she told him he’d been out for eleven hours. Too long, he thought, splashing water over his face. Overslept, that’s what he’d done.

Dressed and somewhat refreshed, he returned to the bridge. Along with the other male members of the crew, he had stopped shaving a month previous. Was this a sign of a breakdown of discipline?

“Report, XO.”

“All emergence stations manned, and ship ready to drop, Captain.”

“Very good.” Britlot strapped himself in. “Drop.”

Hyperspace blinked out of the detector scopes and monitors to be replaced by the wavering starfield and planet. As the ship stabilized in normal space the starfield ceased wavering.

“Up shields. Detectors?”

“Nothing, sir,” Spacer 2nd Class Dhine replied. “Probe intact and still recording.”

“Very well; recover it. Commence mapping and look for any signs of technology.” More orders he didn’t need to give. “We’ll add this one to the data bank then send the file back to the Confederation. Sub, your choice as to where we go next. Flip a coin and lay in a course. We leave as soon as we’ve scouted the planets. Detectors?”

“Still nothing of interest, Captain.”

After two long days of routine, with the crew struggling to remain alert, Britlot welcomed the chance to push on. Standing orders suggested strongly that a third day be spent ensuring the crew had missed nothing. He would use Captain’s Discretion.

“Captain.”

Britlot raised an eyebrow. Feneya’s tone was formal.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I think we should head back to a base for rest and resupply.”

“We are running out of supplies?” It was a pointless question. Both knew that Searcher, with a full load and skeleton crew, could go for a good year without restocking—if necessary.

“No, sir, but morale is on a definite decline. The crew needs a break.”

“Fenaya, if we head back we’ll lose weeks. We’ll not get a second chance. We need all the time we have.”

“Mart, you ask too much. If we keep at it with no end in sight, it will catch up with us. I see mistakes cropping up already—oh, nothing important, but take it as a sign. Please, let’s go back for a break.”

Britlot’s face hardened. “No, Lieutenant. We continue.”

Weytok considered him a long moment, wondering perhaps if she might press her case further. “Aye, sir. I’ll complete pre-jump inspection and ensure Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol sends the report.”

She remained on edge when he re-entered the bridge.

“Data relayed and message acknowledged, Captain,” Lieutenant Weytok reported.

“Good.” He toggled the In-Ship Broadcast. “Gentlemen, Ladies, before we leave the system, a party! I’ve still three bottles of fine Tsloritin wine left unopened. Party will begin in one hour, dress formal. That is all.” As he toggled the ISB off, he caught the grin of Spacer Dhine and knew he’d made the right decision.

“Okay people, fall out.” Comm-Op and Gunner promptly left their stations. “The rest of you, as well,” Britlot ordered and Weytok and Krirtol followed. Britlot made a round of the stations, then sat and watched the scopes and monitors. Three hours passed before Lieutenant Weytok returned.

“Where’s the Sub, Captain?”

“She’s in the galley. I appointed her head cook for the shift, Feneya. How’s goes the party?”

“Crew are having a ball.” Feneya relaxed. It seemed that the old Mart Britlot had returned. “It was a good idea, Mart. You should join in.” She looked at him with a friend’s eye.

Mart gave her a tired grin. “You know I can’t do that. I’m the ‘old man’. A certain distance must be maintained.”

“Yeah, I know. Same goes for me, I guess. Oh, well, I’ll go make another round of engineering and then bring the party to an end.”

“Fair enough. Six hours in the pit for everyone and then we leave the system.”

“What about you?”

“Someone has to keep a watch,” he reminded her gently.

“I’ll split it with you. I already had a short snooze in Engineering, so after I make the rounds I’ll relieve you for the first three hours.”

“But …”

“That’s an order, sir!”

Britlot gave in, laughing. “Mutiny. I should have suspected something when the biscuits showed up. Just keeping me out of the loop, busy eating.” He sobered. “Thanks, Feneya.” She simply nodded.

Six hours later, everyone feeling much the better, Searcher prepared to jump.

“Where are we headed, Sub?”

Krirtol pulled up the data and transferred it to the captain’s monitor. She looked up to him to confirm.

“Very well, Sub. Lay in the course and let’s be off. Your watch, I believe.” He unstrapped, stood and walked over to her. “Out of curiosity, why that system? It’s a little further than our usual jump.”

“I don’t know, sir. Hunch, I guess. And the Confederation has never plotted it at all. Might make it more interesting.”

“Good thinking. You have the con.”

PREDATOR, TLARTOX FLAGSHIP

Sab Tlorth enjoyed the artificial gravity, the dim lighting and the fresh, grass-scented air of the flagship. She took joy in the murals decorating the passageway to the Fleet Admiral’s day cabin.

The murals depicted Tlartox hunting tlenfel with only tooth and claw. The thought of new worlds upon which to raise tlenfel for the People, the Tox, satisfied her. These new worlds would hold humans, and humans were famous for their ability to raise prey species. The Tlartox would put them to work.

Hunting tlenfel in the wild brought excitement unmatched anywhere. And the taste of tlenfel! Sab salivated at the thought. Even an admiral in the fleet of the Tox did not dine on tlenfel often enough. And that alone might justify the upcoming war.

Upon reaching Fleet Admiral Tood Tlomega’s cabin, Sab checked herself over and licked down an errant tuft of fur. It wouldn’t do to go into the Great One’s cabin looking freshly awakened. Especially not when one of the warrior klatch paid a duty visit on a leader from the hunter klatch.

“Sab Tlorth,” Tood Tlomega greeted her ritually, “may your dining be pleasant.”

“My Admiral Tlomega, may your dish be always full,” Sab replied. Then she turned to business. “The gathering of the fleets goes well.”

Tlomega put a single ear back. “Don’t you think it has gone a little slowly?”

“My Admiral, necessity existed. A compromise between our true readiness state and the state that would have existed had we not planned this. No sense allowing our opponents to believe that the Warriors overcame their neutrality. Where no difficulties presented themselves, we manufactured some.” Sab was proud of how her agents had proceeded. “We have given the illusion of our klatch reacting swiftly to overcome obstacles in the wake of the unexpected vote.”

“When will we be ready, Sab Tlorth?”

“Soon, my Admiral, soon.”

“And then we dine.”

“And then we dine.”

The Fleet Admiral instinctively lowered her voice, though no one could hear. Her teeth bared. “The Tox approved our decision. Yet our opposition grows more vocal despite that. And puppeteers pull their strings. We must find and eliminate those. How goes that hunt?”

Sab followed Tood’s lead and lowered her voice. “After our agent, Miz, led us to the meeting where the ‘Master’ was supposed to be, the scent disappeared. She immediately had our people put out a net, but it caught nothing. Either this ‘Master’ and his minions were very quick and cunning or they simply couldn’t make it.”

“And how did this Miz take that?” Tlomega’s ears had that suspicious angle to them.

“With anger, Tood. She drives our people relentlessly. Two of this ‘Master’s’ tox have been caught, but those unfortunates didn’t survive the capture. However,” Sab bared her teeth, “we have another asset. This one crouches in deep cover and can report but infrequently.”

Tlomega’s ears cocked forward. “We must press this one. We must discover exactly what the dissenters plan. Except that they have brought in a tox with technical skills, we remain in without vision.”

“If we use official channels, we could—”

“But we can’t.” Tlomega’s snarl cut through Sab’s words and left her silent. She calmed. “Keep pushing, Sab. The klatches depend on us to find what we need to know.”

Sab bowed her head. “As you wish, Fleet Admiral.” Bringing the discussion back to a formal level served them both.

Tlomega’s eyes flashed, the light catching them as she turned. “Very good, Star Admiral. Dismissed.”

CHAPTER 6

SEARCHER

“You look frustrated, Lieutenant,” Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol commiserated with Weytok. Her superior had just come from the defaulter’s table.

“Argh. Engineering Chief Retuwet lost his temper, and he tried to take it out on Cookie. Tetjuin backs up for no one, and deliberately burned Retuwet’s breakfast.”

Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol laughed. “Has no one informed the Engineering Chief that one argues with the cook at one’s own peril? From the day I started talking about the Academy, my father beat it into my skull, ‘Always stay on the cook’s good side.’” She laughed again. “Sound advice. At least it stood me in good stead.”

Weytok nodded thoughtfully. “So it seems, Sub, so it seems.” Krirtol had come a good distance during the past months. Her confidence, though still lacking, had grown to the point where neither Captain nor Executive Officer monitored her watch at all. They both felt she could cope until help arrived.

“Retuwet’s just blowing off a little steam, sir.”

Weytok wished it were that simple. The effects of the last little party had vanished; no one even remembered it. Tempers flared at small annoyances and the crew harbored grudges. Yet, Britlot again quashed her suggestion to turn back.

“So, what happened with Retuwet?”

“I explained the facts of life. He didn’t like it, but accepted his punishment with adequate grace.” Weytok looked closely at the shorter woman. “These little flare-ups are only symptoms.”

“Symptoms, sir?”

“Morale is down. I’ve talked with the Captain, and he agrees that we either have to return to an outpost for a little recreation, or find a suitable planet and put down for a spell.” She didn’t say that Britlot found only one of the two alternatives acceptable.

“We’re going back?” Both relief and dismay crossed Krirtol’s face. “It will delay us weeks. But I guess we need the break.”

“Our thoughts, too. So, keep on the lookout for a suitable planet. We go on a few excursions, blow off a little steam … get away from the damned ship!”

“The damned ship, sir?”

“Sub-Lieutenant, when was the last time you had a satisfactory shower?”

“Point taken, sir.” Krirtol was as jealous of her shower time as any. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to relieve the Captain.”

And watch continued to follow boring watch.

*

Britlot savored the taste of the last of the Kwintal juice and sighed. He’d had rather more than his share of it and wished, now, that he had restrained himself. Ah, well.

“Thanks, Cookie. That was great,” he called to Tetjuin, who poked his head out of the galley and smiled. Not really great, but good enough, and Britlot knew better than to annoy the cook. He recalled Retuwet’s confrontation. They’d best find a planet, and soon.

If no likely planet appeared within the next week or two, he would be forced to return to an outpost. Weeks lost. Unacceptable. They must find a planet.

“Captain to the Bridge,” blared out over the IBS.

“Report, XO,” Britlot ordered as he entered the bridge taking the chair that Weytok evacuated.

“Navigator confirms all stopped and ready to drop probe, sir.”

“Very well. Drop probe.”

“Aye, sir, probe away.”

A quarter hour passed. Nothing happened and the bridge crew started looking at each other.

“Was the probe checked before it dropped?”

“Yes, sir, I checked it personally.” Krirtol looked worried, wondering if she had overlooked something. Relief broke over her face, “Receiving telemetry, sir. Single star system, no planets. All readings within nominal range.” She frowned. “Data flowing in erratic spurts. I don’t understand it. Circuitry problems, maybe. I’ll get Dhine on it when we pull it back aboard.” She didn’t appear happy with that prospect. Even Dhine showed signs of strain and had become difficult to handle.

Britlot considered the data. No planets. He needed a hospitable one. He sighed inwardly. It had all seemed so exciting when they had started. Find the 22nd, the Vandoo. Return to the Confederation leading a fleet. Romantic, he accused himself.

“Very well, Sub. Let’s follow it in. XO, emergence stations.”

“Sir?” Weytok was surprised. “Aren’t we going to wait the twelve hours?”

“For what, XO? There’s nothing here. No planets, nothing. And we can’t rely on the probe. You want to prepare a second one?” She didn’t. “We drop, recalibrate, get a fix on our next target and jump. The sooner the better.”

Britlot knew Weytok wanted to speak out against the hurry, but a look at her captain’s face convinced her otherwise. She hit the Emergence Stations alarm.

“All emergence stations manned and ship ready to drop, Captain,” she reported shortly.

“Very well. Drop to normal space,” Britlot ordered.

Hyperspace blinked out of the detector scopes and monitors to be replaced by chaos.

Alarms screamed.

“Captain, Navigation reporting loss of all data!”

“Captain, Engineering. Engines off-line, do not respond to computer commands, sir!”

“Captain, Gunnery. Weapons off-line, detectors useless!”

“Captain, all Comm out, sir.”

“Captain, Life-support off-line,” Weytok added to the general clamor just as the ship bucked.

Britlot sat stunned for a moment before training took over. “Engineering.”

“All Comm out, sir,” the Comm-Op interrupted him.

“Very well, get down there, Dhine, and tell Engineering I want one engine on-line—manual controls—in five minutes. As soon as it goes on-line we jump to hyperspace. They are not to wait for orders, understand?”

“One engine, manual, jump as soon as possible, aye, sir.” The Comm-Op ran from the bridge. The ship shook as if it had taken a hit.

“Guns!”

“Sir.”

“Are we under attack?”

“Impossible to say. All gunnery detectors out, shields down.” He smiled grimly. “However, with shields down I’d guess not. It wouldn’t take much to breach the hull with us sitting defenseless.”

Britlot nodded and swung around to Weytok. “XO, damage report.”

“All systems down. Looks like all computers have had their memories scrambled. We’re strictly on manual, sir.” Weytok’s face betrayed only a tinge of the fear she must be feeling, Britlot noted in passing.

“Navigation?”

“The same, sir.” Krirtol did not have the same success mastering her fear. It radiated from her.

“Very well, Sub, please begin reloading the navigation computer from the non-volatile memory discs.” He nodded at the question in her eyes. “Hurry please.” She bent to her task, an impossible one at the moment.

“Temperature falling, sir,” Weytok informed him. The ship shook again.

“Sound Hull-breach alarm,” Britlot ordered, and all attention focused on him.

“We need to get into our suits,” he explained calmly. “They’ll keep us warm and supplied with air.” And we’ll be ready if the hull does breach, which won’t be much longer if this keeps up, he thought but did not say.

Weytok nodded and hit the button. The banshee howl of the hull-breach alarm went off and Britlot gave it a ten second run before muting it. Now only the red-flashing alarm lights indicated the dire situation.

Those on the bridge and, hopefully, the rest of the crew struggled into their emergency suits. Britlot tried out his suit comm. “Guns?”

“Sir?”

The suit comm worked, at least line of sight. “Engineering?” No answer. “Guns, get to engineering and tell them it has already been seven minutes, and would they please hurry.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And tell the cook in passing that we’ll be late for dinner, please.”

“Aye, sir.”

A choking cough rewarded Britlot’s joke as the gunner hurried past. “XO, begin work on restoring bridge life-support on manual.”

“Aye, sir.”

The barrage of orders had the desired effect. Everyone began working and no one had time to panic. Except him. He had nothing he could do at the moment without the possibility of everything falling apart. Lieutenant-Commander Britlot smiled to himself. He had erred. He could do one thing: he could be Captain. In the next few minutes, whenever any of the bridge crew looked to him, which was often, he appeared unworried, as if the situation were little out of the ordinary. Comforted by this, the crew redoubled their efforts. If the Captain wasn’t worried, they assumed they would get out of this in one piece.

The shaking stopped. Three minutes later Dorvon reappeared. “Engineering reports that we are in hyperspace, sir, and that if you’d not tricked them into their suits they would have made the five minutes.”

Britlot choked back his laugh. Guns had a lot of nerve to repeat that to him. “Next time I’ll let them freeze their butts off.” He looked around.

“Navigation computer now reloading from non-volatile memory, sir,” Krirtol reported.

“Very good. Now begin reloading the main computer’s programs. XO, how’s life support?”

“Back on-line, though it may be uncomfortable until the computer takes over.”

“Secure from Hull-breach.” The alarm lights died.

“Internal ship’s comm restored,” the Comm-Op reported as he stepped back onto the bridge.

One by one the systems came back on-line and, with every new report, confidence in survival grew.

“Captain, Engineering. All engines on-line. However, I’d recommend no more than half power. Engine three, perhaps minimum power. What in all Chaos happened?”

Britlot toggled the ISB to let everyone know. He felt the excitement growing within. “Gentlemen, Ladies, I believe we just met the Phenomenon. We met it and we escaped, basically intact. If we could do that, then so could the Émigrés and the 22nd Fleet. Navigator, take a bearing directly on Lormar and then plot a course directly away from it. We’re going after the Vandoo.”

CHAPTER 7

TLARTOX HOME PLANET

“They hunt us everywhere, Vom.” Strel’s ears went flat against his head as he reread the message. “Time to do a little hunting of our own?”

Strel growled and Ange’s eyes were slits. He, too, desired to fight back. The others turned their heads expectantly towards Vom.

The white-furred Vom merely gazed at Strel until that one turned his face away. “Strel, Ange, consider your words. Were we to go to war with the hunters, we’d generate a lot of interest. Now the hunters hunt without finding anything. Some believe there is nothing to find. With that belief they no longer look as closely.” Vom closed his eyes and tested the air. The aroma pleased. “Friends, I do believe that meal-time has arrived.”

The others tested the air and attention sharpened, testifying to the Master’s conclusion. Out of deference, they allowed Vom to exit the room first, but scrambled to be second.

No one talked while they ate. It pays to do the important things in life well. Thus Tlar had said and thus they believed. Afterwards, they sat back and relaxed.

“Ah, Tlar was right,” Ange observed, his pupils slitted in pleasure, “there is nothing like a good meal with good company.”

“Caught it myself,” the sleek, grey-furred cook said proudly, as she brushed absently at her scarred nose, “just like Tlar said. No wonder it tastes good. I waited, a paragon of patience, until it came so close you could almost reach out a claw and hook it. Then I jumped,” Kiron laughed. “It didn’t have time to go to wing!”

Vom raised his head and looked at Kiron so long that she suddenly quieted, as did the rest. He continued staring, looking through her rather than at her, she thought, making her most nervous indeed.

“If there’s something I said or did, Master, pray let me know that I may honor you by not doing it again.” She had the faintest touch of a tremor in her voice and the others looked away, shamed. Vom had no right to treat her so. Had he a complaint, found something amiss, he should tell her directly. Hunters enjoyed toying thus with their prey, not they.

Vom’s eyes focused and he bowed his head low as Kiron’s words penetrated. “Pray forgive the unseemliness of my behavior, Kiron. Your words enlightened me and, caught by them, I thought naught of else. You have my thanks, not my censure.”

The atmosphere lightened perceptibly. Vom bared his teeth, his ears cocked in the joy of the hunt. “Thanks to Kiron a new strategy arises. Attend closely.”

All leaned forward; Kiron gave a little purr of pleasure at Vom’s acknowledgement of her contribution … though even she did not know its form.

LORM MILITARY ACADEMY

“My god, I think they’ve pumped enough specs into my poor brain that I could build a Class-C Mothball from scratch. I feel like a cadet again.”

The sun lowered and the group of recalled captains enjoyed a needed breather before evening classes.

Vella Mesicsah groaned as she saw Commodore Prusnol headed their way. “This probably bodes ill,” she remarked to no one in particular, “it’s Old Square-Jaw.”

Commodore Prusnol, whose moniker cadets had bestowed on him many years earlier, grinned. Reorienting captains required a different protocol than instructing cadets.

“Good afternoon, Captains,” he began, “I have some news.” Their attention fixed on him; the smiles engendered by Mesicsah’s comment faded.

“Captains Fronel, Llemartol, Mesicsah, Neco and Thugan: your bridge officers have arrived and, as we speak, Bravo II readies your ships. Now we begin in earnest.” He smiled at the groans. “The rest of you must wait a little longer. Now, if those named will come with me, we’ll get you introduced, and start you working together; your ships will comprise a short squadron.”

The six officers walked together towards the conference building. “As a short squadron you will need to work together well. I suggest you take some time and get acquainted.”

They passed through the doors to the large square building and proceeded to the personnel offices. An old spacer handed each of the captains a datastick. “Those hold the records of your bridge officers, Captains,” Prusnol told them. “Familiarize yourselves with them. Your time here grows short.”

*

The small tavern hummed with music. Lemm Fronel relaxed into his chair and contemplated his wine. Three hours of file study had resulted in a need to relax.

“Youngsters, mostly,” he said. “It’ll be a job.”

“We’ve all done it before, Lemm,” Vella Mesicsah smiled at him. She had, Lemm thought, the curves of a much younger woman—and the charm. Were he not married—he let the thought go.

“Correct, Captain Mesicsah, we have—with the exception of our young fire-eater, Captain Neco.” Ten Llemartol, tall, stout and blocky of face, grinned. “This will be your first command, will it not, Captain Neco?”

Honin Neco turned his serious blue eyes to the hero of Restovine. He felt honored to serve in the same squadron. “Yes, sir, it will,” he replied. The others laughed gently. Neco flushed, realizing his error. “Sorry, the fourth stripe is still new.”

“Don’t worry, Honin,” Ulla Thugan confided in a stage whisper, “you’ll soon get used to these lofty heights. It took me only … oh, three or four years. But, if you can fake it well, no one will know. That’s what I did.”

“And I,” agreed Llemartol. “Just remember that you are a God now, and may the heavens help any ignorant of that fact.”

The senior captains broke up laughing and Neco joined them somewhat tentatively. They relaxed again and sipped their drinks.

“The thing to remember is that Ulla has seniority,” Llemartol said, returning their attention to the matter at hand. “Until we get a commodore, we look to her for orders. As of the moment, she’s squadron leader.”

“Ten, you are more experienced in battle than any of us,” Ulla objected, brushing absently at a strand of greying hair that had escaped the barrette.

“Restovine lies far in the past, Ulla, in a very different sort of war. Fire-eaters like young Neco and myself will need to be reined in. Class-C frigates will not stand up to the demands we would put on them.” He affected to not notice Neco’s sudden blush of pleasure at being included in a very select group. “Vella?”

“Agreed. Ulla, you have the job, like it or not.”

Lemm Fronel nodded as heads turned his way. He, in turn, looked over to Neco who, as most junior captain, signified his agreement. If the others agreed on Thugan, he wasn’t about to argue the point.

Fronel, the most recently retired, cleared his throat. The others looked to him expectantly. “The Commodore wants us to operate as a team. He’ll watch for that. As well as getting our own officers into shape and getting our ships ready, we must learn how Ulla thinks. Let’s begin with common scenarios.”

They spent the next hour brainstorming solutions to typical problems. In each case, Ulla Thugan listened to all points of view, then made her decision. Once made, no one argued the point. It just might work out, Fronel thought, Class-Cs or no. They had the makings of a team.

CONFEDERATION SCOUTSHIP SEARCHER

Tension permeated the atmosphere aboard Searcher. The crew shrugged into their survival suits and manned their stations. Natya Krirtol looked up from her console. Her captain had beads of sweat on his forehead. So, even he worried about the drop.

A full day, now, their probe had sent clear and nominal signals, yet none could forget that the signals from their last drop had also displayed such conditions. The other probe, lost to the Phenomenon, could give no hints as to what might be considered abnormal in its presence.

Three days had passed since Lieutenant-Commander Britlot had declared them likely out of danger. He gave it an additional three days’ margin at the half power, which Engineering still recommended. One engine remained unenergized, Engineer Chief Retuwet not willing to risk running it if not absolutely required; pieces from another lay scattered about the spaces as he and his staff took it apart to find its problems.

Krirtol looked over to Comm-Op Neler Dhine. He caught her gaze and shrugged. No word from the Confederation. All attempts at communication had failed. That, more than anything, unnerved the crew. With comm, they felt a part of something bigger: Fleet. Without, they felt alone.

Dhine had checked the comm equipment time and again. Not his fault, he pleaded. The Comm checked out green, operational. Yet no signals arrived to their urgent queries. Perhaps the Confederation received what Searcher sent. They didn’t know, and not knowing made it worse than a definite comm failure.

The clock drew her attention and she watched the seconds tick away. Dorvon drummed his fingers on his gunnery console. Krirtol glared at him and he desisted.

An aura of unhappiness surrounded her. All the new navigational work, all the mapping she’d worked so hard at—all gone. Only hard memory had survived the Phenomenon. They hadn’t cut hard discs of the new data. She had almost cried with frustration until Lieutenant Weytok had reminded her that the Confederation had the data. The loss applied only to them.

“We’ll drop, recalibrate and begin anew. When we return home, they’ll simply add our new work to the old,” Weytok had comforted her. Small comfort, Krirtol thought. They shouldn’t be doing this. They should return to base for repairs. Britlot, however, had been adamant, and would not deviate from his course. Hot to find the Adians, he dismissed what she and the others felt.

A minute left.

The Captain caught each of their eyes in turn and smiled. Krirtol tried unsuccessfully to smile back.

“Drop!”

Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol held herself very still and tight. Weytok’s fingers did their magic on the con, and the ship slipped out of hyperspace. The starfield wavered and steadied. The silence deafened. Normal space looked very good and Krirtol drew in a breath. She’d stopped breathing, she realized.

“Up shields. Detectors?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Very good. Navigation, do your stuff. Soon as we recalibrate all instruments and get some idea of where we are, we’ll head for the nearest star system.” Britlot allowed no trace of the relief he felt into his voice. As Captain he needed to maintain the illusion that normalcy and disaster were as one to him.

“XO, you have the con. I’m going back to Engineering to check on the engines.”

“Aye, sir. I have the con.”

Britlot made his way slowly back to Engineering, stopping to talk with the cook, who sat in the mess peeling off his emergency suit.

“Smoked survane for supper, sir,” he told Britlot.

Britlot cocked an eyebrow. “A bit extravagant.”

“But it’s Lormar’s Confederation Day,” Tetjuin reminded him, somehow hurt. Even the smallest perceived slights now appeared large.

“Ah, of course it is. You’re from Lormar, aren’t you, Cookie?”

“Aye, sir. Born and raised in the capital city.” Tetjuin opened his oven and pulled out fresh binta bread.

“Smells wonderful, Cookie. We’ll have Friesen wine with the meal to celebrate.”

Tetjuin smiled, mollified, and Britlot moved on.

Engineering remained a mess. With the suspect engine in pieces, and the engineers only now beginning to carefully reassemble it, the compartment looked like a junkyard.

“Good day, Chief,” Britlot greeted Engineer Chief Retuwet. “Thought I’d come by the Hole and see the progress. All quiet up front, so it seemed like a good time to stretch my legs.”

“We should have her back together and ready before we jump again, Captain. It’s been something of a do. Really a dockyard job. Uraphret has been working above and beyond, sir.”

“Good. I’ll so notate her record.” Britlot ignored the hint they should return to a Confederation dock.

“Thank you, sir.”

Britlot inspected the area and talked with the other crew before returning to the bridge to relieve Weytok.

CAPITAL CITY, LORMAR

“Oooh,” Melsie Drendol cooed as the fireworks lit up the sky. Her blue eyes filled with wonder as skyrocket after skyrocket blazed a trail upwards and burst in a splendor of colors. “Did you see that one, Grandie?”

“Yes, Melsie, I saw. Look!” Lemm Fronel pointed out yet another color-burst rocket and Melsie clapped her hands together with joy. His granddaughter enjoyed the fireworks more than any of them, as they celebrated Lormar’s Confederation day. She sat on her father’s shoulders, like many other small children at the park.

It was good to be with family, Lemm thought as he watched the little girl’s face light up again and again with wonder. For him, the wonder had long since passed. Yet, he enjoyed the artistry. His gaze went past Jol Drendol, his son-in-law, to his daughter, Colli. A beauty, she took after her mother more than him, thanks be to the gods. Good strong features, he thought, but each of them complementing the others. If only she had listened to him. Still, the union produced Melsie.

“Oh, look at that, Melsie,” Colli called out with an excitement Lemm wished he could still feel. But the latest briefing left him worried. The second front would arrive sooner than anyone had expected, and Lormar stood directly in the path of Tlartox aggression. No declaration of war had come from the Tlartox, but the Treaty renewal rejection made it only a matter of time. Some hoped, but the massing of the Tlartox fleets made it a foregone conclusion. The speed the Tlartox navy had prepared for the campaign caught everyone by surprise—even the Tlartox, it seemed.

The quick-fire busting of a multitude of rockets lit the entire sky, and a roar of appreciation rose from the crowd. Melsie grinned and held her hands over her ears, as the explosions seemed to rock the very earth. Lemm smiled at the sight of her, though the sparkling trails of the rockets reminded him too much of the tactical displays he would soon see. He sighed. Even in this celebration, the threat of war showed its ugly face.

Silence. The sky slowly went dark as the last of the sparklers faded and died. For several long moments the crowd stayed in place, as if hoping for yet another volley, then began to disperse. Soon landcruisers would fill the area roads.

The Fronel family made their way through the park, drifting with the masses.

“How much longer?” Relnie asked him, leaning against him as they walked.

“We move up to Prime Delta day after tomorrow. Torbird awaits us. She’s a Class-C frigate, and we’ll train aboard her until they recommission our ships. We’ll get a day or two leave before going to Spacedock Bravo II for squadron maneuvers.”

Relnie held him tighter, then released him. A spoken name caught his attention and he drifted slightly away from his family in order to overhear the conversation.

“I tell you, it’s true,” a middle-aged man was saying. “I have it straight from Karli. She says they’ve been engaged to look after the houses while they are on vacation.”

“What’s wrong with that, Hoert?” his companion questioned.

“What’s wrong is they have given her no set return date, Frell,” Hoert sounded his impatience. He didn’t appear to think too highly of the other’s intelligence. “Don’t you see? They aren’t planning on returning. And that’s not all. Karli heard that Admiral Jhorsal’s entire family has left over the last two months. What’s wrong is: the navy families are slowly leaving Lormar.” The man’s voice turned from angry to frightened. “They know something, Frell, and they aren’t telling the rest of us.”

The conversation ended, and Lemm hurried back to where Relnie and the rest waited. He felt an increase in the coldness which rarely left him these days.

“I’m buying iced cream for all,” Lemm declared much to the delight of Melsie, and the surprise of the others. Usually he just wished to get away from the crowds. “I don’t like driving at night so much anymore,” he explained without being asked. “This’ll give the traffic a chance to clear.”

One by one they received their flavored creams and went to sit at one of the tables. Jol and Lemm were last to order.

“I’d like to talk with you a moment, Jol.”

“Sure, Dad.” Jol watched him warily, braced for the usual. He spooned some cream into his mouth and allowed it to slowly melt while Lemm placed his order and paid.

“How’s the job, Jol?” They wandered over to the window and gazed at the park.

Jol looked out from under his heavy brows, his face suddenly still. “The job is fine,” he replied carefully. His father-in-law rarely engaged in small talk. This was no family chat. This was man-to-man stuff. “Come straight to the point, Lemm.”

Lemm raised his brows in surprise. Jol wasn’t one to stand up to an issue. Perhaps Jol had matured since he and Colli had married. Lemm doubted it, just as he doubted Colli’s messages portraying him as a solid father. But, how could he tell? That’s what came of being off among the stars while your family grew up.

“I just heard some disturbing talk about Fleet from a couple of civilians. I want to know what the gen is around your factory.” If Jol wanted it straight, he’d get it straight.

Jol scooped another mouthful of cream before replying. “Some people are getting edgy, Lemm. Relations with the Tlartox continue to go downhill, and Lormar sits too close to their empire. Everyone knows that.” He paused a long moment, then held Lemm’s eyes. “But some think that the Fleet knows just a bit more, and those higher up are pulling their families out.”

Insolence, or just straight talk? “I see.”

So, it was true. Living on a navy planet, the people of Lormar were more finely attuned to Fleet nuances than most.

“You know they’ve recalled me,” he stated. Jol well knew that but, if his son-in-law had any intelligence, his saying so would tell him what a man needed to know without Lemm compromising his oath.

Jol gave him a long, steady look. “We don’t have the money to leave, especially not based on rumors.”

“I know.” Lemm sighed. “Things get bad, you move into the house.” It was a fortress in all but name.

Jol nodded. “I’ve begun stockpiling necessities.”

Lemm’s eyebrows rose. Probably Colli’s doing, he supposed. “I’ll let her know.”

“No, Lemm, you won’t.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s my job. I’m her husband. I’ll take care of her, just like I promised.” He paused, then fixed Lemm with a steely gaze. “You look after yourself out there, Lemm. It is going to get ugly.”

Lemm considered Jol. He hadn’t approved of Colli’s choice when she made it; perhaps he had erred. He shook his head; they actually understood each other, and Jol never having been in the Service! Lemm clapped Jol on the arm and the two headed back to the others.

Later, in the landcruiser, Relnie asked about it. Lemm told her straight. Withholding needed information had never been his way.

“So, why just you and Jol. Don’t you think Colli needs to know this, too?”

“That’s Jol’s job, Relnie. He’s a good man. He’ll see to it without my trying to usurp his position.”

Relnie laughed and gave his thigh an affectionate pat. “I wondered when you would see that,” she chuckled.

“Surely I’m not that bad?”

Relnie pretended to consider. “Well, it’s a close thing.”

Lemm took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it. “At least I was clear-sighted enough to marry you.”

“Clear-sighted? I practically had to parade in front of you naked before you noticed me.”

A blatant lie, Lemm thought, but he’d give her the point this time. “I don’t seem to recall that. When we get home perhaps you’d demonstrate—just to help my memory, you understand?”

Relnie snorted.

SEARCHER

Lieutenant-Commander Mart Britlot paced the wardroom. He tried to suppress his eagerness to return to hyperspace. The continuing damage control checks tired him, necessary or not. He wearied of the questions he could not answer: Where, exactly, were they? Why could they receive no comm from the Confederation when Dhine swore up and down their equipment showed green? Why he wouldn’t change course and return to Bravo II—that one he would no longer discuss.

“Pacing again, Captain?” Lieutenant Weytok grinned at him.

“How is the crew holding up, Feneya?”

“Too busy to think much, just now.” She saw that he understood what she left unsaid.

“I’m going back to engineering.”

“Don’t.”

Britlot laughed. “Right you are. They don’t need me looking over their shoulders every hour.” The work there progressed as well as could be expected, given their position and lack of facilities.

“Captain?”

Britlot spun around to see Retuwet’s smudged face. “Chief, you have news?” Britlot tried to appear calm and not as eager as he felt.

“Aye, Captain. We have the engines all back together, and test runs show green.” A tired smile came to him slowly. “They did a good job, sir.”

Britlot smiled widely. “Noted, Chief. And good work. Give everyone two shifts off, yourself included. Then we get back under way.”

“Thank you, sir.” The chief engineer looked like he could use the sleep.

“I’ll let them know on the bridge, Lieutenant.” The walk seemed shorter this time.

Krirtol stood as he entered. She had done her best to recreate their explorations from memory, and had completed their new observations and downloaded them to non-volatile disc. They wouldn’t make that mistake again. Everything else, except the comm, functioned properly. That remained a bother.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Dhine?” Britlot felt he could almost see the man’s hairline receding over the past few days.

“I’ve an idea. We could launch a lifeboat, make a small jump, and then have them call us. That would tell us, certain, that the comm either works or doesn’t.”

“It’s an idea, but I’d rather not separate the crew. Program a transmitter on a probe instead. Set it to give a very short signal at a set time. Will that do?”

“Aye, sir, that should do nicely.”

Visibly relieved, Dhine left to set up his experiment. Britlot grinned at Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol’s quick fist against fist motion. He guessed that Dhine had been causing her grief.

“Are we ready to go, Sub-Lieutenant?”

“Ready to go, sir,” she confirmed.

“Good. We leave in two shifts time.”

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Going anywhere, even deeper into unknown space, felt better than sitting on their butts, doing nothing.

*

“Drop shields. Jump,” Britlot ordered.

The pre-Phenomenon boredom was gone, the crew tense, on edge. Lack of comm with the Confederation changed everything.

The probe’s signal came in clear and strong, and recorded and sent back their reply just as clearly. Yet no signals came from the Confederation.

SPACEDOCK BRAVO II

“Listra, good of you to drop by.” Commodore Taglini offered the captain a glass of wine, which she accepted. She sat down and sipped it gratefully.

“Sabre is ready to be crewed.” She sighed. “That’s the third Class-C frigate back from mothballs. Tag, tell me that they haven’t really recalled first year decoms and graduated final year students six months early.”

“I’m afraid they have. The old and the young, leavened with a few first-class Spacers, will crew the Class-C’s.”

“This isn’t a good sign.” Captain Listra Benteel studied the Commodore. The man had aged five years in the past six months, she thought. She decided to change the subject. “Any good news from Searcher?”

“No. Nothing. Nothing for three weeks now.”

Her eyes went wide. This she hadn’t heard. “Three weeks?”

“I’ve kept it quiet. You know why,” he sighed.

“Three weeks and they on a weekly schedule, barring special interest reports. I’m afraid that they’re gone. Keep it to yourself, please, Listra.”

That hadn’t been a good change of subject, Benteel kicked herself. “Repairs on Defender are complete—ahead of schedule.”

Taglini smiled. He knew what she did. “That’s good news, Listra. It will make them happy back on Lormar. They like reports like that at Fleet Headquarters.” He lost himself in a short reverie. “I think I’ll have another,” he said as he came out of it, and refilled his wine glass. Benteel shook her head at his offer to refill hers. She stood.

“I’d better be getting back.” She paused at the door and turned around at Taglini’s call.

“Torbird, a Class-C trainer, will be here in a week. She carries the officers for the next five recommissions. I have a list of the captains here.”

Benteel returned to look at them. “They’ve recalled Llemartol? That’ll be a handful for their Commodore. Know who that is, yet?”

“Not yet, Listra.” He seemed preoccupied.

“They may still be okay.”

Taglini acknowledged her remark, then turned to gaze out upon the stars. Poor Searcher. His fault. He was getting too old for this kind of work.

CHAPTER 8

SEARCHER

The distress of Searcher’s crew over the lack of comm equaled Taglini’s. Weytok sat in the darkened wardroom, the door to the passageway open, considering her next attempt to convince Britlot time had come to turn back.

“Pren, why doesn’t the Captain just turn around and head back,” Tumjut’s worried voice came through to her.

“Now, Keel, Captain knows what he’s doing. When we hit the Phenomenon, he was cool. Rest of us were shaking in our boots and he stood there like it was a training exercise.”

“Maybe that’s what scares me. Maybe he doesn’t know when to be scared. I don’t want to go down because some officer is too dumb to know when he’s chasing a nova.”

Weytok decided that she couldn’t let this go by. She prepared herself for a confrontation when Pren solved her problem for her.

“Captain isn’t dumb, Keel. I was there, remember? He was plenty worried, all right. He just didn’t show it and made all the right decisions without letting it get to him. Give me a captain who is cool under fire any day. The cautious ones’ll get you killed.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

The voices faded. Weytok felt relieved she didn’t have to intervene, but the symptoms of unrest continued to grow. She, too, worried. She, too, wondered why they didn’t turn around. But Britlot made it very clear. They’d encountered the Phenomenon and survived; chances were some of the Émigrés had as well—and the 22nd. He would not accept the loss of time a return would entail—especially since his orders could be changed. Weytok wondered just how unhappy the loss of comm made him.

The clock chimed and she reluctantly rose. Her watch. She entered the bridge and relieved Britlot. Krirtol worked busily at her station. Days insystem called for double shifts. They caught up on sleep in hyperspace. Right now Weytok would have enjoyed another hour in the pit. Ah, well. She checked the log and the scans.

Five planets orbited a life-giving sun. The outer two showed signs of life forms but nothing remotely advanced as evinced by voice or vid signals. Perhaps no sentients at all. She glanced at the navtank. The approach to the third planet routed them past its moon. Perhaps an opportunity for shore leave would arise.

“Detectors?”

“No contacts, Lieutenant, but there’s something funny about that orbiting asteroid.” Guns sounded hesitant.

“Funny?” Weytok’s face sharpened.

“There’s a slight radiation signature which shouldn’t be there.” He paused again as if trying to make up his mind. “Could be a glitch, but I don’t think so.”

“Sub, plot a course to pass close by the asteroid.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And call the crew to stations.”

“Crew closed up to stations, Lieutenant,” Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol reported. “Situation, sir?”

“Guns feels that yon asteroid is suspicious.”

Weytok heard Dorvon groan in the background. Just what he wanted, she grinned to herself, to be singled out like that. If it turned out to be nothing, and he’d caused those off-shift to turn out of their pits, he’d not hear the end of it.

“Lieutenant! Ship telltale appearing from behind the moon!”

“Detectors on max. Shields on max.”

The bridge crew froze as the vid came through sharp and clear. A large vessel pulled away from the moon on an approach vector. The asteroid lay forgotten.

“What is it, sir?” The ship’s unfamiliar lines mesmerized Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol.

“Captain to the bridge!” Great Chaos, thought Weytok, it just couldn’t be.

Weytok forced herself to relax, to fight down her excitement and disbelief. “That, Gentlemen, Ladies, is an Adian destroyer-class vessel. A ‘Ghost Ship.’” She had studied Britlot’s books, knew the classes, but still could not believe it. She never really had much faith in that aspect of their mission. The charting, the searching for Tlartox sign, she understood, approved of. She had signed on because of Britlot and because of the experience—and rank—she would gain. She had not expected this.

“They’re hailing us, aud only.”

“Put it on.” What kept Britlot?

“Unidentified Vessel: You are an unwanted intruder in our space. Identify yourself.” The voice was harsh and spoke in an accented Confederation Standard. The inflection she had heard only on old record-vids or drama-vids.

“This is Confederation Vessel Searcher on a peaceful mission of exploration.” She stressed the word peaceful, but only slightly. What would Britlot want? “We request a meeting either upon your ship or ours.”

The reply came without pause. “Request denied. Reverse your course immediately. Return to hyperspace and return the way you came. Failure to comply will have dire consequences.”

“Great Gods!” Britlot finally arrived, in time to hear the exchange, but the sight of the destroyer on the monitors caused him to freeze a moment. He now rushed to his chair, which Weytok gratefully vacated.

“Adian Destroyer, this is Lieutenant-Commander Britlot, Captain of the scoutship Searcher. We request you contact the Council. We desire an audience.”

A long silence ensued.

“Sir, if they move much farther, the aft guns will not bear on them,” Gunner Dorvon reported.

Britlot spun around in his chair. “For the love of the Confederation, Guns, stand down the weapons. We can’t afford a mistake here.”

Dorvon hesitated, hating the thought of deactivating the ship’s defenses. Then he reluctantly punched in the proper code to power down the guns.

“Confederation Vessel Searcher: Please retransmit your last message.” The voice no longer sounded quite so harsh.

Britlot looked at Weytok, who shrugged. Not understanding, Britlot did as requested. An even longer silence followed. Britlot wiped the sweat from his brow.

“What do you think this is all about?”

“I don’t know, XO. At least they haven’t fired on us. So far, so good.”

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot of the Confederation scoutship Searcher. We highly recommend you reverse course and return to the Confederation.”

Britlot clenched his jaw, then relaxed it. “Well, that, at least, is a change for the better.” He toggled the comm back on. “Adian Destroyer: I must repeat my request to speak to your council.”

The silence this time was shorter.

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot, stand down your ship. Power down your weapons and deactivate your shields.”

“Adian Destroyer, we have already powered down our weapons and I am deactivating my shields now.” He pointed sharply at Weytok, who promptly deactivated the shields.

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot, prepare to be boarded.”

*

“Dress uniforms, everybody,” Britlot ordered over the ISB. “Flank speed. We have company coming.” He tersely gave the details, left Weytok in charge, and ran back to his cabin to change and to shave.

Weytok dismissed the bridge crew, with the exception of the Comm-Op, for the same purpose.

“Well, Dhine, now we know that Tween-Ship works.”

Dhine looked happy to have something to talk about. Thinking of being boarded had his stomach jumping. “Aye, sir. And the self-test circuits show the Long-Range Comm green; likely, the LRC works as well. I wish I knew why we don’t receive anything on any frequency.” Dhine looked back to the monitor. The Adian destroyer loomed ever larger. He reset the mag to make it appear smaller. “What do you think, sir?”

“I don’t know what to think, Dhine, but a ship that old is likely a training vessel. Has their LRC been active?”

“Not that I could tell, sir.”

“Lieutenant Weytok,” Lieutenant-Commander Britlot had reappeared, “you are relieved. You too, Dhine.” The two made a dignified dash for the door even as Guns re-entered.

In her cabin, Weytok stripped quickly and put on her dress uniform, cursing at the few bits of lint that adorned it. A last quick look in her mirror and she hurried back to the bridge. The entire crew sat at action stations.

“Lifeboat away, sir,” Guns reported. The rest of the bridge crew stared at the monitor. Yes, there it was.

Britlot swung the side arm belt around his waist and buckled it.

“Are you sure, sir?” Weytok had objected. Her own weapon sat flat against her hip.

Britlot smiled. The debate had been short and sharp. Adian custom surely had something to say on the matter, but Britlot found that he could not distinguish between what he had read and what he’d seen as a child on the drama-vids concerning the navy of three centuries past. Finally they decided that the three officers and Guns, as security chief, would wear side arms.

“Lifeboat docking, Captain.”

“Thank you, XO. You have the con. Sub, you and Guns are with me. Let us welcome our visitors.”

The first two through the airlock wore the uniform of marines and carried longarms at the ready. Outside of a quirked eyebrow, Britlot gave them no mind. They stared at the three Confederation representatives with undisguised distrust. Then a tall, hooknosed officer appeared. He wore a dark blue navy jacket from the past. Much more formal than modern naval attire, Britlot thought. The jacket had brass buttons, not the quick-fasten strips. The buttons shone. The collar looked uncomfortable and tight.

By comparison, Confederation Dress appeared casual and Britlot wondered what this man thought. Hard of face, he looked bleakly upon his reception committee. The insignia on his epaulettes marked him as a full commander.

As custom dictated, the Commander saluted as he stepped through the airlock. Britlot returned his salute sharply.

“Welcome aboard Searcher, Commander. Let me present my third in command, Sub-Lieutenant Natya Krirtol, and Gunnery Spacer, Pren Dorvon. I am Lieutenant-Commander Mart Britlot.”

The Commander’s eyes widened just slightly at the introductions. “Commander Rytler Travlot. You will have your entire crew muster, Captain. Then we will inspect your ship.” His clipped voice meant business. There appeared no give in the man. Britlot wished he knew just what that business entailed.

“Very well, Commander.” Britlot toggled a comm station on. “Lieutenant Weytok, please have the entire crew assemble in the recreation room. Remain at your post.”

Three more marines had entered Searcher while Britlot talked to the bridge.

“I said your entire crew, Captain.” There was menace in the Commander’s voice.

“The Lieutenant will remain at her post.” His word was final. “If you desire, you may have one of your men there as well.” Searcher remained his ship. He’d afford these visitors every courtesy, but he remained Captain.

“Satisfactory.” The Commander nodded to a marine. The man stepped forward, weapon at the ready. “Ensure no messages are sent,” he ordered.

“Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol, please escort this man to the bridge, then join us in the rec room.” The Adian Commander had begun to annoy Britlot.

“Aye, sir.” Krirtol turned and led the marine away.

“Guns.”

“Sir. This way, gentlemen.”

The small cavalcade moved through the narrow passageway until they joined the crew. There, the Adian Marines took station at the door. The Commander stood silent and they waited for Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol. She stepped in and Britlot introduced the crew.

“First, Captain, I’m going to have to ask you to surrender your weapons.” The statement had more demand than request in it. Britlot stood stoically, waiting for the rest. “Then your ship will be searched and non-essential personnel removed to our vessel.”

“Searcher carries no non-essential personnel, Commander.”

“If you wish to journey with us, yes, it does. You will not need a Comm-Operator, a Navigator, or a Gunnery Tech. Two engineers, the utility man and cook may remain on board. You have your choice of keeping your Executive Officer or the Sub-Lieutenant to relieve you on the bridge. You are, after all, this ship’s Captain.”

Britlot composed himself. If not for his excitement at finding the Adians, this arrogant Commander might have found himself with a few teeth missing. “And if I find this excessive?”

“Then we shall return to our ship and you will return to the Confederation with yours.”

Britlot recognized an ultimatum, and didn’t even hesitate. He removed his side arm and gestured to his Gunnery Tech and Navigator to do likewise. These he handed directly to the Commander, even though a marine had stepped forward to accept them. The Commander gave him a wintry smile.

“Gentlemen, Ladies, you heard the man. Some of you are about to take a trip into history. Chief, pick an assistant, Sub-Lieutenant, please give my compliments to the XO and ask her to report here. You are to take the con. At the Commander’s pleasure, those who are leaving us should pack personal things for a short vacation.”

Krirtol hurried to obey, vastly relieved she would not be asked to venture into the unknown.

“Now, Commander, which did you wish to take place first, the transfer or your inspection?”

CHAPTER 9

TLARTOX HOMEWORLD

Shads Efdur’s pupils rounded in the dimness of the room. He relaxed into that dimness, happy to be out of the bright sunlight. Tlartox originally came from night-dwelling stock, and although they functioned perfectly well during the day, many still preferred the night. Even so, night dwelling had strangely slipped out of fashion. Much had changed since Tlar’s time.

He could not afford to relax, Shads thought, his mind returning to the actions he’d either begun or ordered begun. If the warrior klatch ever caught scent of them—well it didn’t bear thinking about.

“Shads, how goes the hunt, my friend?” The Master’s voice vibrated in a low purr.

“The quarry is cunning, Master, yet some things even she does not know. I have sent the signal.”

Shads reflected on that. The navy would be furious if they discovered that squirt-comm had been perfected without their knowledge. They time-compressed the signal, then squirted it out. A proper receiver would decode the signal. Otherwise it would simply appear to be stray interference of extremely short duration.

The Master seemed well content. Shads now saw that he lay curled on a small sleeping platform in his office. The Master, it seemed, could sleep anywhere.

“The Fleet has prepared its plans, Master. Their objective: Lormar.”

“Naturally. The Fleet still wants revenge for Tlenfro.” The Master showed his teeth and his ears flicked to a neutral position. “Even the annihilation of the hated 22nd Fleet did not quench the thirst. In fact, the navy mourned that loss.”

“Mourned?” Shads couldn’t begin to understand that.

“Yes, mourned. The Fleet wanted that very honor for itself. Most inconsiderate of the 22nd to disappear down a black hole.” The Master stretched, one vertebra at a time. “And the humans? They must know the Fleet is massing. They cannot doubt its goal. They ready their Fleets for the defense?”

Shads was uncertain. It showed in his ears and the Master was quick to pick up on it.

“Out with it,” he growled lowly.

Surprised to hear the Master growl, Shads took a step back, forcing his ears to remain steady. “No, Master. In fact, the humans have sent their fleets in the opposite direction.”

The Master’s eyes opened widely and that worried Shads. He’d never before caught the Master so off guard.

“So? This is indeed interesting.”

SEARCHER

Lieutenant-Commander Britlot woke, rose and splashed water on his face. He hoped Feneya had it better than he. He wished he could have kept her, but he could not place so much responsibility on Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol. Besides, Weytok would have a much better chance of getting information from the Adians.

He missed his crew, resented the presence of the marines, and had almost lost his temper with Commander Travlot, who had remained on board. He resented them all. At least he had until he realized the Commander was trying for that exact result. Then he relaxed and played the game. Every day the Commander interrogated him, seeing how far he would go, what he would reveal. Only on the fourteenth day of the voyage (to Chaos knew where) had Britlot realized that one line of the Commander’s questioning dealt with his lineage. Suddenly pieces of the puzzle fell into place and he was hit by a startled realization.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Commander, I have something you might like to see.”

Travlot looked disgruntled, but acquiesced. Britlot went to his cabin, pulled the disc from his collection, returned and put it into the player.

The two men sat in the wardroom room, facing each other across a table. Commander Travlot fixed Britlot with his icy stare and waited.

“This, Commander, is the diary of my great, great—several times—grandfather. You might find it interesting.” He sent it to the bookmark.

*

“We won. I think we won. But the cost. Cartene is gone. Blasted out of space. Newest battleship in the fleet. We thought she was unstoppable. The Tlartox stopped her, but they paid.”

Commander Travlot’s interest peaked, just as Britlot suspected it might. The man watched, fascinated. Britlot looked up at the clock and realized that he should relieve Krirtol soon. She would have to wait, he decided. This had priority. Finally the diary entry ended.

“And you say this man is a relative of yours?”

“He began my line. I,” Britlot related, “am his direct descendant, named after him. I am also the last of my line.”

“Not necessarily, Captain.”

Travlot’s icy demeanor had thawed somewhat, but his words closed like a fist around Britlot’s chest. He could hardly breathe.

“So this,” he indicated the diary, “caused you to begin looking for us?”

“Correct.”

“We never knew anyone who had escaped the Phenomenon had returned to the Confederation.”

“It was close. Hell, I’m surprised that we got away.”

Travlot stared at him. “You also?”

“Scrambled every volatile memory in every computer we had. Another few minutes and we might have been torn to pieces.”

“Ah, we wondered about that.”

“About what?”

“Why there were no databases for the star systems you must have come through to reach us.”

Britlot shook his head. “Why didn’t you just ask to look at the log entries?”

“Too easy. So our navigator did a little searching on the sly. Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol is vigilant. She wouldn’t allow us access to the main computers. Quite right. I wouldn’t allow it myself, were our positions reversed.”

Britlot couldn’t concentrate on that. His thoughts flew elsewhere. “I have family? Living?” A weight, he hadn’t realized even existed, lifted. He felt free.

“If you are who you say you are, of a certainty. It was your name which captured our attention. A very Adian name and, as far as we knew, none were left behind.”

“None are—now.”

The ISB opened. “Captain to the bridge.”

“Welcome home, Lieutenant-Commander.”

WINTER SKY

Lieutenant Feneya Weytok’s anger showed in the way she held her head, in her stiff back and in her flashing dark eyes. She’d had just about enough of the Adians. If she were in charge of this mission, she’d turn about and head for home immediately.

But she wasn’t in charge. In fact nothing remained in her charge, not even her own crewmembers, who had transferred with her to the Adian destroyer, Winter Sky. She had not even seen them since the transfer. Lieutenant Sharden, who seemed to be her keeper, insisted she was a guest, but she felt more like a prisoner of war.

The softness of Sharden’s manner disguised her purpose, yet Weytok knew an interrogation when she saw it. And, here, she not only saw it, she experienced it—daily. She boiled.

“I’d like to see the rest of my crew today,” she answered to a question about Fleet social events.

“I’m very sorry, that is not possible at this time.” If Lieutenant Sharden thought her smile robbed the denial of its harshness she was mistaken.

Feneya had had enough. She returned Sharden’s smile and stood slowly. She stretched, then calmly placed herself between the door and Adian Lieutenant. “Make it possible.”

Sharden tensed at the threat in Feneya’s voice. “Pardon?”

“Make it possible or you will not leave this room intact.” The threat was out. “And if I hear that door open behind me I’ll be all over you. Just so we are clear on that point.”

“In the Adian Navy we expect better of our guests,” Sharden remonstrated mildly.

“In the Confederation Navy we expect much better from our hosts.”

Sharden smiled again and toggled a console switch. “Captain, Lieutenant Sharden reporting. Lieutenant Weytok has made a most forceful request that the other Confederation crewmen be brought here. She wishes to ensure they are behaving themselves.”

“Understood.” The single word was the first time Weytok had heard the voice of Winter Sky’s captain.

Ten minutes later the door chime sounded. The Confederation Lieutenant moved to stand behind the Adian’s chair, drawing an amused smile from that same, as she bade those outside enter.

Engineer Uraphret led Spacers Dorvon and Dhine into the room. They appeared as relieved to see their Lieutenant as she to see them. Two Adian Marines remained outside the open door. Weytok turned to Sharden.

“You are dismissed.”

Sharden stood, considered Weytok for a moment, then shrugged and left.

For a time the four Confederation spacers simply looked at each other. None seemed inclined to speak and this told Weytok volumes. “It is good to see you,” she finally told them. “I trust your stay here has been as enjoyable as mine.” Eyebrows rose at the sarcasm in her voice. All three nodded.

“Gentlemen, Lady, we are not in the hands of friends. Even so, we will continue to comport ourselves properly and with dignity. However, we will no longer answer any questions put to us by our hosts.” The way she said ‘hosts’ again raised eyebrows. “Is this understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Very good. I will see each of you every day from this point on. I can see no good reason why this should not happen. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!” The relief of her crew expressed itself in a shared long exhale.

“Good. You are dismissed.”

Dorvon opened the door and walked out into the custody of the marines, followed by the other two. Weytok remained where she stood. Lieutenant Sharden re-entered.

“I expect to see my crew on a daily basis,” she told the grim-faced Lieutenant. “Otherwise I will assume that I am in hostile hands. I think we all understand that.” She looked pointedly at the communications console. “This interview is at an end.” Weytok saluted, turned and strode out the door.

Lieutenant Sharden smiled, wryly amused, and shook her head gently as she watched Weytok’s retreating back. She toggled another switch on the comm console, rose and left the room also. She walked briskly down the passageways until she came to the Captain’s day cabin.

“Enter, Lieutenant.”

“You heard everything, sir?”

“Everything,” he confirmed. He looked at the gathered officers. “Very instructive. I had expected this to either happen earlier or not at all. Very correct was our Lieutenant Weytok.” The officers nodded their agreement.

“And her request, sir?”

The Captain grinned. “Granted, of course, Lieutenant. After all, we wish to be good hosts.”

*

Much to her surprise, Lieutenant Weytok had nothing further to complain of. The Adians behaved with utmost respect, allowed her access to her crew (whom they no longer kept separate but bunked in the midshipmen’s quarters) and allowed the freedom of their mess.

“They’ve changed their tune, Lieutenant,” Comm-Op Dhine told her. “We’ve even had friendly visits from some of their spacers.”

“Yes, I’ve experienced the same. They’ve actually invited me to dine in the wardroom with the Captain this evening. I don’t trust this turnaround, and neither should the rest of you.” She looked from one to the other. “I’m more than satisfied with your deportment during these difficult circumstances.” She smiled to put them at ease. “However, they still deny me access to our Captain or anyone else aboard Searcher, so we’ll just keep playing it straight.”

If this upset the crew, they gave no sign. Lieutenant Weytok motioned to her escort and began the return walk to her quarters.

Halfway there, Lieutenant Sharden intercepted her. “Ah, Lieutenant, I was looking for you,” she greeted Weytok, waving away the marine. “I thought you might accompany me to the hot-box.”

Weytok didn’t know what a hot-box was and took the request as an order given politely. She nodded, not wishing to make an issue of it. It had been a long day and she felt gritty, ready for a wash-up in her quarters or, better, a shower back on Searcher.

Sharden led her down passages she had not yet seen and into an exercise room where three officers worked up a sweat on various equipments. The two women walked past them and into a small change room where Lieutenant Sharden began stripping off her clothes. No exercise outfits hung on the hooks, only a stack of towels on the shelf.

Somewhat taken aback, Weytok hesitated before she followed suit. Now naked, Sharden threw her a towel, grabbed another for herself and led the way into a small wood-paneled room. Weytok wrapped the towel around herself as she followed Sharden. Inside, an intense heat radiated from a squat structure with what looked like stones on top of it. Almost immediately Weytok felt herself starting to sweat.

Two wooden benches resided on one wall, one higher than the other. Sharden sat on the lower bench, dipped a ladle into a bucket of water and poured the contents over the stones. Clouds of steam billowed up, obscuring the Adian from her sight for a moment.

When the clouds had somewhat abated, a surprised Weytok saw that Sharden had removed her towel and simply used it to sit on. Not wanting to appear ignorant, Weytok followed her lead. Sharden leaned back against the upper bench and sighed.

“Lieutenant Sharden,” Weytok began, but was interrupted.

“Eraphene,” Sharden corrected her. “I am very much off duty and, in my present state of dress,” she looked down at herself and giggled, “or should I say ‘my present state of undress’, I find it difficult to stand on ceremony. Friends just call me Era.”

“All right, Era. Feneya,” Weytok replied.

“Feneya, nice name.”

“Thank you.” Weytok wondered where this new tack would lead, thinking it might be better to leave. Sharden—Era, must have read her mind.

“Can’t leave yet, Feneya, you have no clothes.”

“Pardon?”

“I gave the high sign as we entered the gym. Attendants have taken your clothes,” she broke off as Feneya looked at her in alarm and giggled, “and mine. They’ll be cleaned and returned, but not for a bit, yet.” Era leaned forward and poured more water over the hot stones. Clouds billowed again.

“I thought you could use a little relaxation.”

Feneya felt anything but relaxed. She considered wrapping her towel about her once more, but decided against it. Sweat now came freely from her pores.

“Must be tough, being cooped up in that little scout for weeks on end. Me, this is the smallest vessel I’ve been stationed on.”

“Months,” Feneya corrected.

“Months?”

Chaos be damned, it was no secret. “We’ve been looking for you for months.”

“Poor girl,” Era sympathized. “Have you at least a man-friend on board?” She stretched and Feneya looked her over. She had a figure that men in the Fleet would enjoy, Feneya thought.

Era didn’t worry when she made no reply. “I had one, but he transferred,” she said. She looked away for a moment, remembering. “Now, Lieutenant Ritper has thoughts of filling his shoes—and my bed—but I don’t think so. I’m not that lonely.”

Feneya laughed and relaxed back against the bench. Sharden merely engaged in woman-talk. “I know what you mean. When I was a subbie on the training ship, there was this lieutenant. Uglier than the backside of Krazten’s moon and with breath that would peel paint, but he thought that two months on the trainer would make me receptive.” She shook her head at the memory.

“Men. Same in any fleet, I suspect.” They laughed together.

“More water, I think,” Feneya suggested. She breathed shallowly as the clouds of steam engulfed her.

“Can you take a little more?”

“More?”

“Heat. It’s hotter up top. I just love the hot-box. Unfortunately, it is booked up pretty solidly. I don’t get in here nearly often enough.”

They moved to the upper bench. If Feneya had thought the lower bench hot, she’d been mistaken. Now, she experienced hot. She felt her head start to swim. Next thing she knew she was lying down on the lower bench, an anxious Era looking down on her, apologizing furiously.

“I’m sorry. I should have realized you wouldn’t be accustomed to it. Your small ship wouldn’t have a hot-box. I’m an idiot.”

“I’m fine. Just a little too hot up there.” Surprisingly enough, she did feel fine. The cooler temperature of the bottom bench revived her, and she liked heat. She looked past Era and realized that the other woman had cracked the door open. The room had lost temperature quickly. She sat and accepted the glass of cool water. “Thank you, but could you close the door, you’re letting out all the heat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure.” Feneya knew she could take the heat at the lower level and she didn’t want to be the reason that Era lost out on her hot-box time. “You sit up top, I’ll feed the monster in the corner.”

Era grinned. “It’s a plan.”

The cold shower afterwards had Feneya tingling from top to bottom, feeling good, relaxed. Like having drunk a fine wine, she thought. It felt good, too, to be dressed in freshly cleaned clothes. Then Era escorted her to the Officers’ Mess.

“You look radiant, Lieutenant Weytok,” a Lieutenant-Commander told her as he indicated her place at the table and sat down beside her. Lieutenant Sharden sat opposite.

“Your Lieutenant Sharden has been showing me the wonders of your hot-box.”

The Lieutenant-Commander eyed her more closely and Weytok knew he was undressing her in his mind. “Now, if I’d known, I’d have taken a little time and joined you Ladies.”

Weytok looked up into Sharden’s eyes and they shared a secret smile. Men. They stood as the Captain entered.

“Well, Lieutenant, have my crew been proper hosts?”

“Very proper, Captain,” Weytok replied, blushing slightly.

“Good. I’d hate to have it said otherwise. And I thought we’d enjoy a dinner with you as this will be your last night on board.”

Weytok looked at him questioningly.

“You have reached your destination, Lieutenant. Adia.”

CHAPTER 10

TLARTOX HOMEWORLD

Before the tele-vid went blank they were in motion. Shads Efdur grabbed the pack with the schematics he’d been working on; Strel had their meager possessions in a pile and he and Ange were stuffing them into two bags. Tep maintained a watch out the front.

“Nothing yet,” he reported.

“Let’s go,” Shads ordered. According to the anonymous tip, they had only minutes, if that. The four hit the back stairs running, leapt the fence, crossed the back garden of the neighbor’s domicile, crossed the alley and disappeared into another back lot, one with five tall trees.

“I’ll check out the front,” Strel volunteered, his dark grey fur and dark clothing making him almost invisible in the night. Tep peered up and down the alley, ready at the first sign of light to close his eyes and drop back below the fence. No sense risking the flash of green a Tlartox’s eyes made when hit by a beam of light.

A roar of landcruisers split the silence, one of which turned down the alley. Tep dropped and made his way quickly to the others. He found that Strel had also returned.

“Back door’s covered.”

“Another’s gone around front, I think.”

“Let’s move.”

That last came from Shads. Likely, all the cruisers had passed. They needed to get out of the area before the hunters ascertained that they were no longer in the house. With nothing left behind, the hunters might believe they had received a false tip. Shads didn’t count on that. Their scent would be too fresh.

His heart beat rapidly as he stepped onto the street and led them quickly—but not at a suspicious run—across the intersection.

Strel slipped ahead and into a garage. A low roar, and their escape vehicle moved out onto the street. Tep closed the garage door behind the cruiser and climbed into the rear seat beside Shads. He did not look pleased.

Shads caught Tep’s glare and understood. Tep Nallin had curled happily ensconced in his safehouse, living there for years before Shads and the others arrived and upset Nallin’s little world. And he blamed Shads.

Someone had compromised Nallin’s safehouse. Now the hunters had sniffed out another. Hunters seemed to appear everywhere. Shads relaxed into the seat as best he could, and closed his eyes. The shadowy war between them and the hunters complicated his mission, and they no longer had the time to keep shifting. He desperately needed a couple of quiet days to work on the schematics, then few more to reconfigure the equipment. His head hurt.

“I’ll call Tlantho,” Strel’s low growl came back to them. “She’ll let us know a good place to hole up.”

“No.” Shads opened his eyes. The other three turned to him in surprise.

“No?”

“No. Head for the Westbridge exit. We’re leaving the city.”

“Through Westbridge?” Ange’s ears cocked forward quizzically. “They do vehicle registration checks there.”

“Through Westbridge,” Shads confirmed, closing his eyes again. A long motionless moment passed, then the cruiser lurched into motion. They needed to take the risk. Shads needed sleep. It was so hard to think.

“We’re there.” Ange sounded frightened. Strel loosened his side arm in its concealed holster.

“What time is it?”

“About two hours past midnight.”

“Good. Head for lane four.”

After a quiet exchange of looks, the landcruiser moved forward again. Shads knew his companions hoped he knew what he was doing. He didn’t blame them. He hoped so, too, for they could no longer turn back.

The landcruiser stopped at the inspection point and Shads exited the car to meet the guard.

“I’ll need your registration,” the guard said in a bored voice as Shads stretched.

“Of course.” Shads handed the guard a folded booklet.

The guard opened it and his eyes went from the booklet back up to Shads. He then peered closely at the others in the car, noting the nervous tic which had Tep sheathing and unsheathing his claws. He made his decision.

“Everything seems in order, sir.” The guard bared his teeth, handing back the booklet while slipping the cash into his pocket with his other hand.

“We were never here,” Shads told him.

“Who was never here?” the guard called over his shoulder as he activated the barrier.

Shads stepped back inside the landcruiser and it moved slowly through the lanes until it reached the highway where it sped up.

“He’ll talk,” Nallin accused Shads.

“Of course he’ll talk,” Shads replied. “Take your next left, Strel.” Shads tried hard to remember the area. It had been a year at least. “Yes, now right.” They turned down an overgrown trail leading to an ancient abandoned mineshaft. Officials had closed it off some thirty years earlier after eight young Tox, who had been exploring it, had died within. After recovering their bodies, officials had collapsed the roof that no one else suffer the same fate. However, one could go a small distance into the hillside—just far enough to hide a landcruiser.

“Now what?” Nallin wanted to know.

“Now we cover the trail and head back into the city on foot.”

Ange purred his approval. “And the hunters will get the guard to talk, and search the countryside.”

“Exactly.”

Shortly after daylight they slipped into a diner to partake of an early breakfast. No one talked. Tired and hungry, the adrenal rush that had kept them going faded.

“By all that’s holy!” Strel choked out, his ears going flat against his head before he corrected himself. The rest followed his gaze through the window to a black furred Tox whose head swiveled back and forth as she crossed the street.

“Miz!” Strel was reaching for his concealed side arm when Shads’ hand caught his wrist.

“Would you ruin everything for vengeance?” Shads whispered fiercely. “Focus on your plates,” he ordered. “Do you want to attract her attention?”

Strel growled, “May her dish be broken,” and returned to his meal while Shads kept a careful watch.

Miz would pass right by the diner or, worse, come in. Then Shads caught the sight of another Tox, this one moving on the opposite side of the street. A hunter group. The other two appeared. His heart pounded.

Miz’s head turned and she looked through the window, catching Shads looking right at her. Their eyes locked for a moment, then Miz moved on. Almost a minute passed before Shads realized he had stopped breathing. He let out the pent up breath. She must have seen them. She had to have. His stomach did a small flip-flop. She let them go. He was right about her.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ange suggested after the hunter group had turned down the next street.

“She saw us,” Shads told them. “She let us go.”

“Didn’t recognize us,” Tep Nallin replied coldly.

Outside he moved over to where Miz had walked by. “See. The reflection makes it difficult to see in. She probably didn’t make out anything other than four shapes.” He looked disgusted.

Shads knew better than to argue. “All right. Let’s get away from here.”

“Want me to contact Tlantho now?”

“We’ve been hunted, hounded from one hideout to another. We have to accept that they have compromised our comm,” Shads growled. “No. We tell no one. I know a place.” He led off, not seeing the shrugs from the others. He wondered how long their luck would last. He hoped Vom’s luck remained good. He hadn’t heard from the Master for some time.

Shads gave instructions, and they split up. Four of them arriving together would attract attention.

Shortly before noon he climbed the rear steps and unlocked the back door. The others would arrive soon. Shads looked around. Nothing had been disturbed. He badly needed sleep, but he couldn’t, not yet.

He sat down in a soft chair and waited for the others. More than anything, he wanted to be finished with this madness. He wanted to go home.

ADIA

The sun felt strange on his face, and the breeze held a multitude of smells that he’d almost forgotten and some he had never before had the pleasure of sampling. Mart Britlot took a deep breath and climbed down the gangway to the solid earth. One by one the rest of the crew trooped out behind him and each in turn stopped, turned a face to the sky, and breathed in deeply.

As they lined up on the pad, a small delegation came out to meet them. Britlot glanced over his crew. Once again they stood in dress uniform. Some had complained; Britlot felt for them not at all. Behind them stood the three Adian Marines and two techs who had accompanied them down. Commander Travlot stood beside the Confederation officers. Feneya caught Britlot’s eye and flicked to the Commander. Britlot followed her gaze. The commander looked grimmer than he had when he’d first boarded Searcher.

“What is it, Commander,” Britlot asked quietly before the delegation came within earshot.

“Fleet Admiral,” came the terse reply.

The air itself seemed to crackle with tension as Britlot felt his crew stiffen. None of them, the Adian commander included, felt comfortable around that lofty rank.

Britlot’s attention went to the Fleet Admiral. The hair not covered by the peaked hat had once been black, now it carried streaks of grey. Her dark eyes were sharp and clear, and there was a no-nonsense feel to her stride. Two other naval officers and a man in civilian attire walked with her. They halted. As one, Commander Travlot and Lieutenant-Commander Britlot saluted. The Fleet Admiral returned the salute sharply. She looked up at him curiously.

“Fleet Admiral Fenton, Lieutenant-Commander Mart Britlot of the Confederation Navy,” Commander Travlot introduced them, then fell silent.

Britlot felt himself the object of intense scrutiny by the Fleet Admiral and stood quietly, waiting for the higher-ranking officer to speak. By the time she finally turned to look at his crew he felt decidedly uncomfortable. After a few moments she returned her attention to him.

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot. I welcome you and your crew to Adia. This is Commodore Cetph, Captain Kaldon and Foreign Minister Jalketh.”

Britlot greeted each in turn, then introduced his crew. Amenities observed; he prepared himself to deal with this unexpected delegation. The Fleet Admiral began.

“Lieutenant-Commander, please come with me. We have much to speak of.” She turned to her companions. “Captain Kaldon, please see to Lieutenant-Commander Britlot’s crew. Commander Travlot, please accompany Commodore Cetph.” She nodded to Britlot, turned and began to stride back towards the nearest building. Britlot fell in step beside her and contemplated his next move.

*

The speed at which events moved stole Lieutenant Weytok’s breath. After dinner with the Captain of Winter Sky, the Adians had ferried her and the rest of her crew back to Searcher. The Adian Navigator and Comm-Op had remained on board and had taken the stations usually manned by Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol and Spacer Dhine. The Adians allowed them no knowledge of where they were, nor the opportunity to send any messages.

She had no problem with that. Britlot appeared more relaxed than he had since before they had met the Phenomenon. The crew, on the other hand, showed tension.

Commander Travlot deferred to Britlot, and he brought the ship planetside. She was proud of the flawless way he landed Searcher. She knew he had landed a scoutship only twice previously. Then they disembarked, only to come face to face with a Fleet Admiral!

Now, as representative of her crew and the Confederation itself, she had to deal with a full captain. She sighed and wondered if her early promotion had been a good trade, after all.

“Lieutenant, we have quarters for you and your crew not far from the landing field.” A landcruiser approached as he spoke.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll want to leave personnel on board to maintain the ship.”

The Captain smiled, seeing through her politeness. “Of course. However, we’ll have to ask that you not use your detectors or comm equipment.”

“Naturally. You may post someone on our bridge.”

“Will you use your detectors or comm equipment?”

“No, sir. We will not.”

“Then I see no need to post anyone. A guard will remain outside to ensure no unauthorized persons approach your vessel, but that is merely normal security.” The Captain returned a salute as a lieutenant exited the landcruiser. “Lieutenant, please convey the Searcher’s crew to their quarters.” The Adian lieutenant turned to Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol and they began coordinating the move to land quarters.

“Lieutenant Weytok, if it is not too much to ask I would very much enjoy a tour of your vessel. Your quarters are not far from here and your Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol can handle the move. A small vehicle will be placed at your disposal, with driver, for you and your crew to come and go as you please.”

“Sub-Lieutenant, please see the crew quartered, then return here with Guns. The Captain and I will be on board.”

“Aye, sir,” Krirtol replied with a snappy salute.

Weytok smiled to herself. Her crew was on absolute best behavior. Britlot had warned them that they must, each and every one of them, consider themselves ambassadors of the Confederation. “This way, Captain.”

During an uneventful tour, Captain Kaldon asked pertinent questions, but not one could she consider in the least out of order. She would ask the very same questions in similar circumstances. Finally they arrived on the bridge.

“There. Done. I’ve locked out the detectors and comm. Only ship’s officers can now access them. Shall we repair to the wardroom?”

“By all means, Lieutenant. I’m very impressed with your ship.”

Weytok accepted the compliment and led the way to the wardroom where she opened the Lieutenant-Commander’s last bottle of Tsliristi wine—that she knew of—and poured a glass for the Captain. He sipped it appreciatively.

“So, this is Tsliristi wine. I’ve read about it in the history books. It lives up to its reputation.” He toasted the Confederation and she Adia. That done, they settled down and talked shop until Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol returned.

TORBIRD

“Action Stations!” Commander Rop Jaron hit the alarm and watched the bridge crew take their places and report in.

“Gunnery. We have three incoming ships, classification: Tlartox frigates, Stalker class,” Lieutenant Lowegtoten called out.

“Shields at maximum, Captain,” Jaron noted.

“Very good.” Captain Fronel glanced at his display. “Comm, pass our data on to the other escorts.”

“Data passed on, sir,” Lieutenant Sorbine reported. “Message from Hurricane.” Captain Ulla Thugan appeared on Fronel’s screen.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Cyclone and Typhoon are coming to your aid, Captain. Hurricane will proceed in accordance with Plan Echo.”

“Aye, sir.” Fronel turned to Lieutenant Wira Brilth. “Navigation, you heard. Plan Echo. Give me a course.”

Lieutenant Brilth hesitated, then pulled up the record. She made a few calculations while the bridge waited and watched. “Data on your screen, sir.”

“Helm, execute!”

“Aye, sir.”

“Comm, send out a message in the clear to Second Fleet, Squadron Six: ‘Trap sprung!’” On the screen the convoy defenders moved out to meet the Tlartox threat. Fronel ordered weapons free-fire and sat back.

Behind him, Commodore Prusnol laughed. He took a last look at the display and then called an end to the exercise. From their various rooms, the bridge officers of the other ships appeared. Prusnol waited for them to enter to critique the exercise. “It is a good strategy,” he admitted, “but against three Stalker class frigates, I fear that your short squadron wouldn’t have stood much of a chance. I particularly liked the message to Second Fleet, though.” Prusnol chuckled again.

“Okay, Hurricane’s crew will take the bridge for the next run. Everyone else back to the situation rooms.”

Captain Lemm Fronel led his people back to their room. There they took up position behind the simulators recently manned by Hurricane’s people. “Lieutenant Brilth, in future you will calculate more rapidly,” he said coldly.

Brilth, a very junior sub-lieutenant until her crisis-motivated promotion, flushed with shame.

“Not to worry, Lieutenant,” Commander Jaron quietly told her. “Just do better next time. That’s all the Captain expects. No one gets it right first time, every time.”

Somewhat relieved, Brilth straightened up and manned her station. This time she would do better, she vowed.

Jaron looked to Fronel and received a millimetric nod. One couldn’t push youngsters like this too hard. Bad enough they had to fight in obsolete ships. Still, they had to learn.

Three more exercises followed, the bridge officers striving to improve their facility with their new ship (even if only in simulation). Finally the day ended.

A tired Lemm Fronel joined the other captains in the Commodore’s day room.

“Congratulations, Gentlemen, Ladies,” Commodore Prusnol greeted them. “An admirable display. If you can handle the real thing as effectively, Fleet will be happy.”

Ulla Thugan took the compliment with a hefty dose of scepticism. “We did okay,” she admitted, “but only that. How long to make our ships and crews ready for duty?”

Prusnol’s smile faded. “Not as much as we had hoped. The Tlartox are moving quickly. That’s one of the reasons that we’ve changed course.”

The five captains stilled, waiting for the word.

“We’re now heading for Spacedock Bravo II where they have crews working overtime refitting your ships. We need you there to hurry the process. Sorry about leave.”

Bad news. Fronel appreciated the Commodore’s giving it to them straight. No playing seek-and-destroy about the four moons of Jenthop for this man.

“And our crews?” Fronel asked.

“I fear you will receive them piecemeal, as they become available.”

“Good.” Ten Llemartol smiled. “We won’t have a whole lot of know-nothings confusing the issue. The ‘old hands’ will educate the newer ones in manageable numbers.”

Vella Mesicsah ran her fingers through her hair. “And what will that ratio be?”

Lemm leaned forward. Outside of his XO, his bridge officers lacked experience. This would tell the tale.

Prusnol clenched his famous square jaw. “About one in seven, I’m afraid.”

Vella closed her eyes, possibly in prayer. Lemm shook his head gravely. He had suspected he would not like the answer.

In the wardroom, the other officers discussed their day.

“I thought Captain Mesicsah was going to have an attack when I ordered the turn,” Lieutenant Pars Rethor grimaced. “How could I know that these old ships can’t take a turn like that?”

“You could have read the book,” Lieutenant-Commander Lerti Silmar told him gently. As XO of Typhoon she had immersed herself in the ship’s specifications.

“At least we have heavier armor than the newer ships,” Lieutenant Avar Grevtol of Hurricane said, grinning. “We should be able to take heavier fire from the enemy.”

Commander Jaron was about to explain that the heavier armor, which explained the larger turning radius, wouldn’t compensate for the poorer shields, but thought better of it. They’d find out soon enough. He caught Lerti Silmar’s eye; she nodded.

“Attention, everyone. A drink on the Number Ones!”

A cheer erupted and everyone stepped forward to fill their glasses.

“To the Confederation!” Lieutenant Wira Brilth called out loudly.

“The Confederation!” the reply resounded.

“And confusion to the enemy,” Rop Jaron responded after they’d all taken a drink. “We’ll need it,” he added quietly to Silmar, who nodded in agreement.

SPACEDOCK BRAVO II

Captain Benteel signed the final recommissioning slip and declared Tempest fit for service. Her bridge officers and a skeleton crew had arrived and worked with the dockers to finish the job. The transition went very smoothly, possibly because of Commodore Taglini’s presence. Ordinarily he did not involve himself so fully. Had he received negative reports on other vessels they’d refitted? She resolved to ask him.

Sighing, she stood and left her office for Number 4 Spoke, at the end of which lay Tempest. ‘Fit for service’, she thought. But what sort of service? Tempest, once a modern frigate capable of taking on anything that sailed the stars, was now a relic. Under-gunned and underpowered for today’s modern fleet, she would not last long in battle—a veritable deathtrap.

Originally a flagship, Tempest boasted quarters for a squadron commodore. Flag to a group of equally antiquated warships. A Fleet Squadron in name only.

Benteel shook that thought from her head and stepped into the airlock. Commodore Taglini had boarded her earlier and, after meeting with him, she’d see just what was what. Strange that he hadn’t approached her personally with complaints. He had never before done anything behind her back. The airlock cycled her through.

“Spacer Chief, have you seen the Commodore?”

“In the Flag cabin, sir.”

She walked inboard and pressed the door chime. Inside, the Commodore sat at the desk, looking through a bound book.

“Ah, Captain Benteel, just the person I wanted to see.”

“Commodore.” She braced herself.

“Your people have done a wonderful job here, Listra,” he addressed her familiarly.

“Thank you, sir. We do our best. Any complaints with the recommissions?” Best to get it out in the open.

“No.” Taglini seemed puzzled, then his face cleared and he smiled. “No, indeed. In fact I’ve received nothing but compliments on the work Bravo II has done.”

Captain Benteel had no time to pursue her puzzlement as the Commodore called her over to look at the book. It lay open to a page containing rows of faces. Young men and women. Taglini pointed at one.

“Del Lieren,” he said with a sad smile. “Used to have us in stitches back at the academy. If not for him, several of us, me included, would have dropped out. Del was Executive Officer of Thunderer.” Taglini sat back in the chair and looked at the Confederation insignia on the bulkhead. “Thunderer met four ships of the Combine. They attempted to intercept a convoy. Thunderer placed herself between the convoy and the strike force. The convoy escaped.

“Karva Mortok.” His finger pointed to another face, this one a woman with dark hair and eyes. A cute girl, Benteel thought; she looked far too young to belong in Fleet. “Karva was Lieutenant of Gunnery on Thunderer.”

“Tils Navoni. Survived the battle of Artine III without a scratch, though his frigate was shot to pieces. Took leave and a horse kicked him in the skull.

“Vreen Vrender. On patrol in Kaltor. Kaltor disappeared with all hands fifteen years ago. We still don’t know exactly what happened, though no one doubts that the Combine got her.”

The Commodore turned the page back and pointed out other faces, some of whom Benteel knew, most she did not. She noted that he skipped over the familiar face, below which the name Jens Knerden was featured. She’d have to ask him about that sometime.

“So many gone, Listra; so few of us left.”

Comprehension dawned. Benteel took a quick look around and saw a picture of a Class B frigate on the bulkhead. It had been Taglini’s first command.

“You have orders,” she whispered, shocked.

“She’s my flagship, Listra. I’m going back out there—along with Cyclone, Hurricane, Tornado and Typhoon. Recalled to service with all the other greybeards,” he chuckled.

“Tag, I heard nothing of this. Where are you posted? Convoy duty?”

“No, Listra, the squadron will be employed in the defense of Lormar.”

“Lormar?” Her eyes widened. Lormar was bound to be the Tlartox fleet’s main objective. With Fleet Headquarters situated there, where else would they go?

“Something is in the air, Listra. Something big. And it looks like I’ll be in the thick of it.” He smiled. “Don’t look so funereal. This is why I joined the Fleet.” He stood and stretched.

Listra couldn’t smile back and Taglini’s own smile soon faded. She waited him out.

“When it comes right down to it, Listra, I find I don’t want to die. This hero thing is for the young. I only hope I don’t break, embarrass myself and my command.”

Listra Benteel rushed to hug him. “You won’t break, Tag. You’re the bravest man I ever met.” She felt a sob catch in her throat. Life just wasn’t fair. She held him even closer and felt him begin to respond.

“There just happens to be an empty cabin through that door, Listra. They made it ready for me. Shall we?” Taglini asked. “There’s not many about.”

“Lead on, Tag,” Listra smiled gently. It had been a long time and it might never be again with him. She’d make sure it was a good one.

The two warriors, well past their prime, slipped through the door to Taglini’s private bedroom, hand in hand.

“I never told you I loved you, did I, Listra?”

Listra laughed softly. “No, Tag, you never did. But I’ve known it for years.”

“Ah, that’s good.” Taglini cupped her face and looked her in the eyes. “I love you, Listra.”

“It is nice to hear it, Tag.” She kicked the door closed with her foot.

TLARTOX HOME PLANET: COMMANDO BARRACKS

Group Leader Rai Tlel snarled as the four sections of her group formed up. “Listen up, you flea-bitten excuses for Commandos: Now we do it for real. And if you perform as pathetically as yesterday …” She let her voice die away. An unnamed threat always sounded worse than a named one.

Excitement ran through the group. Ears cocked forward and pupils slitted. They waited. Rai Tlel let them wait several long moments before turning to her Assistant Group Leaders. “Dismiss them. Be ready for transport to the lift-off site in two hours.”

“Group: We transport in two hours. Full kit. Dismiss!”

Sar Krinth felt her stomach doing weird things. With shaking hands, she prepared herself for her first time in space. She buckled her weapons belt about her waist, enjoying its familiar weight.

“Not now,” Squad Leader Rel Tjenor told her. “You’ll wear a pressure suit at lift-off. Full gear only after we get into the pod. Put it in your pack.” Tjenor moved to the next commando.

Sar’s ears went back in embarrassment. She knew that. Why had she forgotten? Her embarrassment was lost in the rush. With time to spare, the one hundred commandos of the 3rd Group, Sixth Command, 3rd Commandos stood ready to go. Landcruisers arrived, and the commandos boarded.

Actual lift-off made their simulator practices feel like nothing. Then came the weightlessness before the shuttle’s gravity cut in. One of the commandos vomited into the bag provided. Sar gave thanks to Tlar it hadn’t been her, for her stomach felt very poorly as well. She glanced around quickly, wondering at the nonchalance of the more experienced. This was space! She felt eyes upon her—Group Leader Rai Tlel. Sar held the Group Leader’s gaze for a moment before turning her head back to the front. Did she stand out as a newcomer? She had replaced Ren Frey who had taken maternity leave. How many sets of eyes would be watching each thing she did?

*

“All right, Group, into the pod!” Rai Tlel watched her commandos move past her and into the docked pod. Beyond lay the orbital station. Nearby floated the other seven pods of Sixth Command. Her eyes bright, she moved into line and took her position in the cramped pod.

“Equipment check in ten minutes,” she called, and a bustle of activity followed as commandos helped each other prepare. Tlel watched her timepiece.

“Section Leaders, check your Hands!” Every section leader checked her two hands of five commandos, then reported to their squad leaders who reported to her. All stood ready. She glanced again at her timepiece. Now, if the fleet pilot could get them where they were going, they’d see what her Commandos had learned.

The pod jarred as it took a hit, and Tlel wondered how they’d simulated that. A few eyes turned to her, then away. Another hit, then another. The pod spun, then corrected.

“Thirty seconds!” the pilot shouted over the broadcast. Precisely thirty seconds later, a heavy thump sounded as they hit the station.

“Prepare the burn!” Tlel yelled. A hissing vibration reverberated through the pod.

“Burn complete,” reported Tjenor.

“Fire the charge!”

The pod echoed to the clang of the charge going off.

“Check seal.”

“Seal holding, pressure within tolerances.”

“Go!”

The hatch opened, and 3rd Group boiled into the station. Three defenders, caught in the blast, lay on the deck, stunned.

Tlel signaled a Hand and pointed. “For interrogation.” The five commandos secured the three and transported them into the pod.

“Heavy resistance!” the call came back, and Tlel moved forward. They overcame the resistance with grenades, and the commandos moved forward until they met the yellow line signifying the edge of the exercise area. Mop-up operations began, with the commandos searching every compartment, wary for traps and ambushes. Finally they finished. Station Broadcast came to life and called a halt.

“This is Group Commander Scairnth. All Group Leaders report to Conference Room Seven. The rest of the Command will assemble in Docking Bay One after releasing all ‘prisoners’. Good work.”

Sar Krinth bared her teeth. She had done it. Her first live training exercise in space and she’d made no mistakes. No bad ones, at least. Along with the other commandos, she formed up and marched to the Docking Bay to await transport to the planet. Behind her the heavy airtight doors closed over the blown bulkheads and the station workers welded the burned slabs back into position for the next exercise.

To her great surprise they were not returned planetside, but instead taken to the Troopship Trenth’s Fang where the rest of the division mustered. Only one reason could exist for that.

CHAPTER 11

ADIA

An errant breeze brought the scent of blooming flowers to him on the way to the building, and Britlot savored it. Inside, flowers on the conference room table caught his eye. Their unregimented beauty in the midst of uniforms and protocol took him aback. He would have preferred a more austere setting, but the Adians seemed comfortable.

“Commander Travlot tells me you dropped right into the Phenomenon, Lieutenant-Commander.” The Admiral removed her cap and leaned back in her chair. Probably a beauty in her day, Britlot thought, and she remained strikingly handsome.

“Yes, Fleet Admiral, we did. Our probe indicated no danger, but we dropped into chaos.”

“So, tell us, how did you escape—ship intact?”

“We brought one engine on line—manual—and did a blind jump to hyperspace.”

“Quick thinking,” Commodore Cetph complemented him. “We lost several ships there, during the Migration. You did well to get out.”

“Sir, if I may, I’d like to ask about the ‘migration’. Records from Begoine suggested that the Phenomenon destroyed the entire fleet and convoy. Word from Begoine’s few survivors confirmed the story. How did the rest escape?”

The naval officers deferred to the Foreign Minister.

Jalketh began slowly. “Our ancestors wanted to leave Lormar and the Confederation, as you know. Word of a newly discovered planet turned that desire into reality. We left with Begoine holding the rearguard position.

“You know the difficulties of long-range navigation in hyperspace, and how recalibration of instruments can only take place in normal space.”

Britlot nodded. Early in their history, ships had disappeared, or gone far off course, by not dropping to recalibrate.

“However,” Jalketh smiled, “dropping hundreds of ships at once can result in quite a jumble. It would take days to sort out the mess and get under way again, and that’s a best case scenario.”

Britlot nodded again. “Worst case would have ships colliding with each other. A naval fleet of that size, trained in formation jumping, would be bad enough, but civilian ships dropping together sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

“Agreed. Thus the leaders of the Migration decided that only a few ships would drop each time. The remainder would move away slightly and wait for the chosen few to jump back up.

“Those ships passed their recalibration data to the others and, although not precise enough for accurate recalibration, it sufficed.” He paused as Commodore Cetph rose and opened a window. A breeze entered and Britlot found himself breathing in deeply. The others smiled at his obvious enjoyment of the fresh air.

“It has been a long time,” he explained. He took a moment to enjoy the air, using the time to glance around the room. It surprised him to see how much wood the Adians used. The floors, walls and furniture displayed various woods to advantage. The table, a beautiful round affair with the grain brought into wonderful relief by the stain, took center stage. A star holo sat quiescent on another table in the corner. The sun provided the light through the large windows, which took up most of one wall.

Britlot suddenly realized the others awaited the return his attention. He saw no signs of censure. All had taken extended space trips—with the possible exception of Jalketh. No, a Foreign Minister needed to … now, there was a thought. ‘Foreign Minister’ meant Adia had relations with someone else. Who? On this planet, or elsewhere? He looked closely at Jalketh, who resumed.

“Our probes reported it safe, too. When the ships which dropped did not forward data, nor respond to requests, another vessel dropped, with all Comm open. In the short time that Comm remained open, the rest of the Fleet discovered that it wasn’t safe at all—as you yourself discovered. The Fleet could do nothing to help. They moved on. Begoine, to their knowledge, just disappeared. Though following at some distance, our records show that she had received warning. Why she dropped, no one knows. Perhaps her Captain decided to attempt a rescue.”

“I see.”

“So, Lieutenant-Commander, tell us about the Confederation. We are very interested in what has been going on these past centuries.”

Britlot wondered where to begin. He looked at the flowers again.

“And what brings a delegation from the Confederation so far after all these years?” asked Minister Jalketh.

Britlot hesitated. Jalketh was the only government official present. How much had Adian protocol changed over the centuries?

“I would be happy to enlighten an all-party delegation, Minister.”

Jalketh grinned. “I see you’ve done your homework, Captain Britlot. I would expect nothing less from a formal Confederation delegate.”

If only you knew. “At your convenience I will present my petition to the Council, or brief a delegation. When might I anticipate this?”

“Well, Lieutenant-Commander, the Council is not now in session. When it sits, your petition will have priority. Until then I leave you in the Navy’s capable hands.”

Britlot rose with Jalketh, and took his proffered hand. Fleet Admiral Fenton and Commander Cetph also rose.

“Captain Britlot, I have matters to attend to, but I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Have you any concerns, please bring them to the attention of Commodore Cetph. He heads this training base.”

Britlot saluted. Commodore Cetph turned Britlot over to Commander Travlot, who waited for him.

“Winter Sky had just completed a training voyage when she met you. Her crew has leave coming and they will be your hosts, Lieutenant-Commander.”

Britlot nodded. As he had suspected, Winter Sky was a training ship. He hoped he would get a tour of a new Adian vessel before he left.

“I’ll take you to your quarters,” Travlot told him. “We get good weather this time of year. I advise you to take advantage of it. We’ll find escorts to take you to all the good spots.”

Britlot nodded. In other words, the Adians intended to keep them under close observation. He didn’t blame them, and the crew needed the time to relax.

With the base at only half complement, everyone had plenty of room. They gave his crew their own barracks; private rooms for each, and much space to spare. And they treated Searcher’s crew as honored guests, taking them to the small town nearby, which made much of its living supporting the military. The Adians escorted them other places as well. Days passed slowly.

*

Britlot turned onto his back and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his body. Adia. All the tension built up over the past months had melted away with the landing. He had done it! He had found the Adians when no one even believed they existed. And, according to Travlot, he had family here. He could wait.

The cool grass under him cushioned the ground; he wondered if he’d ever want to move again. A contented groan from Feneya indicated that she had turned over as well. He thought about opening one eye to take another look at her, but decided the effort greater than he could manage.

Peace. No worries, no duties. By the gods, it felt good after the long months cooped up on Searcher. Simply being on a planet and out of the confines of Searcher had done wonders for crew morale as well. Discipline problems disappeared. Having found the Adians basically friendly completed the cure. His crew was happy again. Feneya, also, had warmed once more. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her friendship.

The scent of flowers carried on the light breeze. The flowers. The scent returned Britlot’s thoughts to the meeting room. A naval establishment with flowers on a conference table. Not what he’d expected. Nothing was as he’d expected. Not even the …

“Hey, lazy ones!”

Britlot didn’t even bother opening an eye to Lieutenant Sharden’s call. With Winter Sky docked above and her crew given leave, Sharden had looked up Feneya and they’d gotten on like old pals, which surprised him, given what Feneya had told him about their beginnings. No, he corrected himself, perhaps not so surprising. After Travlot had thawed, they, too, had gotten on well.

“Take the gravity off your feet, Era,” Feneya said.

“Too nice a day. Let’s go have a picnic. I know a great spot.”

“Mart?”

“Ah, why not?” He struggled to his feet, gave a hand to Feneya and pulled her up as well.

Far from the barracks, in the country, the small landcruiser pulled into a lane, slipped down a dirt road and ended up at the side of a beautiful lake. Trees surrounded the area and made it an oasis of silence. Mart and Feneya looked around, speechless.

“Swim, anyone? Mart? Feneya?“ Eraphene grinned.

“We didn’t bring any swimwear,” Mart confessed.

Eraphene laughed gaily. “Who needs swimwear?” She began to strip down. Mart and Feneya exchanged glances and shrugged. They disrobed quickly. A splash from the lake told them Eraphene hadn’t waited.

“Until now, I don’t think I really knew what ‘free’ was,” commented Feneya. She grinned. “Well, let’s go!”

After the swim, they lay on a large blanket and dried in the sun. Some time later, Eraphene sat up and regarded the two Confederation officers. They were lying face up, with eyes closed. She noted that Mart’s hand had somehow made its way over and covered Feneya’s. She grinned.

“Food, anyone?” she suggested quietly.

Mart opened one eye. He sighed and then opened the other. “Well, it would be a waste not to.”

Feneya also sighed and pulled herself into a seated position. An attractive couple, Eraphene decided. She grinned to herself when Mart gave a small start as he realized he was still naked. A little self-consciously, he pulled on his pants. Feneya followed suit and, after a moment, so did Eraphene. Confederation people were obviously not used to going around without clothes.

It had taken quite a while to get them to this point. Yet surely, if slowly, they had relaxed and began to enjoy what Adia had to offer. The reluctance to accept all the hospitality offered—especially to accept any sort of gift, though they had no Adian currency and little chance to acquire any—seemed quaint.

Finally Mart had raided his secret wine supply and attempted to use it to trade for goods his crew wanted. An Adian officer had appeared and confiscated the bottles. He promptly took them to the base commissary, which then auctioned them and presented Britlot with the proceeds.

Britlot had then surprised the Adians by dividing the cash equally among his crew. With their newfound wealth, the Searcher’s crew opened to the invitations. Paying their own way obviously held importance for them. Admirable.

Much of that cash ended up in the hands of local merchants, payment for souvenirs. Souvenirs that their Adian counterparts would have gladly given them, for the Confederation crew were eminently willing to part with their own possessions in order to give keepsakes. Interesting.

Eraphene realized she’d been eating in silence, lost in her own thoughts, when Britlot—Mart—cleared his throat. She returned her attention.

“Where are your thoughts?”

She smiled sadly. “I was just thinking that my leave ends soon and I’ll lose a couple of newfound friends.”

Sobered, they ate in silence until Feneya suddenly started tickling Mart. He roared in surprise and turned to fight back only to be ambushed by Eraphene. Moments later they were rolling on the ground, laughing and gasping for breath. In high humor they returned to the base as the sun began to set.

Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol, dressed in uniform, came out to meet them, visibly upset. She saluted.

“Captain, we have a problem. Gunnery Spacer Pren Dorvon has been arrested.”

“On what charge, Sub-Lieutenant?”

“Riot, sir.”

“What?” Riot could garner the death penalty in the Confederation. What had possessed the man?

With Lieutenant Sharden’s help, Britlot, now uniformed and grave of face, found the brig and obtained permission to talk to his crewman.

News of the charge shocked Dorvon. The blood drained from his face.

“This is ridiculous, sir. It was just a minor dust up in a local establishment.”

“You started a fight? Guns, we’re supposed to be ambassadors for the Confederation. I thought you understood that.”

Dorvon looked hurt. “I didn’t start it, sir. The marines sort of started it.”

“What marines?” Britlot sighed and sat down on a stool in Dorvon’s cell. “Let’s have it.”

“Well, we were having a good time…”

“Who is ‘we’?” Britlot groaned to himself. Perhaps he should have waited until morning, until Dorvon was completely sober. No, he had to clear it up now.

“Me and some of the spacers around here. Just went in for a few friendly drinks. Then the marines showed up. You know how it is, sir, marines and spacers?”

“Yes, I know. Please go on.”

“Well one of them made a crack about the Confederation Navy, and that started it.”

“You hit him?”

“No, sir. I was thinking ’bout being an ambassador and all. One of the other guys hit him.” Dorvon looked anxious to have Britlot believe him. Strangely enough, Britlot did.

“Then?”

“Well, my guys was outnumbered, and marines is marines, no matter what navy, I thought, so I joined in. Then the local constable showed up and we all got carted off. It wasn’t any riot, sir, it wasn’t.”

“Okay, Guns. I’ll look into it in the morning. In the meantime, you do what you are told, when you are told. I do not want to hear otherwise.”

“Aye, sir!”

Dorvon looked very relieved. Britlot, on the other hand was troubled. Could a minor incident, which would mean little at the defaulter’s table in the Confederation, mean death here?

Britlot slept little that night after he put the rest of the crew on warning. Not that he had to; word of the charge had sobered them up considerably.

*

“Ah, Lieutenant-Commander. Here to see justice done?” Commander Travlot appeared nonchalant, even though the spacers in question had been from Winter Sky’s crew.

“I hope so, Commander.”

The two of them walked into the court together. There, a Major Kelnor of the Adian Marines met them. They took their places. A stern Captain nodded to them from the Tribune’s seat.

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot. Are you prepared to allow your spacer to be tried by this court?”

With little else he could do without compromising the mission as he saw it, Britlot agreed.

“Aye, sir, I am. However, we ask, should the defendant be found guilty, that he be dealt with by Confederation Officers and have any sentence served within the Confederation.”

The Captain raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.” He and Dorvon had talked and Dorvon, angry with himself and with the Adians for blowing everything out of proportion, had told Britlot, ‘If I get the chop, I don’t want them doing it.’

“Very well. This court has no objection.”

Adian guards brought in the accused, and they heard the evidence. It seemed to Britlot a lot of trouble over nothing. Perhaps because civilians were involved? Finally the Captain asked each man if he had anything to say. Dorvon stood first.

“Sir. If I may, the trouble started because of me, sir. These other men,” he indicated the spacers, “were simply trying to defend my honor because they knew I’d been told to stay out of any such altercation.” He must have practiced the speech, Britlot thought.

The Captain glared down at Dorvon. “And even so, you joined in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you accept full responsibility?”

Britlot tried to catch Dorvon’s eye, to tell him no, but Dorvon had eyes only for the Captain.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. This court accepts that. I find you guilty as charged. Restitution must be made.” The Captain looked down at the tavern owner’s submission. He looked up and quoted a figure. “Besides that, damage was done and it will be up to you to see that you and your compatriots repair it.” He signed a piece of paper.

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot.”

“Sir?”

“As you have indicated your desire to be involved, you shall supervise these repairs and ensure that the tavern owner is properly compensated. Is that satisfactory?”

“Yes, sir.” Britlot did not allow his confusion to show. Such leniency to a man who pled guilty to Riot?

“Next case.”

“What was that all about, Britlot?” Commander Travlot asked upon exiting the courtroom. “Not that I object. You see, if not you it would have been me.”

“I’m a little lost here, Commander. In my fleet, a charge of Riot can draw the death penalty.”

“Death?” Travlot stopped short and looked aghast at Britlot. Then he calmed. “What is the definition of Riot, in your books?”

When Britlot explained, the Adian burst into laughter. “No wonder you were worried. Means something quite different here. Riot, indeed!”

Britlot soon found himself the center of attention, butt of the joke, which spread like wildfire. Adian officers came to the tavern to rib him good-naturedly and to offer comments on the quality of repairs.

The spacers and marines didn’t find it so funny. They would have much preferred working without a number of officers present. An object lesson, Britlot told his people. Not knowing the rules here, they had to be on best behavior. He added several nights’ early curfew to Dorvon’s sentence.

A few days later, Commander Travlot reappeared.

“How’s it going, Lieutenant-Commander? All done with the civilians?”

“Yes, Commander. Back to the waiting routine.” He looked up at the greying skies. “Looks like rain.”

“Perhaps. However, your waiting is at an end. I’ve just heard that you’ll be transferred to the Capital tomorrow to meet the Council.”

CHAPTER 12

LORMAR

Relnie moved quickly to answer the tele-vid.

“Lemm! It’s good to see you.” She watched him during the two-second delay scrambling and distance put in the call. He looked tired.

“I’m at Spacedock Bravo II,” he told her. “I have my new ship. She’s the Tempest. You can send mail to me addressed to her. She’s a good ship, Relnie, and I’ve the makings of a good crew.”

Relnie wondered. He might say so simply to relieve her worry. Fat chance. “I’m pleased to hear it, Lemm.” She passed on family news, and received unrestricted Fleet news in return. The familiar pattern returned without effort. Having to settle for his image when she’d had him beside her for over a year hurt, but she managed to not convey this. They could do nothing about the situation, so why concentrate on the negative?

“How is Jol doing?” Lemm asked, brushing something from his eye.

Relnie went cold. His gesture signaled that the comm was monitored and she should say nothing that would cause trouble with the censors. “He’s a little unhappy, Lemm. Problems at work, but nothing to worry about. You know how he is about changes in routine.”

Lemm gave a quick grin. “What was it this time?”

“Customers exhausted their entire inventory, and now there is mandatory overtime. You know how they feel about that—even though it means extra money.”

Lemm laughed. “Tell him it builds character.”

Relnie laughed back. “I’ll tell him you said it.”

“Leave me out of it. It was just a suggestion.” His face softened. “I have to go, Relnie. I love you.”

“I love you, Lemm.” The screen went blank.

Relnie sat back into her chair. Jol was upset all right. The customer had been Fleet. The unexpected pick-up of the torpedo guidance heads before the order had been completed could mean nothing, but Jol saw it differently. She recalled his angry face.

“It’s obvious, Mom.” Anger deepened his already deep voice. “Fleet worries that they may lose us as a source, so they take no chances. That means they expect to lose Lormar if the Tlartox attack.” He turned to look out the window at Melsie and Colli.

“Now, Jol, Fleet would never give up Lormar.”

“No?” Jol swung around, his eyes blazing. “Then why do they make plans to move Fleet Headquarters and evacuate the staff and families?

Relnie was shocked. “You’ve heard of such plans?”

Jol relented. “I don’t know, Mom. There are rumors.”

“Rumors!” She pounced on the word. “Rarely true.”

A discouraged grin appeared. “I agree, but indicators suggest otherwise. And morale has suffered. I see bad times coming. Dad suggested that we move in here if things become bad. Did he tell you? Ah, good. Colli and I have started making preparations for the move. Colli will advise Pel and Jerinth to do the same.”

“It will be good to have the whole family together.” What else could she say? The conversation ended.

Now Lemm knew, too, and she hadn’t wanted to bother him with it. Ah, well. That’s what she got for marrying a Fleet man. She put her feet up and contemplated room assignments.

TEMPEST—RECALIBRATING

Commodore Taglini excused himself, and the five captains relaxed in the wardroom of Tempest as the short squadron rested in normal space, recalibrating navtanks.

“Well, at least someone is happy,” Vella Mesicsah commented to no one in particular.

“With good reason,” Honin Neco responded. “I think we’ve done damn well with what we have. This squadron has become a fighting concern.”

Ulla Thugan hid a smile, seeing Ten Llemartol nodding his approval. “We’ve a long way to go before we’re ready for a fight, Honin.”

“Now, Ulla, don’t discourage him,” Llemartol remonstrated as he eased his leg into a more comfortable position. “Honin is quite correct. We have done well.” He held up his hand to forestall her objection. “You, also, are quite correct, we have much work ahead of us. For the moment, though, let us enjoy our successes.”

Neco nodded in agreement, his eyes bright as he watched the hero of Restovine take up his cause.

“Very well, Ten.” Thugan’s blocky face cracked into a smile, “Let us enjoy our moment.” She stood and filled all their glasses. “Honin?”

“To the Squadron,” Neco toasted without hesitation.

“The Squadron.” The others raised their glasses.

“Captain Neco?” A young sub-lieutenant stood at the door.

“Yes, Sub?”

“Sir, your boat has arrived to return you to Typhoon.” She looked about the room, in awe of the five captains.

Neco smiled at her. “Thank you, Sub. If you’ll do me the honor of escort…”

The sub-lieutenant flushed and nodded. Neco grinned at the others and followed the young woman from the room.

A small explosion of laughter erupted after the door closed. “He’ll do.”

“Ten, you have to stop encouraging him. He looks up to you, gods know why, and you know, probably better than any of us, just how far we are from being battle ready.”

“Nothing wrong with him looking up to me, Ulla. I think I make a fine role model.” He frowned at the snorts he received. “However, his point is valid. We know…” he cursed under his breath and pounded at his prosthetic leg. “Wretched thing. Ah, where was I? Oh yes. We know how unready we actually are, and if the crews know that, too, they’ll lose any battle we get into. If,” he spread his hands palms up in front of him, “if they don’t know how unready they are, they just might win it for us.”

Smiles died. Mesicsah frowned. “You’re right. Morale is the best thing we have going for us at the moment. Point taken, Captain.”

Lemm Fronel, who had remained silent up to that point, cleared his throat. “On that note, Gentlemen, Ladies, I believe it is time to go. Your boats will dock shortly, and we have another exercise to run before we jump. Perhaps a ‘well done’ to the crews wouldn’t be out of order should the exercise go reasonably well.”

PRIME STATION ALPHA, LORMAR

“Please be seated, Commodore,” Vice Admiral Knerden requested. “I’ll bring you up to speed.”

The Commodore sat and accepted a glass of wine. He sipped, then sighed appreciatively. “It’s good to be here, sir. I feel a new man. A year ago I was almost ready for retirement; now I’m commanding a squadron. By the way, congratulations on your promotion.”

The Vice Admiral smiled. “Thank you. Gets in the blood, doesn’t it? So, Tag, how are they shaping up?”

“Quickly. We’ve enough old hands to keep the young pups in line and to show them what they need to know. Steady improvement all through the voyage. They’ll do just fine, sir.”

“I hope so.” The Vice Admiral ran his hand back through his thick grey hair. He hesitated.

“When we dropped out of hyperspace, my detectors picked up a lot fewer ships than I expected.” Taglini gave him the opening he wanted.

“Yes, Tag. Headquarters sent Second Fleet to the Combine front. Fourth left a week later.”

Taglini’s eyes widened. “That leaves just First Fleet to protect this entire sector!”

“First Fleet and the ships we’ve recommissioned, yes. It should be enough, don’t you think?” Vice Admiral Knerden’s sharp eyes watched the incredulity leap to his old classmate’s face.

“No, I do not think! With only First and the recommissions, at best we can fight a delaying action. We won’t even be able to hold—My God!” Taglini stared in disbelief.

“You should have made Admiral, Tag. You have a gift for seeing situations clearly.”

“I wasn’t political enough and had no heavy friends,” Taglini said absently.

“Yes, a pity about that,” Vice Admiral Knerden replied coldly. He did not miss the implication.

Taglini, however, had his mind elsewhere, and was not aware he’d given offense. His gaze rested on the star chart. It all came back to him. Move and countermove.

“We will have to evacuate the Pensor asteroid mining operation. With the resources at hand we can’t defend it, and the civilian morale on Lormar will plummet if we lose the miners.” He looked further and the Vice Admiral sat back and let him go on. When he finally finished Knerden just smiled.

“Of course, it doesn’t mean a damn, does it, sir? We’ll fight our way back to Lormar, but we won’t be able to stop them here, either.”

“Yes, Tag, it does mean a damn. Lormar produces many components Fleet needs. We need to produce to the last possible moment, then get away with as much as possible. So we delay, delay, delay. Fight and run. Harass.” He emphasized each point with his forefinger.

“And then abandon the planet to the Tlartox.” The bitter words came out before Taglini could stop them. “And, naturally, we destroy the four Prime Stations before leaving.” He stood and began pacing back and forth.

Knerden let him pace. The Commodore was soft; lucky he never made Flag rank. His mind should be on the battles to come, the glory, and the joy of outthinking the enemy. Knerden remembered how he, himself, had felt when given the briefing. Excitement had rippled through him. The chance to prove his worth against a numerically superior foe! The way Taglini carried on about trivialities sickened him. Finally he decided that he’d given the Commodore enough time.

“Tag, our orders are to delay the Tlartox Fleet until reinforcements arrive. We give up the minimum, but keep our force intact. If we lose First Fleet, the enemy will overrun the Confederation and there will be no hope.”

Taglini stopped his pacing. “Reinforcements? What reinforcements?”

“Well, not your ‘Ghost Fleet,’” Knerden laughed. “Yes, I heard about Searcher’s mission. No, I mean the rest of the Fleet. We transferred Second and Fourth for a reason. Fleet HQ ordered the Navy to bring a significant part of the Combine Fleet to battle, destroy it and return here as quickly as possible. The Combine will never expect us to denude our Tlartox Front. We’ll hit them hard enough to set them back a decade. Then we deal with the Empire.”

“If we can hold them.”

“We’ll hold them,” Knerden affirmed. “Now, to our mission. I’ve called a meeting of the Tenth Fleet captains, Section Three. We meet here in two hours. I just wanted to put you in the picture first, everyone else knows.”

“Tenth Fleet?”

“The B and C-class recommissions, along with two cruisers and four frigates from First Fleet. I’ll command First and Third Sections from Honor. Your squadron will join Section Three.”

*

“Gentlemen, Ladies, your attention please,” Vice Admiral Knerden called the meeting to order. The captains and commodores took their seats. All watched him expectantly.

“The Tlartox Fleet masses at our borders. We expect the first incursions to come at any time now.” The silence of space descended upon the room. “First Fleet is moving to intercept, but will not engage in fleet battle. The stakes are too high for that.” An uneasy murmur rose. “While First Fleet captures the enemy’s attention, we—Tenth Fleet—will go to war.”

Commodore Taglini watched how Vice Admiral Knerden manipulated his captains. The man was a master. Though the situation dire, he talked as if the assortment of relics called Tenth Fleet could take on the Tlartox Empire by itself.

“We shall make the Tlartox think we are everywhere. We’ll raid their convoys, attack their stations and frighten their planets. They will have to assign substantial assets to patrol. This will buy us time and will lower enemy morale.”

Knerden moved to the star map. The holo lit and all officers shifted their attention to the flashing red star in the center.

“Here we are at Lormar. First Section, Tenth Fleet, with both cruisers, will remain here guarding against any Tlartox probe. Second and Fourth Sections will guard against similar threats here and here. Third section, that’s you, will go to hyperspace upon commencement of hostilities and go deep into enemy space.”

One by one Knerden detailed the assignments. The optimism the officers showed impressed Taglini. Knerden had done his job again. They were to raid only, avoiding battle with elements of the Tlartox Fleet—so far as possible. Hit and run, hit and run. Make the enemy think that Tenth Fleet had four or five times the ships they actually had. His attention sharpened as his own assignment came up.

“Commodore Taglini’s squadron will hit the enemy base at Tlenfro.”

A heavy silence smothered the room. The base at Tlenfro had the firepower of several cruisers all by itself. After the Confederation had taken the planet three hundred years earlier, the Empire had heavily armed the base to ensure no repetition of the humiliation. Doubtless the station would have attendant frigates as well, perhaps even a cruiser.

The Vice Admiral’s chuckle broke the silence. “People. We do not expect Commodore Taglini to commit suicide, nor do we expect him to do any lasting damage. He will drop from hyperspace as close to the station as possible, rake it with his weapons, jump immediately back into hyperspace and get his tail out of there. We probably won’t even damage their shields. If we take out a satellite or two as we leave, it will be a bonus.

“What we wish to impress upon the Empire is that even their bases are not immune from attack. If we do this once we can do it again. They’ll be forced to station squadrons at each base. That, too, will buy us time.

“Just drop, shoot and jump, Commodore. Get out before the base can even get to action stations.” He grinned at the somber faces in front of him. “After that, they will remain at action stations for a week. That’ll put paid to morale, hey?” He received a few laughs, but not enough. Knerden knew when to move on, and he did.

Taglini looked at the five captains of his squadron. Each looked like death, except the inexperienced Neco, who appeared to relish the challenge. He remembered the faces from his yearbook. Soon others might discuss him the same way—if any remained. Very soon. He caught surreptitious glances from his captains. Without acknowledging he’d seen, Taglini began jotting nonsense words and doodles upon his pad. Occasionally he’d smile to himself. Out of the corner of his eye he noted one captain nudging another. The somberness lifted and Taglini smiled again.

He’d never felt less like smiling. He knew what they were thinking. ‘Look at the Commodore. He has a plan. See him smile? We might have a chance after all.’ He was giving them the confidence that he himself did not feel.

He almost thought it funny. He did as Knerden had done, and his captains would do the same thing in their own ways for their crews. It was a leadership thing. Each knew, yet each would fall for this little act. No, it wasn’t funny. It was sad. These brave men and women allowed themselves to believe they had a chance, made themselves believe so they could go on living without breaking. Just as he would buy the idea that First Fleet and a bunch of obsolete ships with green crews could hold off the whole Tlartox navy until the other Fleets could defeat the Combine and return.

The Vice Admiral finished. The meeting broke up. Taglini realized he hadn’t heard Knerden’s summation. It didn’t matter, his recorder had picked it up and he could listen to it at his leisure.

Before anyone could leave, the Vice Admiral’s Flag Lieutenant burst into the room with a message stick for Knerden. Knerden held up his hand and expectant faces watched him insert it into his reader.

“Gentlemen, Ladies, it has begun. The Tlartox Fleet is on the move. Let’s go get them!” A ragged cheer was raised.

ADIA

Britlot’s trip to the capital had taken two days in a windowless craft. He had overnighted in the aircraft at an airport and had then been subjected to hours more of flying the following morning. He had tried his best to sleep, but merely managed fitful dozing. He knew his big chance approached. If successful, he might soon return to the Confederation at the head of an Adian fleet. He didn’t want to think about being unsuccessful.

After landing, a blacked-out landcruiser carried him to the council building. He wasn’t allowed to even see the city. He wondered why. His escort showed him to a small windowless apartment and there he finally slept.

Britlot found the waiting room at the Council building nice enough as waiting rooms went. He had his choice of several comfortable chairs or a long sofa. He could lie down if he so desired. He grinned at the thought. Wrinkle his uniform? He’d just changed into a new one and he would remain standing until called.

The room smelled faintly of flowers, though he saw none. His hosts had made a music selection available, but Britlot preferred silence. He began a quiet meditation.

“Lieutenant-Commander.”

Britlot blinked and turned to the voice. An aged, white-haired usher motioned to him. Britlot followed the man into the chamber. The large oval room had four tiers of chairs rising up from the central floor. Above that he could see glassed-in galleries. The rooms behind the windows were in darkness, yet there were hints of movement. People watched.

About one-third of the chairs sat empty. Perhaps the Adians found his visit less important to them than he would have liked. He would have to be very persuasive, very eloquent.

The usher led him to a podium facing one of the narrow ends of the room. It unsettled him. He would have people behind him. No matter which way he turned, he would appear to snub someone.

“The ruling council sits directly in front of you,” the usher whispered helpfully. “The government is to your left and the opposition members are to your right. Behind you sit functionaries who are at the call of the members. You can safely ignore them.” He turned and left the young Confederation officer alone.

Britlot made a mental note to thank the man. Once more he called upon his memory, trying to place what he’d learned about Adian custom. Forthright, he’d heard.

“Council, Gentlemen, Ladies. Lieutenant-Commander Britlot of the Confederation.” There were murmurs then a hush. Britlot swallowed.

“Council, Gentlemen, Ladies, I am Lieutenant-Commander Britlot of the Confederation Navy. The situation in the Confederation requires that I ask for your help. A forty-year war with a regime called The Combine continues. The momentum of that war has gone back and forth. As of the last I heard, The Combine had a slight advantage, but nothing our forces could not deal with.

“Unfortunately, our old enemy—your old enemy, too—the Tlartox Empire has taken this opportunity to mobilize and will soon—if they haven’t already—attack us.”

That prompted a reaction. A sudden rumble of conversation rose, then subsided. He prepared to continue when Foreign Minister Jalketh stood.

“Are we to understand that the Confederation sent you to express their desire that we declare war upon the Tlartox Empire?”

Dead silence.

Britlot took a deep breath. “The Confederation would, no doubt, enjoy that act. However, the Confederation has not sent me to express that. The Confederation does not know,” how far should he go, he wondered, “in fact, does not even believe that you exist.” The silence persisted.

“Then why did they send you?” An older woman with a hooknose and long grey hair asked the question.

Britlot grinned. “Mostly, I think, to rid themselves of me for a while.” That stopped them cold, he thought. “As you are most likely aware, I am in possession of information which suggests that not all of the Émigrés,” bad word, he thought, “perished when you encountered the Phenomenon. That, along with several sightings of vessels of war which we no longer have in service, which could only be from the 22nd, led me to believe you still existed.” That caused a stir. Britlot pressed on. “I believed that you might help us … and in helping us, help yourselves.”

This was not going over as well as he had hoped it might. “I believe, not know, but believe that if the Confederation falls, either the Tlartox or the Combine will eventually discover your whereabouts and you will be next.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant-Commander Britlot.” A somewhat familiar-looking man stood. Britlot tried to recall where they’d met, but couldn’t place it. “We ask you to return to the antechamber while we discuss what you have placed before us. We will undoubtedly have questions for you. We beg your indulgence.”

“Of course, sir.” Britlot paused. “If one might enquire as to your name?”

The man smiled a familiar smile. “Of course, Lieutenant-Commander. I am Industry Minister for Adia. Industry Minister Tremm Britlot.”

CHAPTER 13

TLARTOX FLAGSHIP PREDATOR

“It makes no sense, Sab,” Fleet Admiral Tood Tlomega told her chief aid. “Why would the humans send two entire fleets away from us? They must know an attack is imminent.”

The low growl set the fur on Sab’s back on end and she tried to hide her discomfort. Still, the question had validity and neither she nor their strategists could adequately answer it.

“It could be a ruse,” Sab offered, extending her claws into the thick carpet of Tlomega’s day cabin. “It might pay to go cautiously.”

“Bah! We have more than enough ships to take on the entire human navy. Still, let’s see what they do when we send Tlorang’s fleet in to take out their forward posts.” Tlomega dismissed the puzzle from her mind. Something else replaced it. “Have you seen the propaganda?” Tlomega’s ears went back and Sab wished she were elsewhere. “Clever sewer-rats,” she snarled.

“Is there something new?” Sab asked, not wanting to inquire but knowing that Tlomega expected it.

“First there were the posters: The Hunt Begins Again.”

Sab remembered. Initially she’d thought the posters intended to rouse the population in support of the war. They showed an armed spacer standing in the foreground with a Tlartox Cruiser in the background. The words under the spacer seemed to leave little room for doubt. And Tlar Spoke, saying, ‘Never Abandon the Hunt.’ I go with Tlomega and the Hunt continues.

“Then came the posters asking: Who are the Hunters?”

Sab remembered them, too, with less joy. Again they depicted a spacer, this time a cook frying a Kreeser steak in what was obviously a ship’s galley. A viewscreen on one wall showed a Confederation frigate in ruins. The cook had his teeth bared, his ears cocked in the joy of victory and the caption read: I hunt with Tlomega! On the other half of the poster stood a blood-spattered commando, assault weapon in one hand, grenade in the other, with several humans dead on the deck. That Tox looked grimly out and her caption read: There are hunters, and then there are Hunters.

The complete disrespect for the Fleet shown by the poster shocked Sab. It fed the Commando-Fleet rivalry in a very unhealthy way. The posters had appeared on some buildings, but mostly they had been propagated through computer viruses that were damnably hard to eradicate.

“Now a new one has surfaced, Tlorth: The Hunt.”

Sab looked up to the viewscreen as Tlomega punched in a command. Her ears wanted to flatten, but though sheer will she forced them to remain at a cautiously interested angle. The new poster was divided into three sections under the one caption: And Tlar spoke, saying, ‘Never abandon the Hunt, for it quickens the senses and tests the soul.’

In one panel several warships engaged each other in battle; in the second, heavily armed and armored commandos fired on a defensive position. But the third drew Sab’s eye. In the third a solitary Tox, her claws extended, stalked a small herd of tlenfel. It was masterfully done. One could almost taste the breeze which blew the grasses; feel the warmth of the sun which shone down; experience the thrill of knowing only your own skill and strength would bring victory or defeat. Tlenfel did not fall easily to single unarmed Tox. It spoke to every Tox of their dreams. A comparison with the battle scenes left them drab by comparison. The composers knew exactly what they did.

“It’s that sewer-rat they call ‘The Master,’” Tlomega growled. “But Miz closes in. I’ll have his fur to carpet my deck.” Tlomega shook herself out of her rage.

“What can we do about it?” Sab asked.

Tlomega bared her teeth in a way that Sab didn’t like. “It is strikingly simple. This ‘Master’ tries to distract with dreams. We shall give them reality: Tlartox victorious! Take out their outposts, Star Admiral.”

“I’ll give the order immediately, Fleet Admiral.” Sab heard Tlomega’s quiet purr as she exited the cabin.

CAPITAL CITY, ADIA

In the waiting room, Lieutenant-Commander Britlot paced back and forth. It had happened! The thing he had longed for, yet not really expected. After several weeks with no hint of possible relatives, the appearance of the Industry Minister had stunned him. Another Britlot. He was not the last of his line. Here, other Britlots lived. Family.

Britlot pushed the thought away. He had a job to do. He had a duty as a Confederation naval officer. And there he owed his allegiance. The other could wait.

What was going on back in the Council Chamber? Was it good or bad that he’d been asked to leave? He frowned.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant-Commander, but if you don’t mind my intrusion, you need not worry. This is a regular occurrence,” the usher told him.

“Thank you, sir.” It never hurt to ‘sir’ anyone, Britlot had realized early on. “And thank you for your assistance earlier. It helped me greatly.” He paused as the man nodded acknowledgement. “If it is not privileged information, what is going on now?”

“Oh, the Council and Members’ Assembly will discuss what you have brought up, and decide what further questions need to be asked and what their probable course of action might be. When they are prepared to meet you as a solid front, they’ll call you back. You might be back and forth several times. Purely routine.”

“Thank you. That’s a relief.” He was about to ask another question when a light above the door attracted the usher’s attention.

“Ah, they are ready to speak with you again.” The usher led Britlot back into the Chamber.

Foreign Minister Jalketh resumed the questioning as soon as Britlot had taken his place.

“Lieutenant-Commander, you said that if the Confederation were to fall, the victors would eventually find us. Have you reason to believe that the Confederation might fall?” Britlot didn’t want to answer that question. He wasn’t a diplomat.

“Council, Gentlemen, Ladies, since the Tlartox Treaty was signed three hundred years ago, we and the Tlartox Empire have maintained approximately equal naval strength.” Touchy, bringing up the Treaty. “Our subsequent state of war with the Combine has made it necessary for us to increase our strength. The Tlartox demanded, as was their right under the treaty, to match our new shipbuilding.

“We have lost ships to the Combine. The Tlartox have not. Their advantage increases. With the Tlartox voting against the continuation of the treaty, we began putting Class-B Mothballs back in service. When I left the Confederation on this mission, orders had just been received to reactivate Class-C Mothballs.” Britlot paused to allow his audience to gather the implications.

In his study of Adia he’d learned that the Council enjoyed doing its own thinking. He had also learned they resented it if some of them were made privy to information before others, which was why he’d refused to discuss his mission with anyone before meeting the Council entire.

“If pressed hard by the Empire, these vessels will be used for front-line duty. They are 150 years old and not a match for modern vessels of the Tlartox navy, or of our own.” There. He’d said it without saying it.

“Commander Britlot, Tremm Olintol, Defense Minister,” a middle-aged, stoutly-built man introduced himself. “Why come to us? We are relatively small in the greater scheme of things. Surely you do not believe that we have the strength to turn the tide all by ourselves?”

“Sir. Numbers and sheer strength do not always decide a conflict.” Here stood the man Britlot had to convince, above all others. The Adian Defense Minister would have considerable influence. “Although an additional Fleet would certainly go towards evening the odds against us, what is more important is the fleet itself.” He paused. “The 22nd.” His voice deepened, “The Vandoo. The Vandoo had—still has—a great reputation. Morale in the Confederation is sinking. Your presence would boost it, and that could be worth more than every ship you possess. It may be irrational, but people will believe that, with the Vandoo on our side, we will win. Believing we will win, winning becomes possible.”

“The Vandoo.” The Defense Minister rolled the words over his tongue as if they had a special taste. “Thank you, Commander. Allow us to deliberate further.”

“Of course, Minister.” Britlot turned and left once again. He tried to pick up the assembly’s attitude, but they simply sat and waited for him to leave. He found the whole task frustrating.

A half hour later usher returned.

“This way, sir.” The man led him down the hallway, but not towards the Chamber.

“Where are we going?” Britlot asked.

“The Council will see you again tomorrow. You will be made comfortable until that time.”

With nothing he could say to that, Britlot said nothing. He followed, and eventually found himself in a very comfortable, windowless room supplied with all the amenities. Unaccountably tired, he undressed and lay down on the bed. Moments later he slept.

Twice the next day the usher called him to the chamber to answer questions which he felt were of no consequence. The process frustrated. Was this what Admirals went through when dealing with government? Better to remain below flag rank, he decided.

CONFEDERATION FRIGATE TEMPEST

“Gentlemen, Ladies, welcome.” Taglini indicated the arrangements.

The five captains took their places around the table. Captain Neco of Typhoon gave the traditional toast, “The Confederation … and confusion to the enemy!”

They sat. Taglini looked over his people. Good people all, he thought. A pity to waste them on a mission like this. He looked from face to face. Neco, the youngest of the lot, a go-getter with an open face and serious blue eyes; Llemartol, hero of the Restovine system, called out of retirement, looking ready to go, prosthetic leg and all, deep-set brown eyes jumping from one to the other to the star chart and back; Mesicsah of the slow smile and lovely curves—one-time lover back in the Academy days, grandmother now; Thugan, sharp as a lance, once dark brown hair twined with grey, wearing her Silver Moon at her collar; and his own captain, Fronel—an unknown.

During their training voyage, Fronel had done his job well, but Taglini had not yet seen the man behind the officer. Whatever Fronel felt, he kept it to himself.

“You all know our objective.” Sudden silence. Not the comfortable quiet that had been, but a silence of the dead. “Our priority is to survive and fight again,” he declared. “We’ve been given a tough nut, but even a tough nut will crack if you apply pressure at the right point.

“I have some ideas, but I’d like us to do a little brainstorming first. The floor is open.”

“Why not just drop in, comm them a dirty message and jump?” laughed Captain Thugan of Hurricane. The most senior of the captains, she understood that the mood had to be lightened immediately. Taglini flashed her a smile as the others chuckled.

“Why not do just as the Vice Admiral suggested?” asked Captain Neco. “Drop, fire and jump.”

Captain Llemartol of Cyclone answered. He had the most battle experience of the lot, including Taglini. “Problem is where to drop, Captain. We want to drop close enough to fire at once.” He smiled to rob his words of any offense, “I noticed on the way over that we’re moving our emergence beacon. Who thinks the Tlartox stupid enough to leave theirs at its registered position? No, we’ll need to drop a probe to determine exactly where to drop our ships.”

“But then they’ll be ready,” objected Neco. “We’ll be fried as soon as we drop.” Although ready for battle, Taglini knew, possibly a little too ready, the idea of a fight against impossible odds didn’t sit well with Neco.

The brainstorming continued until Taglini perceived that more negatives than positives emerged and called a halt.

“Gentlemen, Ladies, thank you. Here’s what we will do. Captain Llemartol is correct. We need to drop a probe. This means that by the time we get the data we need and position ourselves for a drop, Tlenfro will be ready.” The assembled captains did not look happy. He didn’t blame them.

“But what will they be ready for?” asked Taglini. “An attack on their base, of course, which is just what our mission requires.” He paused, seeing the sudden alertness of his audience. “However, Cyclone, Hurricane and Tornado will drop not close to their base, which they will be expecting, but close to their moon. They have mining operations on that moon and a way-station in orbit. That will be your target. It will probably be lightly defended. If, however, there is an enemy warship there, you are to simply rake the station and then speed off—in normal space—drawing the ship and, hopefully, the squadron from Tlenfro, with you. Then Typhoon and Tempest will drop, rake the station, which will not be expecting it, and jump.” Taglini stopped. He looked around. “Comments?” His captains looked considerably relieved.

Llemartol spoke first. “Downside is they will be at action stations. However, unless we are extremely lucky, they will be there by the time we drop, whatever we do. Upside, we have a good chance of pulling it off with minimal damage to ourselves. I like it.” The others came onside quickly.

Taglini adjourned the meeting. “We go to hyperspace in two hours,” he told them. “I want you to go over the plan on our way to Tlenfro and we’ll have one more meeting when we drop to recalibrate just before we head in.”

TRENTH’S FANG

The entire Command stood together as Group Commander Scairnth strode up and down the lines. Close to one thousand commandos in full battle dress stood without moving a whisker. Scairnth’s gaze seemed to take in each one of her fighters. Her yellow eyes moved constantly, and whenever they stopped a hapless commando prayed that they’d move on again before her Squad Leader noted it.

Group Commander Scairnth’s left ear had been torn at some distant time and, shockingly, had not been repaired. That and the scar above her right eye lent her an aura that threw fear into those she commanded. She knew this and used it to good effect.

Sar Krinth, from a back row, watched her Group Commander with awe. Finally Scairnth, the inspection complete, moved to the front and activated her microphone.

“Sixth Command, Third Commandos,” her voice rang through the large room, “we have been honored.” Sar straightened up that little bit, noting others around her did the same. “Our Command will lead the assault on the Confederation Outpost Four.” Ears went forward. “As you know, the Confederation uses these outposts to launch spies into our space. They shall do so no longer!” Sar felt the Group Commander’s eyes on her for a moment, and a stab of excitement ran through her. “You have all familiarized yourselves with the layout of a Confederation Outpost, and your latest training has been dedicated to taking one. Your Group Leaders will give you the final relevant details.” She paused, looking up and down the files. “Bring honor to the Command!”

A great roar went up, and slowly died. Order returned, and the Groups split up and headed for their respective situation rooms. Sar felt a strangeness in her stomach. She wondered if others felt the same, but wasn’t foolish enough to ask.

Group Leader Rai Tlel stood in the center of the room, the holo beside her. She moved about it, pointing out the various defenses and important locations. “This is the computer room. Note it well. If we can obtain their memory bank before auto-erase, it may save the lives of many of the Tox in battles to come.”

Silence filled the room and one hundred pairs of eyes judged distances and routes. Squad Leaders made notes in their combat-readers.

Rai looked about, satisfied that her troops paid proper attention to the job at hand. She allowed them some time, then raised her arm again. Attention returned to her.

“I trust that everyone has made their last record.” Her eyes went from one to the next.

Only then did Sar feel the full impact of the situation. This was no drill. Commandos would die this day, their final records later watched by friends and relatives. She wondered how Worent would react if he received her final record. Would he be stoic or would he become emotional. The former, she hoped … in public. In private, she hoped that his love for her would overcome all barriers and that he would cry out to the stars.

Would she ever see his gentle face again? Would she ever touch that soft grey fur in the intimate way they shared? Sar wondered, then put it to the back of her mind. The time for such thoughts had passed. Now, she needed to concentrate. A lapse meant the death of friends.

She felt Squad Leader Rel Tjenor’s gaze on her and she raised her eyes to meet it. Unflinching she stood until Tjenor broke contact, the Squad Leader baring her teeth with satisfaction.

The In-Ship came to life. “The Fleet drops in thirty minutes. All designated commandos report to their pods.”

Third Group, Sixth Command stood ready. They filed out of the situation room and entered their pod.

ADIA

Britlot enjoyed his breakfast as much as possible in the windowless room. A knock interrupted him. He pulled on his duty jacket and opened the door.

“Industry Minister Britlot!”

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot,” the familiar face answered him. “May we come inside?”

Britlot stepped back and extended his arm. “Of course, sir.”

The older man smiled engagingly. “You call me Tremm and I’ll call you Mart. Is that satisfactory?”

“Eminently … Tremm.”

A woman and two children appeared behind the Minister. Mart’s eyebrows went up.

“This is my wife, Wyna, and two of our grandchildren, Ellien and Crell.”

“Hi, Uncle Mart,” Crell said as he held out his hand.

The youngster was about ten years old, Britlot estimated. He took his hand and shook it solemnly. “Hi, Uncle Mart.”

Ellien was perhaps a year younger than her sibling. She, too, held out her hand.

The emotion he felt as he shook hands with the children surprised Britlot. Uncle Mart!

“Tremm thought he could keep you to himself,” Wyna spoke, catching Britlot’s attention. “Shame on you, Tremm.”

“Ah, We’ve interrupted your breakfast. We could come back later.”

“No, no. I’m thrilled to meet you.”

“Is it true that you come from the Confederation?” Ellien wanted to know.

“Yes, Ellien, it’s true.”

Having answered that question, he found himself besieged by a hundred others. He couldn’t remember when he’d had more fun. Finally, however, Wyna gathered the children up and took her leave.

“I know Tremm wants to talk with you. Perhaps we’ll have you over, sometime—if you’d like to visit.”

Mart’s eyes shone. “I’d like nothing better.” He accepted a hug from the older woman, holding her a little longer than politeness required.

“Good. Family is always welcome.”

Family. Then they were gone.

Mart retook his seat at the small table, and Tremm Britlot took the seat opposite. They sat and studied each other for a long moment. Mart saw traces of his father and grandfather in the older man’s face. His smile, when he turned on the charm, reminded Mart of himself. No wonder the face had seemed familiar.

“Yes, I can see bits of my son in you. You are indeed a Britlot,” Tremm confirmed, nodding his head.

Mart laughed. “I was just thinking the same about you.”

“So I could see.”

“Tremm, is this meeting business or personal?” Best to get that out in the open immediately, thought Mart.

“Oh, I’d say a bit of each,” Tremm spread his hands, palms up, raising and then lowering each in opposition to each other. “Difficult to say where one begins and the other ends. Do you mind?” Tremm asked as he reached for a small bunch of grapes.

“Be my guest.”

“Ah, bit of the old Britlot humor, too, I see.” Tremm snagged the grapes and popped one in his mouth. “You’ve done well with the Council, young man. They like you.” He held up his hand before Mart could say anything. “They don’t like the request you are carefully not making, but they like you.” He popped another grape and chewed it carefully. Then his blue eyes turned cold. “Do you understand exactly what you ask? We’ve been at peace here for three hundred years.”

Mart Britlot sighed gently. “Aye, Tremm, I believe I do. Adia has no cause to love the Confederation. We pulled them out of a war which we, thanks mainly to the 22nd, were just starting to win. It must have been a tremendous blow to the pride of Adia to …” Mart Britlot stopped at the sudden pain on the statesman’s face.

“I’ve seen your ancestor’s—our ancestor’s—diary, son. You’ve misinterpreted it. Young Mart Britlot was trained in Fleet Schools. It tainted his view considerably.”

“I’m not sure what you are getting at.” He’d studied the diary at great length, knew almost every word.

“Tell me, Mart, in your decades-long battle with this Combine of yours, how many ships have you lost? Forty years at, say, ten ships a year, minimum, that’s 400 ships. Am I close?”

Mart wondered what the man was getting at. The change in subject threw him. Surely Tremm wasn’t asking for confidential information. He considered. Any citizen of the Confederation would be able to make a count, based on news reports. He could afford to say something on the matter.

“I think that might be a conservative estimate, sir.” He felt the subject had veered out of the personal. For this sort of conversation he’d better stick to ‘sir’ and not ‘Tremm’.

The older Britlot smiled slightly. “I suspected as much. Anyway, 400 is a nice round number. Let’s stick with it. That equivalent to losing four entire fleets, isn’t it? Yes, I thought so. I suppose the Combine has lost a comparable number of ships during the war.”

Where was this leading? Nowhere good, Mart thought.

“How do your shipyards manage?” Tremm Britlot asked.

“Replacing the ships isn’t a great problem,” Mart replied. It wasn’t.

“Probably barely even cutting into peacetime civilian production, eh, Mart? Same as back during the great Tlartox War. We lost some ten to thirty ships per year for one hundred years, Mart. You are fighting the same war all over again with this Combine. How close are you to defeating them?”

Mart Britlot found himself on the defensive. “Our objective is to drive them…”

“Yes, yes,” Tremm nodded impatiently. “How close are you to achieving your objective, then?”

Mart was flustered. He hadn’t exactly thought like that before.

“Will it be another five years? Ten? One hundred? Another thousand ships, Mart?”

“I don’t know.” The conversation upset him. He clenched and unclenched his fists under the table.

“Tell me, Mart. What would happen if your Confederation lost four hundred ships in a single battle?”

Four hundred ships in one battle? Gods above! How could the man even think like that? Almost half the fleet? There would be panic, anger. Who knew what would happen? He looked up and to catch Tremm’s coldly piercing eyes on him.

“Don’t you think such a loss would encourage people on both sides to look for peace?” Tremm’s voice gentled now. “Wouldn’t it have been worth it in the beginning to have lost four hundred ships and have had peace rather than losing the four hundred—a conservative estimate, you said—and looking to lose the same again before the war ends?”

“It wasn’t victory you were looking for?” The words from the diary niggled at him, but this made no sense.

“Victory, yes, but not as you know it. You can’t see it yet, but I think you are closer.”

“But we’ve been at peace with the Tlartox Empire for three hundred years,” Mart objected.

“And forty years ago you began the whole thing all over again with the Combine. The lesson wasn’t learned. Now your actions—the Confederation’s actions—threaten to pull us back into a war we don’t want.” Tremm Britlot stood up and Mart rose with him and walked him to the door.

The statesman turned before leaving. “Mart. You’re Adian. You could stay here. This could be your home. A home without war. Something you’ve never known. Think about it: there isn’t a young Confederation citizen alive who has known peace. You could be the first.”

Tremm Britlot opened the door and slipped out before Mart could make an answer, even if he knew what that would be. Home. The word floated before him. It felt so right. If he weren’t an officer in Fleet … but he was. He would have to convince the Adians to help.

CHAPTER 14

CONFEDERATION OUTPOST FOUR

Drills had not captured the dry-mouth fear that actual combat brought on. This time, the hits causing the heavily armored pod to shake came from Confederation weapons, not the pilot’s simulations. Each commando wore an emergency pressure suit—one that would come off with the bump that told them that they had attached to the objective—but the thought of being breached sat like a heavy weight in each stomach.

Sar Krinth felt her stomach leap as the pod received a heavy hit. She froze, waiting for the scream of escaping air, until she realized the other Tox were quickly peeling away their pressure suits. Somewhat abashed, Sar realized that had been the bump for which she’d waited.

“Prepare the burn!” Tlel called out and Sar heard the hissing vibration. This was it. The real thing. Sar took a deep breath and enjoyed the smell of Arnyl Grass for perhaps the last time.

“Burn complete,” Tjenor reported, just like in the exercise.

“Fire the charge.” The explosion sent a loud clang echoing through the pod.

“Check seal.”

“Seal holding, pressure within tolerances.”

“Go!”

Just like in the exercise, Sar thought, the routine calming her. The hatch opened, and they boiled out into the station.

The station seemed cold and unfriendly. Something felt definitely wrong; Sar knew it the moment she stepped out of the pod. She tried to think what it might be. Then she had no time to think.

“We’re on level 4, section 8,” someone yelled. Sar looked at the wall, seeing the Confederation writing telling just that.

“Watch your whiskers!” Tjenor ordered as she led her squad out the door and to the left. A small explosion came from behind, followed by the scream of a wounded commando.

“Squad Leader!”

Tjenor turned to Prell, Sar’s Section Leader. “What is it?”

“Drop way.” She pointed to a hatch.

Tjenor’s eyes slitted. She activated her comm, but it only hissed. She hesitated only a split second. “Force it. Lenthor, run to Group Leader. Tell her we’re going for the power generators. Set up comm relays on your way back. Prawlten Comm doesn’t work in here!” Lenthor ran.

“Okay, down!”

Sar jumped through the now-forced hatch into the dropway. She allowed the pole to slip through her hands and feet as she plunged down five decks. At the bottom Tjenor had already forced the hatch, and she followed her out, weapon at the ready.

They had yet to run into a single human. And now Sar realized what was wrong: the station felt dead. No living odors graced the air. No grass, no herbs, no human scent, nothing but the dead smell of steel and plastics and the awful breath of recycled air. Could the humans really live like this?

“Watch your whiskers!” Tjenor pointed to the almost invisible line that stretched across the hallway at ankle height. Sar’s stomach contracted. Pitfalls. Humans fought dirty, she saw, and she wanted to have the human who’d set this one in her sights. No humans appeared and no sound of weapons fire echoed down the passageways. Only the occasional explosion as someone either tripped or dealt with a pitfall.

Immediately the first two Hands arrived, Tjenor led them forward with all due deliberateness. The commandos walked as if through a graveyard, fully expecting the dead to come out of their burial mounds.

“There!” The power room.

Inside, they disabled two pitfalls and studied the console briefly. “Everything off!” Tjenor ordered, and Sar threw switches indiscriminately. Lights died and the room went quiet. Tjenor’s comm crackled.

“Good work!” Rai Tlel’s voice sounded anxious. “Now get out, quick! We’ve discovered scuttling charges.”

In a controlled rush, the Tox hurried back the way they’d come. Scuttling charges! The humans had abandoned the station and had set it to auto-destruct with as many commandos as possible within! Sar’s neck fur rose and her ears, inside the helmet, flattened against her head.

Tjenor found a stairway and they ran up it, two steps at a time. Sar quietly thanked the endurance training she’d once cursed. How much time left? No one knew, and the comm didn’t work as they took a different way up.

Sar barely felt the explosion behind her as someone tripped a pitfall that she’d apparently jumped, but she heard the awful scream which suddenly died, making more terrible the dark silence. She licked her dry lips, chest heaving. Out, out, out, went the cry in her mind. Have to get out. Behind her, labored breathing told the story of those carrying the wounded or dead commando. She stopped and took the place of one, supporting the dead weight of one of her comrades. She couldn’t tell whether she still lived or not.

“Thanks,” came the breathless gasp. That commando must have been at her limit. In the backwash from the emergency light of the helmet lanterns, Sar saw another commando replace the second bearer. Then they returned to the brutal climb up the stairs in full battle dress, carrying a comrade.

The interminable climb ended. They rushed down the passageway, the last ones, and filed into the pod.

“Release the seal!” This allowed the pod to move away without compromising the hull integrity of the Station—there might yet be Tox onboard, returning to their pods.

“Tlar!” the pilot exclaimed over the speaker. “She’s blowing!”

Sar shuddered. If someone hadn’t found the scuttling charges the whole Command might yet be within. She looked down and saw her hands shaking. Deep down, anger began to build. Furless cowards!

ADIA

“By the Great Constellation, you are cute,” Lawdin Mellar whispered in her ear as he stroked her hair.

Sub-Lieutenant Natya Krirtol shivered. The young Adian musician had her trembling with excitement. “Let’s check out that garden you mentioned,” Krirtol suggested. The one with the gazebo where it would be dark and private. “Oh!” He had kissed her neck and it felt like nothing before had ever felt.

“Anything you say, darling.”

Darling. No one had ever called her that before. That word, she had naively hoped to hear from Mart Britlot. Two weeks into their mission, she had realized it would never happen. Although he tried to hide it, Krirtol could easily see that Lieutenant Weytok held his interest far more than she ever would. With Britlot away at the Adian capital, she found herself with more free time than she’d had since joining. She’d found that, and a man. A man who whispered ‘darling’ in her ear and meant it.

She ignored the knowing smile of Spacer Tumjut as she allowed Lawdin to lead her from the tavern. She allowed him to lead her to the gazebo; allowed him to kiss her face and neck and whatever else he could lay his lips on; then took over and led him down the path of lust. He was taking far too long, so she took control and taught him what a young woman with a taste for the exotic could teach a young man from a small town.

This was, she thought lazily as she laid her head on his shoulder to savor the aftermath, the very best leave she’d ever had.

“Why don’t you give up roaming the stars and settle down with me, Natya?”

Sub-Lieutenant Natya Krirtol found herself giving the idea more thought than she would have believed.

*

With Britlot meeting the Adian Council and the rest of the crew enjoying the local hospitality, Lieutenant Weytok also found herself with little to do. She made up for a lifetime’s loss by enjoying one of the base’s hot-boxes with Lieutenant Sharden. She could get used to this, she decided, climbing to the upper bench to sit beside Era.

“Ah,” she sighed, “that’s wonderful. I can feel every pore opening.”

Era’s laugh echoed in the small room. “You know, I’m surprised the Confederation doesn’t have hot-boxes. They are so very relaxing. What you need, dear Feneya, is to change navies. It has to be better than fighting the Tlartox again.”

Now that the Council knew, Feneya no longer felt herself constrained to silence, and had opened up to Eraphene. That had removed a weight from her, and she felt the relief.

“Absolutely, Era, show me where to sign up. However, I have to be on the A-list rotation for the hot-box.”

She pretended to consider for a moment. “Oh, and I get to keep my rank … be assigned to your ship and … and I get to keep Lieutenant-Commander Britlot!”

The two women laughed. “Mart is a dear,” Era conceded. She waited a heartbeat, “He needs to make his own decision, but he is of Adian stock. Perhaps he’ll find the decision to stay easy.”

Feneya’s smile faded. She hadn’t thought of that. Would Mart decide to stay and send her and the crew back? “I wasn’t serious, Era.”

Era smiled lazily. “Of course not.” She stepped down and poured another ladle of water on the hot stones. “But consider the advantages.”

“Advantages?” Feneya wasn’t sure she liked where this was going.

“Advantage, anyway,” Era confirmed. “You wouldn’t have to dismantle this hot-box and smuggle it aboard Searcher. My spies have told me of your plans.”

Feneya pretended shock. “Who talked?” she demanded.

Era feigned being in deep thought. “I believe it was Searcher’s second-in-command—every time she stepped inside.” Laughter danced in Era’s eyes.

Feneya scowled. “Untrustworthy wretch.”

“Indeed!”

But Feneya’s found it necessary to force her light-heartedness. Would Mart decide to stay?

TRENTH’S FANG

Sernena Jendo would live. She had lost her left leg to the pitfall, but she would live. Others hadn’t been so lucky, or were luckier, depending upon one’s viewpoint. Sar Krinth lay on her cot and integrated the details of the day. Her first action.

Her Hand had survived without casualty; Sernena had been in their sister Hand. None in their Squad had died. Their final records would remain stored until updated. No one at home need wail.

The debriefing had gone well. Sar was elated to find that the power disruption they had caused came just as the station’s computer started its auto-erase. As they had cut emergency power as well, their comrades recovered the memory bank before the system could reboot on its own minim-powerpack and finish its task.

She’d heard talk of commendations for the Squad, but what most pleased Sar were the looks she had received from her comrades as they took Sernena’s weight from her. She still remembered the support of friendly arms as she collapsed and she would remember until her dying day the fierce look in Squad Leader Tjenor’s eyes, and her two word comment: “You’ll do.”

They accepted her. She belonged. As she drifted to sleep, Sar Krinth’s Hand-comrades could hear her soft purr.

ADIAN CAPITAL

“Define ‘war’ for us, Lieutenant-Commander.”

Britlot looked at the Foreign Minister blankly. Define war? He fell back on the Academy definition. “War is the use of force to obtain one’s political goals.”

“I see.” The Chamber fell silent. “And for what political goals would we go to war?”

The session shaped up a rough one. Britlot wished they had brought a diplomat, but no one had believed Adia still existed. That aspect of his mission, as far as fleet was concerned, was merely a morale ploy.

“Freedom, sir.”

“Yes, you mentioned that possibility. We’ve had freedom here since we arrived. No wars, no struggles which could not be solved diplomatically. We have neighbors who believe as we do. They do not threaten us.”

Britlot didn’t like the tack; he could feel something bad coming.

“Having no enemies, no threats to our way of life, we have not found it necessary to construct new warships. Our fleet, the ‘Vandoo’ as you called it, is the self-same fleet with which we left the Confederation. And war, sir, is state-sanctioned murder of opponents in order to achieve one’s goals.”

Britlot felt the Chamber begin to spin around him. No new vessels in three hundred years? The implications! Big old battleships and cruisers against modern frigates? They’d be cut to pieces more rapidly than the Class-C recommissions. His dreams came crashing down. There would be no Adian fleet riding to the rescue. He studied his options, desperately trying to find a way to bring back the Adians without having to shoulder the responsibility for their subsequent slaughter.

“Council, Gentlemen, Ladies. You may call war ‘state-sanctioned murder’ if you like. Yet, if you desire to keep your peace, you will prepare for it. With no modern fleet to speak of, you exist at the whim of whoever finds you first, the Combine or the Empire.”

Britlot looked from face to face. Could he ask them to die for the Confederation? His duty demanded it. He considered the arguments before speaking again.

“In light of the information now provided, I cannot, in good conscience, ask for Adia’s help. I thank you for hearing my petition, but I withdraw it. I now ask your leave to depart and return to my ship. We must return to the Confederation. War with the Empire may begin at any time—may already have begun. They need us there.” He spoke without thinking. Go back just when he had found Family? Go back when he had an offer to stay?

No one rose to answer him. Britlot looked around the room. A third of the seats had remained empty. The same ones, he’d come to recognize. Was his news of such bad taste to that third that they did not deign to hear him? Strict pacifists, perhaps? Finally the defense minister rose to speak and Britlot turned his attention to the man.

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot. On behalf of the Council, I thank you for your consideration. In the spirit of friendship then, we have news for you. The Tlartox Empire has just begun its attacks. The Confederation, we understand, has sent most of their Fleet to the Combine sector, leaving the Tlartox sector almost undefended.”

Britlot’s face paled. “I must return immediately,” he interrupted.

“As to that, Lieutenant-Commander, consider: One scoutship, more or less, will make no difference. You are of Adian descent. You are welcome to remain and make a new life where you have family.” He turned to look at Industry Minister Britlot who nodded.

“And my crew?” Britlot needed time to think.

“We have extended to them the same offer. We find them to be good people, and returning them to the Confederation to be killed seems a poor choice.”

Britlot could not find his voice, couldn’t even think straight.

“Thank you, again, Lieutenant-Commander. Transportation to your scoutship will be provided on the morrow, should you decide to return.”

The usher entered and led a stunned Britlot back to his quarters.

In the Chamber, the figures behind the glassed-in gallery trooped down and filled the empty seats. Industry Minister Britlot waited until they were all in place, then rose and was recognized.

“Friends, we cannot ignore what the Confederation officer has said. The Defense Minister and I have been warning this Council for years, now. Our patrols have sighted both Confederation and Combine ships. And, as we’ve learned, where the Combine merchant fleet finds advantage, their navy soon appears. I propose that our plan for Adian Industry to begin its switch to defense production be implemented immediately. We have no time to lose.” He finished and sat down.

Head of Council, who had remained behind the glass, and therefore silent, through the Britlot interviews, stood. “I agree with the Industry Minister,” he acknowledged. “Is there any debate on the subject?”

Silence.

“I then ask for a vote. Those in favor?”

The motion carried unanimously.

“The young Lieutenant-Commander has brought us a gift: the goad to make a decision. Eventually we will become involved; the Lieutenant-Commander is correct on that point. The only question now becomes: When?” He sat and waited. No one moved. No one rose to speak.

The long silence continued. Head of Council looked around the Chamber but no one met his gaze. Every member sat, deep in thought. He sighed, then stood again.

*

Mart Britlot finished packing his few things. Nothing to do now but wait for transportation. How had the Adians come by the information? Were transmissions possible, once this far away from the Phenomenon? The Empire sector undefended? He felt sick to his stomach.

The door chimes sounded. “Enter.”

Industry Minister Tremm Britlot entered. “Well, the Council has agreed to begin rebuilding our military capacity,” he told Mart.

“I hope they are in time.” Britlot couldn’t think of anything else to say. Disappointment still weighed heavily within him. “On my ship I have a few discs which may help you rearm.”

“Then you are staying,” Tremm smiled.

He made his decision. “No, sir. The discs … perhaps it is treason, perhaps not; all I know is that Adia may become the last refuge of free humanity. You will need any advantage you can get.”

“Would it make a difference if I told you that you may be alone? That your entire crew may remain behind?”

Britlot gaped.

“Even your Lieutenant Weytok wavers.”

CHAPTER 15

TLARTOX HOME PLANET

Finished. Shads looked again at the schematics and wondered how he could have missed it. A simple circuit, so innocuous. That was why he’d overlooked it.

“I’m done.”

The others turned and looked at Shads. “You look terrible, Efdur,” Strel told him. “A good night’s sleep for you. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

“Agreed.” Even Nallin looked appalled at his appearance.

Carefully, he moved to the mirror. No wonder. He did look a mess. He nodded wearily.

“You speak truth. I would stand out everywhere we went. We leave tomorrow. If any hot food remains, I’d like some—and then to bed.” He stumbled off to the kitchen, Ange beside him.

Sitting down, Shads watched with dull eyes as Ange quickly put together a meal. He was so tired he barely even tasted it as it passed his mouth. Although Strel came in, ears forward, nose twitching, Shads found that the wonderful odors, which Strel enjoyed, imparted nothing to him. He simply had to eat. A necessity.

Together Strel and Ange saw him to his bed, and he fell to sleep almost before his head hit the mattress.

*

“Time to get up, Shads,” Strel called.

Shads looked at his timepiece and groaned. He couldn’t have slept that long. Yet a glance around the room told him that he had. They had packed his belongings without waking him. That alone told him how deeply he’d slept.

They left quietly, carefully. At least they hadn’t had even the slightest sniff of the Hunters. He’d been right: their comm had been compromised. No one knew where they had gone and, as they’d not used any comm, they’d been left alone. Tlar’s words came back to him: If you don’t make tracks, none will find. They had made no tracks.

“We have a meet,” Strel told him. “I sent your findings to the techs and they implement your changes as we speak. Now the Master wishes to see us.”

The Master? It would be good to see him again.

ADIA

Lieutenant Weytok woke and made her rounds. No one else remained in the barracks, and none of the crew had left word of their whereabouts. The breach of protocol disturbed her. She headed towards the Administration building to find out what had happened.

Outside, though the sun had risen, the smell of damp grass and the coolness of the night had not yet gone. Lieutenant Sharden appeared, walking towards her.

“What is going on?” Feneya demanded. “My crew has disappeared.” Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol’s absence, Feneya could understand. The shy Subbie had become involved with an Adian. Puppy love, she thought.

Lieutenant Sharden looked pained, and Feneya’s suspicions grew. Sharden looked into the angry eyes of her friend. She straightened. “We offered your crew the same choice as we now give you.”

“What choice?” Weytok’s eyes narrowed.

“To stay or to leave. As I told you yesterday, Mart has family here. The Tlartox Empire has begun a war of conquest, and it is unlikely that the Confederation will survive. He has decided that prudence dictates that he stay. Most of your crew agree. The others look like they will come onside.”

“What!”

Sharden doubted that she could ever match the mixture of incredulity and outrage that Weytok put into that single word. She cursed her orders.

“The Lieutenant-Commander’s name is Britlot. Britlot is an important name among us, you know. He is Adian. Don’t you think he’ll want to remain where he has family? Why do you suppose he wanted so desperately to find us?”

“Enough!” Feneya’s anger overrode the sickness she felt inside. Everyone had betrayed her. “I want my crew here, now.”

“I regret to inform you this is not possible,” Lieutenant Sharden spoke formally. She stood stone-faced as the Confederation officer glared at her.

“Then I shall return to Searcher and—”

“I regret to inform you that, also, is not possible.”

Feneya shook with anger and impotence. With difficulty she calmed herself, and when she spoke her voice was level. “Then, at the very least, I wish you away from me. I’d rather be alone.”

A flutter of emotion crossed Lieutenant Sharden’s face, then disappeared. She came to attention, saluted, then turned and marched off.

From the next building an Adian Marine approached. Feneya understood she was under arrest. Struggling to maintain her calm, she turned and re-entered her barracks, refusing to allow the Adians to see her anger and frustration. Inside she began to shake.

Three hours later came a knock at her door. Sharden stood waiting.

“What do you want?”

“Please, Feneya, I don’t want to hurt you. Your crew decided to remain here. A last time I’m asking you to stay. Please.”

“If I have crew to get Searcher into space, I can get her back to the Confederation by myself. Can you arrange that little for me, Lieutenant?”

Sharden did not react to the coldness. “Very well, Lieutenant. We will get you into space. Be ready in one hour.”

*

Mart Britlot approached Searcher in a landcruiser piloted by Commander Travlot. “You are sure one person can pilot your craft back to the Confederation?”

“Not a problem, Commander. One person can drop and recalibrate with the proper auto-pilot programs installed. A single crewmember need only while away the hours and cook.” His decision made, Britlot relaxed. A final confrontation with Lieutenant Weytok might be disturbing, but he’d manage to get through it.

A bevy of small landcruisers seemed to converge on Searcher all at once. One by one his entire crew emerged looking grim and suspicious. Only Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol was missing.

Britlot walked up to Lieutenant Weytok and saluted. She kept her face guarded and returned the salute. Apparently she wanted to keep this little parting strictly official. Ah, well. The Adians withdrew.

Britlot forced a smile onto his face. “Well, Lieutenant, crew. Good of you to come to see me off. I don’t hold this against any one of…”

Their looks of surprise and incredulity stopped him.

“Sir,” Weytok began cautiously. “I thought you came to see me off.” Everyone began talking at once.

“Hold!” Britlot’s face was grim. “Who here is returning to the Confederation?” He put up his own hand to join the other eight. His eyes narrowed and Weytok involuntarily took a step back.

“Board the ship, Lieutenant. See that the crew bring the ship to lift readiness.”

“Aye, sir.” Lieutenant Weytok turned about. “You heard the Captain. Prepare to lift.” The crew scrambled aboard Searcher, followed by Lieutenant Weytok.

“Well, Commander Travlot, that was a dirty piece of work,” he told the Adian as he approached.

“Do you blame us for trying?” Travlot asked innocently.

“I don’t know. Looks like you have my Subbie. I hope she is worth the effort.”

Two more landcruisers pulled up, one considerably larger than the other. Through the front windscreen of the smaller one Britlot could see Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol engaged in a passionate kiss with an Adian civilian. She finally disengaged and slipped out of the landcruiser, pulling her pack with her.

Her hair in disarray and her uniform not properly done up, she approached her captain. Her face, however, glowed.

“Sorry I’m late, Captain,” she apologized as she saluted. Then she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Just had to have one more,” she said earnestly.

Britlot couldn’t think, then threw back his head and laughed. “As long as you enjoyed it, Sub.”

“Oh, aye, sir!”

“Get on board, Sub. Straighten up before manning your station.” Had he ever been that young?

From the second cruiser, an assortment of people emerged. Industry Minister Tremm Britlot led them to him.

“Mart, I’d like you to meet some more of the family,” he told a surprised Britlot.

“Major Coll Britlot, Adian Marines. Lieutenant Tana Britlot, Adian Navy. Spacer Lene Krillon, great granddaughter of Sorn Britlot. Pell Britlot, farmer.” The introductions went on.

Finally Wyna Britlot, Tremm’s wife approached Mart and handed him an ornate, bound book. “The Britlot family tree, Mart. We thought you might like it.”

Mart’s eyes teared over. Family. His family. “Thank you, thank you all.” He stepped back and saluted. “I still have those discs for you, Tremm.”

“No need, Mart. We took copies of everything we might need while you were at the Capital. Necessity.” He didn’t apologize.

“Good.” He nodded to himself. He would have done the same, given the circumstances. “I’ll read this on the way back, while I have the chance.” He hefted the book. “Commander, let us be off.”

Travlot accompanied Britlot onto Searcher, bringing a Comm Tech and Navigator in tow. In space, Winter Sky accompanied them until they dropped for final recalibration. The Adian Navigator locked a course in the navcomp, then took her leave along with Commander Travlot and the Comm Tech. Lieutenant Weytok escorted them to the lifeboat.

To her surprise, Lieutenant Sharden piloted the boat and entered through the airlock. Those waiting filed past her and onto the boat.

“Orders, Feneya. I’m sorry.”

Weytok could not forgive. She stood silent. Finally Sharden sighed. “Here, this is for the Captain.” She held out a disc. Weytok accepted it and watched as Sharden turned and went back through the airlock, which cycled shut behind her.

A small thump told of the lifeboat’s departure. Weytok returned to the bridge where she handed Britlot the disc.

“Detectors and Comm on,” ordered Britlot. The monitor showed the Winter Sky. “Take a last look at a ship of the line of the Adian Navy, Feneya.”

Weytok gasped. “Not a training ship?”

“No. Adia hasn’t built a new warship in three hundred years. There is no help for us here.” It was the first time Britlot had said anything about the mission.

He raised his voice. “Take her to hyperspace, Navigator. Let’s go home.”

“Aye, sir.” The Adian destroyer wavered and disappeared.

Weytok noted the last, longing look her captain gave to the empty screen before the mask of command settled his features. She would consider it later; just now her own hurt felt too fresh.

“Permission to retire to my quarters, sir?”

“Get some sleep, Lieutenant,” Britlot confirmed. Soon there would be no time for sleep, if the Adians had told him the truth.

Weytok lay in her pit, unable to sleep. Her door chimed and she admitted Britlot.

“Here.” He handed her a disc, then left.

Feneya opened a reader and placed the disc in it. She gave a sudden sob as she looked at technical drawings for a hot-box. Tears made their way down her cheeks, unheeded.

CHAPTER 16

TLARTOX HOME WORLD

“Welcome, Shads. Events proceed apace. With the humans in full retreat, our favorite Fleet Admiral flings herself in hot pursuit. The very stuff of sagas, not so?” The Master sat, looking over the report sticks scattered about his desk.

“Will Tlomega halt once she’s taken Lormar?” Shads looked curiously into the Master’s yellow eyes.

“That was the plan.”

“Yes, Vom, that was the plan, but the Fleet Admiral is the Fleet Admiral. She and her associates have worked long and hard for this chance. I do not think that simple revenge for Tlenfro will suffice.”

“Ah, Shads, you learn. No, it is unlikely that she will call a halt. We would not do what we do were that the case. If she surprises us, we just fade into the tall grasses.” Vom rose and walked to the kitchen. Shads followed, knowing that he was about to get something good.

The kitchen door opened and the most amazing odor sailed out to tickle his nose. “Tlenfel? Fresh tlenfel?” Shads could scarcely believe his nose.

“A celebration, Shads, my friend. Our work comes to an end. All the connections function, the overrides disabled, and we stand prepared. Perhaps we shall surprise Tlomega.”

The Master turned to Kiron, who presented the Tlenfel. “Many thanks, Kiron.” He sniffed appreciatively, “You have once again outdone yourself.” Kiron basked in the glow of Vom’s praise. “And have you seen the latest poster?” Kiron nodded. Shads looked puzzled.

“Ah, yes, I guess you’ve been pretty well out of the loop lately.” He pulled out his reader and entered a code. Shads caught himself torn between the heavenly aroma and curiosity. Suddenly his eyes widened.

“This must have caused consternation.”

“You put it mildly. Fleet is furious.”

“Meaning Tlomega.”

“Meaning Tlomega. The Commandos are torn. They like the mussed fur in Fleet, but the third poster has them out of sorts, too. The public screams on both sides. Scholars revel in the attention, explaining exactly what Tlar meant; and the war gets no good propaganda.”

“Well done,” Shads bared his teeth, now wanting this to end so he could eat.

“And we have Kiron to thank for it. She gave me the idea.”

Kiron’s face transformed to a picture of pleasure mixed with embarrassment. Shads offered congratulations, and Vom explained how it had come about.

But Shads could barely concentrate on what the Master said. He felt his saliva glands kick in and began purring gently. Vom partitioned the tlenfel and passed half to Shads who fell upon it with a vengeance. Minutes later the two lay down upon cots, sated.

Finally, after a short nap, Shads opened his eyes and looked at Vom for what he realized might be the last time.

“I’ve been recalled to duty, Vom.” Shads stretched and enjoyed the feel of each muscle being worked.

“Yes, I suspected this would occur. I wish you and your shipmates well. Do your proper duty and bring us honor.”

“I shall. May your dish be always full, Master.”

“May your hunt be successful. And Shads? You have grown much since we first met. I think I prefer it when you call me Vom. ‘Master’ rings of exceptional arrogance.”

“Very well, Vom.” Shads licked his lips one last time and rose from the cot. After so long on a planet, it would feel strange to be back in space.

TEMPEST IN HYPERSPACE, NEAR TLENFRO

“Drop probe,” Captain Fronel ordered.

“Probe dropped.” A pause. “Data stream achieved.”

“Navigation!”

Lieutenant Wira Brilth didn’t need to be told. Their lives depended upon speed, and her frantic plotting occurred on all five ships of Taglini’s squadron. The navcomp spit out its figures.

“Nine nine decimal nine nine, sir!”

“Helm!”

Helm hadn’t waited for the order. He was already adjusting course to match the figures Navigation had transferred to his screen.

“Good work, Lieutenant.” Fronel nodded at Navigation even as he waited impatiently for them to arrive on station.

Lieutenant Brilth flushed with satisfaction. A ‘well done’ from the Captain was a rare event.

“In position, sir. Four nines.”

“Gunnery, power up all weapon systems.”

“Gunnery, aye, sir.” Lowegtoten scanned his console. All weapons showed green; torpedoes loaded and ready, beams charged.

“Typhoon reports in position and ready, sir.”

“Very good.” Fronel glanced to Taglini and caught his nod. Nothing to do now but wait.

Taglini leaned against a console, quietly gazing at a monitor. He gave the appearance of having not a care in the universe. Inside he counted the seconds. How fast would the Tlartox react? How many ships awaited?

“Commodore, sir. Cyclone and Hurricane in position.” A two second pause. “Tornado ready.”

Taglini opened his Comm line. “Good luck, Captains. Drop!” The three electronic signals disappeared from the monitor.

*

“Starfire!” The nearness of the mining way-station startled Captain Thugan. A zero point one out and Hurricane would have dropped right into it. They quickly slipped into a matching orbit. “Guns. Fire all weapons.”

“Weapons firing, sir.”

“Detectors?”

“No sign of enemy vessels, sir. Could be some behind the moon, though.”

“Thank you, we shall hope not.”

“Squadron from Tlenfro Base on the move, sir.”

Hurricane’s shields flared slightly as the way-station returned fire with its puny armament.

“Helm, full speed.”

“Aye, sir.

“Comm, make to other vessels, ‘Let’s not be greedy.’”

“Aye, sir.”

The three frigates accelerated away from the badly damaged way station. Cyclone hit an orbiting satellite as she escaped the orbit of Tlenfro’s moon. Hurricane shook as her aft shields took another hit from the way station.

“Guns?”

“Should be out of effective range … now.”

“Engineering,” Thugan thumbed both the Internal Ship Broadcast and the Engineering Comm channel, “now!”

All power but emergency back-up went off-line, leaving Hurricane hurtling dead through space. Silence filled the bridge as the crew looked at each other—the station could still manage a lucky shot. Ten long seconds passed.

“Engines back on-line, sir. Shields up.”

“Full power to engines,” Thugan ordered. The ship surged and even the compensators could not keep the crew from being jolted.

“Enemy squadron closing rapidly.”

“Thank you, Grevtol.” Guns looked worried, Thugan thought. And he had every right. Any one of the four vessels chasing them could wreak havoc upon their little threesome.

“Weapons ready,” Grevtol reported, relief evident in his voice.

“Fire a spread of torpedoes. Keep them interested.”

“Aye, sir.” Grevtol knew they had virtually no possibility of scoring a hit from this distance. The Tlartox would swiftly dispatch the torpedoes when they came within range. Still, it felt better than doing nothing. “Torpedoes away.”

“Tornado jumping, sir.”

“Very good.” She looked at the figures on her screen. “Engineering, emergency full speed, if you please,” Thugan calmly voiced her order as a request.

Grevtol had his eyes glued to his detectors. “Enemy squadron still closing, though less rapidly. Estimate we’ll be within their range in two more minutes. Torpedoes destroyed.”

“Comm, send on emergency band to Cyclone, ‘It has been fun, good luck.’”

“Cyclone replies, ‘Good hunting’, sir. Cyclone jumping, sir.”

“Very good.” The Tlartox would hear the in-the-clear message and know what it meant for Hurricane.

Thugan looked around her bridge. Every man and woman stood by their stations, tense and ready for anything. She glanced again at the diminishing range figures. Soon.

Captain Llemartol had made the last minute suggestion. The Tlartox would be suspicious when the decoy ships didn’t jump back to hyperspace, he reasoned. However, if one of the vessels took a few hits and then had a power outage, the Tlartox would have their answer: the Confederation ships did not jump because one of them could not jump. Hot for revenge, they’d throw caution to the solar winds, leaving the Base undefended. So went the theory. It appeared to have worked. Cyclone and Tornado had jumped as the Tlartox vessels neared them, leaving only poor Hurricane, who could not jump, behind. Or so it seemed.

“Ten seconds, sir.”

“Make to Tempest, ‘All yours’. Drop shields and jump!”

Hurricane winked out of normal space. Thugan could almost hear the growls of rage from the Tlartox warships. She sighed in relief. Now it would be Taglini’s turn.

*

“Drop!” Taglini ordered, and Tempest and Typhoon dropped into normal space.

“Gunnery Officer, fire at will,” Captain Fronel said calmly as he studied his screen.

“Weapons free-fire, sir. All weapons firing. Torpedoes away.”

“Helm, full emergency power to engines.”

“Helm, aye, sir. Relk’s Bones!”

Tempest shuddered violently under a hit from Tlenfro Base’s heavy armament.

“If you please, Helm, a little dignity.”

“Aye, sir.”

Taglini snorted at the man’s disbelief at the reprimand.

“Torpedoes destroyed, sir. No hits. Weapons fire not getting through their shields.”

“Gunnery Officer, see if you can concentrate fire on their main battery. It is making it somewhat uncomfortable for Helm.”

“Second flight of torpedoes away, sir. Targeting their main battery.”

Commodore Taglini watched his monitors closely. The crisscrossing trails of beam and pulse fire mesmerized him. They caused no damage at all, it seemed. Typhoon loosed a wave of torpedoes from excessively close range. Blast Neco, anyway. He risked too much.

“Captain, Tlartox defense squadron approaching rapidly.”

“Commodore, I think we’ve worn out our welcome, sir.”

“I believe you’ve nailed it, Captain. Please ask Typhoon to accompany us. It would be lonely without her.”

The bridge crew stared at them as if they were mad. Tempest rocked under the hits, her shields on the verge of collapse, and the Captain and Commodore exchanged banalities?

“A hit, by Felson’s Arse, a hit!” Gunnery Lieutenant Lowegtoten shouted.

“Guns,” Captain Fronel remonstrated.

“Sorry, sir. Torpedo hit on base main battery, sir.”

“Very good, Gunnery Officer. Please inform Helm the moment we are out of range. Helm, waste no time in jumping, if you please.”

Taglini shook his head. If he’d had any doubts about Captain Fronel before, this had dispelled them.

“Shields down,” reported the Damage Control officer as Tempest took another hit.

A siren sounded.

“Hull breach, sector four. Sector four isolated.”

“Defense squadron almost within range.”

Taglini nodded to Captain Fronel’s raised eyebrow.

“Jump,” he ordered.

In the sudden quiet of hyperspace Taglini heard the sighs of relief from the bridge crew. He calmly walked to his flag chair and sat. He studied his screens, hoping that no one had noticed his legs shaking. Had he not sat down he probably would have collapsed. He placed his hands carefully placed on the arms of his chair, gripping it just tightly enough to disguise the tremors. He was, he decided, getting too old for this sort of excitement.

“Proceed to the rendezvous, Commodore?” Captain Fronel asked.

“Proceed to the rendezvous, Captain,” Taglini agreed. Thanks be to Chaos for hyperspace, he thought. It made accurate detection of ships difficult, engaging them in battle problematic—and battles in hyperspace tended to cause heavy loss to both sides. They were safe—for the moment.

PREDATOR

“Drop to normal space,” Fleet Admiral Tood Tlomega hissed.

Eyes all over the bridge turned to the Admiral. Only the Predator’s captain seemed to have what it took to question the Fleet Admiral.

“Without dropping a probe first?” Blontera asked calmly. Fleet Admiral or no Fleet Admiral, Predator was her ship and she wasn’t going to risk it on a mistake.

“Without the prawlten probe,” Tlomega growled. “I want to catch those cowards this time. They sniff a probe and they jump as soon as we drop. Not this time!”

Sab Tlorth stood behind her Comm Officer. “Send the word upon my mark, Lieutenant. Mark!”

The huge Tlartox Fleet dropped into normal space. On every bridge, prayers rose to Tlar. No one wanted to find their ship suddenly inside an asteroid. It would ruin a perfectly good day.

“Detectors!”

“Eight, no, twelve Confederation ships. Readings coming in, Fleet Admiral. Four cruisers and eight frigates. Holding position.”

“At last!” Victory sharpened Tlomega’s voice. “I knew they couldn’t give up this outpost without a fight. We have them.” Tlomega spun around and glared at Tlorth. “Take them!”

Star Admiral Sab Tlorth issued the orders and the mighty Tlartox Fleet divided into sections and swung about to englobe the Confederation vessels and outpost. Ships picked up speed and weapons consoles lit with ready signals. Not dropping the probe turned out to be fortunate. As it was, they had emerged quite some distance from the Confederation outpost; the probe would have given the humans too much time to react.

“Enemy firing torpedoes,” Weapons Officer Krolltec reported.

“Those furless cowards must be defecating on the decks,” Tlomega laughed harshly. “At this range?”

“Torpedo signature, Confederation Type 60.”

“Their very latest,” Star Admiral Tlorth mused.

“This must be a squadron from First Fleet. Take no chances,” Sab ordered, “destroy the torpedoes at maximum range.”

The Tlartox Fleet veered away from the Confederation torpedoes and brought all weapons to bear. Thirty miniature stars appeared one by one and then blinked out. The Confederation first defense had failed.

“Squadrons one through four, fast attack.”

The squadrons turned rapidly and headed directly for the Confederation ships. The range rapidly closed and then there was … nothing. The Confederation squadron blinked out of normal space.

Tlomega’s pupils narrowed to slits. “I’ll be in my cabin,” she snarled as she strode across the bridge. “Let me know when it is over.”

Star Admiral Sab Tlorth issued orders for the fleet to regroup. In the meantime, Squadrons One through Four continued on to neutralize the outpost. As they closed, weapons fire began, but Sab knew that the station weapons fired on automatic. A computer guided the defense of the outpost; no one remained within.

They had seen the same at Confederation Outpost 4. The station appeared alert; weapons fire beginning as soon as the Tlartox ships came into range. At Outpost 4 the Tlartox made a daring assault: four frigates covered the commando pods while a cruiser loosed its full fire at the station’s batteries. Rather than responding to the greater threat of the cruiser, the Outpost had targeted the closer frigates and two had been lost before the shields collapsed and the commandos boarded. Shortly thereafter, the cruiser destroyed the station’s weapons.

Sab still shuddered inwardly when she thought of how Tlomega had reacted when she heard the news. To lose two ships to an automated defense! This time would be much different.

“As we planned, then,” Sab gave the order. Cruisers opened fire from extreme range, concentrating on destroying the Outpost’s weaponry, downing its shields. She bared her teeth.

Analysis of the Outpost 4’s hard drives had given them the answers they needed. They now knew the weakness of the computer defenses. She glanced at her screens. No more surprises, she thought. Sab sighed and made her way to report to Tlomega.

“The same as the others.”

“Furless cowards are running without even pretending to fight. What kind of a hunt is this?”

“Perhaps they are unwilling to face the mightiest Tlartox fleet in history, Fleet Admiral.”

Tlomega glared. “It is more than that. Every time we drop it takes time to reassemble. They buy time. One day, though, we’ll catch them.”

“Yes, Fleet Admiral, we will.” The reassurance placated Tlomega, who dismissed her. Yes, the humans bought time, not that it mattered. The fall of Lormar could not be avoided. Sab checked in on the bridge, saw everything proceeded as usual, and left the Captain to begin the reassembly of the fleet.

Four days later they hit another outpost. By now Tlomega’s temper sat on a knife’s edge. Sab stiffened her ears as she went to report.

“They did it again!” were the first words out of Tlomega’s mouth, said before Sab could get all the way inside the Fleet Admiral’s cabin. “Furless cowards!”

“Perhaps, Fleet Admiral, yet they will have to fight eventually. It is either that or give up Lormar.”

Tlomega’s ears came forward a little, reassuring Sab that she had taken the right tack. “They have almost nothing left between us and Lormar. Unless they want to hand over their great naval base, they’ll fight.” Sab showed her teeth. “They will fight and they will lose and we’ll have avenged Tlenfro.”

“It’s not enough,” Tlomega growled. Sab’s eyes widened. “They insult us at every turn. They send away their fleets to the Combine sector. They deploy old crates against us as if we were not worthy of their notice. Their First Fleet plays catch-the-tail with us, never deigning to meet us as warriors should be met, and they leave computers to fight us.” Tlomega’s own tail swished at every point.

“Pinpricks. They hope to stop us with pinpricks.” Tlomega closed her eyes. “What are they doing, Sab?”

At last. She was calming. “I’m not sure, Fleet Admiral. Perhaps they’ve suffered some disastrous defeat from the Combine that we haven’t heard of. It doesn’t matter. Once Lormar is ours they will beg for peace.”

“No!”

Sab stepped back from the force of the word. It took every whit of her control to not allow her fur to rise. “No, Fleet Admiral?”

“No. Lormar will not satisfy the Tox. The Confederation navy is a joke. They no longer have the courage to fight. We have the power. We shall take the Confederation! Once we have their bases, their fleets will have nowhere to go and will exhaust their supplies without hope of replenishment. Their planets will have no choice but to bow to the inevitable.” Tlomega pointed her ears forward as she gazed at the star-holo. “Begin plans for a multi-pronged attack, Sab.”

“Fleet Admiral?” Dividing their forces could lead to tragedy, and that worried Sab.

“I know, Sab. But to begin, we destroy First Fleet—in hyperspace, if necessary.”

Sab shuddered. In hyperspace, without shields, both sides would take devastating blows.

CHAPTER 17

LORM, LORMAR

The meeting spun out of control, with too many people talking at once and no one listening. Jol Drendol held up his hands and waited for silence. He waited a long time but, one by one, the voices quieted. One by one, faces turned to him—angry faces. Finally silence reigned.

“You have our attention, Jol,” Arnth Breston spoke into that silence. He stroked his heavy moustache. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Slowly Jol lowered his arms. “I know how you feel.” He paused a second. “I feel the same way.”

“Then we strike!”

“Then we don’t strike!” Jol boomed out, scowling at Rensol Nennor, the sharp-faced, short man who had just spoken out. “Where is the profit in striking? How does it improve our situation?”

“It’ll show Fleet that we can’t be pushed around!” Nennor again. A murmur of agreement rose.

Jol hated to do it, but there was nothing else for the situation. Nennor would have them in an uproar in a few moments. He allowed his voice to drip sarcasm. “You poor fool. You believe that denying Fleet needed weapons will help them defeat the Tlartox and rescue us? Given that we are correct, of course? Use your brains, Nennor, if you have any.” He looked around. “Who else believes a strike will help Fleet win the war?” Faces looked away. Nennor glared.

“Then what do you suggest, Jol?” Arnth asked him, eyes angry. “Fleet is abandoning us, abandoning Lormar. They may be able to get their families away, but we, and our families, have to stay here. We need time to make our families as safe as we can, and we can’t do that working extra shifts.”

“Why listen to him?” Nennor sneered. “His family is Fleet, too.”

Jol wanted to pick the small man up and thrash him, but he could not solve this through violence. He had to appeal to their intelligence.

“Nennor is correct. My father-in-law is Fleet.” He glared around, daring any to interrupt. No one spoke, so he raised his voice. “Lemm Fronel was a retired captain; they called him back. Right now, right now he is out there in a one hundred and fifty year old frigate, prepared to give his life—his crew prepared to give their lives—for us.” The silence deepened as Jol forced the reality of situation upon them. Even Nennor listened. “And he is not the only one. Fleet has been recommissioning those old frigates as fast as they can. How would you like to face a Tlartox cruiser in one of them? Relk’s bones, some of them haven’t even been upgraded to carry type 60s! And that is why they are asking us to put on an extra shift to provide upgraded guidance heads for type 39 torpedoes.

“Yeah, it looks like Fleet is abandoning us … and it stinks!” Growls of agreement rose. “Nennor, you said that my family is Fleet. Well, perhaps we are. However, we are as able to leave as you are. The way I see it, the next best thing is to provide Fleet with the best weapons possible—if not for the sake of the regulars, then at least for those poor slobs in their antiquated museum pieces.” He looked around, finished. He could do no better. Nennor cleared his throat and Jol stiffened.

“Okay, boys, let them riot in Prenoria. Here we build torpedoes—for the poor slobs.”

A laugh went up and Jol breathed a sigh of relief. He’d won; they’d all won. For the moment.

“Rensol, I apologize for the tone I used on you a few minutes ago.” Jol held out his hand. Nennor took it and they shook.

“I guess I deserved it,” Nennor grinned sheepishly, “but we can’t do double shifts, not and prepare our families, too.”

“I know. I’m off to talk to management, now. I’m in the same boat, you know. We’ll work something out.”

Jol walked slowly to the plant manager’s office. His victory wouldn’t help if management didn’t come onside. He found Trel calmly waiting for him.

“Good job, Jol. I couldn’t have done it.”

“They’ve just cause for complaint, Trel. What will you do about that?”

“I know, I know. I’ve been on the line to Fleet and they’ve offered a piecework bonus.”

“That won’t be enough,” Jol interrupted.

“Which I turned down,” Trel continued as if Jol hadn’t said anything. “I held out for a shipment of 90 day emergency packs, two for each employee. They’ll deliver them to us within the week and the Company will ensure they are delivered wherever the employees want them delivered. That should help their preparedness state, relieve some of the stress they feel about their families.”

“That I can take back to the floor, Trel. I think they’ll go for it.”

“And we’ll take fifteen percent of the shift off of 60s and put them on 39s. It’ll mean we just make quota on the 60s—no bonuses there—but we’ll be able to go with short overtime shifts instead of long ones.”

Jol sighed with relief. For the first time, it seemed, the company worked with him, instead of against him. “I’ll take that back to the floor.” He stopped just inside the door. “Better put a rush on those emergency packs, Trel. The situation worsens by the day.”

SEARCHER

“Captain, we’re receiving comm on Fleet Channel One!”

Britlot looked up, holding his own excitement in check. Since meeting the Phenomenon they had not heard from Fleet. He wondered how Fleet would react to their sudden reappearance after months of silence. “Decode and put it through to my screen.”

Dhine bent to his job, then straightened. “Captain, I regret to inform you that I cannot decode the message. The cipher has changed.”

Britlot had expected that, but found it disappointing, nonetheless. They had been gone a long time.

“Very well, Mr. Dhine, send an in-the-clear signal to Spacedock Bravo II and tell them we are on the way home.”

“Aye, Sir.”

To Britlot’s surprise, after a curt acknowledgement of his signal the channel remained silent. By the end of his watch, the atmosphere on the bridge was decidedly strained.

“Captain. I understand we’ve made contact.” Weytok intercepted Britlot on his way from the wardroom to his cabin.

“Aye, Lieutenant, we did.”

“And?”

“And nothing. No reply.” He moved to continue to his cabin, but Weytok didn’t move aside.

“Captain … Mart, what’s wrong. You’ve been distant since we left Adia. I see it; the crew sees it. We need a Captain.”

“Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

Weytok clenched her jaw. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Alone in his cabin, Mart opened the Britlot Family Tree and began to read once more.

CONFEDERATION CRUISER STARBURST

Vice Admiral Knerden called them aboard his flagship, the cruiser Starburst, for the debriefing. He had changed his flag from Honor when the newer cruiser became available after completing repairs. Knerden looked altogether too pleased with himself, thought Commodore Taglini as the Vice Admiral bade him enter.

“Congratulations, Tag,” the Vice Admiral smiled and rose to shake his hand. “You have no idea what a morale booster your little raid on Tlenfro was. And two supply ships. Well done, well done.”

“Thank you, sir,” Taglini replied, not finding it difficult to restrain himself. “My captains did good work. I’d appreciate it if you mention Captains Thugan and Llemartol in dispatches. Without their good work, Tlenfro would have been a disaster.”

“Of course, Tag, of course. Consider it done. But let’s not have any disaster talk. Our plan is working. Scouts report a definite reduction of Tlartox Fleet strength as they deploy vessels to guard their bases, outposts and supply lines.” Knerden seemed very proud of the fact. He gazed at the photos on the wall.

Taglini followed his gaze. Like most officers, Knerden had pictures of his commands. A bold painting depicted Starburst in action at Plillinth with Combine ships glowing red from internal fires. He must have commissioned it immediately after the battle for it to be on his wall so soon. And that said all that needed to be said about Vice Admiral Knerden, thought Taglini.

The chimes rang, and Knerden’s Flag Lieutenant ushered in the other captains and commodores. Besides his own, seven captains and two commodores back from various missions took places. From the looks on their faces—carefully controlled—Taglini figured that things had not gone so smoothly elsewhere.

Captain Tetwucan of Foremost looked especially bitter, not bothering to disguise his anger. “One cruiser,” he reported, “one lone cruiser destroyed our squadron. Our first two targets didn’t expect anything.” He smiled without humor. “We dropped and killed three supply ships at the first outpost and shot up their long range detectors some for good measure. Our second drop caught a small escort by surprise. We killed her and a supply ship recalibrating. A quick jump and then their Outpost 18, if you remember, Admiral. But the Tlartox reacted quickly to our little forays. This time it was we who weren’t expecting it.” Again the ironic smile. “We dropped and walked right into a cruiser. It appeared from behind the moon on the other side of Outpost 18 and she hit us before we could even think of jumping. Four minutes and four frigates dead, sir. It was murder, sending these old ladies against a modern cruiser.”

Knerden’s warm smile disappeared. “Thank you, Captain Tetwucan. We have to expect some losses. However, those supply ships could make all the difference.”

Tetwucan’s face became an expressionless mask. He stood quietly while the others made their reports, but Taglini felt the man’s anger even through his shields.

“Thank you all.” Knerden stood and prepared to dismiss the conference. “I can tell you that Fleet Headquarters is pleased with your work. However, our war has reached a new level, so you’ll receive new orders soon. Dismissed.”

The officers turned and left.

“Commodore Taglini.”

Taglini slowed his pace, and Captain Tetwucan caught up and got in step. “I noticed Tempest is in Prime Alpha for repairs.”

“Yes, we had a hull breach. Just minor, but three men died. Shouldn’t be in there too long.”

“Three men,” the bitterness came through clearly, “I wish I could say the same. They shot us up. I lost fifty. Foremost is in the dock next to Tempest.”

They walked on quietly. As they approached the shuttle’s airlock Tetwucan spoke once more. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a drink at the Club.”

Taglini relaxed. He had wondered if Tetwucan was going to be able to get around to it. The man needed to talk, and all his peers were dead or captured. Taglini nodded. “Of course. We’ll be on the same shuttle boat back, so we can go directly. Actually, I’m meeting my captains there, too. Join us—or I can put that meeting off until later.”

“No, I’d appreciate the company.”

*

“Did you hear him? Four filthy supply ships could make all the difference? Condescending bastard. Forty might make a difference in a long campaign, but if it keeps going like this, we’ll not have a long campaign.” Tetwucan tossed back the remainder of his drink and signaled for another.

“They cut us to pieces, Tag. Our poor old shields aren’t strong enough to stop their fire and our weapons can’t get through theirs in time.” Tetwucan turned his head slowly from side to side, trying to escape the memory of those awful four minutes. “How did you do it, Tag? They said you shot up the base at Tlenfro. How did you do it?” The desperate longing in his voice caused the others to look away.

Taglini had used his rank to secure a large table in a corner of the Club. The lighting was on the dim side, and low music played, mostly drowned out by the din of conversation.

Commodore Prusnol and three other captains had joined them, making it a table of eleven. All other officers gave them a wide berth, the unwritten rule of such navy clubs all over the Confederation, giving them some privacy even in public.

“Only luck, Daahl. We dropped so close to the base that every shot we made hit. They didn’t have time to shoot up all our torpedoes and the combined force of fifteen or twenty impacting at the same time allowed some of our fire to get through.”

“What type torpedoes are you getting?” asked Prusnol.

“Type 39s,” spat out Neco. “If we’d had 60s, we would have taken out that base.” He exaggerated, but the point came across clearly.

“We’re getting 39s as well. Old ships and old stockpiled munitions.”

“And children.”

“And children,” confirmed Prusnol. “However, I must say that those ‘children’ did a damn fine job.” A murmur of agreement went round the table. “So, what do we do? Tenth Fleet can’t take this kind of casualty rate for long. Someone has to talk Knerden out of sending the old ladies on this sort of mission. Tag, you went to the Academy with him. Can’t you do—”

Taglini interrupted him with a snort of laughter. “No one can talk Knerden out of anything. But I don’t think we’ll have to. Headquarters can read between the lines of the status reports. No matter how he presents it, they’ll have to see that Tenth is getting murdered.”

Grim looks around the table showed that they hoped this was so. Yet who knew what admirals would find important? They might yet sacrifice Tenth.

“Room for one more?”

Taglini peered up to see a captain he’d not yet met. “Sure, have a seat.” The others made room and the newcomer dragged a chair over and sat down. No one spoke until the server had brought the next round, then the group relaxed again.

“Captain Voerneus, Ronis,” he introduced himself.

“Ronis. That’s a Class-B frigate, isn’t it?”

“Correct. Still underpowered and under-gunned, but she’ll pay her way—if I can get those dockies to get a move on. Took a few hits on my last old sally-forth.” Voerneus wore a heavy black beard and his dark eyes gleamed out from under heavy brows.

“Overheard that last bit. Don’t think you need worry. The Vice Admiral has been shown the light. No more convoy raiding for the old girls,” his deep voice rumbled out.

The others leaned forward, eager to get new information. At a base like this, everyone always seemed to know what was going on before any official word came down. One only needed to separate fact from rumor.

“Go on.”

“Sorry, don’t know much more. Was in the signals room, sending messages to family of those I lost.” Nods around the table. They’d all been there, one time or another. “Saw a signal recalling a couple of squadrons.” He grinned. “Got the ‘eye’, you know.” He joined in the laughter.

“I’d just like to get my crew some leave planetside,” Tetwucan muttered. “They need the distraction but bloody Ops won’t allow it.”

Voerneus looked at him strangely. “Don’t want your boys and girls going down there,” he warned.

A couple nodded, but most heads turned, questioning.

“Civvie morale is shot. Been some riots. Seems like Fleet Headquarters is preparing to evacuate, and word got out—how’re you going to stop it?” Voerneus waited for the shock to fade. “Even heard they’re checking out the demolition circuits on the four Primes.”

“As my Helm would say, ‘Relk’s Bones!’” Captain Fronel had sat quietly at the table, saying little of anything. He’d stuck to juices while his compatriots had started with wine, some graduating to spirits. “If we don’t stop them here, where will we stop them?”

Desultory talk continued, but a real damper had been put on the conversation. Each officer was too busy dealing with his or her inner thoughts. One by one they drifted off until only Taglini, Fronel and Tetwucan remained.

“Come on, we’ll walk you back to your quarters,” Taglini told Tetwucan.

“Not as drunk as you think,” Tetwucan replied, but graciously allowed them to do just that.

“Fifty dead,” they heard him mutter as they closed the door behind them and began the walk back to Tempest. “Fifty dead.”

*

Lemm Fronel paced in front of the tele-vid screen. Too long a delay, he thought. Finally it flickered to life, the face of his wife, carefully set, replacing the blackness. The guarded expression changed in a moment to a welcoming smile. With a sinking feeling, Fronel knew what she had been expecting. The waiting must take as much out of her as the fighting did to him. Probably more. He wondered how often she’d waited like this, for word of his death.

“Lemm! Where are you?”

“Hello, Relnie, I am upstairs, enjoying the solitude of the stars. Very relaxing, I must say.”

Relnie’s face took on a decidedly wicked cast. “Come down here and I’ll relax the betnry out of you.” She paused, “No, don’t.”

Lemm’s smile died. “Reasoning?”

“You’re not very popular at the moment. The neighbors are quite annoyed.”

“I see.” And he did. Relnie was using the simple code they had developed to express things which might not be appreciated by the powers that be in a wartime situation, and the comm was undoubtedly monitored. The rumors of riots, and anger expressed at the Fleet were true, then.

“How are the children?”

“The children are fine. Your granddaughter has something to say to you.”

“Melsie is there?”

The small girl’s face replaced Relnie’s. “Hi Grandie, when are you coming home?”

Lemm smiled at the small blonde head with the dimpled cheeks. “As soon as I can, Melsie, but I have some work to finish first.”

“Bring me a present?” She looked very serious.

“Always, Melsie, always.” The girl looked relieved.

“Okay, Grandie, mom says I have to go to bed now.”

“Hi, dad,” Colli’s face replaced the child’s and once again Lemm marveled that he had sired such a striking daughter. “It is good to see you. Jol and I are over visiting mom. Pel and Jerinth are here, too.” She gave a quick grin, but her heart wasn’t in it, Fronel thought. “I know how much these cost, so I’ll put mom back on.”

“Okay, you take care of my granddaughter, now.”

“I will, dad.”

“Everyone is fine, Lemm. You take care of yourself, too, my man.” Relnie’s face returned to the screen.

“Any chance of a family holiday?” Lemm asked.

Relnie looked slightly bitter. “No, Lemm. That is for the very rich only. And the Fleet.”

“I might be able to arrange something.”

“No,” she uncharacteristically interrupted him. “That would just prove the point, wouldn’t it?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “I suppose it would. Be well, my love.”

“Be well.”

The screen went dark. Troubled, it took Lemm Fronel a long time to achieve sleep.

*

“I’ve never seen dockies so truculent,” Taglini admitted to Captain Fronel as they inspected Tempest’s repairs. “Even Fleet personnel seem jumpy.”

“Let us go to the wardroom and I’ll tell you of a very disturbing tele-vid I made last night.” Taglini looked at his subordinate curiously, but Fronel would not divulge any more where they could be overheard.

“Better, let’s go to my office.”

Taglini led the way into the Commodore’s cabin and gestured Fronel to a seat. “You said something about a tele-vid?”

“Yes. I made a call to my wife last night. She’s down on Lormar. She, my children and granddaughter are forted up in my retirement home, Commodore. I stocked it well, so they will not have to go out but occasionally.”

Taglini frowned. “I didn’t realize your family lived here. Forted up?”

“They did not lead us astray when they told us of the dissension down below. Fleet Officers have been moving their families off Lormar for the past several months. The wealthy are relocating as well.” He reached for the dish of nuts which Taglini offered and popped a few in his mouth. “To say civilian morale is low is overstate it. They know Fleet is abandoning them and are rightfully unhappy.” He studied his fingernails. “To be truthful, I’d feel just the same. Anyway, our uniform is not the most popular on Lormar at present.”

“I’m afraid I saw this coming, Lemm. The Vice Admiral has the necessity of it down pat. When the fleets return from the Combine sectors, we’ll retake this area.” Fronel could tell Taglini didn’t believe this would be anytime soon. “We obey our orders, Lemm, and do our best.”

“Just between you and me, Tag,” Fronel lapsed into the familiar for the first time Taglini could remember, “I will not be leaving the sector if ordered to pull out.” He waited for Taglini to say something, but the commodore didn’t speak. “They are my family, Tag.”

“I have no family, so I don’t pretend to know how you feel. However, I’ll worry about you when the situation occurs—if we still live.”

Fronel grinned. “There is always that, Commodore, there is always that.”

“And, if within my power, I’ll see you put down on Lormar.”

“Thank you, Commodore.”

The chimes sounded and Taglini bade the messenger enter. He read the message stick thoughtfully. “Well, Captain, it seems that I have an invitation to a strategy meeting. Vice Admiral Knerden’s compliments. Perhaps I’ll have news for you soon.” He stood and placed his peaked cap on his head.

“See if you can get repairs speeded up a bit, Captain. Fren knows, I don’t want to be caught attached to a Prime station.”

*

“Gentlemen, Ladies, I’m pleased you could make it on such short notice.” Vice Admiral Knerden looked fresh and invigorated. “I’d like you to meet Rear Admiral Cenet. I have turned command of Tenth Fleet over to him. I’ve received orders recalling me to First Fleet. We are going to take on the enemy and give him a black eye!” If he had expected a cheer, he had been mistaken. He looked around at the assembled Commodores. “Starburst and her two attendant frigates come with me. Honor and her two remain with Rear Admiral Cenet.”

The Vice Admiral glanced at the time and smiled his usual dazzling smile. “We’ll meet again soon and, Fren willing, have a victory to discuss. Gentlemen, ladies.” He strode from the conference room without a backward glance.

Rear Admiral Cenet stood, as tall and thin a man as Taglini had ever seen. He appeared almost skeletal. His narrow face, close-set eyes and beak of a nose gave him the aspect of a bird of prey—or perhaps a scavenger.

“Well, let’s get to it. We have orders to protect Lormar and to bring back those who will be in harm’s way, before the Tlartox get to them. We must evacuate the miners to the Primes and thence to the interior of the Confederation.” He looked down at his reader for a moment before looking up again. “Commodore Taglini, how is Tempest?”

“Ready in a day or two, depending on how terrified of Captain Fronel the workers become.”

Cenet gave him a thin smile. “Good. As soon as she’s ready, your squadron will escort three small liners to the Tridex Asteroid Mining Consortium in the Pensor system and evacuate the miners. No need to leave them to mine for the Tlartox Empire.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Commodore Prusnol.”

“Rear Admiral.”

“A quick trip for you out to the Trencher system. Same as Commodore Taglini. Bring out the people. Quick as possible. I don’t see us as having much time to spare.” He went over other assignments. Returning raiders from Tenth Fleet would be pressed into guard duty. He paused to allow some discussion.

The officers talked among themselves.

“Now, Gentlemen, Ladies,” Cenet waited for silence to fall. “Failing First Fleet’s attempts to slow down the Tlartox Fleet appreciably, we will then begin evacuating the four Primes. Already, excess personnel have relocation orders.” The room buzzed; Cenet had made it official.

“I don’t like this any more than you. Barring heavy reinforcements, we have no other choice.”

“We could fight, Rear Admiral.”

“Aye, Commodore Prusnol, we could fight. It would be, however, a short battle and nothing significant would change.”

“At least they’d know we tried,” Taglini put in, glancing out the port to the planet below.

Cenet followed his gaze, looking very tired. “Yes, at least they’d know that.” He dismissed the meeting.

CHAPTER 18

SEARCHER

Weytok looked up at the Britlot from her post. He hadn’t spoken an unnecessary word in days. The crew picked up the tension and tempers frayed. No good ever came of a Captain and his officers not speaking to each other. And no one knew the situation in the Confederation.

On top of that, the only message received ordered them to set course for Lormar, maintaining comm silence.

“Gentlemen, Ladies,” Britlot’s voice came over the ISB, “we are about to drop at Lormar’s emergence beacon. No one will discuss our voyage until after debriefing.”

As he’d told no one except Lieutenant Weytok how he’d declined to ask for aid of the 22nd, no one could say much about their mission. However, he’d made it quite clear that merely revealing the existence of Adia might bring the Tlartox Fleet down upon their new friends—if they could be called friends. Despite the Adians’ trickery, no one on the crew wanted to see harm come to Adia.

“Four nines, Captain,” Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol reported.

“Very good, Sub. Send emergence signal and then drop.”

The emergence signal would warn those in normal space of the dropping vessel and anyone in the drop zone could signal warning to the beacon in return. Also, given the situation, dropping unannounced could produce a spectacular but lethal response. Lieutenant-Commander Britlot did not want his voyage to end quite that way.

The view on the monitors wavered and then steadied. They were back.

“Captain. Signal to dock at Prime Station Alpha.”

“Acknowledge, Dhine.”

“Aye, sir. Signal acknowledged. Docking instructions inputted to the navcomp.”

Searcher accelerated slowly and moved past the three old Class-C frigates stationed near the beacon. They might be old, thought Britlot, but they had more than enough firepower to fry his scoutship.

“Sir, message coming in.”

“Route it to the screen.”

“Good day, Lieutenant-Commander Britlot.” He did not recognize the face, but he could not mistake the uniform insignia of a full Commander. “Please stop your vessel relative Alpha and prepare to be boarded.”

“Boarded, sir?” What was this?

“Aye, Lieutenant-Commander, boarded.”

Britlot raised an eyebrow but gave the commands. “Searcher is stopped relative Alpha, sir. We are ready for boarding.” Already a shuttle had appeared on the monitors.

“What is this, sir?” Spacer Dorvon wanted to know.

“I have no idea, Spacer. I suspect we will find out. Sub-Lieutenant, you and Spacer Dorvon will come with me to greet our visitors. Lieutenant, you have the con.”

“Side arms, sir?” Dorvon asked.

“I think that would be an error in judgment, Spacer. As far as they are concerned we’ve been missing for several months. Situation as it is, they might take our being armed for something quite different than it is.” Britlot led the two through the ship to the docking airlock.

As with Winter Sky’s boarding party, this one began with two armed marines coming through the airlock, weapons at the ready. As soon as they ascertained that all was clear a Confederation Commander came through and saluted. Several more men followed him. Britlot could feel waves of distrust coming from the boarding party.

Deja vu, Britlot thought wearily.

“Welcome aboard Searcher, sir. I am Lieutenant-Commander Britlot. This is Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol and Gunnery Spacer Dorvon.”

“Commander Vertol, Security. You will gather your crew together on the mess deck and then you and I will go to the bridge and you will open your logbook for me, Captain.”

Lieutenant-Commander Britlot let out a heavy sigh and turned to the comm station and gave the necessary orders to the bridge.

“Here we go again,” Dorvon muttered as he stepped past his Captain and led the boarding party to the mess deck.

“What was that?” Commander Vertol asked.

“An in-joke, Commander,” Britlot told him, refusing to say anything further. He led the Security officer and two of his men to the bridge where Lieutenant Weytok waited.

“Now open your Log for inspection, Captain.”

“I regret that I cannot comply with that instruction, Commander. The Log is sealed.” He winced inwardly as anger bloomed in the Commander’s eyes. Not wanting to make an enemy of a Commander in Security, Britlot strove to maintain his own temper.

“You’d best explain yourself, Lieutenant-Commander.”

His anger showed in his failure to address the ranking officer of a ship by the honorific ‘Captain’.

“Of course, Commander.” Britlot turned on the charm. “As Captain of the Searcher, I entered information in the Log which I have since classified as Most Secret. I have returned from a mission, and I expect to be debriefed by Intelligence. If Intelligence decides that my classification was in error, I would be more than happy to have you aboard for drinks and tell you the whole story. You have your duty, Commander. Unfortunately my duty conflicts with yours. When Commodore Taglini sent me out, he—”

“Commodore ‘Tag’ Taglini?”

“Yes, the Commanding Officer of Spacedock Bravo II.”

“Not any more. He’s Commodore of the squadron which shot up Tlenfro Base.”

The Commander’s ire seemed to drain. Helped to have friends in high places, Britlot thought irreverently.

“Lieutenant,” Vertol spoke to his aide, “put through a call to Tempest. See if we can get the Commodore.”

Two minutes later Taglini’s face appeared on the screen.

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot! I’d given you up for dead some months ago. How are you?”

“Fine, sir. We ran into The Phenomenon and couldn’t establish comm. We tried many times. Nothing came through?”

“Nothing. Tell me, how was your ghost hunt?”

“It wasn’t.”

Taglini leaned forward and peered into the screen. His eyes sharpened. “Commander … Vertol?”

“Sir?”

“Once your search is complete, I’d appreciate it if you would escort the Captain to me. Make sure he brings his Logs.”

“Aye, sir. I’m supposed to inspect them, sir, but he says they are sealed.”

“Does he? Then keep them sealed, Commander. And, as a favor to me, I’d appreciate it if you told no one of the sealed Logs.”

“Aye, sir.”

Taglini’s face disappeared. Vertol turned to Britlot. “My apologies, Captain.”

“Apologies, sir? For doing your duty? Speaking of your duties, how may I aid you in carrying out the rest of them?” He smiled the famous Britlot smile.

TLARTOX HOME PLANET

They had moved again. The hunters had once more found their safe house. Vom looked at Tlantho. She looked exhausted. He bared his teeth. He felt the same. They were all tired. From the window he watched a shuttle take off from the spaceport and wondered if it carried Shads.

“Something interesting, Master?” Tlantho asked, coming to stand beside him.

“No, Tlantho, just a shuttle. I was wishing I could be on it. Perhaps I’m just tired.” No need for her to know about Shads’ recall to duty. Better no one knew.

“I’ve received a message from Grinnser.”

“Yes?”

“Only one word, Master. ‘Confirmed’. What does that mean?” She looked at him curiously and Vom felt for her. To be able to read all the messages without understanding them must be a real pain. Still, she bore it well.

He slowly moved to a chair and sat down, gesturing her to do the same. “It means, Tlantho, that our work hasn’t been just an exercise.”

She waited for him to be more forthcoming, but he closed his eyes and began breathing deeply and evenly. She rose quietly and made her way out of the room. Vom opened his eyes again. Shads would get the word, he was sure. Tlomega had no intention of stopping at Lormar. Everything was in place, and the signals had been sent.

Their job was done—for the moment. Now they merely had to avoid the Hunters.

CHAPTER 19

LORMAR PRIME STATION ALPHA

“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot, welcome back.”

“Thank you, Commodore, it’s good to be back.”

Taglini closed the door and waved Britlot to a chair, as he took his own. “So, tell me, Mart, what did you find that required you to seal your Logs?” Taglini had decided to discover for himself if Britlot’s mission should go to Intelligence.

Britlot sat. He looked across the desk at the Commodore. “We found Adia, sir. Apparently the Phenomenon only destroyed a small fraction of the Émigré’s ships. The rest made planetfall and Adia—and the 22nd—still exists.”

“My god!” Taglini groped for words. “I would never have believed …” He broke off, speculating. “You must have relayed our situation.”

“Aye, sir, I did. I fear we can expect no help from that direction.”

“They refused?” Taglini didn’t seem surprised.

“No, sir. I withdrew the request.” That did surprise Taglini.

“Sir,” Britlot explained, “they’ve been at peace since they left the Confederation. The present Adian Navy is the same 22nd which left here three hundred years ago. They’ve not built a new naval vessel in three centuries.”

Taglini slumped slightly. “You did right,” he admitted. “After what has happened to our Class-B and Class-C recommissions, I wouldn’t want the old 22nd on my conscience, either.” He rose, opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

“Confusion to the enemy,” Britlot toasted.

“Aye, confusion to the enemy,” Taglini repeated. “We need all the help we can get.” The words had become a standard part of the toast. “Now, Mart, tell me about your voyage. Don’t leave anything out.”

Two hours later, Britlot was able to get in his own question. “Sir, we’ve not had any news from the Confederation in months, what’s happening? The Adians told us that the Tlartox Empire had begun its attack, but that’s all I know.”

“Perhaps you are lucky.” Taglini remained staring at the image of Winter Sky on the screen. “Amazing. They still exist. Ah, but where was I? Oh, yes. Our little war goes badly. We have orders to evacuate the four Primes of Lormar in anticipation of Tlartox conquest.” Britlot paled. “Fleet Headquarters has already relocated to Krevost. Lormar is in turmoil, feeling that we are abandoning them—which we are. Anyone in a Fleet uniform is likely to be in danger of his or her life if caught in public.

“First Fleet prepares to engage the Tlartox Fleet in combat. The enemy is advancing much more rapidly than we had anticipated. And tomorrow I will be leaving with my squadron to evacuate the Tridex Asteroid miners.” He shrugged his shoulders eloquently. “Anything else you need know?”

Britlot sat in shocked silence. “Where does Searcher fit in now?” he asked.

“Good question. Since she is officially off the books, I believe that it wouldn’t take much to place you in Tenth Fleet. Fren knows, we could use you. Come, we’ll pay the Rear Admiral a visit.” He stood and walked with Britlot down the long passageways. A couple of people looked at them curiously.

“Mart, I think you should maintain silence on the Adian question. Rumors will get out, and that may help us. Openness at this time will do us no good and possibly even reduce morale. We’ll get the Rear Admiral’s view.”

Rear Admiral Cenet agreed. “Good to have you with us, Lieutenant-Commander. Sorry we can’t give your crew leave, but we need every ship we have. We have particular need of modern detectors, and I consider Searcher a gift from the gods.”

The chimes rang, and a harried looking Signals Lieutenant rushed in and presented the Rear Admiral with a stick. He appeared very relieved when dismissed. Obviously bad news.

“Might as well stay and watch,” Cenet told the two officers. “You’ll hear it soon enough anyway.” He placed the stick in a reader. The screen came to life, showing a white-faced captain.

“It was a trap,” he blurted out. “First Fleet dropped and engaged the enemy squadrons. Then a whole Tlartox fleet dropped on top of us. Two cruisers declared themselves out of action. At least two frigates have been destroyed. That’s all I saw before my squadron received the emergency jump order and jumped. Tlartox ships are following us in hyperspace and I don’t know if we can evade them and reassemble.”

The message ended at that point.

“I’ve been receiving a fair few similar messages. First Fleet has scattered.” He gave a low sigh. “Commodore, I fear that we have even less time than we’d counted on. The faster you get to the Tridex Asteroids, the better. Leave at once.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And don’t let them delay boarding the liners. Essentials only. We don’t have time to move furniture.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

“Lieutenant-Commander, how soon can you have Searcher ready to go?”

“Given the situation, sir, immediately. We are very low on supplies, but we can be back in hyperspace within an hour, if necessary.”

Rear Admiral Cenet laughed. “We’re not quite so desperate, yet. You have twelve hours.” He walked Britlot over to the star-holo. “I want you patrolling this sector of Hyperspace. Tenth Fleet has orders to protect the Primes until they can be evacuated. We need to know if anything moves our way.

“All we have are the cruiser Honor and two modern frigates. Nothing else has state-of-the-art detectors—except Searcher, which is now the most modern, fastest and best-equipped ship in the fleet. Honor will remain insystem. The two frigates are already on patrol. You will join them.”

“Aye, sir.”

Britlot bullied Supply into quickly replenishing the necessaries upon Searcher, and sweet-talked Ordinance into providing the scoutship with four Type 60 torpedoes. Ordinance had not wanted to part with them. “What good will they do on Prime Alpha,” he had finally asked, “when the Tlartox get here? You won’t have time to resupply the Fleet during an all-out battle.” Ordinance gave in.

“Lieutenant Weytok, prepare Searcher for patrol. We go to Hyperspace in ten hours. Call an all-crew meeting for ten minutes from now.”

Weytok raised her eyebrows, but complied without asking questions. She had been upset that the entire crew had been forced to stay on board Searcher while Britlot had made his report.

“Gentlemen, Ladies. Sitrep: They need us. The Tlartox are coming, First Fleet has scattered and there isn’t another fleet in this sector, excepting what you’ve seen here.”

Jaws dropped. The best the mighty Confederation Navy had to defend Fleet Headquarters and Lormar with was an ad-hoc fleet of Class-B and Class-C recommissions?

“I know everyone expected a rest. Sorry. We go to hyperspace patrol in just under ten hours and we have a lot to do to get ready. Therefore, I want each and every one of you to get off the damn ship and enjoy yourselves as much as possible for the next six hours.” Smiles appeared. “However, not a word about what we’ve been doing for the last year. Anyone asks and you’ve been ordered to not discuss it. Got it? Good. No comments, no sly innuendoes, just that you have orders to not discuss it.”

Britlot looked at the time. “Get the hell off the ship.” The crew scattered. “That goes for you, too, Sub-Lieutenant,” he told Krirtol who had remained behind.

“Soon, sir. Is it really as bad as you told the crew?”

“It is worse, Natya. We’re giving up Lormar, the four Primes and all. Fleet has relocated headquarters and has ordered the evacuation of the four Prime stations. I haven’t a clue what is going on in the Combine sector, no one has seen fit to brief me, but unless we get reinforcements—and quickly—we may lose more than just Lormar.” He smiled tiredly at Krirtol. “Now, is there anything else?”

“No chance to go down to the planet? I have family there. They probably think I’m dead.”

Britlot shook his head sadly. “Try a tele-vid. I understand we are extremely unpopular planetside.” He gently took Krirtol’s arm and led her towards the airlock.

“Do the best you can to relax, Natya.” Her somber face caused him to shake his head again. “Sorry you didn’t stay on Adia?”

“In a way, sir, but we belong here. I wouldn’t feel right, being safe and comfortable there with Lormar under the Tlartox. Have we no chance, sir?”

Britlot became Captain once again. “There is always a chance, Sub-Lieutenant. Our other fleets may put in an appearance; the Tlartox may have second thoughts; First Fleet may reassemble and cause the Tlartox some major damage. We may frighten them with Searcher’s new armaments.”

Krirtol laughed dutifully. “I’ll be off, then, sir.”

“Oh, Natya?”

“Sir?”

“I’ve recommended that you get your half-stripe. You deserve it.”

A slow smile came to Krirtol’s face. “Thank you, sir.” Lieutenant Natya Krirtol, she said to herself. It had a certain ring to it.

Britlot let out his breath as Krirtol left. Now for the joy of supervising loading. He desperately wanted to hit the pit, sleep or just relax and allow the surprises of the day to integrate, but he couldn’t allow himself that luxury. Strangely, he did relax. The threat to Lormar made his own problems seem petty. After the war …

LORM, LORMAR

Jol struggled to remain patient. The world had gone mad about him, and trying to get anything done had become a grade three pain in the neck.

“What do you mean you can’t do it?”

“Mobs have turned over landcruisers in the streets, Drendol. You know that. I’m not risking having my vehicles damaged to deliver a few nuts and bolts.”

Jol gave the man his hardest stare—to no avail. “As you wish then. I’ll come for them myself.” His contact stared, amazed.

“You must be crazy, Drendol. Why?”

“Because it is my job.”

“Tlartox might not see it that way.”

Jol kept his face bland. Then he gave a self-deprecating grin. “Chance I’ll have to take.” This one would collaborate, he thought as he closed the connection. Best to not reveal anything at all to him.

“Want company?”

Jol turned, recognizing Nennor’s whiny voice. Nennor had surprised him. With half the factory refusing to return to work, the sharp-faced little man had become one of the few bright spots in his days. Suddenly Nennor was the one with the joke of the day, a smile where there were mostly frowns, and an irrepressible spirit. Jol shrugged; you just don’t know someone until you see him in a tight situation.

“I’d love it, Rensol. Let’s go.” They needed the small parts to finish the remaining guidance heads. He closed his eyes in a moment of despair. To be that close to finishing an entire batch, but to lack nuts, bolts and screws? Gods above and below!

“I’ll just be a minute.” Rensol Nennor was as good as his word. He’d put on a jacket and Jol could see a small bulge at his waist.

“What’s that?”

“You mean you aren’t carrying anything? For Fren’s sake, man, it’s ugly out there. Wait.” He rushed off and returned shortly. “Here.”

Jol looked at the weapon and hesitated. To accept it meant he accepted that things had become that bad.

“Think of your family, man,” Nennor admonished. “Do them no good if you’re dead or crippled.” He smiled gently. “It’s just insurance—like the company provides.”

Jol took the nasty, illegal little weapon and dropped it in his coat pocket. The world had indeed gone mad.

The streets were mostly empty, but here and there people moved about. Most businesses had closed early, owners bolting their doors and praying that the police and military guardsmen would prevent looting. Occasionally riots broke out.

Jol looked up at the big vid screen on the Lormar Bank Building. It displayed a repeating message telling viewers to stay calm and to remain at home as much as possible until the situation rectified itself.

A firecruiser screamed by, and Jol wondered: arson or accident? Too many suspicious fires had occurred of late. He turned up a side street and drove quickly to the supplier. A surly guard on the gate allowed them through.

“I’ll stay by the cruiser, Jol.”

“Thanks, Rensol. Shouldn’t be long.”

He wasn’t. The boxes awaited him. Cash on delivery, the supplier insisted. He looked at the tally, eyes bleak. Price gouging. Pulling out his card, he mated it to the supplier’s and paid. He wasted no time getting back to Nennor.

“Hurry!”

Jol hurried, jumping into the passenger seat as Nennor put the cruiser in motion. “What’s up?”

Nennor looked pale. “Listen.”

The ugly sound of smashing windows came to him. Nennor took a quick left and pushed the landcruiser up to its maximum safe speed. Sirens howled and police cruisers converged on the riot.

They made considerably better time back than they’d made there. Jol looked down. His hands shook. A world gone mad.

SEARCHER

“Diary Entry: Eighth day on patrol. We’ve seen nothing except signals—and every signal bad news. The Tlartox have a new tactic. Their detectors are better than we believed and they’ve latched onto the scattered elements of First Fleet in Hyperspace. When our ships drop, the Tlartox drop with them. Running battles have occurred for days, now. The only good thing about it is that the Tlartox fleets must be as scattered as our own. It will take them time to reassemble for an assault on Lormar—we hope.”

“Another signal, Captain,” Dhine handed Britlot a stick. Dhine’s eyes were dark from lack of sleep and his face had a haunted look. Britlot wondered if he looked the same. He’d been avoiding looking in mirrors of late.

“Gentlemen, Ladies,” Britlot went on ISB, “We’ve just intercepted a message from First Fleet Cruiser Grisnel. Grisnel and four frigates dropped into the Conlensi system. Ten Tlartox frigates dropped with them. In a running battle one Tlartox frigate was put out of action and another damaged. Grisnel jumped again and the Tlartox stuck with them. They tried doubling back and redropping in Conlensi. They found the damaged frigate being looked after by a tender. Grisnel destroyed the both of them only minutes before the Tlartox squadron found them again.

“Another short battle followed where a second Tlartox frigate fell to our guns. Unfortunately, one of our own frigates, the Trensil, declared herself out of action. Grisnel and the remaining three frigates jumped again. They report Tlartox shadows remain close to them.”

Britlot forced his tone to become optimistic. “You see, we can beat them.”

Unfortunately, Britlot thought, even if we keep winning on a three-to-one basis, First Fleet entire will be lost long before the Tlartox begin to run short of ships.

And, unfortunately, they were not destroying Tlartox ships at a three-to-one ratio. It was closer to one-to-one. Several ships had reported making a run back to Krevost, farther than the Tlartox were likely to follow, which also put them out of the battle.

PREDATOR

Fleet Admiral Tood Tlomega bared her teeth as she read another message. Her fleet continued to run the humans ragged. “My plan works Star Admiral Tlorth,” she exulted. “The human First Fleet is finished as a fighting entity. We have scattered them all over the galaxy!”

“And ourselves as well, Fleet Admiral.”

“True enough, Sab, true enough. That’s why I want you to begin reassembling five of the fleets. The others can continue the hunt.

“Take a look at this,” Tlomega indicated a situation holo. “The humans withdrew the bulk of their fleets to the Combine sector of space, leaving First Fleet to slow us and keep us occupied—along with those of their mothballed vessels which they could recommission in time.

“First Fleet has failed. Lormar sits there for the taking. The humans recognize this and relocated their fleet headquarters to Krevost, exactly as Intelligence predicted, and Kethren’s squadron is about to make that move futile. We are exactly where we want to be.” The situation holo changed to show Lormar.

“Observe the four Prime Stations, equidistant in geosynchronous orbit above Lormar. Each carries the defensive capability of a cruiser, at least. Each has repair facilities for several vessels. A perfect jumping off point to the Confederation’s innards.”

“I doubt that they’ll allow us to take their stations intact,” Sab commented.

“Why not?” Tlomega asked. “Intelligence has decoded some of their signals. Apparently they are evacuating the stations. The humans have no stomach for the hunt, especially when they are the prey!” Tlomega showed her teeth again. “They will expect us to take Lormar and then present our demands, as they did when they took Tlenfro. After a suitable time they think we will return Lormar to them, as they returned Tlenfro to us. Why destroy the Primes?”

Sab walked around the holo of Lormar. “This is not three hundred years ago, Fleet Admiral.”

“Yet the humans fight as if it were, Tlorth. They fight the Combine exactly as we fought, and they engage us in small raids. For them, nothing has changed. By the time they realize differently, we will have them.” Tlomega’s ears pointed forward, excitement in the angle. “In case they resist, I have ordered ten thousand Tlartox commandos to assault each station.”

Sab Tlorth’s eyes widened. Forty thousand commandos entailed two thirds of the Tlartox Empire’s entire elite force. Tlomega must have used every contact she had to get so many authorized for one mission.

“Now, we will take two fleets and take possession of Lormar and her four Primes. Two fleets will head for Rosneli and one for their new settlements in the Krovell system. They will wait until we secure Lormar, then drop and attack.”

Sab nodded. If all went as flawlessly as Tlomega suggested it would, the Confederation would be hard put to dislodge them from Lormar, even if its entire navy returned from the Combine sector.

Kethren’s squadron waited, poised to drop into normal space in the Krevost and surrounding systems, ready to disgorge jammers to render the new Confederation Fleet Headquarters blind and deaf. Fleet’s head would be cut off. They would have no unified command for some time—perhaps weeks—until the Confederation could clear the jammers. By then it would be too late.

Nothing, though, in Sab’s experience, went flawlessly. She immediately began to consider contingency plans. Dismissed, she had just stepped through the door when Tlomega called her back.

“Just to keep the pressure on, send a squadron to take the human mining operations as discussed.”

“The one in the asteroid belt in the Pensor system?”

“Yes, that’s the one. If we’re lucky, they’ll have a shipment of ore ready to go. We can make better use of it than the humans can,” Tlomega chuckled.

Sab headed for the bridge. In spite of Tlomega’s assurances she worried. Where sections of First Fleet had been brought to battle, they had fought hard and well. The Tlartox fleet was superbly trained and still the humans had come off well, even though outnumbered. Forty years of experience, with probably all of their crews battle-hardened, made a difference. She hoped they would run into few similar surprises.

SECOND FLEET FLAGSHIP VINDICTIVE, COMBINE SPACE

“What’s the word, Jellth?”

Administrative Lieutenant Jellth looked quickly around to ensure that no strangers lurked within earshot. A largely superfluous gesture as they sat ensconced in the secure signal coding/decoding area of the Comm section.

Jellth, a small man with a large bald spot at the back of his head, carried the nickname ‘Monk’. Others did not speak it where he could hear, for Jellth did not suffer jibes lightly. Consequently, he was universally disliked. However, as an assistant to the Fleet Admiral, he brought good information.

“We’re going deep into Combine space to force a fight,” he whispered. The whisper only made it difficult for the listeners, who strained to hear over the hum of equipment and the forced airflow. Likely Jellth did that purposefully, irritating the others as he tried to make himself appear important.

“Combine space? We’re not turning about and going back to Lormar?” Signals Lieutenant Prensol shook her head, angry. “We’re supposed to be protecting the Confederation, not haring off into Combine space,” she argued.

“We hand the Combine a severe defeat, then go and take Lormar back from the Tlartox. What could be simpler?”

“Indeed, Jellth, indeed. Thanks for the gen!”

Jellth let himself out, the door closing and locking automatically behind him. Inside the Comm area the signals officers allowed looks of disgust to surface.

“Arrogant bastard,” Prensol spat out. “He just writes off Lormar. ‘Oh, we can take it back later,’” she mimicked the officious tone of the departed Lieutenant.

Signals Lieutenant Borcheb nodded his agreement. He looked at the small blonde woman, his eyes angry. “And what about First Fleet?” he demanded. “They’re running like hunted animals and we send no help? I have friends in First Fleet.”

He received nods from all around. First Fleet was their sister fleet and, until this sudden move against the Combine, they’d always operated in the same sector. Everyone knew at least one person on a ship now declared missing or destroyed.

“Okay, Gentlemen, Ladies, we have work to do. Sooner we finish what we have to finish here, sooner we get back to our friends.” Signals Commander Lerechin knew how far to let his people go. Now he reined them in. He wondered if Fleet Admiral Frelob had any idea of what he did to fleet morale by not sending even a squadron back to aid First Fleet. Not that it would make much difference at this point, Lerechin admitted to himself. It would take the better part of three weeks to get back to Lormar.

*

Fleet Admiral Frelob paced the floor of his cabin. When Flag Captain Glerchin entered, Frelob came to a halt in front of his aide. “Captain,” he acknowledged Glerchin. “How goes the fleet?”

“Sir, we are moving fast in close formation. We will enter normal space on time and ready.”

Frelob sighed, the hairs of his white moustache flailing in the breeze, “That’s not what I meant, Captain.”

“The crews are angry, sir, that we send no help back to Lormar.”

“And they blame me?” It was more a statement than a question, but his inflection made it a question nonetheless.

“You are the Fleet Admiral, sir.”

Glerchin was a good officer, but a little bit of a ‘yes man’, thought Frelob absently. Of course they blamed him, and not just because of his rank. He had a reputation for being a cold, hard commander, he knew. An unjust reputation, for he merely did the necessary without showing emotion. He had the responsibility to win with as few casualties as possible. If that meant sacrificing some ships and crews, then he would sacrifice those ships and crews—for the greater good.

“We keep on, Captain. No use sending back ships we may need to achieve our objective in order to placate some disaffected crewmembers with the idea that we are sending help—which cannot arrive in time no matter what.”

“Aye, sir,” Captain Glerchin responded. He thought himself lucky that the Fleet Admiral could not read his mind. He, too, had many friends in First Fleet.

CHAPTER 20

SEARCHER, IN HYPERSPACE

“Sub-Lieutenant Parenner, report.”

The Sub-Lieutenant, one of the four extra officers and twenty extra crew bringing Searcher up to its war complement, stiffened. He had graduated early from the Academy and didn’t feel ready for this. Being left alone on the bridge had him shaking. He gratefully vacated the chair to Lieutenant Krirtol.

“Nothing on detectors, sir. No new messages directed to us from Lormar. We have decoded several messages from other Fleet units. They are on stick, sir.” He handed her the stick. She seemed so confident, so sure of herself. He wished he could be like that.

“Thank you, Sub-Lieutenant, I have the con.” She edged closer to the young man and lowered her voice so only he could hear. “Relax, Parenner. Pretend it is a simulation in the Academy. These Spacers are looking to you for leadership. If it looks like you are panicking, they will panic.” Fat chance, Krirtol thought to herself. The mostly seasoned crew, with the possible exception of some of the new ones, would continue doing their jobs whether or not Sub-Lieutenant Parenner relaxed, panicked or slept. “Just remember, if anything at all comes up, call for reinforcements. The Captain, Lieutenant Weytok or I will be up here in less than a minute. Otherwise, trust your crew to do their jobs, and try to look comfortable. If you give an order, sound confident. Easy.” She smiled gently at the boy.

The boy, only three years younger than Krirtol’s twenty-two, tried gamely to return her smile. It didn’t really work too well.

“Check the navcomp. It’s almost time for a course change, Sub.”

“Aye, sir.”

Keep him busy, Krirtol thought. Don’t give him time to think. As soon as he’d completed the check, not realizing that she watched his work from her own screen, she told him to order the change in course. She tried to keep from laughing as she saw him brace himself, then call out the order.

“Aye, sir,” Spacer Tumjut, now on helm, replied without batting an eye. He, too, knew how vulnerable such a youngster could be. “Steady on new course, sir.”

“Very good,” Parenner granted. Tumjut choked back a laugh.

“Sir, new message. From Tempest to Lormar Prime Alpha: ‘Last of shuttles leaving Asteroids for liners. Eight Tlartox warships dropped. Am engaging.’”

“Captain to bridge.”

TEMPEST, TRIDEX ASTEROIDS

“Action Stations!” The gong sounded throughout the ship. Taglini looked at his screen. Eight modern Tlartox frigates. He shuddered. At least no cruisers backed them.

“Send message to the liners: ‘As soon as shuttles on board, jump!’”

“Aye, sir.”

Taglini went to Tween-ship. Gentlemen, we will engage the enemy. Squadron maneuvers.”

“Captain Fronel, are you ready?”

“Aye, sir. Weapons free-fire?”

“Weapons free-fire, Captain.”

Lowegtoten caught that and selected his primary and secondary targets. He grimaced at the screen. Definitely no shortage of targets. Now, doing them any real damage was another matter. His gunners reported ready. They stood by in case the targeting computers failed. He looked up to see the Commodore and Captain relaxed as if this were an everyday occurrence. Maybe they did have a chance.

“Squadron at full speed, Commodore, closing the enemy.”

Taglini nodded, suddenly caught by the memory of the painting in Admiral Knerden’s Flagship—the one showing Starburst in action at Plillinth. Ship to ship battle, in general, took place at a distance. Having two vessels in the same painting stretched the imagination. The five vessels in Knerden’s painting strained credulity. It was, however, as he’d noted at the time, a stylized vision. He wondered if a Tlartox commander would commission a similar painting after this battle.

“Begin course changes.”

All five of Taglini’s ships synched to Tempest’s navcomp and followed her course changes instantly.

“Twenty degrees to port,” Taglini ordered. Five seconds later, “Five degrees starboard, five degrees rise.”

At these distances, only precisely aimed weapons had a chance of hitting their targets. A quickly jinking course made it near impossible for an enemy to hit them. Their computers, would, however, calculate patterns, their guns firing in salvos. Taglini hoped to keep changing course unpredictably as rapidly as possible to keep the Tlartox off balance.

On the flip side, their own guns would also have little chance to hit the enemy. Weapons took time to train and his rapid course adjustments, now that he’d engaged the random number generator, came too quickly for this.

Gunnery Lieutenant Lowegtoten swore under his breath.

“Guns,” the Captain’s voice was soft.

“Sorry, sir.” Apparently he’d not sworn as quietly as he’d thought.

“Guns.” More insistent this time.

“Sir?”

“Go to manual control. Near misses will suffice. Anything to keep them interested.”

Lowegtoten smiled. “Aye, sir. Weapons, manual control.” He took personal control of forward weapon alpha.

*

The Confederation ships were mad, Captain Tlerenca decided. What else could account for the wild star dance she witnessed? She split her force into two hands of four and tried to box the enemy in, but even that proved difficult. Tlerenca could discern no pattern, no reason for the course changes, other than to confuse her gunners.

“Blast!” One of the three liners had winked out. Now it made sense. They only tried to delay her.

“Flen’s Claw, take the liners,” she ordered the other hand-leader. She bared her teeth. Suddenly the Confederation ships entered more of a pattern, trying to keep themselves between the liners and her ships. Full fire streaked from Flen’s Claw to one of the Confederation ships and it fell out of formation.

“Torpedoes!” Tlerenca’s detection officer cried out.

“Signature!” Tlerenca ordered.

“Confederation type 39.”

Tlerenca relaxed. Not a problem. She glanced at the screen. Her pupils slitted. Something was amiss. These torpedoes moved too slowly for type 39s. Some had already been destroyed when a bloom caught her eye.

“Type 60s,” screamed her detection officer.

“Evade! Full defensive fire.”

Too late. The crafty Confederation humans had sent type 60 torpedoes with maskers to simulate type 39s. Half way to their targets, the maskers detached and the type 60s fully engaged.

Compensators failed as her ship went on wild gyrations that made the Confederation ships’ maneuvers look tame by comparison. A quick glance at her screen showed Flen’s Claw dead in space, tumbling end over end. Two other of her ships suffered major damage, one declaring itself out-of-action.

“Kill them,” she raged. Their torpedoes expended, these old hulks could not match their powerful Tlartox adversaries. “Close range and kill them.” She glowered as the second freighter winked out.

*

It was like a ballet, Taglini thought, though of an untamed sort. His squadron, now minus Tornado, jinked and twisted through space. The Tlartox danced in counterpoint, a more sedate movement. Weapons fire glittered between them, tying the two together.

He wondered briefly about Mesicsah, one time lover and now grandmother, captain of the disabled ship. She had not, Taglini noticed as his head rocked with the newest course change, declared her ship out-of-action. All comm dead, no doubt.

“Engineering reports all systems in red.”

“Remind Engineering that we are in a bit of a do.” Fronel remained Fronel, even in this situation.

Taglini felt useless. While the random course generator controlled the vessels, a Commodore had nothing to do. The Captain had his ship to fight, each of the crew their jobs. He just went along for the ride.

“Enemy fire incoming!”

Tempest rocked with a hit that killed its shields. It was only a matter of time, Taglini realized. Only a matter of time. But the grand old ladies of his squadron remained nimble and Tlartox frustration grew. One of their number tried to get too close, and fire from Cyclone and Tempest smashed into it during a split second when they synched, straight and level.

Lowegtoten alternately swore and laughed, blaspheming with fluidity or crowing as his shots missed or hit their targets. Captain Fronel said nothing, merely sat watching and giving the occasional order, and Taglini intervened in the computer’s random course changes only when they took them too far out of line from the freighters.

“Galley reports that if we keep this up supper will be late, sir!”

They still had it in them to laugh, and Taglini joined in. So many good men and women. He kept his attention on his screen, ready to take back command from the computer at a moment’s notice. The squadron turned back on itself, momentarily losing their Tlartox pursuers.

“Battery Bravo down, sir.”

“Very good.”

Everyone ignored Tornado, drifting disabled in space. The squadron rocketed past her with four Tlartox frigates in hot pursuit. Tornado’s weapons came to life smashing through a frigate’s shields and blasting holes in her hull.

“Yes!” Taglini yelled with a wild elation that evaporated as Tlartox beams cut Tornado to pieces. Taglini looked up straight into Fronel’s eyes. Their gazes locked momentarily, then both looked away.

The third and final freighter winked out, and Taglini’s squadron was free to run. But the luck which had sustained them ran out. Cyclone caught a blast that killed her engines, sending her spinning on her final trajectory. Only three left, Taglini thought.

“Forward detectors out.”

An alarm screamed. “Hull breach.”

“Squadron released!” Taglini ordered and each ship was now on its own, each captain able to do what he or she could to escape.

Typhoon made an impossibly sharp turn and aimed itself at the Tlartox frigate that targeted the helpless Cyclone. Taglini closed his eyes. A suicide run, he knew. But Neco could not stand by and watch Llemartol’s ship die alone.

“Aft guns out of action,”

“Very good. Helm, try and keep our bow to the enemy, if you will.” With more than one enemy, Helm wondered how he was going to accomplish that.

“Typhoon hit.”

Taglini opened his eyes and stared at the screen. Neco and Typhoon would not die unwitnessed. Neco had Typhoon’s weapons set on full pulse, and fire poured between the Tlartox frigate and her. The range point-blank, both ships took mortal blows and Taglini felt the tears coming to his eyes. It just wasn’t fair. Class-C frigates shouldn’t have to do this duty. Only a day ago, Neco had told him about how his children—the newly graduated spacers—had performed, how proud he was of them.

The tears rolled down Taglini’s cheeks. He, too, was proud, proud of all of them. More than could be reasonably asked, he thought.

“Sections five, six and seven sealed.”

“Engineering reports two engines down.”

Typhoon broke into two pieces.

“Hurricane hit, sir.” Taglini couldn’t take his eyes from the scanner, but he no longer saw it. In his mind he saw the pages of his yearbook, the scroll of dead men and women.

“Ships dropping!”

“Ours or theirs?” Captain Fronel remained calm and in control.

“Not ours.”

“Make signal to Lormar. ‘Freighters away. Overwhelming odds. All the best.’”

Taglini closed his eyes again. They had done their duty. More than could be reasonably asked. It was over.

SEARCHER

Lieutenant-Commander Mart Britlot sat stone-faced as he received the final transmission from Taglini’s squadron. Now Searcher stood next in the line between the Asteroids and Lormar. He called upon his crew for greater vigilance.

“I’ll take the con,” Lieutenant Weytok told him softly. She knew that if anyone had been a father figure for Britlot, it had been Taglini. Taglini had believed in him enough to send him out with a brand new scoutship, even if he hadn’t believed in the mission. Now, Taglini was dead or captured.

“You have the con,” Britlot agreed, his voice devoid of emotion. He stumbled from the bridge and headed for his cabin. Once inside, he lay on his pit and stared at the ceiling.

Britlot didn’t know how long he lay there before he fell to sleep. Sleep didn’t help. Troubled dreams of dying ships filled it. He woke to Lieutenant Krirtol’s voice. “Captain to the bridge.”

Krirtol stood and vacated the Captain’s chair as Britlot stepped onto the bridge. He looked like hell, she thought. Not enough sleep and what sleep he’d had had been in his clothes. Even his face appeared rumpled and creased.

“Report.” His voice, at least, remained calm, untroubled.

“Three blips, sir. They are riding the path between the Pensor system and Lormar,” Krirtol answered him.

“Probably the converted freighters Taglini saved.” Britlot surmised. “Send a signal to Lormar. Check if they want us to shadow them or remain here.” He waited while Dhine sent the signal. “They’ll want us to remain here,” he predicted. “Lormar can handle those three, even if they are enemy.”

The three showed no beacons, keeping their profiles as small as possible. Britlot didn’t blame them. He’d have done the same in their position.

“Signal from Lormar.” Dhine handed the stick to Krirtol.

“You were correct, sir. We remain on station.”

Britlot nodded. He made rounds of the bridge and then, with nothing for him to do, he left for the galley. He could stand a bite to eat.

*

Krirtol finished her watch and handed over to Sub-Lieutenant Parenner. She headed for the galley.

“Lieutenant Weytok, how’s lunch?”

“Good, as usual, Natya. Have a seat.” The food was nothing special, but Weytok noticed Tetjuin in earshot and made her comment accordingly. “Anything new?”

“Nothing since the liners.” Natya glanced around. They were alone now. “How’s Mart, Feneya?”

“Took it hard. He’ll recover. He has to. I remember when he was at the …”

“Action Stations!” Sub-Lieutenant Parenner’s nervous voice came across the ISB moments before the alarm sounded.

The two Lieutenants sprang from the table and entered the bridge only moments before Britlot came in on the fly, his jacket still open.

“Who called Action Stations?” he demanded.

Krirtol and Weytok looked at each other then to Parenner, who confessed, “I did.”

“Report, Sub.”

“There’s a whole lot of blips coming our way fast, sir.”

“I see.” Britlot made his way to a detector. The Subbie made no error. He counted forty-plus blips there and more appeared as time passed. “Very well, Sub, I have the con.”

“You have the con, sir.”

“Secure from Action Stations.”

“Secure from Action Stations, aye.”

Sub-Lieutenant Parenner looked mortified. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled.

Britlot put a puzzled look on his face. “Sorry for what, Sub? You made a decision based on your experience. Oh, I see,” he interrupted himself. “Sorry for waking me. Can’t be helped Sub. That’s why I get paid my king’s ransom every month. Lieutenant Weytok, a signal to Lormar Prime Alpha would be in order. Helm, keep us ahead of them and on the same course. No need to ask their heading, I suppose.”

“Direct to Lormar,” Tumjut replied.

CHAPTER 21

LORM, LORMAR

Smoke rose from the burning buildings, and Relnie Fronel closed the curtain against the sight. The sun lowered, and the evening breeze carried the aroma of blooming flowers from the garden. Luck had them upwind of the burning buildings. Before the winds shifted, she had remained inside with all the windows closed. Relnie checked the perimeter intruder alarms. All remained quiet.

During construction, Relnie had thought Lemm paranoid. Now she blessed his foresight—and him, wherever he might be. The not knowing wore her down, as it had before Lemm retired. She looked to the sky. Soon the stars would appear and she would commune with them, as she did every night he remained away.

“Mom, news is on the vid again,” Colli sang out.

“Be right there,” she called back, not wanting to but knowing that the family wanted her presence. Little Melsie was already in bed. What a world to grow up in.

The news repeated what they all knew, reporting on more riots and looting. However, as the people began to accept the fact of abandonment, they showed more sullenness and less violence. A curfew had been set and most citizens obeyed it. Even so, they heard whispers of martial law.

“And this just in,” the announcer spoke. “Fleet has successfully evacuated the miners and their families from the Tridex Asteroid Mining Consortium. They escaped, however, by the skin of their teeth. Here’s Captain Nrentol of the Liner Nralhorn.”

A portly man wearing a peaked merchant spacer cap appeared on screen. His chins bobbed when he talked. “The last shuttles carrying the miners had almost reached Nralhorn when Tlartox warships dropped insystem. Our escort went out to meet them, giving us our chance to load and escape. We saw a furious fight. At least one of our ships was crippled.” His nervous aspect betrayed his unease in front of the cameras.

“Do you know which ship, Captain Nrentol? Can you tell our viewers anything more?” Relnie hated this obsequious type of reporter.

“I’m afraid not. We jumped before the fight ended. However, I’m happy to tell you that we brought away every single person from the Asteroids—all alive and well.”

“Thank you, Captain, for taking such good care of them. Tell us, where are you off to now?”

“We shall leave for Krevost immediately.” He looked more relieved to be at the end of the interview than to be leaving Lormar space.

“Thank you, Captain. Back to the studio.”

“Fleet confirms they fought an action at the Asteroids, but has maintained silence as regards its outcome. We can only suspect the worst.”

Relnie slipped from the room. Lemm had slyly intimated that Fleet had assigned his squadron the Asteroid duty. She began to pray.

*

Rear Admiral Cenet prepared to leave Lormar Prime Alpha for Honor. He had deployed his fleet to protect the four Prime stations as best it could, but any fight would be short and one-sided. Britlot reported sixty-plus vessels incoming. He had forty-three old frigates plus Honor to meet them. In the Prime, a mad rush ensued as technicians swarmed aboard available transport to get out before the Tlartox arrived. Panic would better describe the situation, Cenet thought grimly.

He had recalled the two modern frigates, Telprist and Renvolt. They might arrive before the Tlartox fleet, but likely not. He had the emergence beacon moved again. Commodore Prusnol’s squadron guarded the zone. As if the Tlartox would be so foolish as to drop there.

Cenet grimaced as he entered the shuttle. Another three days and they might have completed the evacuation. Another three days and this battle would have proved unnecessary. His fleet could have retreated, the Primes destroyed. Now he would have to fight. However, instead of evacuating the technicians to Krevost, they now headed to the surface of Lormar. Not exactly what the techs desired.

Still wrapped in his thoughts, he boarded Honor and strode to the bridge. A tense crew awaited him. They knew that the brunt of the battle would fall upon them from the beginning. Honor was the only ship capable of standing up to a Tlartox cruiser or frigate with a good chance of surviving. The Tlartox would target them first.

“Emergence signal coming through,” his Comm Lieutenant reported. “Signal identifies as Searcher.”

“That’ll be young Britlot. Signal him as soon as he drops. We need to know everything he knows.”

It did not take long. Sixty-plus ships were half an hour behind him. No beacons.

“Send a signal to Fleet Headquarters,” Cenet ordered.

Moments later the Comm-Op reported back. “They’ve jammed all channels to Krevost, sir.”

*

“Good to see you, Captain Tetwucan,” Commander Meehknet of Prime Station Alpha greeted him.

“Thought perhaps you could use another hand,” the Captain offered. Foremost remained docked, under repair. Another day and she would have joined the fight. However, attached to the station, with her guns manned, she represented a welcome adjunct to station defenses.

“We’re just about to call Action Stations, sir.”

“This is your station, Commander. You know it best. Just tell me what to do.”

Commander Meehknet relaxed. The last thing he needed was a ranking officer trying to take control. “If you would report to the auxiliary command center, we’ll divide the defense of the station between us. I’ll take port; you take starboard. If either of us goes down the other’ll take over.”

“Fair enough. Thank you, Commander, I appreciate it.”

“Be ready for evacuation to the surface. We just fight until we empty the station. Warn those aboard Foremost.”

“Aye, I’ll do that.”

Captain Tetwucan walked quickly to the auxiliary command post and took over from a grateful Lieutenant. He looked around. None appeared in the mood to even consider making the usual pre-battle jokes. Everyone knew what awaited them. Tetwucan made up his mind. He would not evacuate. At the end he would head for Foremost, kick her free from the station and man a battery until destroyed.

“Well, Gentlemen, Ladies, let me introduce myself. I am Captain Tetwucan of Foremost. I suppose you are wondering why I called this meeting.” It was an old joke, a lame joke, the only one he could think of. A few smiles cracked.

*

“Reports from the Capital City Space Port suggest that shuttles are bringing down the crews from the Prime Stations.” The reporter looked lost. “We can only surmise that the Tlartox are about to arrive. The mayor has declared martial law and all citizens are ordered to remain in their domiciles. If not already there, they are ordered to return to them. More information as we receive it.” Tears began streaming down the reporter’s face before the camera shifted to another shuttle lifting off.

*

Inside Ydralin’s Bar, a hoot rose at the report of martial law. If the Tlartox were coming, they’d watch it on the vid while enjoying wine and beer. Rensol joined the laugh and held tightly to the woman he would spend the night with. She was a busty one and he cupped a breast. She snugged into him and raised a glass of beer in a toast.

“To martial law!” They laughed together.

He should be working his overtime shift, but not today. Having finished the torpedo guidance heads, a harried Fleet officer had picked them up with thanks. Then, Trel had declared that the factory closed until things sorted themselves out. That meant after the Tlartox decided what they wanted to do with the planet, Rensol thought. Ah, well, it had been a good life.

*

Desk Sergeant Welt Clornol hit the alarm once again. He was weary of it all. “A mob in defiance of the martial law decree has begun forming near the Lormar Bank Building. All available officers report in riot gear.”

“Again?” Constable Broolner groaned as he looked at the vid. The mob looked like it wouldn’t settle for shouting. Already, he saw glass breaking. Broolner and his comrades jumped into their cruisers and headed for the scene.

The situation looked bad when they arrived. The mob had armed itself with sticks and rods. Broolner looked at the thin line of officers. They’d be lucky to be able to handle this. Trouble was, he felt for the people. Fleet had a lot to answer for.

Sergeant Paxon pulled out his loudhailer and told the crowd to disperse. That only seemed to enrage them.

SEARCHER

Lieutenant-Commander Britlot ordered Action Stations. The crew didn’t move. They were already there.

“All weapons powered up, Captain.”

“Shields up, Captain.”

“Engineering, Captain, we are ready for full power manoeuvring. Just give us the word.”

Britlot smiled at Weytok, his eyes closing briefly. “Well, Feneya, here we go.”

Lieutenant Weytok smiled at Britlot’s breach of etiquette. “Aye, Mart, here we go,” she responded. They looked into each other’s eyes. Too late, she thought. But at least now I know. With death riding the beam into Lormar past differences seemed petty.

“We’ll kick Tlartox ass, Captain,” Gunnery Spacer Dorvon declared. “Four 60s up a cruiser’s tail pipe,” he predicted.

“Aye, Spacer, that we’ll do.”

A heavy silence fell. Britlot suspected it would be the same all over the fleet. Final prayers offered to whatever gods might be listening.

“Emergence signal,” called out Dhine.

“Emergence signal?” In the vicinity, Britlot moved Searcher to join Commodore Prusnol’s squadron. A face came on the vid.

“Glad to see you, Britlot. Looking for a little fun?”

“It has been a dull day, sir,” Britlot replied.

*

“Emergence signal?” Commander Meehknet queried. “Is it from Telprist or Renvolt?”

“No, sir. No identity. Could be a Tlartox trick, sir.”

“If it is, Prusnol’ll take care of it. Get me vids on the zone. All weapons prepare for free-fire.”

“Weapons ready, aye.” The gunnery officer looked as if he’d already made his peace with whatever gods he had. Meehknet glanced around the command room. Everyone waited with dread. They all knew what was coming, what it meant.

The emergence beacon, half in hyperspace half in normal space sounded an emergence warning. Something was coming through.

It appeared as if an opaque window opened and the blunt hammerhead bows of a huge warship began sliding into normal space. Small turrets on the hammerhead pointed directly ahead.

More of the vessel emerged, gliding slowly through the portal. Huge turrets on her dorsal and anterior surfaces appeared, superimposed so that massive fire could be directed forwards.

“What the hell is that?” asked Meehknet.

“Priority message incoming.”

CHAPTER 22

LORMAR SPACE

“What in the realm of Chaos is that?” Captain Brinlerd of Honor asked as the end of the warship emerged from hyperspace. A tall spar rose from its dorsal surface and, as it passed the emergence beacon’s camera, the image of a large flag scrolled out along its hull.

“My god,” Rear Admiral Cenet gasped. “It’s a battleship. Restigouche class if memory serves. Look at that flag. It’s the 22nd!”

“Priority message from Searcher, sir. Message reads: Hold fire. These are friendlies.”

Muted gasps sounded around the bridge of Honor as lights suddenly lit the huge ship. The camera focused on the side of the ship where lights outlined the ship’s name.

“My god,” Cenet repeated, awed. “It is Restigouche, herself.”

“There’s another!”

A second hammerhead bow appeared from the precise spot where Restigouche had appeared. Ships did not drop from hyperspace thus, yet thus they dropped. No ghost-echoes here.

From Restigouche’s mast, a large sail appeared.

“Rear Admiral?” Brinlerd questioned.

“Solar collectors. I recall that ships of that era had problems running their equipment if all engines weren’t on-line. They must be powering down.”

“Relax from Action Stations, sir?”

Cenet started visibly. He shook his head in disbelief, keeping his eyes fixed to the screen. “Aye. Relax from Action Stations.” He paused. “Put this on every screen throughout the ship, Captain.”

A succession of three heavy cruisers appeared one by one, the historians and enthusiasts in the ship excitedly naming classes.

*

Rensol had his fourth beer in hand when the vid-screen went blank, only to be replaced by the Fleet insignia. A chorus of jeers filled the tavern.

“First man to throw anything at my vid-screen gets this!” the proprietor roared, standing upon the bar smacking a heavy iron bar into his hand. The crowd silenced for a moment, acknowledging his right.

“Another beer over here,” came a call and then it was back to the discussions.

“What’s your name, dear,” Rensol decided to ask.

“Plennie,” the buxom woman answered. Her face was drawn. She indicated the screen. “This is it, isn’t it?”

“Don’t worry, love, you’re with me.” They both laughed.

*

Broolner knew the mob was about to attack. He braced himself for the shock to come. What a futile way to go out, protecting a bank.

“Ready, men, ready,” called the sergeant. Broolner wished they were allowed to use deadly force; for, sure enough, there would be dead officers here in less than a minute.

The crowd had paused, readying for the rush. Then people began pointing behind him. He took a quick glance over his shoulder. The Bank Building vid-screen displayed the Fleet Logo. Then the picture came on, showing a massive vessel appearing in space. The speakers came to life. Broolner had never heard them active before. Usually only captions appeared.

“What you see…”

*

As destroyer after destroyer filed past in review, Commander Meehknet stood down his station. His hands, he noted in passing, trembled. He would not, it appeared, die this day. Cenet canceled evacuation to the surface and recalled the two shuttles, just released and on their way down.

“Lieutenant Rensler, emergency satellite control of vid, if you please.”

Rensler looked up. Fleet had never before taken control of all the satellites’ vid channels, though they possessed that capability. They would effectively control every vid screen on the planet.”

“Control taken, sir. Standard Fleet insignia playing on all channels.” He hoped the Commander knew what he did. There would be hell to pay, whatever.

“Very good, Lieutenant. Now play the data record from the emergence cam. Start it from just before that battleship came through. Do a commentary yourself.”

“Me, sir?”

“You’re the Comm expert. Communicate with our people. Let them know that reinforcements have arrived. We are no longer alone.”

“Aye, sir.”

*

“Mom!”

“What is it, Colli?”

“Come see this. Fleet has requisitioned the vid. Every channel.”

Relnie didn’t want to go back in. It could only mean more bad news. “Okay, I’m coming.”

The whole family sat before the screen, with the exception of Melsie who slept. For three minutes they saw only the Fleet symbol and heard only the Fleet intro music. Then a voice began.

“Gentlemen, Ladies, uh, fellow citizens. This is Lieutenant Rensler of Fleet Communications. We are about to show you a vid we began recording only minutes ago. We are still recording. This vid comes from the emergence camera.”

The screen showed a starfield. Then, suddenly, a blunt hammerhead shape came into the picture.

“What you see is the emergence of a battleship. The Battleship Restigouche of the Adian Navy.” The massive warship filled the screen. The camera zoomed in on the stylized unfurling flag. “That flag is the flag of the old 22nd Fleet—the Vandoo. For those of you who are not up on your history, the Vandoo left the Confederation with the Adian nation nearly 300 years ago. We believed that all had been destroyed. As you can see, we erred.

“The Adians, or at least their fleet, have returned.” Rensler’s voice stopped and a second battleship came through, followed by what the announcer called a heavy cruiser, then a second, then a third. Then destroyer after destroyer filed past.

Relnie counted twelve destroyers before the screen remained blank. Seventeen ships. No, another huge hammerhead appeared.

“The Battleship Vindicateur,” Lieutenant Rensler continued calling out names. “The Heavy Cruiser Valeur, the light cruiser Meratie, the Destroyer…”

*

A large crowd now gathered in front of the Lormar Bank Building. Police with batons, who just moments before had faced them down as a mob, now joined them, looking up at the giant vid-screen.

The expected appearance of the Tlartox had shocked everyone to stillness. The unexpected held the crowd motionless. Broolner glanced over at Sergeant Paxon, unsurprised to see tears rolling down his face, for his own cheeks were wet.

*

Relnie looked at her son, daughter, son-in-law, and daughter-in-law. Tears filled their eyes. Maybe hope existed yet. But it was too late and she couldn’t find any tears or joy.

Rensler ceased looking at the real-time record. He concentrated on the vid he was commenting on. “Now, this looks like a troop ship. And another.” A strange looking ship appeared. “My identification disc tells me that is a towing vessel. My god!”

Relnie looked back to the screen. Following what Rensler called the towing vessel came the unmistakable shape of a Confederation frigate. Clearly written on its side they saw the name, “Tempest”. Relnie’s eyes clouded over and she didn’t see Hurricane and Cyclone towed past the camera.

“The Confederation vessels you just saw were in the battle for Tridex Asteroids. We believed them lost in the battle. Again, we appear to have erred. Badly damaged, yes, destroyed, no.”

Yet another battleship came through and another. More cruisers and destroyers followed, along with supply ships and scouts.

“Fellow citizens of the Confederation. We have just received a message from Restigouche. Here it is.”

A slight woman wearing a high-collared, dark blue, double-breasted uniform jacket appeared. Grey streaked her black hair.

“My name is Fleet Admiral Fenton of the Adian Navy. For too long we have been away from our home world, Lormar. We have returned. We look forward to visiting places which figure large in our history. We are not going anywhere, soon.”

*

The stunned silence in the bar broke with a roar. Rensol pulled Plennie’s face close to his own. “Let’s go upstairs,” he suggested.

Plennie looked at him blankly for a moment, then a soft smile came to her. “We are alive, aren’t we?”

“Very,” he smiled back. Her eyes brightened. “Let’s go.” Together they rose and slipped up the stairs to the room he’d rented.

*

“She came.” Lieutenant-Commander Britlot watched the screen as intently as did all the others. Weytok smiled and nodded.

“You know her?” Sub-Lieutenant Parenner asked, incredulously.

“Aye, Sub, we met her.” Britlot smiled widely. They had come! The Adians had come.

“Look! Another battleship!”

The officers returned their attention to the screen. Following the battleship came another heavy cruiser and four destroyers.

“Look, Captain.” Weytok pointed at the second destroyer.

The vid-cam’s close-up showed her name. Winter Sky.

“Captain, we have a message coming in from Winter Sky, sir.”

“Put it on screen.”

“Lieutenant Weytok, good to see you again. We decided to see how the Confederation Navy plays host.” Captain Rellos grinned at her.

Weytok blushed. “You will never let me forget that remark, will you, sir?”

The Captain laughed. “Of course not, Lieutenant. Captain Britlot, you have an able first officer.”

“Aye, Captain, I do. Welcome to Lormar. Perhaps, if you have the time, you could come and dine with us.”

“I suspect you will be rather busy, Captain. However, I’d be more than pleased to dine with Lieutenant Weytok.” He turned to the side and listened to something for a moment before turning back. “One of my officers would enjoy accompanying me. Would that cause any difficulties?”

“None at all, sir,” Lieutenant Weytok replied, hoping that his companion would be whom she suspected it would be. That was secondary, however, to what she had just seen. The arrival of the Adians had changed Britlot. He no longer seemed to carry the weight of the Confederation on his back.

*

“Ah, Britlot. Good of you to join us.” Rear Admiral Cenet greeted him as he entered the large conference room. Within, stood Commodores Taglini and Prusnol, several other officers whose names he did not know and Fleet Admiral Fenton and her staff. He recognized Commodore Cetph and Captain Kaldon from their short meeting on Adia.

The Fleet Admiral came to greet him. “Commander. Good of you to invite us to this party. From what the Rear Admiral tells me, it will be a lively one.”

Lieutenant-Commander Britlot smiled back, wondering why she had elevated his rank. “Fleet Admiral Fenton, we are very glad you could make it.” He glanced at Taglini, deep in conversation with Commodore Cetph. “And my personal thanks for bringing my Commodore back with you.”

The Fleet Admiral waved off his thanks. “Our pleasure. And congratulations on your promotion.”

Britlot looked to the Rear Admiral who nodded. “Thank you, Fleet Admiral, I’ll do my best to do it justice.” Commander or not, he still felt very tense around Admirals and was relieved as the Rear Admiral escorted the Fleet Admiral to meet a new arrival.

A hand clapped down upon his shoulder. He turned to see a full captain with a heavy black beard and bushy brows staring hard at him.

“Sir?”

“So, Commander Britlot, I hear you are responsible for our visitors.”

“Yes and no, Captain…”

“Voerneus of the Frigate Ronis. Yes and no?”

“My ship discovered their existence. Their appearance here is their own decision. It surprised me as much as any other here—perhaps more.”

Captain Voerneus raised one of his bushy brows. He drifted over to a corner where they wouldn’t be overheard. “As much a boost for morale as this is, you know those old ships won’t stand a chance in a modern battle, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I do. I explained that to the Adians and I believed they understood. Hell, I stated it outright.”

Voerneus relaxed. “Ah. Then it is upon them. Good. Hoped you hadn’t tricked them. Still, if they want to commit suicide along with us in our Bs and Cs, well, the more the merrier. Come, let’s get some good seats.”

*

The Fleet Admiral appeared angry. “You would give up Lormar without a fight?” she demanded.

“Orders from Fleet HQ,” Rear Admiral Cenet confirmed. “We are to stand by until the four Primes are evacuated, sabotage them and leave.”

“I see.” Fenton looked thoughtful. “I have ten thousand Adian Marines with me who are doubtless tired of their quarters aboard the troopships. They desire rest and relaxation ashore. Will that cause a problem?”

Cenet appeared lost. What had this to do with the other? “Those in uniform are not entirely welcome planetside at the moment, sir,” he told her diplomatically.

“I suppose not, with Fleet preparing to abandon them to Tlartox mercies.” Cenet flushed. “However, as we intend to remain here, I don’t think that will be a difficulty. The troops will need bases of operation. The four Primes will do nicely. There appears to be a good deal of empty space at the moment. As you are giving up the Primes, we will claim them as salvage.”

“I don’t think you understand, Fleet Admiral,” Cenet began carefully. “The full weight of perhaps seven fleets will be brought to bear on Lormar—”

“Good. Then we shall have no lack of targets for my ships.”

A general laugh went up. Rear Admiral Cenet was torn. All in the conference room could see it. He, however, had his orders. A thought came to him.

“You understand, Fleet Admiral, that I am here to see to the evacuation of the Primes?”

“Do you understand that you may evacuate your people, but mine will stay,” Fleet Admiral Fenton felt her frustration rising with this Confederation puppet.

“My orders,” Cenet said slowly and distinctly for all to hear, “say that I am to remain here until the four Primes have been evacuated.”

Enough was enough. Glaring at him, Fenton ground out, “And I tell you that…” The words drifted away and she smiled for the first time. “Ah, I understand.” She decided she could get to like this man. “Captain Kaldon, if you would see to the debarkation of the Marines and tell the captains of the fleet to arrange shuttles for shore leave.”

Rear Admiral Cenet smiled genuinely for the first time in days. “Commander Meehknet, if you would liaise with Captain Kaldon on behalf of the Primes.” Suddenly he felt much younger than he had in years. “And have the able Lieutenant Rensler arrange a press conference.”

*

“Following the decision of the Adian Fleet to remain and guard Lormar, the Adian Admiral, Fenton, has made known the wishes of the troops and spacers of her fleet to come down and visit Lormar. At the news conference, Admiral Fenton handed out a list of the places which her people wished to see.” The reporter showed a sheaf of paper to the camera. “As you can see, the list is extensive—from the Capital City to some very small villages. I think I can speak for all of Lormar in saying that the men and women of the 22nd Fleet are welcome here.” She smiled at the camera for a moment, then her expression turned serious once more.

“We did some digging and found that the 22nd Fleet, the so-called Vandoo, had a reputation. It never, and I repeat never, lost a battle. The 22nd never retreated.” She stared into the camera for several long seconds. “I think that is all that needs be said.

“Meanwhile, Rear Admiral Cenet of the Confederation Navy has told us of his determination to follow his orders to the letter. His orders state he is to remain here until the four prime stations of Lormar are evacuated. As the Adians will occupy those four stations, he—and Tenth Fleet—will remain.

“In further news, Martial Law and the curfews have been lifted.”

*

Within an hour of the end of the news conference a new optimism spread over Lormar. Incidents of violence and vandalism diminished, and people returned to their work sites.

Within two hours, the first of the Adian Marines and Spacers had landed on Lormar to a hero’s welcome. The mayor of Brevniz, a small town of some 438 people, was surprised and gratified to find that eight marines had picked his town for their shore leave. The entire town came out to meet them and the marines lacked for nothing. Council set up tours to neighboring farms and arranged a town picnic.

*

Commander Meehknet no longer started at the sight of the dark blue uniforms nor the sound of the archaic accents. Everywhere, it seemed, Adian Marines and spacers worked, wiring up Prime Alpha. In several compartments in which they’d been working, Meehknet had been unable to discover differences, though he knew they’d carried full boxes of components in and empty ones out.

When asked what they were doing, a Marine captain told him, “We’re preparing for the defense of Prime Alpha, sir.” At his puzzled look, the man elaborated. “In case the Tlartox decide to board her, sir. We want to be ready to give them the greeting they deserve.” It explained nothing. Meehknet just shook his head and went about his own duties.

The Adians occupied the main Comm room and sent a steady signal to the satellites for downbeam to the planet. They had returned most of the vid channels to their owners, but one channel on each satellite remained requisitioned for the Adians.

Nothing in Meehknet’s experience prepared him for the idea of military planning taking place before the cameras. The Adians appeared to have no feeling for security at all. Anyone on planet could tune in to the discussions and deliberations of the Adian staff, up to and including high-level meetings held by their Fleet Admiral.

Capitalizing on the arrival of the Adians, the vid companies disrupted their regular programming with interviews with Adian Marines and Spacers on leave in various locales.

Everyone wanted to see more.

CHAPTER 23

LORM, LORMAR

“Marine Major Coll Britlot, we understand that Confederation Commander Mart Britlot of Searcher is a distant relative of yours.”

Major Britlot gave the Britlot smile for the camera. “Correct. None were more surprised than I when the Commander appeared in Adian space. We’d thought no Britlots remained in the Confederation. Pleased to see him, though.”

“So this Adian connection was important in Adia coming back to Lormar to help us against the Tlartox?”

“Not at all, Poli—may I call you Poli? No, the Commander presented very persuasive arguments and we would have come no matter what his lineage.” Major Britlot glanced about, apprehensive at the number of cameras facing him.

“Tell us, Major, how did you feel when your troops received the order to embark for Lormar?”

“That is difficult to answer, since we received no such order. You see,” he explained to the blank faces, “every single man and woman here, whether Marine or Spacer, from lowest rank up to Fleet Admiral Fenton, volunteered. We came here because we want to be here.” He smiled again. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’d like to see the Museum of Natural History. I’ve read about it and always wanted to visit.”

For once Poli Jemrey, ace reporter, could find no words. “Thank you, Major Britlot,” she finally managed.

*

Relnie Fronel ran to meet her husband as he stepped down from the shuttlebus. “Oh, Lemm, thank the stars you’re back.”

After a long hug, Lemm Fronel introduced his traveling companion. “Relnie, I’d like you to meet Navy Captain Gren Tirog of the Adian light cruiser Meratie. The Captain and a few of his compatriots are the reason I’m back in one piece.”

Much to his embarrassment, Captain Tirog spent the next full minute in the tight embrace of Relnie Fronel, who kept whispering, “Thank you, thank you,” in his ear. Finally she relented.

“Yes, well, you are welcome, I’m sure. Not much difficulty when we outnumbered them ten to one. Fair surprised them, we did,” the Captain explained. “Lemm, you said you knew of a very nice tavern in the neighborhood?”

“Oh no you don’t either,” Relnie interrupted, not noticing the wink from Lemm to the Adian. “Lemm has a more than adequate wine cellar. You, Captain Tirog, will join us for a good home-cooked meal.”

“Might as well give it up, Captain. You’ve been captured.”

“Hmmm. Perhaps our policy of never surrendering needs rethinking,” the Adian replied, as Relnie took an arm of each man and led them to the waiting landcruiser.

STARBURST IN HYPERSPACE

Vice Admiral Knerden hated running. Yet he couldn’t shake the Tlartox vessels which hounded him through hyperspace, and until he did he could not stop. The eight ships of his squadron were but a fraction of what he’d started with, and that, too, hurt. It was he who had put the run on the Combine fleet at Plillinth. It was he who was touted as a master strategist. It was he, he remembered all too well, who had convinced the Admiral to attack the isolated Tlartox vessels at Cabrintoso.

A perfect opportunity, he’d convinced the now dead officer. What had turned out so disastrously should have gone so well—and perhaps it would have, had they attacked when he, Knerden, had wanted to. But no, the Admiral had wasted an entire day studying the situation, allowing the Tlartox time to bring reinforcements. If only they’d listened to him.

First Fleet had to regroup, and it could not regroup with the Tlartox in close company. At least, the detectors showed that the enemy had lost strength. Much of the group shadowing him had disappeared. Recalled? Lost? It mattered not; an opportunity presented itself.

“Comm, get me Captain Vicnor on the frigate Venture.” He waited for the signal to go through. Vicnor was a man young for his captaincy, a real go-getter. Just the man for the job. “Ah, Captain Vicnor. I have an assignment for you. How would you like to engage the Tlartox?”

Vicnor smiled. “When do we drop, sir?” He sounded eager.

“We don’t.”

The smile faded. “In hyperspace, sir?” A lot of the eagerness had left.

“Yes, Captain, in hyperspace. They shadow us too closely. We need room to breathe, to give them the slip. Slowly edge closer to them, then loose off a salvo of torpedoes. That’s when we’ll make our break. If we are separated for any reason, we’ll meet at Lormar.” Knerden no longer even looked at his Captain. “Yes, a salvo of torpedoes should do it.” He returned his gaze to the screen. “You can use your main weapons as well, if you like. Carry on.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Vicnor would do it. Then they could regroup and strike back at the Tlartox. With Admiral Gidfren dead, command of First Fleet devolved to him. Without Gidfren holding them back, First Fleet would show its stuff—finally. It only helped they had lost comm with headquarters, due to the jamming. That blow from the Tlartox freed him from oversight, and the Tlartox would pay for it. He grinned at the irony.

Knerden kept a close eye on his screen watching the data relay from the detectors. Venture slipped ever closer to the enemy and further from the rest of his squadron. He opened a comm line to the other six ships and explained the situation.

When Venture let loose with its torpedoes, the enemy would turn away and at that same moment his force would make a sudden turn in the opposite direction, coming up to full speed. As soon as they escaped detector range, they would drop to normal space, wait for the Tlartox to pass them by, then return to hyperspace and head for Lormar.

“Sir,” Starburst’s Captain turned to him, “you didn’t tell Vicnor about dropping.”

Knerden smiled. “No, Yrgran, I didn’t. The boy may lose his nerve. If he drops within Tlartox detector range, the whole exercise will have been for nothing. He knows our destination. We’ll meet him there.”

Yrgran turned away and walked to the detector station.

“Venture firing torpedoes and all weapons, sir. Enemy returning fire and turning away.”

“Full speed, new course,” ordered Yrgran.

Starburst slewed about and the compensators fought with inertia to keep the crew balanced. Some were, nonetheless, thrown from their feet.

“Losing the furthest Tlartox from the detectors. Four left, three, two, one; enemy gone from detectors.”

“Venture?”

“Reads unstable, sir. Winking out.”

“Drop!” Vice Admiral Knerden waited no longer. The screens showed a regular starfield.

Long-range detectors located all six of the other ships, scattered widely as expected when dropping while at full speed, yet not so far to cause real problems—as long as the Tlartox didn’t drop on top of them.

An hour later Knerden felt positive. They had lost the damn Tlartox. Now he could get back to Lormar, regroup First Fleet—perhaps he could use Tenth Fleet as a diversion to get the Tlartox to pull more of their ships off of the chase—and start fighting the war as it should be fought.

PRIME STATION ALPHA

“Well, Commander, back to your ship already?”

“Yes, Fleet Admiral,” Commander Britlot replied. “We need Searcher’s detectors in hyperspace, sir.”

Fenton looked amused. “I suppose so, Commander, but the Tlartox will need more time to regroup, I think. I’m interested, though, in what you think of our chances. The others are being very polite, grateful for our presence. I believe I can count on you to be more forthright.” She stopped with him and looked up to his grim face.

“You know what I think, Fleet Admiral. I’m sure you were there in the Council Chamber with … the others. Behind the glass.”

The Fleet Admiral looked studiously blank. Commander Britlot showed his teeth in a half-hearted smile. “Forthright, you said. Very well, your ships are little more than coffins. Your spacers and marines are dead men and women. They only think they are alive. Your ships can’t maneuver with modern vessels, your shields can’t stop their weapons and your weapons will have difficulty tracking their ships. You’ll be cut to pieces.” Already he regretted opening his mouth.

“Don’t step lightly,” Fenton told him, “tell me what you really think.”

Britlot had to laugh and the Fleet Admiral joined him. He shook his head. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m glad you are here—for our sake, not for yours. You just might make the difference. If we can stop the Tlartox, even at great cost to ourselves, we may buy time enough for the other fleets to arrive. If we don’t stop them here, the Confederation itself may be doomed. Your arrival forced Rear Admiral Cenet to stay as well—okay, he wanted to, but you’ve given him an excuse he could use. So I’m happy to have you with us.”

“Thank you, Commander. It is good to be appreciated.”

SEARCHER

“Wonderful dinner, Lieutenant, just wonderful. I’d heard about these dishes, of course, but only from the old vids and records.” Captain Rellos held out his glass to the proffered bottle of wine and accepted a refill. “Many of the seeds our ancestors took along fared less than well on Adia. We lost many species,” he explained. “Of course, Adia has many native plants which please the palate, yet I’ve always wondered what it had been like.”

“We’re happy to accommodate you, sir,” Weytok replied. She offered Lieutenant Sharden more wine; Sharden declined.

“I’m interested, Captain, in the reason you came,” Lieutenant Krirtol put into words what the others had only thought.

“Commander Britlot gave very convincing arguments,” Captain Rellos replied.

“Perhaps,” Weytok admitted, “but then why try to convince us to remain on Adia?” She looked directly at Sharden when she said this, but no rancor came through in either voice or expression—merely curiosity.

“If you look at it from our side I’m sure you’ll understand. It was a question of trust.” Sharden took a moment to compose her thoughts. “You came to ask us to fight for the Confederation, no matter what our own motives for joining such a fight might be. But was the Confederation worth fighting for?”

Weytok’s eyes widened. “A test? Were we willing to return to die for what we asked you to die for?”

“Essentially correct. I’m sorry if I caused you pain.”

Weytok nodded slowly. “I see.” She still hadn’t finished processing the implications of the previous statements. She looked up. “We’ll not discuss it again. It is forgotten.” She forgave the Adians. “I never thanked you for the schematics,” Weytok smiled in fond memory of their times in the hot-box. “I’m going to have one built … if we survive, that is.”

“Why not come over and join me. I’m sure I have some time coming?” Sharden looked over to her captain, who nodded.

“A deal!”

“Bring Mart. I’d like to see him again, also.”

“If I can pull him away from the joys of officers’ conferences.”

“Dessert, Gentlemen, Ladies,” Rawl Tetjuin entered the wardroom with a tray of special pastries. The officers leaned forward in anticipation.

“And the crew?” Lieutenant Weytok asked.

“They get what you had,” Tetjuin replied.

“Very good.”

PREDATOR

Star Admiral Sab Tlorth enjoyed the odors wafting about the ship as she made her rounds. She didn’t often subject the crew to an Admiral’s inspection, yet she felt it appropriate now. It underlined the importance of the upcoming battle.

Sab made her inspection of the Engine Room crew and equipment, nodding over this and allowing her ears a slight twitch over that. She could feel the cringes of those on parade behind her when she allowed the twitch and laughed to herself. All show. She merely provided the Engineering Officer an excuse to either praise or chastise the crew after she left.

If they’d been doing a good job the Officer would let them know of the Admiral’s satisfaction. If the Officer needed better results from her crew she would berate them, drawing attention to the ear twitches and tell them that the Admiral was dissatisfied, so they’d better straighten their tails and do a proper job … or else.

Having completed her inspection, she returned the salute of the Engineering Officer, made a few remarks about the upcoming battle and departed. On her way out she stopped at the airtight and looked at the meal on the small table. The traditional cut of meat lay waiting for the inspecting officer. If satisfied, that one would partake. If not, she’d leave the meat behind, signifying she didn’t trust the preparation of the food by the slovenly crew she’d just inspected.

Sab’s mouth watered. It was an especially fine cut. Unfortunately, on an inspection tour like this, too many sat ready for her to partake from. Already she felt well sated. But it was a fine cut. She glanced down at her stomach, already bulging. Oh, to Tlash with it. She tore at the meat and stuffed a large piece in her mouth. It tasted as good as it smelled. Carrying the rest of the cut, she returned to her quarters where she placed the remainder in her small cooler, then lay down on her cot to digest. She’d finish it off when she arose.

As Sab groaned and tried to find the most comfortable position to curl up in, she reviewed the situation. The fleet assembly went well. The enemy’s First Fleet remained scattered, though they’d lost track of several of its constituent parts. She did not worry over that. Kethren’s raid had been successful, cutting off the enemy’s HQ. She doubted the Confederation would offer any organized resistance to their campaign before it was too late.

She did, however, worry about the word from the mining asteroids. A scout reported the entire squadron they’d sent had been destroyed—and rumors abounded that the humans hadn’t honored the Veryt Convention; that they had destroyed Tlartox ships after they had declared themselves out of action. Another worry came from word that a Confederation frigate had initiated battle in hyperspace. Both it and its target had destabilized and fallen to normal space. As usual in such cases, no one from either vessel survived.

What would possess the humans to try suicidal tactics? Tood Tlomega had shrugged off both bits of information. She didn’t think either worth worrying about. Sab wondered.

Further information indicated that the Confederation Navy had engaged in successful battles on the Combine front. The extent of that success, Intelligence could not say, nor the price the Confederation had paid. However, prudence required that they allow for at least two fleets returning.

Sab reviewed the attack plans in her mind. If events proceeded apace, she could think of no reason that they shouldn’t be well in control of Lormar and the two other targets before any Confederation ships could make it back.

The rich scent of the grass-patch growing in the dark earth of the corner tray soothed Sab and she fell to an untroubled sleep. Life could be good, was her last waking thought. She licked her chops reflexively.

CHAPTER 24

BREVNIZ, LORMAR

Bel Frincol could not remember a better shore leave. At first, Brevniz sounded less than ideal. Still, she allowed them to talk her into it, although her preference had stated a large city with nightlife and exciting places to visit.

Brevniz surprised her. From the hero’s welcome they received to the open-handed generosity from everyone she met, the village had outdone itself.

Bel gazed up into the deep blue sky. Two lazy white clouds drifted across the expanse, typifying the relaxed aura of the day. The sun shone and the warmth seeped through her as she lay on the grassy meadow. She grinned suddenly. It could have been worse; she could have gone to some outpost on the winter side of the planet.

In the near distance, she heard the bustle of preparations for the picnic subsiding. A village picnic, she thought in wonder. The whole place closing for the day in order to enjoy food and companionship. She would never have found this in a city.

“Bel!” The voice of the good-looking young farmer, Sillan, brought her attention back. He had made it his special duty to look after her. Single, too, she thought with a smile. She raised her arm and waved.

“Bel. Ah, there you are. Almost time to eat. I thought I’d steer you to some of the better dishes. Ferdie Lovren makes a tuber salad that will take your breath away.” He smiled down upon her. Extending his hand, he took hers and pulled her to her feet. “However, you have to get there quick, or it’ll disappear on you.”

He laughed as she brushed stray hairs out of her eyes and blinked in the sunlight. It wouldn’t do to tell Sillan that she enjoyed the solitude and that any dish, later, would suit her just fine.

Sillan led her to the tables where the villagers greeted her with smiles and laughter. A group of children playing tag surged around their legs, then hared off. Bel laughed at their innocent faces.

“Positioning is everything,” Sillan whispered to her as they moved to a spot not far from the main table.

The mayor climbed onto the stage and the villagers began crowding around. Bel started to move closer but Sillan’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“We’ll hear just fine from here and, being at the back of the crowd, we’ll be first in line as the rush for the tables starts.”

The mayor’s speech went as did all speeches by elected officials. Well, not entirely the same. His had a familiar humor about it, he knowing all his fellow villagers. Everyone knew everyone else, and that made for fun. “Finally, let us be thankful for the opportunity to get to know these fine young Adian Marines.” Applause rang out and Bel flushed in the attention. “Let us pray that their duty will not be onerous.” Silence greeted the words, and heads bowed. The silence extended as each citizen offered a prayer to whatever deity he or she believed in.

Bel felt a tear come to her eye. These people really cared about her—personally. She took a deep breath, deciding she had made the right decision. The people here were worth fighting for. She had recognized the necessity of stopping this war before it involved Adia and her neighbors directly. Now she recognized the necessity of stopping it, period.

“And you Marines,” the mayor named each of them by first and last name without referring to any list, “you will find yourselves welcome here, always.” The crowd voiced its agreement. “Let’s eat!” A cheer went up.

“That’s our cue,” Sillan nudged her. Together they slipped to the tables where they arrived, though not first, near the start of the lines.

Bel couldn’t remember ever having breathed in such succulent aromas. She remembered her father telling her that the best meals were eaten out-of-doors. Even legumes-in-sauce tasted good there, he had told her. She had always looked at him as if he were a little crazy. Perhaps he had a point. Here and now, even legumes-in-sauce, that horrible delicacy of the outdoorsman, would taste good. Fortunately, the piled foods on the table looked and smelled far better than legumes-in-sauce. She sampled Ferdie’s tuber salad. Sillan had the right of it; it tasted delicious.

She would have to let the old man know he had been right. Too often she had spurned his advice and adages. It would please him. If she lived, she thought, if she lived.

Far too soon, the day ended with the sun sinking below the horizon. The villagers ignited a giant bonfire and the flames leapt high into the air, casting weird shadows. The gaiety of the fire depressed Bel. Her leave neared its end, and others waited anxiously for their own chance to sample the fabled Lormar. Although she couldn’t begrudge them their leave, she didn’t want her own to end. Not just yet.

Held by the fire, Bel didn’t notice the man approach her from behind. The first she knew of his presence, his arm had snaked around her shoulders and pulled her into him gently.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Bel?” Sillan whispered in her ear, hardly heard above the crackling of the wood.

Tears came to her eyes. “Take me home, Sillan.”

“Of course,” he agreed immediately, not giving the slightest hint of disappointment over an early finish to his evening. He led her to his small landcruiser and seated her before entering himself. He signaled to turn onto the road back to Brevniz, but Bel put her hand on top of his.

“Not my home, Sil, yours.”

A slow smile came to Sillan’s face. “Of course,” he replied, his voice suddenly husky. “Of course.”

TLARTOX HOMEWORLD

“Hello Vom.” The low, dusky voice had the Master spinning around in place, arms and legs quickly slipping into the defensive positions he had learned so long ago, claws extended. “Slow, Vom, slow,” came the derisive laugh. “Whatever will we do with you?”

“It has been a long time, Miz,” Vom replied carefully.

“But not long enough, eh?” Miz looked around carefully, not taking her eyes off Vom for more than a moment at a time. “Where’s Shads? Already gone off to play your little game?”

Vom wondered just how much she knew, wondered where his guard was, wondered how long Miz would allow him to live. He had to live. He could not die now—tomorrow, yes, but not today. One more day and nothing could stop them; today, no one could replace him.

He should have prepared someone else. It appeared he still had much to learn about being a subversive—should Miz give him that chance, which he doubted. Miz took another step and Vom moved to counter the danger, his ears flat against his head.

“That’s better, Vom.” Her own claws now extended. “Did you really think you could get away with it without my klatch becoming aware?” The black ears took on a mocking slant. When Vom said nothing the pupils slitted. “We found out. They sent three of us to kill you. Only I remain.” She noticed Vom steal a glance towards the door. “If you wait for a last minute rescue, don’t. I took care of young Tlantho myself, not that she would have helped.”

Vom gave a mental sigh. Tlantho had been an unexpected find. One of the hunters who understood. Miz was something else entirely. A killer.

A killer he had trusted until she’d betrayed him and the organization. Five good Tox had died that night, and the blame rested squarely on Miz—and on him for trusting her. He could allow no repeat. Even if it meant his death, he’d have to take her out. He began to move slowly forward.

Miz sheathed her claws. Suddenly she looked very tired. “Tlantho was your traitor, Vom,” she told him, wearily. “She opened the doors for us. And she was fast, very fast. I almost didn’t get her in time. Only three against one and surprise on my side. I think I should retire, Vom.” She sat suddenly.

Vom approached warily, sheathing his claws as he moved forward. Could he have been mistaken this last year? If true, she had fooled him completely. “What happened that night, Miz?”

She gave a little laugh. “I found out about the raid. I had no time, my friend, no chance to warn you. The only hope any of us had was for me to go to them and tell all I knew. Or so they thought. I was a dupe, I told them, only just then finding out what you planned.” She shivered. “I have to lie down, Vom. Is that all right?”

She didn’t wait for his answer, but lay herself down on the nearby cot. Vom could see blood on her side now. He moved in to open her clothing.

A nasty wound. Whether he believed her or not, Vom couldn’t let her die. He brought out his first aid supplies and began to bandage the wound. She kept talking.

“That’s why they raided before you got there. Best I could do. Five died where ten might have. A good trade.” She released her breath in a long sigh. “The Comm is all set up? Ready for full dissemination?” she asked. If she knew that, she knew everything.

“Yes, Miz, it is.”

“You’ll have to move the receivers. They know about them, though not exactly what you plan. I didn’t tell what I knew.” She paused. “Your people must learn to trust no one. I found out much too much.

“They move on the morrow.” Her thoughts wandered. “Tricked my group into moving tonight. Only way I could warn you. Wanted to see you again, Vom. Wanted to tell you it wasn’t me; you were wrong for once. Wanted to tell you…” She stopped speaking and Vom checked her pulse.

He walked to the comm and made several calls. Moving the receivers took priority. Then Miz. There had to be time enough. Closing the comm he returned to Miz and lightly stroked the black fur. She would live, he suspected—if they got her somewhere safe quickly. He stepped from his office; the carnage in his outer chambers surprised him. One of the problems of a soundproof study, he thought. Surely he should have heard something.

SECOND FLEET FLAGSHIP VINDICTIVE, COMBINE SPACE

“Now!” The long hairs of his white moustache blew in the wind from his open mouth. Fleet Admiral Frelob’s eyes gleamed with excitement as his fleets dropped and engaged the Combine base and its attendant ships.

The defenders didn’t stand a chance and soon the orbiting base lay broken, its great repair docks in ruins, its supply booms destroyed. Lack of a base in the sector would cripple the Combine Fleets.

The Fleet Admiral’s plans had gone as expected. They had pushed aside the Combine fleets in the sector and moved in on the base. Mad scrambling by the enemy had resulted in a heavier than expected defense and thus heavier than expected losses, but the Confederation could rest easy for the moment. The Combine would need a good year or three to put good the damage. Until then, the worst that the Confederation could expect would be heavy raids. Still more than enough to keep several fleets occupied, but the immediate danger had passed.

“Captain Glerchin.”

“Fleet Admiral?”

“Detach Second and Fourth Fleets and send them direct to Lormar. Detach Third Fleet and route it to Krevost.” Lack of comm with HQ, and word that First Fleet had designated Lormar as its regrouping site, governed his decision.

“Aye, sir.” Glerchin turned and began issuing the necessary orders in the Fleet Admiral’s name. When he finished, Frelob was just exiting his cabin with his Flag Lieutenant, who carried his case.

“We are transferring to Fifth Fleet Flagship immediately. Get your things together.” He transferred his attention. “Admiral Blarenti, you have your orders. Get to Lormar as quickly as possible and turn back the Tlartox.”

Admiral Blarenti nodded and the Fleet Admiral, followed by his staff, left the bridge.

“Captain Jensol, where is Terrible’s shuttle?”

“Approaching, sir. Docking in ten minutes.”

“Good. As soon as it leaves with the Fleet Admiral I want to go to hyperspace.” Blarenti looked at the detector and cursed. His widely spread fleet needed at least four hours to return to a satisfactory formation. The same was true for Fourth Fleet. Leaving earlier would just make reassembly that much worse on the other end. He ground his teeth in frustration.

Blarenti glared at Jensol, who nodded supportively. The Captain well knew that the Admiral had not directed the glare at him. After they defeated the Combine fleet, Blarenti had almost begged Frelob to detach his fleet to return forthwith to Lormar. Frelob denied the request. Better to hit the base with overwhelming strength, and thus ensure victory, than to lose at that juncture.

Blarenti agreed with Frelob on that point. However, all Intelligence reported the same thing: the Confederation Navy would have overwhelming strength with or without Second and Fourth Fleets. Only the Fleet Admiral’s caution and pigheadedness in following his plan rigidly required the delay. The original plan called for them to bring the Combine fleet to decisive battle at the base, not before. Luck had caught the enemy flat-footed. After that, hitting the base was just the cream on top of the milk.

*

Signals Lieutenant Borcheb studied the latest message from Lormar. So many questions and no answers. According to all he’d heard and read, Tenth Fleet had orders to evacuate Lormar’s Primes. Instead they reinforced them? And what in blue blazes was this about a 22nd fleet? Who was this Fleet Admiral Fenton who had taken control of the Primes and now directed the defense of Lormar?

It might have consoled him to know that Admiral Blarenti suffered the same confusion. It mattered not. At last, Second Fleet prepared to go the rescue of First Fleet.

Four hours later Second Fleet stood reassembled and prepared for jump. A new optimism infused the crews. Finally they were doing what they had wanted to do since hearing of the disaster at Cabrintoso. Now, they moved to the rescue. And now, finally, they were rid of that prig, Fleet Admiral Frelob.

“Jump!” ordered Admiral Blarenti. On the screen, the starfield wavered and disappeared to be replaced by the bland nothingness of hyperspace. Detectors showed the tightly formed mass of Second Fleet all around Vindictive, and the Admiral nodded, grimly satisfied.

“Full speed for Lormar,” he called out and, seconds later, the fleet increased speed together. A few smiles appeared, but every mind held the same thought: It would take two weeks to get back.

STARBURST

“Admiral, sir, we’ve picked up a shadow.”

“I’ll be right there, Captain.” He’d had a good sleep—once he’d achieved that state. Too many thoughts of how he could turn defeat into victory made falling to sleep difficult. Most of them called for the use of Tenth Fleet as a diversion. Cenet must have at least forty vessels under his command, if the majority of those out on missions had returned. The emergence of a fleet of that size in a sensitive Tlartox position would have the enemy scrambling. It would give him time to regroup First Fleet. It would be hard on Tenth Fleet, but that could not be helped.

Vice Admiral Knerden strode onto the bridge. “What is the situation, Captain?”

Yrgren turned from his screen. “Single vessel, sir, shadowing.”

“Ours or theirs?”

“Impossible to tell. Shall we activate our nav-beacons?”

Knerden considered. “We do and we give away our identity if she’s hostile.”

“We don’t and we might engage a friendly, sir.”

“Yes, I know. Turn on the beacons, Captain. A hostile would know Tlartox movements and, unless their attack is to start now, they know who we are. We don’t need an incident with a friendly. Few enough of us anyway. But prepare for evasive maneuvers.”

“Aye, sir.” Yrgren passed the order along and everyone waited.

“Comm coming through, Captain,” the Communications Lieutenant reported. “Aud only.”

“Relay it to my station,” Yrgren ordered.

“Welcome back,” the voice stated, the accent strange.

“Vessel has detached and is heading away, sir.”

“Yes, Lieutenant, I see. A Tenth Fleet scout. Lormar will expect us, now.” Yrgren relaxed. “How long until we reach the emergence beacon?”

“Two hours, sir.”

Vice Admiral Knerden left the bridge. He ate, then returned to his cabin to plan his assault on Tlartox targets. Before he knew it, the comm activated.

“Admiral, we are ready to drop to Lormar.”

“I’ll be right there.” He closed the file under his personal cipher and headed for the bridge.

“Drop!”

The screens showed a wavering starfield which steadied. Five Confederation frigates stood by the emergence zone, all weapons hot. Cenet had moved the emergence zone far from the Primes and Lormar.

“Captain,” the Detector Officer sounded rattled, “detectors reading over one hundred ships, sir. I’ve never seen readings quite like these before.”

“Action Stations, Captain.”

“A moment, sir?”

Knerden nodded.

“Are these strange ships moving to intercept?”

“No, sir, no movement at all in our direction. Readings indicate about thirty of those ships are Confederation. The others…” Detection Lieutenant Vraiborn let his words trail off. He had no idea what they were.

“Contact Prime Alpha. Perhaps they can explain.”

It annoyed the Vice Admiral that the Captain had taken this initiative instead of following his suggestion to go to action stations, yet he recognized it for its worth. The strange vessels made no aggressive moves and, if friendly, which it appeared they were, he would feel a fool for having gone to action stations so precipitously.

“We have a Fleet Admiral Fenton on the Comm, sir.”

Fleet Admiral Fenton? No such person existed in the Confederation Navy. What games did Cenet play? Knerden looked at Yrgren, who shrugged.

“Put him on.” Vice Admiral Knerden saw little choice in the matter.

“Her,” the Comm Lieutenant corrected gently.

The slight woman wore a dark blue high-collared uniform, much like the ones worn by the Navy centuries earlier. She appeared composed and very sure of herself. Beside her stood Commodore Taglini.

“Welcome to Lormar, Vice Admiral. We are glad to have you and your ships here.”

Knerden stared at her. Whoever this was, she had no right to take charge of Prime Alpha, a Confederation base. Where was Admiral Cenet? “Taglini, what is going on here?” he asked, ignoring the Fleet Admiral, who frowned at the insult.

“Vice Admiral Knerden, I’m pleased to introduce Fleet Admiral Fenton of the Adian Navy. The vessels you have on your detectors belong to the Vandoo, the old 22nd Fleet. The ‘Ghost Fleet’, if you will. They have come to reinforce the Lormar garrison.”

“Sir,” Detector Lieutenant Trindol interrupted, “we have one of their vessels on screen.”

Knerden turned and gasped. It was huge and, worse, undeniably a battleship from out of the past. He recalled what he’d said to Taglini when he’d teased him about ‘Ghost Ships’. Taglini now had the last laugh. Knerden frowned. Then the frown disappeared. Along with Taglini’s fleet, these antiques could create quite a diversion.

“Fleet Admiral,” he smiled, “I am pleased to meet you. We will be there in…”

“Three hours, sir.”

“… three hours and my staff and I will be honored to meet with you and your staff in person.”

“We await you.”

It irritated Knerden that she closed the comm with that. He was a Confederation Vice Admiral, after all. She could call herself what she wanted, Fleet Admiral or Minister of the Navy, but she merely led a small, antiquated fleet.

*

Everywhere, Adian Marines moved about. They marched up and down the passageways, arms at the ready, conducting drills. A Confederation Marine or Spacer, familiar with the station, accompanied each group of Adians.

Knerden still didn’t believe it, though the warships he had seen were proof positive. Ships out of time. He’d always known the old ships were big. However, knowing and realizing were two different things. Seeing them right there in front of him, so to speak, stunned him.

Though impressive, great ships like that, this age’s quick turns would cause structural damage. Huge and intimidating, but unmanoeuvrable. And those great turrets: also impressive, but probably ineffectual. He shook his head again. The Adians had returned.

“Vice Admiral.” Taglini greeted him and escorted him to the conference room where the Adian staff waited. He should, he thought belatedly, have had them come over to Starburst.

“Commodore. So, your young Lieutenant-Commander dug them out of hiding after all, eh?”

Taglini didn’t rise to the bait. “The Fleet Admiral awaits us within, sir.”

“Yes, of course, the ‘Fleet Admiral’. Let us join her at once.”

Fleet Admiral Fenton came to her feet when Knerden and Taglini entered. Her staff surrounded her and Knerden had the sinking feeling that she belonged and not he.

“Vice Admiral Knerden. Your ships are a welcome addition to the defense of Lormar. They will provide a powerful core around which we can do battle. My staff has come up with several strategies we might use. Your opinions would be most welcome.”

Knerden’s eyes narrowed. In one quick move she’d put him on the defensive. “Remaining here isn’t an option. That’s just what the Tlartox would want.” He moved to the holo showing Lormar and the four Primes. Mixed squadrons of Adian and Confederation ships guarded each, with the mass of the fleet orbiting Lormar in battle formation.

“That’s the wrong holo,” Knerden told the Adians, nodding at Rear Admiral Cenet, who just arrived. “We need to look at ways to attack, to disrupt their lines of supply. If we defend here and lose, we have nothing left to stop them from taking several planets before help can arrive from the Combine front. And help is on its way. Now,” Knerden reset the holo to show the sector, “if your 22nd fleet strikes here, now, that’s a different story.”

“Vice Admiral Knerden.” The Fleet Admiral’s voice was flat and emotionless. “We have come because Lormar is our old home planet. We have ties to Lormar and are loath to allow it to fall to the Tlartox. We are not going anywhere.”

Knerden stopped listening half way through her little speech. “What is this?” He suddenly noted a vid cam recording. He looked at Taglini, who remained expressionless. Rear Admiral Cenet finally answered the Vice Admiral.

“The Adians believe in open communication with their people. All Adian ships have access to this channel, as do their Marines on the station.”

“What!” Knerden had never found himself in such a situation before. To have his subordinates privy to private discussions? Unheard of!

“Also,” smiled Rear Admiral Cenet grimly, “because the Adians have ‘adopted’ Lormar, any citizen on the planet can access this channel.”

Knerden glared at Taglini. He should have warned him. Civilians watching the Fleet at work? What did they know of strategy, tactics, or necessity?

Stiffly he turned to Cenet. “Rear Admiral, you will report to Starburst to receive orders for Tenth Fleet.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I have orders for Tenth Fleet, direct from Fleet Headquarters. My orders require me to protect the Primes until evacuated.”

Knerden could feel his face starting to redden from anger. “Cenet, I have seen no sign of evacuation since arriving.”

“No, sir, that’s the mystery of it. Since the Adians arrived no one seems of the mind to leave. Instead we have volunteers coming up from the planet to help in defense.”

Knerden tightly controlled his mounting rage. “If they want to commit suicide, that is their prerogative, Rear Admiral. With no evacuation, you are free for new orders.”

“Sir, I respectfully submit that my orders remain valid. If you contact Fleet Headquarters, perhaps they will issue new orders. Until then I am bound.” Both admirals knew all attempts to contact HQ had failed; they stared at each other, one angry, the other calm and defiant.

“I don’t know what you are playing at, but you’ll regret it.” Suddenly realizing that his threat had gone out to everyone tuned in and watching the vid, Knerden turned on his heel. “Let’s go,” he called to his Flag Lieutenant.

Commodore Taglini escorted him back to the shuttle dock, more to ensure that he had left than out of any sense of duty.

“Tag, surely you see that Lormar cannot be defended. If we distract them, though…” He noted that Taglini had absolutely no enthusiasm for the subject.

“If we try that again, they’ll cut us to pieces, bit by bit, same as before, sir.”

“You, too, will regret this, Taglini.”

Taglini suddenly smiled. “If I live, Vice Admiral.”

Knerden could say nothing to that. He boarded his shuttle and placed a comm to Honor. “Captain. You will join us as we regroup First Fleet. Hyperspace in two hours.” The reply had his hands shaking.

“Sir, we are detached and under orders of Tenth Fleet.”

Knerden broke contact before he could say anything else. One hour later Starburst and her escorts returned to hyperspace.

*

“Your Vice Admiral Knerden is a rather hot-headed man,” Fleet Admiral Fenton remarked to Rear Admiral Cenet over a glass of wine.

There were no vid-cams here—at least Cenet didn’t think so—though the Adians seemed intent on placing them along every main passageway and in every major compartment.

“He believes what he believes,” Cenet answered.

Fenton laughed. “No, my friend, he plays at war. It is a game to him. Those good people down below on Lormar are not real to him.” She allowed that to sink in. “They are real to us and we shall not let the Tlartox walk in and destroy their lives without a fight.” Her vehemence surprised Cenet. She softened. “They pay us for this, do they not?”

“Aye, Admiral. The question is how best to accomplish that mission. You have your idea and the Vice Admiral has his.” He held up his hand to forestall further discussion of Knerden. “On to practical matters: to have any hope of success, we cannot fight as two separate entities.”

Fenton’s eyes sharpened. She was willing to wait him out, however.

“You have the larger fleet and the rank. I am willing to place my ships under your command.”

Fenton relaxed. “I do not think that rank has any place, here. You lead your fleet: I lead mine. We command as equals. You are correct, though, we must operate under a common plan. Together you and I—and our staffs—must decide how to use our fleets to best advantage.” A Signals Lieutenant stood at the door. “Yes, what is it?”

“Message for Rear Admiral Cenet, sir.”

Cenet took the message stick and placed it in his reader, entering the proper cipher. He looked up to Fenton. “We have two reinforcing fleets on their way, Admiral.” He did not look very relieved. “They will take at least two weeks to get here.”

“The Tlartox will hear of this.”

“Undoubtedly. Our navy won some battles, freeing up those fleets. The Tlartox will not know how many or how soon, but they will prepare for the worst.”

“Then we had better get to work, Admiral.”

“Aye, we’d better get to work.” Heavily, Cenet rose from his chair and, together with the Adian officer, returned to the conference room where Taglini and Captain Kaldon studied the holo.

“Gentlemen, Ladies,” Fenton’s voice stopped all discussion, “We have some good news and some bad.”

CHAPTER 25

PRIME ALPHA

Bel Frincol charged down the passageway at the head of her detachment. She spun left at the Officers’ Mess, and hit the slide pole running. Down two decks, she jumped out and looked up and down the passage. The repair dock should be … that way. She turned right and her people followed close behind.

“Fan out!” The Marines went right and left as they entered the dock, taking cover where they could. A surprise commando assault had felled her captain, shot up her lieutenant’s leg. Now she, a sergeant, took command.

Weapons fire sounded from deep within the dock. Signaling left and right she made the motion to advance. They had moved only twenty meters when fire from behind and above cut them down.

“Sergeant Frincol, you and your troops are dead,” called out the umpire. “I suggest you take the next hour or two for a guided tour of the dock.”

A young Confederation worker appeared through the door, leading her captain and lieutenant. “Sorry, sir,” she apologized. The captain looked all around and up. “We learn from our mistakes, Sergeant. At least it won’t happen in a real battle now.”

“Yes, sir.” Bel wished that she were back down on Lormar, back in Brevniz, back with Sillan. But she wasn’t. She was here, and others had taken her place on three days leave. She hoped that they would have as good a time as she had. It could be their last. Would be if she didn’t smarten up. She followed their guide, looking at everything from the perspective of attack and retreat. She also kept in mind how her new weapons would be able to aid her in the mission.

*

Commodore Cetph looked over the comm array. Multiple screens showed passageway after passageway, compartment after compartment. The Comm Tech’s fingers flew over the console and the screens changed, following Frincol’s run. An infrared seeker aimed the camera in the dock towards the troops as they entered.

“See the flashing red light in the corner, sir?”

“Yes.”

“That indicates other targets.” His fingers danced again and the camera swiveled until the ambush party came into view. They moved to the rails of the catwalk and began firing down.

“Good. Very good. All in order?”

“Well, we have a few things that need looking at but, yes, we are ready. We’ve checked the sender array, rechecked, tested and declared it ready as well. Works on all channels.”

“All channels?”

“Aye, sir. All channels. Tested and confirmed.”

“Good.” Cetph turned and left. The other Primes had made similar reports. They stood ready.

LORM, LORMAR

Jol Drendol slipped the cap back on the guidance head and looked around. All about him the shift worked. No one complained about overtime, and absenteeism hit a record low.

The tubes on the old Adian warships could not take newer Confederation torpedoes, but the guidance heads on their torpedoes could be replaced with updated ones, and these the factory made as fast as they safely could.

Jol looked up to the wall clock. He did a double take. The shift, including the three overtime hours, had ended, yet not a person had made a move towards the doors.

Ral Threntor saw his glance and grinned at him. “I guess one more hour wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

Jol grinned back. “I guess not.” He bent to peer at the next guidance head, attached the test leads and ran the simulation.

It had taken only four days after the arrival of the Adians for the factory to come back to its pre-crisis standards. Another two days and full attendance had been achieved, with workers volunteering for unpaid overtime. The same occurred in the small-arms factories. No one wanted to see the Adian Marines face the Tlartox with antiquated weapons. And as quickly as it could be made, Lormar lifted new body armor up to the Primes.

All of Lormar united behind ‘their’ Marines, and they’d be damned to all the hells if they would allow the Adians to fight the Tlartox without the benefit of whatever Confederation technology they could supply.

TRENTH’S FANG, NORMAL SPACE

Fleet Admiral Tlomega stood in front of the entire Third Commando Division. She had made the speech twice before and would again for the Fourth. She could, she supposed, have done it just once and had it relayed to the other troopships; however, doing it in person made it something special.

General Tlearfong, leader of the Commando Divisions, had frowned upon it, but Tlomega insisted.

“It is unfortunate that the humans have been running away up until now, but they dare not give up Lormar without a fight. We jump for Lormar, and there, I promise you, your Hunt will begin in earnest!” Tlomega stopped and waited for the roar to die.

“Fleet will deliver you to the Lormar Primes, and you will take them for the greater glory of Tlar! The humans will have to fight, but they do not stand up well to a good scratching.” Laughter echoed through the huge compartment. “But don’t fear, if you don’t get a chance to complete a Hunt here, there will be other planets and stations as we move deeper into Confederation space.” General Tlearfong gave her a strange look, but Tlomega went on as if it were nothing. “Remember Tlenfro!”

“Tlenfro!” came the shout from ten thousand throats.

Tlomega nodded, satisfied. They were more than ready. The end of the once-mighty Confederation lay in sight.

*

“We’re ready, Fleet Admiral,” Star Admiral Sab Tlorth reported. The Tlartox fleets moved in formation, ready for the jump to hyperspace. Two fleets stood in close formation, ready for the trip to Lormar. Two more fleets awaited orders to jump for Rosneli and the fifth had the human settlements in the Krovell system as their target.

All would jump this day. They would reach Lormar in five days, Rosneli in ten and the Krovell system in twelve. By the time they had taken Lormar, Rosneli would be under attack and, given the extreme weakness of the humans, only mop-up operations would be left as the fifth fleet dropped on Krovell.

The Hunt was about to start in earnest. Sab felt her own excitement rise as Tood Tlomega swiveled in her chair and regarded her.

“Give the order to jump.”

“Jump!”

Two Tlartox fleets winked out, leaving three behind. Within the hour only empty space would remain. Sab regarded her screen, seeing what the detectors saw: two hundred and fourteen signals, each representing a Tlartox ship. The power! Forty thousand commandos ready to board the Lormar Prime Stations and another fifty-five thousand spacers, all eager to earn commendations in the greatest hunt of modern times, perhaps the greatest hunt of all time.

*

Group Leader Rai Tlel groomed carefully. She checked herself in the mirror and bared her teeth. The hunt! Finally. They had wasted too much time trapped aboard the troopships. Without pleasure, she recalled the boarding of Confederation Outpost Horden. It had gone much like Outpost Four. The fire from the station had been murderous, but the commandos hadn’t hesitated. Their small insertion pods had slipped through the fire, which the station directed mainly at the cruisers, whose very purpose was to draw that fire.

“Watch your tails,” she’d warned, “the Confederation doors slide closed quickly.” Some had laughed, but it wasn’t really funny. She’d had her own tail caught on a ‘show the flag’ mission to another Confederation outpost some years earlier.

Confederation sensors did not match Tlartox standards and that particular one hadn’t recognized that her tail remained in the doorway. The pain hadn’t been severe, but the embarrassment was. Here, such a distraction could be fatal.

No tails had been caught on Horden, but there were no defenders either. Perhaps the humans were cowards, but Rai did not doubt that they would defend the Primes. There, the stationtox would fight.

Tlomega talked about human lack of will and honor. What honor was there hunting in a ship? She shrugged. It must be a male thing. Many of the naval personnel were male though most of the officers were female. The Commandos had few males, mostly in logistics. They didn’t have the instincts and reflexes to do the job.

The posters came to mind and Rai bared her teeth again. She’d laughed at the poster which had things just right. A ship’s cook claiming victory in a hunt? Nonsense. In the Commandos, however, that claim would stand up. Even the cooks fought. She looked forward to a good fight—the very reason she had joined the Commandos.

Tlomega, just like a navy rat, had suggested that the humans would put up only token resistance. Perhaps they were the cowards Tlomega suggested, yet even they must know they could not survive the loss of morale an uncontested Tlartox victory would cause. Tlomega erred. They would need more than a quick scratching to take the stations. She would enjoy that.

The sterile air, on the other hand, she would only tolerate. How could humans live like that? She hoped Lormar’s Primes had better air. If nothing else, eventually the fine odor of blood would tease the senses.

There. She was ready. Rai flattened her ears against her head and appreciated the fierce look it gave her. She turned from the mirror. There was honor to be won and her group would win it. Honor meant the kill had to come face to face—no matter what the navy rats thought.

“Fight well, humans,” she said to the empty room.

PRIME ALPHA, COMMAND CENTER

“Commander, an emergence signal!”

“Any word from our pickets?”

“None, sir.”

“Who has guard duty?” Meehknet asked.

“Vindicateur, eight destroyers and two Class-B frigates.”

“Send out a general warning.” He looked at the worry in the signalman’s face. “Just a precaution. I’m sure the entire Tlartox navy couldn’t have slipped by our pickets.”

“Signal is in proper Confederation Naval code, sir.”

CRUISER IMPLACABLE

The starfield wavered and steadied.

“By all that’s holy, it’s true!”

“Captain Monstin, what is it?” The detector officer looked at the screen with astonishment.

“That, lad, is a battleship. Communications, send signal to the battleship, repeat to Prime Alpha, ‘Confederation Cruiser Implacable and Frigates Thorn and Bellur are pleased to find rumors of your existence well founded.’”

“Aud signal from Battleship Vindicateur, sir, full privacy.”

“Put in on.”

“Greetings, Implacable. You find us no less pleased to see you. Welcome to Lormar. You have heard that First Fleet re-forms elsewhere?”

“Greetings Vindicateur. I’m sorry, your signal is breaking up, I couldn’t quite catch that, I’ll have my Comm Tech get on the problem immediately.” Captain Monstin grinned at his Comm Tech’s hurt look. They had received the signal quite clearly.

“We thrive on static, Captain. Welcome indeed.”

PRIME ALPHA

“That’s the second cruiser and eighth frigate that have joined us,” Cenet reported to Fenton. “I’m beginning to believe we actually have a chance.” Three cruisers and six frigates had chosen to not join them and left for the First Fleet reassembly point. The captains of those that stayed risked their careers.

“Good. There’s nothing more sure to cause defeat than belief that defeat is inevitable.” Fenton stood and stretched. “I’m going to put my head down for an hour. Please let me know when the captains of those ships arrive on Prime. Seems they all want to see a real live Adian.” She grinned at Cenet.

“You give them belief in the cause, Admiral. They need to see you.”

“I suppose. Still, I find it rather tiring.”

SEARCHER

“Captain to the bridge!” The call was urgent. This time, however, Sub-Lieutenant Parenner didn’t call for Action Stations. After the last time, Lieutenant Weytok had taken him aside and explained that captains usually preferred to reserve that right for themselves. Outside of a dire situation, discretion dictated another path.

“What is it, Sub-Lieutenant?” Britlot finished closing his jacket as he appeared on the bridge.

“Enemy vessels on detectors, sir.”

“And how do we know they are enemy, Sub?”

“There are one hundred plus of them, sir. Unless the Adians have another couple fleets inbound…”

Britlot smiled. “You are likely very correct, Sub. Spacer Dhine, please inform Lormar Command of the situation and ask for instructions.” He sat down in his chair. “Set course to shadow them from ahead.”

Searcher turned and picked up speed to match that of the powerful fleet on their detectors. This was it. Britlot knew, as did his crew, that the Tlartox were inbound.

“Signal from Command, sir, ‘Come back and join the fun’. A strange idea of fun, sir.” Dhine, tense, still stared at the detector across the bridge.

“Very well, Dhine. Sub, you heard the man, crack on the speed.” Britlot turned on the ISB. “Attention all. We have detected the enemy and will return to Lormar ahead of them. I’ll call action stations shortly after we hit normal space. Anyone not on duty is encouraged to eat, sleep or otherwise prepare. Captain out.”

“Captain, recall orders for all pickets coming in. It looks like this is it.”

PREDATOR, HYPERSPACE NEAR LORMAR

“Star Admiral Tlorth, we have a vessel at the edge of detection range.”

“Which way is it heading?”

“Towards Lormar, sir.”

“Then they know we are coming. Thank you.” Sab turned away and left the bridge. She would inform Fleet Admiral Tlomega personally. She entered Tlomega’s cabin at the harsh command of the Fleet Admiral.

“Fleet Admiral, they have spotted us. The enemy vessel, a scout, is pulling away, returning to Lormar.”

Tlomega bared her teeth. They looked particularly nasty this morning, Sab thought. A hunter ready to tear the throat from her prey. “So we will have no surprise. It will make no difference. We go with Variation Two.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll pass that on.”

Sab saluted, turned and left the Fleet Admiral’s day cabin. Variation Two had them exiting hyperspace a fair distance from Lormar proper. They would regroup, get in battle formation and advance upon the four primes as observation of the defense dictated.

Sab caught the smell of damp earth coming through the vents. Damp earth and flowers—a calming scent. Blontera must have ordered it. She made a good captain, Sab thought. One worthy of the honor of Flagship Command.

“Ah, Captain Blontera,” Sab called out as that worthy met her sight, “a fine scent.”

Blontera nodded gravely. “Yes. What the crew needs at this point. Any word from the Fleet Admiral, sir?”

They walked together. “Variation Number Two, Captain. We assess, and then go in battle-ready.” Sab felt the relief pass through the Captain. She, no doubt, recalled the Fleet Admiral’s drop from hyperspace without probes. That had truly frightened them all and Sab had no more wish to relive it than did Captain Blontera.

BREVNIZ VILLAGE, LORMAR

“Finished,” Sillan told Mayor Jeth Brendor.

Brendor nodded as he looked at the five vid screens. It had been a job getting them all set up in time. They had wired the Community Hall and set up two satellite dishes borrowed from businesses. Now they had five channels working. The content was something never before seen. Two vid streams came in from each of the four prime stations. One dealt with inner workings and the other with the space outside the station.

The war would be on display for each and every citizen to see—if she or he so desired. Unbelievable.

“Did you see Bel leading her group on exercise?” Brendor asked Sillan.

“Yes I did. I made a record of it. She looked good, didn’t she?” Sillan smiled in remembrance and everyone in the hall joined in the smiles. She and the other seven were ‘their’ marines.

“Yes, much better than the first time. I didn’t like it when she and her troop were declared killed.” The smiles faded. What happened above seemed all too real, now.

Bel and four of their marines were stationed on Prime Alpha, while the other three defended Delta. Four of the screens were devoted to vid streams from those two primes. The fifth was tuned to the stream from the Fleet.

The citizens of Brevniz felt a part of the action, even more so since Tren Brendor, the mayor’s son, had volunteered and lifted to Prime Alpha. He had served a term in the military before joining the small police detachment in Brevniz.

These were their people, fighting for them, and someone needed to stand witnesses. Reports from Prime Alpha told of the incoming Tlartox Fleet, maybe four hours away. By the time they arrived, the entire population of Brevniz would be in the community hall.

It would not have surprised them to know that the same arrangement existed in countless villages, towns and cities all over Lormar.

PRIME ALPHA

“Do you really think this wise, Admiral?” Cenet asked Fenton as they inspected the Comm Center.

“Necessary, Admiral,” she replied.

Just why the Adians found it necessary, Cenet didn’t understand, but who knew what customs they had adopted over the last three hundred years?

During the last few days, vid agencies from all around the Confederation had messaged them, requesting a chance to bid on the vid streams. It would be the greatest coup they’d ever had if they got them.

To their great surprise, the Adians had granted all requests with no payment required. They offered no exclusives at any price. There was a catch, however. If any vid agency used their streams, there could be no advertisements interspersed through the action or lack of action. They permitted break-aways to staff, who would analyze this or that, but no commercial entity would benefit from this free signal.

Much grumbling arose, yet none dared complain too loudly and none dared give up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

The Comm Tech looked over the banks of screens and tested each camera. As they moved from shot to shot, the group of military commentators followed the stream and explained to their vast and growing audience just what they were seeing.

“It’s going to be brutal,” Cenet commented.

“Yes it is.”

Cenet looked behind him to find General Korvan of the Adian Marines had entered.

“You’ll lose your viewers by the droves, General.”

“Perhaps. However, I doubt it.” The general turned his attention to the commentators. “All ready?” They gave him fist up signs. He smiled. “And if this room is taken out?”

“Signals will automatically be relayed to a secondary unit on Prime Bravo, sir,” the Comm-Tech reported.

The general knew that but, noticing the vid stream going out came from that very room, he’d taken the opportunity to explain to the viewers that eventuality. Next, he introduced each commentator. None smiled. They each just held their right fist up, back of the hand to the camera, the traditional all’s well sign of the Marines.

“Well, Gentlemen, Ladies, I guess we are about as ready as we can be.” General Korvan turned to the Admirals. “I suggest that you repair to your ships. Time begins to run short.”

Cenet and Fenton nodded their agreement.

*

Commodore Taglini fretted about the repair dock. Tempest required further work. The stations’ crews had worked diligently and repaired much of the damage, but not enough. Hurricane and Cyclone lay in similar shape, their captains urging dockworkers and crew to ever-greater efforts.

The dockers, it had to be admitted, worked feverishly to complete repairs. The vessels would do them more good in space than attached to the station where they could not maneuver or fire their full complement of weapons.

“Captain Fronel, good to see you back.” Upon his orders, Fronel had gone planetside for two days leave. He needed his chance to say his good-byes. Taglini had made a veiled suggestion that Fronel might find it impossible to get back up to Prime Alpha. Obviously, Fronel had not taken him up on that offer.

“Better to be here and help protect them,” he answered Taglini’s unasked question.

“Good man. Let’s get aboard and see what’s what.”

Commander Meehknet sat quietly in his Command Center. He glanced at the detectors and the screens, but said nothing, made no movements. He half regretted that Captain Tetwucan was back in his ship, Foremost having completed repairs.

His counterpart, in the auxiliary Command Center, was now Captain Llemartol from Cyclone. Cyclone needed more time in dock. Her weapons were manned, but most of the crew had replaced the dead and injured on Tempest and Hurricane, which were almost space-ready.

He glanced across the Command Center to Major Coll Britlot, who waited with a patience that equaled his own. Major Britlot would do, Meehknet thought. Not one to panic, or even become upset over his subordinates’ mistakes. He had watched as Britlot had critiqued one of the Marine exercises. The Major had made only positive suggestions, praising them where deserved, yet never tearing them down where others might have thought it deserved as well.

No wonder the Major’s command had high morale. Meehknet hoped that he would do as well as the Major, hoped his people would fight with the same intensity with which Britlot’s people trained.

Detectors showed the defensive forces about Prime Alpha and the mass of the fleet as it orbited past them. The supply and tow ships had slipped out to the fifth planet. It was unlikely that the Tlartox would search that far afield. Rather, they would drop relatively close to Lormar and engage the Confederation and allied ships here. If discovered, the non-combatant vessels could jump to hyperspace and escape. At least that was the plan.

*

Bel Frincol lay in her bunk, trying to rest. Like the rest of the Marines, she’d been given time to herself. She wished that she had made a record for her father, but there never seemed to be time. Now, she needed to rest. For the good of her troop, she needed to be sharp.

She would have plenty of time to get to her action station. Only minutes after an alarm sounded, the station would be ready to repel boarders. Unlikely that the Tlartox could get in that close that quickly.

She wondered how Sillan occupied this time, remembering his loving kisses and tender touches. She replayed them in her mind, allowing thoughts of him to be her last waking ones. Gently, with a smile playing about her lips, she went through the procedures which enabled her to quickly drop into sleep. Perhaps she would dream of him.

VINDICTIVE, FLAGSHIP SECOND FLEET

Admiral Blarenti stepped onto the bridge. He looked like he hadn’t slept much lately.

“Captain Jensol, can you explain this signal?”

The Captain pondered for a moment. “I’m not sure I can, sir.” He looked down at his screen again, at the page from the history of Lormar that dealt with the Adian emigration. The Admiral looked down as well and nodded.

“I’ve been going over the same information myself,” he admitted. “What the hell is going on there?”

“Sir,” Signals Commander Lerechin appeared on the bridge, “I request a private meeting.”

Signals Commanders did not usually leave the Communications room while on duty, and Captain Jensol’s eyebrows rose. He trusted his crew, however. “Very well, Commander.” What could be so important that Lerechin couldn’t use the Comm? The Admiral led the way into the Flag cabin.

“Sir, one of my spacers was scanning the civilian channels and came across…”

“While on duty, Commander?” the Admiral asked.

Commander Lerechin paled but stood his ground. “Aye, sir. Against regs, but very good for morale. It doesn’t interfere with the efficiency of the department; in fact it improves it.” He took a breath. “I authorize it during slack periods.” He took full responsibility.

“Continue, please, Lerechin,” Captain Jensol knew of the practice and had turned a blind eye to it.

“Sir. Channel Tango has information coming directly from the Prime Stations of Lormar. I put a damper on it until you could see it for yourself.” At Jensol’s nod he went to the screen and made some adjustments. He then called down to Signals and ordered, “Play it.” A man in a dark blue uniform appeared in the corner of the screen.

“Information from pickets reveals that the Tlartox Fleet, approximately two hundred in number, is now only two hours from Lormar. Ready in the defense of Lormar and her four Primes we have Rear Admiral Cenet’s Tenth Fleet, composed of his Flagship, the cruiser Honor, two modern frigates and twenty-nine recommissioned frigates. Five frigates are under repair. Supporting the Rear Admiral is the Adian Fleet—the old 22nd—under Adian Fleet Admiral Fenton in the Battleship Restigouche.”

As he spoke in his archaic accent the original record of the Adians’ arrival began to play. Restigouche came through her portal into normal space. Lieutenant Rensler’s voice could now be heard describing the arrival of the ‘Vandoo’.

Admiral Blarenti looked at Jensol in disbelief as the Adian fleet cruised by the emergence beacon. The disbelief turned to astonishment as Fleet Admiral Fenton made her arrival speech.

The Adian commentator returned. “With her six battleships, eight heavy and four light cruisers, thirty destroyers and five scouts, Fleet Admiral Fenton provides a heavy backup for the Confederation Fleet. Also joining the defense are two cruisers and eight modern frigates from First Fleet. These vessels from the scattered fleet appeared and have remained to aid in our coming battle.

“Each of the four Primes has on it twenty-five hundred Adian Marines, backed up by volunteers from Lormar. Each Prime has firepower more than equal to a modern cruiser. The Tlartox are in for the fight of their lives, for Fleet Admiral Fenton has declared that there will be no evacuation and no surrender.”

Lerechin turned off the screen. “From there they go around interviewing officers and enlisted personnel.”

“And they broadcast this on a civilian channel?” Admiral Blarenti still could not believe what he’d seen.

“Aye sir. Apparently it is a condition of the Adians. If the channels were not made available, they would leave. These signals are going out to every vid-screen on Lormar, and are available to every vid agency which wants to sign on.”

Jensol whistled lowly. “Well, Admiral, what are we going to do about this?”

“Release it to the fleet screens,” Blarenti decided. “Then announce that we are going to flank speed.”

“We’re due to drop for recalibration, sir.”

“No time, Captain. We’ll drop once, just before we hit Lormar … no, drop one scout. It’s fast enough to catch up to us after recalibrating.”

“Aye, sir.”

Flank speed for that length of time would sorely tax the engines. Jensol smiled to himself. After viewing the records from Lormar nary an engineer would complain. If the defenders were savvy, they might last until Second and Fourth Fleets arrived. Unlikely, but possible. In any event, Second and Fourth Fleets might catch the Tlartox Fleet scattered after the battle and be able to retake Lormar and her Primes with minimal losses. It was a thought. Likely it wouldn’t be near that easy.

LORMAR

Relnie Fronel sat in the main room of her house, surrounded by family. One hour left before her husband, his fleet, and the Adians had to face the Tlartox. Lemm had not tried to give false hope. The situation was desperate, he’d told her. The Adian ships were old, and their main function would be to provide targets for the Tlartox so that the more modern Confederation ships might slip through the fire and do some lasting damage to the enemy.

“But that’s horrible,” Relnie had protested. “You mean they will just sacrifice themselves?”

“We warned them,” Lemm had replied softly. “They say that their ships have been modernized over the years and that no compartments next to the hull are now occupied during combat. They’ll be opened to vacuum. It will be one more layer of defense, and their armor is much stronger than ours, though their shields are much weaker.”

Relnie had just shaken her head. “Those poor men and women, those poor people.” She turned away.

“We all know the odds, Relnie,” Lemm approached and placed his arms around her, holding her close. “We’ve all decided that we can’t leave Lormar to the mercies of the Tlartox. We’ll do our best to keep you safe, I promise it.”

Tears flowed down Relnie’s cheeks. “I know you will, darling, I know you will.”

Relnie returned her attention to the screen. As one of the cameras scanned the dock area on Prime Alpha she thought she saw Lemm and the Commodore. She said a prayer for them, then remembered to say one for Gren Tirog and the crew of Meratie. They would need it.

SEARCHER

“Send emergence signal, Dhine.” Britlot waited until the emergence signal had gone and the Fleet had time to recognize it. “Drop.”

“Lieutenant Krirtol, please contact Honor.”

The vid screen came to life and Rear Admiral Cenet’s face appeared. “Good day, Captain.”

“Rear Admiral, sir. We have over one hundred and eighty ships barely an hour behind us. Please direct us to our battle station.”

“Good work, you and your crew. Please give them my thanks. You are to join Commodore Prusnol’s squadron. Good luck, son.”

“Thank you, sir. Good luck to us all—and confusion to the Enemy.”

The Rear Admiral laughed. “Aye, that would help.” The screen went blank.

“Lieutenant Krirtol, you have the con. Please take the Searcher to its designated position. Lieutenant Weytok, if I might talk with you?”

Britlot and Weytok headed off the bridge. Behind them Krirtol smothered her grin and turned in time to catch several suddenly straight faces amongst the crew. Then they were gone and she grinned. Mart and Feneya didn’t fool anyone. Still, appearances had to be maintained.

TLARTOX HOME PLANET

Vom sat quietly and watched as Miz breathed in and out. Her ragged breathing made Vom fear that the doctor had arrived too late. They had moved the receivers, and not any too soon. He’d already had reports that agents of the hunter klatches had appeared where they’d stood an hour previously.

Fortunately, Vin Tlantho had not been privy to the list of cells—he had done that right, at least—and most of his people were safe. Safe? What was safe any longer?

“Message coming in from Efdur,” his aide reported through the open door.

Vom turned on his screen and was caught by the sorrow in the yellow-green eyes of his friend. “You shouldn’t take chances like this, Shads,” Vom told him.

Shads didn’t answer. His gaze went past Vom to the cot behind him. “Is that Miz?”

“She saved our tails, Shads. It never was her. I should have listened to you.”

“How is she?”

“We won’t know for some time yet. I have hopes. What have you to report?”

“Nothing really, Vom. I’m leaving you my package. It downloads as we speak.” Shads finally removed his gaze from Miz and returned them to Vom. “We’re in hyperspace just off Lormar. The battle begins shortly. There is no way to stop it from your end?”

Vom looked as tired as he felt. “No. There is too much joy that the hunt goes so well. We can do nothing here. Not yet. But you know that already.”

“Hey, Shads,” came a shaky voice and Vom turned to look at Miz whose eyes slitted barely open.

“Good to see you Miz. I never doubted.”

“So I heard.” She suddenly stopped and painfully moved a black arm to check her head. She glared at Vom. “I’m a mess,” she accused him.

Vom bared his teeth. “I was busy, Miz. I figured you could do it for yourself, later.”

Miz relaxed, content. “I’m really sleepy, Vom. I’ll look after it … later.”

“As you wish.”

Miz closed her eyes and her breathing slowed as she drifted to sleep. Shads looked tenderly upon her for a moment. “Wasn’t that dangerous?”

Vom lowered his voice so that Miz wouldn’t be able to hear, asleep or not. “Belief is the strongest thing she has going for her. If she believes she’s in no danger, she’ll recover. If she believed we thought she was going to Tlar, she wouldn’t. A calculated risk, Shads.”

“I must go. My package is in your hands now. I have an addition, though. Tell Miz that I still love her.”

“Good hun— … ah, may your dish be full of the choicest morsels, Shads.” ‘Good hunting’ did not seem appropriate.

“And yours, Master.”

The screen went dark. Vom stood and went over to Miz. He sat down beside her and absently began brushing her fur. Just to be safe, he thought, just to be safe.

CHAPTER 27

PREDATOR

“Probe ready, Star Admiral,” Captain Blontera reported to Sab Tlorth, who called up Tood Tlomega. Tlomega appeared in short order.

“Drop probe.”

“Probe dropped, data stream acquired.”

“Status?”

“Safe to drop, Fleet Admiral.”

“Drop!”

Two hundred and fourteen Tlartox ships of war suddenly appeared somewhat distant to the far side of Lormar’s moon. Two hundred and fourteen detection officers scanned the data appearing on their screens and satisfaction abounded as the signals of three Prime Stations with their guard ships spread out in front of them. Ten ships per station. Thirty ships, forty if the fourth station had a similar defense. The hunt would proceed swiftly and surely. Lormar belonged to them.

“Order the fleet to proceed at half speed, attack formation,” Tlomega ordered. Her eyes slitted with pleasure. At last Tlenfro would be avenged.

“Sir!”

“Detection Officer, report.”

“Coming out of the planet’s shadow, sir, a battle fleet.”

“Count!”

“I count forty-five—no, fifty¼fifty-four vessels. Some of them are…”

“Are what?”

“Huge, sir.”

Tlomega glared at the unfortunate officer, her ears half back in anger. “Put it on the screen.” She bent over her screen, as did Star Admiral Tlorth and Captain Blontera. The picture when it steadied and sharpened caused all to draw in hissed breaths. “Check the computer for a match. I’ve never seen anything like it before. May the dishes of our intelligence agents be forever empty! Go to one quarter speed.”

“Sir, computer check identifies the large one as a battleship dating back to the last war.”

“Impossible. Show me.” Tlomega studied the ident chart carefully, matching it to the lines of the largest of the vessels opposing them. It was a battleship. Tlomega bared her teeth in fierce joy. “They must be desperate to recommission those. Furless liars. They reported their last battleship scrapped some one hundred and eighty years ago.” She ignored Sab’s worried look. “Back to half speed. This hunt will not take long—if they don’t jump and deprive us of any hunt at all.”

“Message coming in on Fleet Frequency One, sir.” The Comm-Tech looked stunned. “It’s … it’s for you, Fleet Admiral, sir.”

Tlomega cocked her ears to the disgusted angle. “Well, put it through. What is so strange about that?”

“It’s … them.”

Before Tlomega had a chance to react, a human appeared on her screen. She did not wear a Confederation Navy uniform, but a uniform it was, and strangely familiar.

“Welcome to Lormar, Fleet Admiral Tlomega,” the human said without rancor. “We trust this is a friendly visit. If not, you have just fifteen minutes to jump back to hyperspace and leave.”

Tlomega liked her bravado, but was surprised that the human spoke reasonably fluent Tlarti. She had time before her fleet entered firing range, so she cocked her ears forward in the interested mode. “With whom am I speaking?” Tlomega asked in her best Confederation Standard.

“I am Fleet Admiral Fenton, Adian Navy. We heard that you broke the treaty of Tlenfro, so the 22nd has returned. You know what that means.” The woman bared her teeth in what the Confederationtox considered a smile. Tlomega knew enough to recognize that this particular smile conveyed no warmth at all.

The 22nd. The Adians? They had survived? Tlomega knew all about the renegade 22nd. They had deliberately ignored the Veryt Convention and targeted Tlartox ships which had declared themselves out of action at Tlenfro. Then they, and the entire Adian nation, left the Confederation for parts unknown, only to be destroyed by the Phenomenon.

Tlomega knew all about the Phenomenon, too. The Phenomenon had destroyed several Tlartox scout and colonizing ships before they declared that sector of space quarantined. A thought came to him: If the Adians had survived, then …

“Your time fast runs out, Tlomega.” The human didn’t even give her the honor due her rank. Tood’s ears went back.

“We are here to take Lormar much as your ancestors took Tlenfro, Fenton. Your decrepit ships will make good target practice.”

The human smiled again. “Then know this, all of you: As far as Adia is concerned, the Convention of Veryt does not exist. You lost any right to that when you broke the treaty of Tlenfro. We shall not allow your ships to escape our space. Here you are and here you die: all of you—unless you accept unconditional surrender.” She turned her head to look at someone off-screen. “Fire!”

“Enemy warships firing torpedoes, sir.” The Detection Officer laughed. “Confederation type 24s, sir. I didn’t know they existed any longer.”

The ten torpedoes didn’t make it even a twentieth of the way to the Tlartox fleet before they exploded. An energy lattice appeared between them for a moment, then faded. Tlomega didn’t understand.

“We’ve just destabilized this entire system,” the human explained. “You are no longer able to jump to hyperspace. Nor are we. We all fight—and die—here.”

Tlomega laughed. “Your parlor tricks don’t frighten us. Such a feat is impossible.” She turned and had Comm open a channel to Stalker. “Captain, take your ship to hyperspace,” she ordered.

“But sir, if she is correct…”

“You’ve been receiving this transmission?” Tlomega was suddenly wary. Where had the Adians picked up the technology that would allow them to access her whole fleet on a scrambled, dedicated military channel?

“Jump, Captain. That’s an order. We will show these furless creatures that their lies cannot frighten the people of Tlar.”

Stalker began to waver and wink out.

“Sir, Stalker is destabilizing. Energy build-up. She’s going to…”

Stalker blew up. It enraged Tlomega. If the humans wanted a fight, she’d give them a fight to the finish.

About to order a full attack, she paused when Sab Tlorth put a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps we should probe first, sir. They may have some other weapon of which we’ve no knowledge.”

Sab spoke truth. “Send in Ranelth’s squadron. Have them make a feint towards Prime Bravo. We’ll see what kind of reaction we get.”

PHANTOM HUNTER

Light Admiral Ranelth separated her ships from the others and sent them driving towards Prime Bravo. A line of destroyers and Confederation frigates moved to intercept.

“Remember, we are simply gathering information.”

“In range, now!”

“Wait for them to fire first. Change course, parallel them. Easy, easy. Shields to full.”

“Enemy forming battle line.”

The Adian destroyers opened fire and Ranelth’s cruiser shook under hits. The shields held.

“Target lead destroyer, single weapon slow pulse. Fire!”

The Adian destroyer began evasive maneuvers but, to the Tlartox, she wallowed. Hit after hit struck her shields until they collapsed.

“Her shields are down, sir … torpedoes fired, enemy turning away. Torpedoes Confederation Type 20.”

Fifty torpedoes filled the space between them. Ranelth turned her ships away and watched the torpedoes closely. They appeared to be type 20, but the type 24s had held some strange charge and she wasn’t going to take chances with these. Ranelth watched, as did the detector officers on every ship of both fleets, as did one hundred million pairs of eyes on Lormar and the Prime Stations. The torpedoes quickly closed range.

“Defensive fire,” she ordered. “Take them out. Go to full speed.”

Bright flashes came, then vanished as torpedo after torpedo exploded. Still the torpedoes closed range. There were only eight of them left when Ranelth ordered full evasive maneuvers. The old torpedoes couldn’t match them and finally ran out of fuel. Ranelth ordered two of them brought on board one of her frigates and examined as they pulled back. They were, as they had appeared to be, Confederation Type 20 torpedoes. No surprises. Just old weaponry that had no place in a modern battle.

*

That satisfied Fleet Admiral Tlomega. Had the Adians and their Confederation allies any new weapons, they would have used them.

Star Admiral Sab Tlorth wasn’t so sure. “We probe, they counter. We feint, they adjust. They won’t commit until we do, sir.”

“Nonsense. Let’s get this over with. I want to occupy those Prime Stations before any Confederation reinforcements arrive. One sharp blow will kink their tails and send them scurrying away.” She glowered at the telltales on the screen. “Send in Ranelth again. This time she goes straight through their lines and hits Prime Bravo. The rest of our fleet goes to Action Plan One. With us threatening all of their Primes at once, we force them to either divide their forces or give up two or three in order to properly protect one or two.” Tlomega leaned back in her chair and stretched.

“Fleet Admiral,” Sab tried to reason with her.

“Action, now!”

With no choice in the matter, Sab gave the order and the powerful Tlartox fleet began to maneuver.

HONOR

“Admiral Fenton, they are dividing as we thought they would, going after all Primes at once.” Cenet looked worried.

“Yes, so it would appear, Admiral Cenet.” Fenton appeared relaxed and Cenet wondered at her. “It is not an unexpected ploy. We will defend as agreed upon.”

“Aye, sir.” He didn’t agree, but they’d already fought that battle. Fenton had decided to not give the Tlartox anything, even if it meant losing her entire fleet piecemeal.

A force of thirty Tlartox vessels turned and drove directly for Prime Bravo. The Battleship Vindicateur, two heavy cruisers and a mix of eight Adian destroyers and Confederation frigates moved to meet them. Rear Admiral Cenet, in Honor, supported by the modern frigates Telprist and Renvolt, an Adian light cruiser and six old frigates and destroyers would take on anything that broke through. It would not be enough, Cenet thought. He watched the viewscreen, concentrating on the Adian battleship.

The massive turrets, two fore and two aft, both dorsal and ventral, began tracking the Tlartox fleet. Vindicateur moved surely on an interception course. Her screen of destroyers moved out in front and the two fleets drove headlong towards each other.

Vindicateur opened fire first, at long range, and the Tlartox fleet began evasive action, jinking up and down and to the sides while still streaming for Prime Bravo.

CRUISER PHANTOM HUNTER

Light Admiral Ranelth stared intently at her screen. They were almost… “Open fire!” Comm relayed the order and her squadron began long-range pulse fire.

“Enemy destroyers increasing speed directly towards us, sir.”

“Concentrate fire on destroyers.”

The destroyers twisted and turned but the heavy incoming fire took its toll on their shields. As one they turned broadside to the Tlartox.

“Enemy firing torpedoes. One, two, three—no, four salvos. Confederation type 20s, sir. Count one hundred and twenty-eight. Destroyers turning and retreating.”

“Full defensive fire.”

“Turn away, sir?”

“Negative. Initiate full evasive maneuvers when they reach short range. We’ll go right through them. Then we blast that battleship three hundred years into the past!”

Half the torpedoes fell to Tlartox fire before reaching short range. The Confederationtox had fired in a wide umbrella pattern and, to the surprise of Ranelth and the Tlartox, the torpedoes didn’t attempt to home in on their ships.

As the twenty-one remaining torpedoes passed through the Tlartox fleet they exploded as one. A latticework of energy spiked all frequencies.

“Shields down, sir!”

“What!”

Warning klaxons sounded.

“Enemy fleet driving straight for us.”

“Kill that battleship!” Ranelth gripped the arms of her chair, claws digging into the hardwood. They were too close to turn now; doing so would expose their vulnerable sides to enemy fire.

“Full pulse fire!”

“Full pulse, aye.”

Vindicateur loomed larger and larger. Ranelth couldn’t believe the size of the ship. Her large turrets sent out a steady stream of fire in a blanket. Not being fast enough to track the jinking Tlartox ships she counted on luck for a hit.

Phantom Hunter jolted under a direct hit. Luck.

“Hull breach!” shouted someone as more alarms sounded.

“Battleship’s shields down.”

“Pound her!” Ranelth badly wanted to kill the monster.

“Hits! Hits!”

The dorsal forward turret was a ruin, great jagged pieces torn off, weapons barrels twisted.

HONOR

“Great Chaos!” Cenet watched as the Adians drove straight towards the Tlartox. Neither side intended to divert. “What’s that?” Pods had broken away from the battleship and the two heavy cruisers.

“She’s taking a pounding, sir, maybe they’re abandoning ship?”

“I don’t think so, Captain.”

“Pods are on interception course for Tlartox ships, sir.”

“Tlartox are running without shields, sir.”

Cenet’s eyes widened. What the blue blazes went on?

“Frigate Dark Wund breaking off, sir, retiring from battle.”

“Steady. Let’s wait for them,” Cenet tried to stay calm.

PHANTOM HUNTER

“Contact the fleet. Warn them that they have shield killers. As soon as we’re through, break off and let’s get out of here.”

“Pods have broken off three of their ships, sir, heading directly towards us.”

“Count, give me a count.” Ranelth gripped the arms of her chair even tighter. “Destroy them!” she shouted. “Limpet mines. Without our shields they’ll attach themselves to us. Evade, evade!”

It was too late. A heavy thump told everyone on board that one of the pods had made contact.

“They’re much too big for mines, Admiral,” her Captain told her. Ranelth’s eyes slitted as she saw the sick knowledge in the Captain’s eyes.

Tlartox all over Phantom Hunter stared at the klaxon. They froze. Kanle Tlondel stared at her Lieutenant. “We’re being boarded?”

“Side arms!” the Lieutenant screamed and dove for the arms locker.

*

Inside boarding Pod 14, forty-eight marines waited in tense silence. The thought of being launched at ships still under way and with full armaments had been daunting. But they’d made it.

Lieutenant Kel Jrindar held his weapon tightly so his men wouldn’t see his hands shaking.

“Almost through,” the Marine Captain warned.

Jrindar wondered how many other pods had made it, hoped they weren’t the only one to attach themselves to this particular ship. He adjusted his helmet a final time, wondering if anyone was watching the signal from the small vid-cam attached to it.

“Go, go, go!” shouted Captain Lemensi, and the Marines boiled out of the pod directly into the Tlartox ship.

Jrindar charged through the hole. He first noticed the smell of grass and flowers, then the astonished Tlartox. He fired at her, and she screamed in agony as she went down. “To the bridge, to the bridge,” he shouted, cursing the fact that he had no idea where they were.

An airtight hatch slammed shut.

“Blow it!”

A small explosion and they were through the door. Beyond the hatch, Tlartox resistance stiffened. The man ahead of him raced up a passageway when a crewmember stepped out of a lift. Surprise on both sides was complete. The Tlartox reacted first, extending its claws and raking the man across the throat. Blood spurted out, his carotid severed.

Jrindar fired and fired and fired, not stopping even when the Tlartox lay dead on the floor. A hand came down hard on his shoulder. “He’s dead,” the voice shouted in his ear. “Let’s keep going.”

Another door, another small explosion. This time fire poured through the door before they could approach. “Grenade!” Sergeant Nentol armed one and threw it through the open door. The firing ceased. The marines ran. Jrindar counted four dead Tlartox on the other side.

Pain. He lay on his side, wondering how he’d gotten there. The crash of weapons fire rang loud in his ears and someone pulled at his leggings. He opened his eyes to see the medic pressing a field dressing to his leg. The man smiled. “You’ll be fine.” Jrindar nodded, wishing he could remember the man’s name. He should know it. “For the pain.” An injection. Then the medic disappeared and he sat alone with the dead. He pulled himself along the deck to the nearest bulkhead. There he turned over and sat up, leaning against it.

“The sound of firing is getting farther away,” he began talking for the benefit of the remote. He wondered if it still functioned. “I don’t know how many of us made it, but we of Boarding Pod 14 will do our best. I can’t feel my leg, now, and I don’t know if that is good or bad.” He reached down and pulled his side arm from its holster. “Guess I’d better prepare for company.” He laughed harshly.

*

“We’re holding them, Admiral.”

“I don’t want them held, I want them taken.” Ranelth turned. “Full speed away from their fleet. Get our ships out of here!”

“Two frigates not answering to our signal, sir.” The Comm-Tech tried again, then gasped. A human face appeared on the screen.

“Your crew fought well, Tlartox. They brought honor to their klatches. However, there were not enough of them and now there are none. We shall take good care of the ship for you.”

The screen blanked. Merciless Gods, the humans had murdered the entire crew. For a moment no one moved on Phantom Hunter’s bridge. Then everyone carried on as if they had not heard.

“We’re pushing the boarders back, sir.”

“Good. How many of those pods did they release?”

“Approximately twenty, Admiral. We destroyed five of them before they could get near. Detectors show that another five did not make contact and the enemy is retrieving them.”

*

“Weapons fire now growing louder. Looks like we didn’t make it.” Jrindar focused on the blown hatch. A marine backed into it then fell over and stiffened. Three more marines came through, two supporting the third.

“Too many of them,” one yelled. “We’ll try to hold them here. Get back to the pod, if you can.”

The men at the door began firing. One spun around, hit, half of his face torn away. Jrindar brought up his side arm and aimed it at the open hatch. The other two marines lay quiet now.

“Tell the folks in Ventown that I had a really good time there. They were great. I think the field dressing is loose. I see blood on the floor around it. I hear them coming.”

The weapon wavered and then steadied. Jrindar took a shuddering breath and wondered again at the smell of grass.

CHAPTER 28

HONOR

Rear Admiral Cenet watched as Vindicateur cruised slowly by them. The clean lines of the battleship were gone. Holes in her armor told the story. She had taken a pounding that would have destroyed any Confederation ship, old or modern, and yet continued to fight.

Others weren’t that lucky.

“Casualty report, Captain?”

“Frigate Dark Wund heavily damaged; frigate Lightning destroyed, no survivors; Adian destroyer Preltor is out of action, being towed back to Prime Bravo. The Vindicateur and heavy cruiser Valeur took the brunt of their fire, but both report ready for action.” Brinlerd paused for a moment. He raised his eyes from the report. “Each of those pods had fifty men and women on board. Five were destroyed, no survivors. Seven were recovered and eight made contact with the enemy.

“It’s amazing. Three of the pods attached to each of two of their frigates and the marines took them. They are ours, now. The other two pods attached to a cruiser and a frigate. Those ships have returned with their fleet.”

Cenet was appalled. “Boarding operational ships in battle. They’re all crazy. Minimum of four hundred dead. And for what? Two frigates?”

“They bought us time, sir,” Captain Brinlerd said softly. “The Tlartox have to regroup. We’ll live for another day. Reinforcements will be a day closer.”

PREDATOR

Sab Tlorth had never seen Tood Tlomega so angry. “They boarded and took … AND TOOK two of our frigates?” Tlomega snarled and Tlorth and Blontera both fought to keep their ears from flattening against their heads. “I’ll strip Ranelth of her rank!”

“Fleet Admiral, they had unexpected weapons,” Sab regretted saying that as soon as the words were out. She had just reminded Tlomega that she had overruled Sab’s more cautious approach, which had raised that very question.

Tlomega glared at her, but calmed nonetheless. “At least they brought back prisoners. Our interrogators can find out…” She paused as Sab made a motion. “What is it, Star Admiral?”

“Interrogation will likely lead to the demise of the prisoners, sir. None of them surrendered. We took only those too injured to fight.”

Tlomega lashed her tail at the reports of the boardings. The boarders had fought with something akin to fanaticism. Ranelth was lucky, she supposed. She had sufficient people on hand to turn back the invaders with limited losses. The frigate had been less fortunate. She survived with barely enough crew to bring her back.

“An important note, sir. We now have good information on just how tough those Adian ships are. I’ve looked at the records of the battle. The battleship took enough hits to destroy three Tlartox cruisers and she still fought through the retreat. We’re lucky that their gunnery isn’t on par with their armor.”

“Good point. Recall the fleet from the Krovell system and have Tlentror’s fleet stop chasing First Fleet. They can reassemble here. Until then, we’ll use our superior speed and weaponry in a series of hit and run attacks. Chew them up a little. Then we take them, all at once, all four primes.”

Tlorth and Blontera left Tlomega’s cabin. Blontera waited until they had put some distance between them and the door. “Star Admiral, if the Primes exhibit the same resistance that the boarders did…” she allowed her voice to trail off.

Sab caught the worry in Blontera’s voice which echoed her own thoughts. “Get me all the records of the fight you can. They’ve surprised us three times now: getting onto our comm channels, disruptive warheads, and boarders. Four times if you count the toughness of those old ships. I don’t want to be caught again.” She pondered the possibilities. “We must come up with a strategy which nullifies their advantages.” She couldn’t understand why the enemy stood and fought. They could not win, only lose. All Sab wanted to do was to minimize her own casualties, let the enemy run if they so desired.

PRIME ALPHA

The alarm bells rang and Commander Meehknet rolled out of his cot and stepped though the door to the Command center in less than a minute. This was the eighth alarm of the past two days.

“Report.”

“Sir, another probe in strength.”

“Bastards.” It was starting to get to him. “I wish we could go out and mix it up with them.”

Major Britlot laughed quietly. “That’s just what they want, Commander.”

Meehknet nodded. He knew that. The defense of Lormar depended on the fleet remaining close to the Primes and the planet, denying the Tlartox space where they could use their greater speed, manoeuvrability and weaponry to best advantage. “Yes, but it’s cutting into my sleep period,” he complained out loud. “I need more pay.” He gratefully accepted the chuckles that his carping earned. Everyone was on edge, not just him.

He looked up and caught the green light on the room’s vid cam. So this was going out. Funny, at first it had bothered him, now it was just another detail he could ignore.

“All stations report ready, sir.”

Meehknet glanced at the clock. Their reactions improved with each alarm. By the time any real threat came their way, the defenders would be able to get to their positions in their sleep. That, at least, was good because half of them probably would do it that way.

One hour later the stand-down came. “Meratie is coming in.” The room hushed. Everyone knew what that meant. She had casualties for Mercy, the Adian hospital ship, which had taken station just under Prime Alpha. After each alarm one, two or three Adian ships made that journey, as did the odd Confederation ship—those ones bound for one of the Primes where their casualties would be treated in sickbay before the trip planetside.

Vid streams left the sickbays and Mercy as well as from the stations. Twenty berths in the hospital ship were taken by Tlartox survivors of the boarding parties. The Adian doctors seemed not to have too many problems with their different physiology.

Meehknet stumbled from the Command Center and back to his improvised sleeping quarters in the next room. He hoped that there would be a long interval before … “ALARM!”

Meehknet cursed and rolled back off his cot.

“What is it this time?” he asked as mildly as he could manage it, for he noticed the tension in the room.

“Another Tlartox fleet just dropped.”

SEARCHER

Commander Britlot could hardly keep his eyes open. He smiled tiredly at Lieutenant Weytok as she relieved him on the bridge. He allowed his hand to trace a path across her shoulders as she took the con and he left the room.

Weytok smiled at his disappearing back. He no longer even made the smallest effort to conceal from the crew their change in status. The wonder of it all was that the crew seemed to approve entirely. It was bad for discipline, Weytok realized, yet somehow morale and discipline had ceased to be a problem. The crew was proud, yes, proud of them. She shook her head.

Poor Mart was so tired. Now, when they slept together, they slept, and they never had enough.

Lieutenant Krirtol caught her eye and grinned. Then the grin disappeared. “Oh my God!”

“Report, Lieutenant.”

“Ships dropping. Theirs. A whole fleet.”

“Damn.” It wasn’t fair. “Captain to the bridge.”

VINDICTIVE

“Four nines, sir.”

“Drop!”

Second and Fourth Fleets dropped together. The long trip in hyperspace had put paid to their synchronization. It would take at least a full day if not two to regain order. Then the short jump to Lormar.

The Engineers would be glad of the chance to do routine maintenance on the engines. They had driven them hard, strained them sorely. Yet, as the Admiral had predicted, no one complained. During off-duty hours the crews of the ships had been held by the vid screens and the drama unfolding above Lormar. Officers had to order their crews to get sleep.

Admiral Blarenti knew he’d made a good decision. His crews longed for battle. The sight of the Adians returning with two captured frigates had caused cheering throughout the Fleet. The vids from the failed boardings, the view of the damage to Vindicateur and the unloading of her wounded and dead onto Mercy tempered that joy.

Watching the outdated and outmatched Adian and Confederation ships doing their best to hold off each successive Tlartox feint and probe had the crews where they burned to get there in time. To get there and send the Tlartox running.

“Sir. More bad news.” It was Captain Jensol.

“What is it, Captain?”

“Tlartox just got reinforcements. Another entire fleet by the looks of it. They are deploying for an attack.”

Blarenti frowned. “This won’t be any probe, either.”

“No, sir,” Jensol agreed.

“We won’t arrive in time.” His shoulders slumped for a moment before straightening. “But they won’t have time to re-form before we’re on them, either.” He glared at his screen where the data of the Tlartox drop scrolled. “Hurry them up, Captain. We have a date.”

LORMAR

Relnie Fronel watched the vids with a sinking feeling. There were just too many of the enemy. From her last tele-vid with Lemm she knew that he remained on Prime Alpha. That meant that Tempest had not yet finished with repairs. She felt thankful for that even though she knew that Lemm fretted. He felt it wasn’t fair that he was safe while the others battled for their lives.

It wasn’t right, she knew, but all she wanted was for him to return to her, safe. Did it really matter if they lived under the Tlartox? Did anything really matter as long as they were together?

“There is little question this is for real,” the announcer said. “The Tlartox fleets are in battle formation surrounding Lormar. We expect the attack to begin at any moment. Morale remains high despite the losses we’ve suffered, and we have word that reinforcements are only a few days away.”

Relnie looked over to Colli. Her daughter’s dark eyes were wide with fear and anticipation. The battles had mesmerized her. Never had she really known what her father did for a living. Now she knew and it shocked her.

“I always knew Dad was in a dangerous business, but I never really knew,” she’d told Relnie. “How does he do it?”

“Sometimes I wonder, myself,” Relnie had replied. She didn’t bother with the ‘he’s doing it for us’ speech. Colli was far beyond that now. Perhaps this was all for the better, she thought grimly. If everyone really knew…

“Yes, the Tlartox have definitely turned and are inbound.”

BREVNIZ

Sillan stood rooted to the spot. He, along with every man, woman and child in the village, sat or stood within the Community Center. This was it; they’d been warned by the Adian, who seemed to take everything in stride. He felt his stomach starting to flip and wished he were up there—with Bel.

A cheer went up. “There they are!” Sillan looked to the first screen. Bel and two of the marines they’d hosted waved to the camera as it scanned past them. A parade of faces in different locations on the station—stations, as the other vid-streams proved—followed. And then came shots from the various ships. More and more faces, smiling, grim, stone-faced and nonchalant. A catalogue, he thought. His mouth felt very dry, and he wanted desperately to swallow.

PRIME ALPHA

“They are working like demons, Listra, but they won’t be in time. It’ll be another day, anyway and the Tlartox are about to attack. And I’m here, on Prime Alpha.”

Captain Benteel smiled at him. “I’m glad Tempest kept you safe, Tag. If what I’ve watched is anything to go by, you’ll see all the action you might want. You’ll do your part.”

Taglini looked about him as if to check if anyone were nearby and listening in. “I’m scared, Listra. I have a bad feeling about all this. You are the only one I can tell, and Chaos knows that I don’t want to put it on you. For everyone else, I have to be calm and in control.” His face twisted suddenly. “I don’t want this anymore. Knerden should be here. This is more his line.”

Listra Benteel made a soothing gesture. “It’s all right, Tag. It just means that you’re grown up. Knerden is still a child.” She laughed suddenly. “And I’d like to say that to his face sometime.”

Taglini laughed with her. “And I’d like to be there when you do.” A klaxon sounded in the background. “I’ve got to go, Listra. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Tag.”

RESTIGOUCHE

“Here they come, Admiral!”

“All weapons trained and ready, sir.”

“Fleet reports ready for action.”

Fenton looked at her repeater screen. Detectors showed heavy attacks inbound to the three stations she could see. The fourth would be no different.

“Gentlemen, Ladies, this is what we’ve waited for.” She gave a course adjustment to counter a Tlartox move to flank them. “Keep them away from Prime Alpha!” Now that was going to be a little more difficult than she made it sound. In fact, she figured, they hadn’t a chance.

“All ships: begin firing as soon as they enter range.”

Restigouche’s heavy weapons turrets turned and prepared to engage the enemy.

Gunnery Commander Crennlot sat tensely. “Open fire!”

Restigouche and Havoc began their long range searching shots. Within minutes the two heavy cruisers joined in and then the rest of the fleet.

PREDATOR

At last. Now they moved into the battle themselves.

“Enemy firing.”

“Evasive maneuvers.”

“Enemy within range.”

“Open fire. Priority to any torpedoes.” They’d learned their lesson, Sab thought. All Confederation and Adian torpedoes were destroyed as soon as possible. There had been no repeat of the first action and Tlartox casualties had been light compared to their enemy’s.

“Battleships turning towards us, coming right at us!”

“Kill them!” Tlomega hated and feared those Adian giants, gave them more weight than their due. Tlartox fire concentrated on Havoc and her shields fell.

Predator shuddered as she was hit. Shields held. More hits. The smaller, more easily trained weapons of the battleships went to rapid fire and they raked Predator.

“Shields failing.”

“Get us out of here!”

“Sabre is hit, shields down. She’s declaring herself out-of-action.”

Then they slipped past the two battleships, which wallowed in shallow turns and began the chase, catching the Tlartox between themselves and their supporting ships.

“Sabre is still taking hits. Great Tlar, multiple hull breaches. She’s breaking up!”

“Message coming in, Admiral.”

Fenton appeared. “Veryt does not apply. We warned you.”

Sab flattened her ears. “Cut her off!”

“Shields back up, approaching their battle line.”

“Straight through. Stop for nothing.” Sab kept her attention on the display. “Break through … there.” The Fleet turned on her command.

PRIME ALPHA

“Here they come. All weapons free-fire.”

“Well, Commander, I think I’d better leave you to your part in the play. If I’m not mistaken, that is a troop assault vessel. My scene comes upon us quickly.” Major Coll Britlot stood and headed for the exit.

“Luck, Major.”

“Luck, Commander. Try and take out as many assault pods as you can. We’d appreciate it.” Meehknet nodded and began directing fire towards the heavily armored and shielded assault ship. “Get me Tempest and Hurricane.”

“Pods breaking away from assault vessel, sir.”

“Get them! Ah, Taglini. Our Major Britlot says that we have boarders coming. See if your gunners can take out some of those assault pods.”

“Do our best,” Taglini replied grimly. “Target the assault pods.”

Meehknet cut the channel.

“Cruiser targeting our batteries.”

Commander Meehknet clamped his jaw shut. He had to make a decision.

SEARCHER

“Enemy cruiser firing on Alpha, sir,” Sub-Lieutenant Parenner reported.

“Gunner Dorvon, remember what you promised just before the Adians arrived?” Searcher twisted and turned, avoiding Tlartox fire.

“Aye, sir. Four 60s right up a cruiser’s tail-pipe.”

“Exactly. Well, Dorvon, there’s your cruiser.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Lieutenant Weytok.”

“Sir.”

“Gunner Dorvon requests that you put us in position for him to fulfill his prediction.”

Searcher shuddered as her shields took a powerful blast. They held, but barely. Fast and nimble, Searcher avoided two Tlartox frigates and then turned in a sharp circle.

Feneya’s eyes shone bright, her face wet with perspiration. She wiped her forehead with one hand while the other flew over the controls. Searcher’s wild gyrations might have broken necks had her crew not sat strapped in. She heard a sound: the Sub-Lieutenant retching.

“Gunner Dorvon, she’s yours.”

Dorvon had been waiting, correcting his firing solution constantly. He glanced up momentarily, seeing the massive cruiser growing larger by the second. His finger stabbed down and the torpedoes left the ship.

PRIME ALPHA

“Who’s that?”

“Britlot and Searcher.”

“Look at her go.”

“Keep your attention on your duties. Kill those pods!”

“Sir, shields won’t take the strain much longer. We have to stop that cruiser.”

“First pod nearing the shields. Shields down.”

“Sir, if we don’t get the cruiser, we won’t have anything to stop the pods with.”

Meehknet cursed. He’d have to let the pods go.

“Look at Searcher, she’s going to ram!”

His eyes sought the vid. It certainly appeared that way, but Meehknet didn’t believe it. The Confederation navy had no suicide jockeys. A wide smile split his face.

“Four 60’s away, sir!”

Searcher jinked sideways, reverse thrust slowing her as her torpedoes smashed the Tlartox shields from point blank range. “Kill the cruiser!” Alpha’s main batteries raked the cruiser from stem to stern. It took only thirty seconds at that range. “Get the pods! Vid to Searcher.”

“Yes, Commander?” Britlot looked complacent as his body jerked in its restraints.

“Thanks for the assist, Captain.” Meehknet gave him a half salute, half wave.

“Always at your service.” Smoke filled Searcher’s bridge as she took several hits in quick succession. The vid blanked.

“Damn!”

“Pods attaching.”

The Commander toggled the Intra Station Broadcast on. “Major Britlot. Act two, scene two. Repel boarders!” He toggled it off as the klaxons sounded the alarm.

TEMPEST

The pods kept closing with the station and attaching. Another Tlartox cruiser closed and began to fire at the station’s batteries. Without shields, the batteries were silenced, one by one.

“Target that cruiser, everything you can bring to bear,” Taglini ordered. He had been unable to stay away from Tempest, though she was nothing more than a glorified gun mount at present. “If we don’t stop her, Alpha will be defenseless.”

“Commodore, look.” Captain Fronel pointed to the screen.

“My god.”

Havoc and Restigouche punched their way through the Tlartox fleet. Their heavy weapons targeted the cruiser and, as she was moving slowly in order to inflict maximum damage to the station’s batteries, smashed her shields in short order. The Tlartox ship hit full thrusters, but that wouldn’t save her.

She had but one chance left, given the Adians did not abide by the Veryt Convention. She took it and began her jump to hyperspace. Like the vessel before her, she destabilized during her jump and blew apart.

As the wreckage of the cruiser drifted off, Havoc and Restigouche replaced her, placing their hulls between the Tlartox attackers and the station. The small turrets on the hammerheads actively targeted assault pods while the heavy weapons lay down a covering fire, keeping the Tlartox at bay.

“The remaining pods are retreating!”

“Expand our shield coverage to maximum,” Taglini ordered.

Fronel smiled. “Aye, sir. That may help a little. I’ll pass on the word to Hurricane.”

Expanding their coverage to maximum would weaken the shields but would give some cover to part of Alpha. It was better than nothing. “Pass the word to Commander Meehknet. We don’t want him shooting up our shields. Tlartox will be happy enough to do that for him.”

“Passing the word, sir.”

Taglini looked at the screen and saw Havoc taking hit after hit. “What is keeping those battlers in action? I’ll bet my pension that their armor isn’t the armor that they left the Confederation with.”

“Tlartox frigate trying to flank and come from planetside.”

“Target her and fire torpedoes when she gets close. We have some 60s?”

“Aye, Logistics didn’t see any advantage in saving them. The 60s wouldn’t help them if the Tlartox boarded. Messages say that all four Primes have been boarded.”

“Speaking of that, I wonder how it’s going inside.”

PRIME DELTA

“Almost through,” called the engineer. Group Leader Rai Tlel made a quick last check of her equipment. At last they would see action. At last the hunt was on. Their approach to the station had frightened her badly. Though heavily armored, the pod lacked defenses in a real sense. Just a target. Now, however, they were heading into her element. Close combat.

Unconsciously she began to purr, the purr taken up by those under her command.

“Through!”

“Let the Hunt begin!” Rai called out, and the first of the commandos stormed through the breach. Rai, herself, came out quickly and her ears flattened under her helmet as she saw several of her troops screaming with feet lacerated by jagged bits of broken glass and sharp metal scattered upon the deck.

She cursed both them and the stationtox. Someone knew that many Tlartox preferred to hunt without footwear. She had warned them against this, but a few always ignored the warning.

“Pass it back: footwear mandatory!”

Rai growled deep in her throat. They would pay. Weapons fire became general as the station defenders rushed to their breach. Rai saw a marine go down as he spun around a corner and three commandos fired as one. “That way,” she yelled, having gotten her bearings. They would take this station and her Group would lead the way.

Already medics treated the injured, and an engineer swept the debris away. Falling on it would be no fun.

Humans in dark blue uniforms defended each hatch and passageway. They battled backwards, fighting ferociously. Rai Tlel admired their courage even as she hated them for it. Her group would earn honor, no doubt, but it would cost them more than she wanted to pay.

*

The weight of the attack drove the Marines back. The sudden smashing blow of the Tlartox fleet had succeeded more fully at Delta than at Alpha. Almost all of the Tlartox pods had made it through. Nearly nine thousand commandos now on board faced a much smaller number of Marines and volunteers.

Arrand Brenndol slipped another charge into his weapon and kept up his fire. A commando dove across the passageway and returned fire from a room one step closer. Soon the position would be untenable and they would have to retreat again—those who survived. The sergeant grimaced at the bodies stretched out in the corridor. Marines and commandos lay next to and on top of one another.

“Back, back,” he ordered, and the eight remaining troopers in his squad retreated. He and a youthful Confederation volunteer brought up the rear.

The deck shook beneath their feet as an explosion occurred on the level below.

“Run!” Arrand shouted as he saw the heavy airtight coming down in front of them. Even as he ran he knew it they could not make it.

“This way,” his partner yelled and drew him down another passageway. They ducked in a door and stood there, breathing heavily.

“Where are we?” Arrand asked, remembering that the man’s name was Derall.

“Dead end, I’m afraid,” the youngster replied. “But there wasn’t anywhere else, except back towards the Tlartox.”

“Fair enough. Keep watch, but don’t attract attention. I need a breather.” He sat down heavily. This was it, he knew. Eventually they’d get around to searching the compartments, securing their backs. Then the Tlartox would find them. No more shore leaves for him. Arrand looked about, wondering if this compartment contained one of the vid-cams. Perhaps their last battle would be seen back in Brevniz.

*

Section Leader Plarin Tlenth sent four commandos up the passageway while the engineers took out the airtight blocking their advance.

She was on her stomach before she recognized the sound that had sent her there. Weapons fire. Waving another Hand forward she began crawling along the passageway, to the corner. A Tlartox commando lay in a heap and she reached out and pulled her out of the line of fire. Dead.

More fire. She took out her pocket periscope and looked round the corner. At the end of the hall two more Tlartox were down. Where the others were, she didn’t know.

“Now!” Together three of the commandos and Tlenth dove across the corridor while the fourth lay down a covering fire. Door by door they worked their way down the corridor, once burning through a wall to come out unexpectedly from a compartment the defenders thought empty. Kareth fell to the fire and Plarin was alone. Somewhere she’d lost Tlenzer as well.

Down the hall, she heard one of her section give out a call to surrender. The defenders answered it with a shot. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. These were not the cowards the Fleet Admiral had sneered at so convincingly. She armed a grenade and, with a last quick look through her periscope, flung it into the defenders’ compartment.

Immediately after the sharp explosion she threw herself forward. She’d take the humans alone, face-to-face. No human—or two or three—was a match for a Commando.

*

“I got him!” Derall exclaimed excitedly, looking at the creature on the floor nearby. If Sergeant Brenndol hadn’t been so quick, tossing the grenade behind an equipment box, the Tlartox would have had them. Instead he was on the deck, trying to hold in his intestines with his hands, mewling softly in pain. Derall didn’t know whether or not to fire again, to make sure.

“Her,” Arrand corrected.

“What?”

“That’s a Tlartox female. Her.” Arrand took a quick look down the passageway, then shoved a heavy box across the deck to block the lower part of the doorway. He stacked another two boxes on top of the other one, leaving a small crack in the middle and at either side through which they could look and shoot.

“How can you tell?” Derall began to look sick. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not the way it was on the vid-dramas at all.

“Smaller jaw. Longer fangs. Besides, she’s a Commando. Most of them are hunters,” Arrand explained. “Hunters are female. They have a better sense of smell, faster reactions.”

“Is she, is she dying?”

The sergeant took a closer look, moving the Tlartox’s weapons farther away from her body, not that it seemed likely that she’d try for them. She was too intent on holding herself together.

“Yes, she is. You opened her up nicely, kid.”

“Should we—you know?”

“Is that what you want to do?” Arrand raised his eyebrows.

“No, but, I mean, she’s in pain.”

“Would you want them to do that for you?”

“No.”

“Then I guess we’ll operate on the same assumptions. You watch the hall. I’ll see what can be done for her.”

Plarin Tlenth felt the shock leaving her and the pain increasing. She knew they’d hit her badly. Her helmet, half off, painfully twisted and trapped one ear. She desperately wanted to take it off but dared not move her hands. If she did, her guts would come spilling out.

One of the humans looked down at her, then crouched. She gave a small hiss, but even that hurt. Slowly, she realized he was speaking, that she could understand the words. The human knew Tlarti.

“Rest easy, honored foe,” he said softly. “You fought well, but your fight is now over.” He waited until he was sure she understood. “I’m going to take off your helmet, now. Then we’ll help you prepare to meet Tlar.” He waited again. “Is this acceptable?”

Plarin gave a small nod and his hands came down to undo her chinstrap. Very gently he removed her helmet and she felt absurdly grateful to this enemy as her ear returned to its normal position. Her fur, however, was a mess. She made a small move with her right arm, but the sudden pain stopped her. She opened her eyes as the jag of pain died.

The human held something up in front of her face and she had to concentrate in order to bring it into focus. It was what the humans called a comb, she realized.

“The best I can do,” he told her. Her brush was in her pocket and even the thought of him moving her gave her pain. The actuality would be too much. She nodded again. The other one began speaking, but she didn’t understand his words. Instead of even trying to listen she closed her eyes again and began murmuring the departure ritual.

“What are you doing?” Derall asked.

“Tlartox take great stock in being properly groomed,” Arrand explained. “The head is the most important part of that and it is vital that they go to meet Tlar, their god, well groomed—if possible. So, I’m helping her out.” He carefully combed her fur, bringing order to disorder.

“How do you know all this about them?”

“An old adage says ‘know your enemy’, kid. Keep a good watch on the corridor.”

“But why are you doing it?”

“You believe in a god, kid?”

Derall hesitated, then nodded, wondering if the Adian would think less of him for believing.

“If you were dying, wouldn’t you want someone to help you meet your god as you feel most fitting?”

“Yeah,” Derall breathed out, understanding. “I guess I would. You’d better hurry, though. I think something is up.”

Arrand ran the comb gently along her ears, and then carefully set the guard hairs in place. The two humans could hear a soft purr coming from the dying Tlartox commando. Brenndol smoothed the fur under her chin then lowered his head to hers.

“You are ready to meet Tlar, honored foe. Go with all dignity and relate your life’s story.” He paused, feeling the kid tap him. “And say a word for us, for your klatch comes and we will soon join you.”

Plarin opened her eyes a last time to see the shape of his head. It was fading fast. She would, she decided, speak for the humans when she met Tlar. She took a shuddering breath.

“She’s gone.”

“They’re coming.” The kid’s voice rose shrilly.

Arrand dropped the comb on the deck beside the dead commando’s head and looked up to where the vid-cam would be, if there was one here. “Pray for us,” he said and turned to meet the fury coming down the corridor.

*

Group Commander Rai Tlell looked into the compartment, glaring at the sprawled bodies of the two humans and then looking to the body of Section Commander Tlenth. To her surprise, her subordinate lay properly groomed. Her glance fell to the comb that lay beside her fallen comrade’s head, then back, with a much softer expression, to the two dead humans. Perhaps they weren’t such barbarians after all.

“Let’s go. There’s nothing left here for us. We have a station to take.” She turned away, leaving the dead to the company of each other.

BREVNIZ

A shocked silence filled the Community Hall as the citizens watched one of their Marines, Arrand Brenndol, firing shot after shot down the corridor, then flying backwards as several Tlartox shots ripped into him. The young Lormarian had already died.

An almost simultaneous translation had given them insight into what Arrand had spoken to the Tlartox commando.

Sillan heard a loud sob as the silence was broken and turned his head to see tears streaming down Abgil Wondell’s face. She had often accompanied Arrand while he’d spent his shore leave. Sillan moved over to her and put his arm about her shoulders. She turned and buried her face in his chest.

“I know that not all of you are of the faiths,” the local preacher said loudly. “Our friend, Arrand Brenndol, called out to us with his last words, though, requesting our prayers. Now would be a good time.”

Mute agreement met the statement and the aud on each screen faded away. The heads of every man, woman and child old enough to know what was happening, bowed together and the preacher led them in a non-denominational prayer.

Sillan raised his head and observed the citizens of his village. Rarely had he seen people looking more somber. A few, too affected to remain, filed out. The rest returned their attention to the screens. One down, he thought, and eight to go, counting the mayor’s son. Perhaps others were already dead. He turned his eyes to the screen showing Prime Alpha. He hoped he might see Bel once more. Abgil remained in his embrace and cried.

IMPLACABLE

“Captain, shields are down, engines down, weapons off line.”

“Then let’s get them fixed,” Monstin said gently.

Implacable drifted, leaving her station, heading towards Bravo. For the moment no one bothered them, as battles raged fiercely all around.

Detector Lieutenant Chorsol sent vid of Vindicateur to the main screen. Three Tlartox cruisers beset the battleship, their shots tearing into her. Nine of her sixteen great turrets looked like scrap metal. The other seven continued firing in defense of the beleaguered station, keeping the Tlartox from aiding their commandos already within.

With little else to do, Captain Monstin watched.

“Shields back on line, but minimal,” Lieutenant-Commander Frennet reported. He looked worried. Soon they would drift into Bravo’s sector and would likely, once there, come under attack again. Another attack would finish them.

One wing of Vindicateur’s hammerhead bow tore away under heavy fire. Still she remained on station.

“Torpedoes tubes reloaded, sir,” Weapons Lieutenant Relnev reported.

“Sir,” Frennet’s voice was quiet. “We can’t take her back into action. It would be suicide.”

Monstin looked at his damage control officer appraisingly, then turned his head. At that moment the Inter-ship came to life and he looked back.

“Vindicateur, this is Rear Admiral Cenet on Honor.” Cenet’s tired face came on the screen, which divided to show a young woman, her hair undone, strands plastered to her face, some with sweat, some with blood. She leaned over her console, using it for support.

“Sub-Lieutenant Tulcot, Rear Admiral. We are busy at the moment.” She turned and waved to someone off screen. “Get on it, we haven’t all day.” She turned back. “Yes, Admiral, what can we do for you?”

“Let me speak to your Captain, Sub-Lieutenant.”

Tulcot brushed hair out of her eyes. “The Captain is not available, sir.”

Cenet swallowed, but kept his temper in check. “Tell your Captain to get his ship out of there.”

Tulcot’s pale blue eyes stared at the screen. She pulled herself straighter in her chair. “Captain Ventlor is dead, sir. Commander Brender is in sickbay, unconscious; Gunnery Lieutenant Pinectol is missing, possibly killed when we lost the auxiliary bridge; Communications Lieutenant Vinncel is in Auxiliary weapons control which is now isolated by vacuum; Engineering officers are attempting the restart of engines three through seven and reactivation of shields.” She punched a comm line open. “Make Target Bravo your priority, Lieutenant.” She turned back to the screen. “I am in command.” There was fire in her eyes. “This is the 22nd. We do not retreat. Engines three and four restarted? Good work. Navigation, plot a course to close with target Bravo. Admiral, I have no more time to talk.” The screen darkened.

“Lieutenant-Commander Frennet, you have suggested that we abandon ship. What say you now?” Every face on Implacable’s bridge turned towards the Lieutenant-Commander. He punched up his tactical display.

“Sir, at our present rate of drift we will be in the middle of Vindicateur’s battle inside four minutes.”

“That seems reasonable.”

“We are out of action, not a reasonable target when there are other vessels firing.” The Lieutenant-Commander was thinking out loud.

“Granted.”

“Chances are the Tlartox will ignore us and continue concentrating on Vindicateur.”

Monstin didn’t like where this seemed headed, but kept his mouth shut. He trusted Frennet on matters of tactics.

“Main Battery Alpha is back on line—reduced power—and we have a full complement of torpedoes. If one of those cruisers ignores us as we come close, we might be able to take her out before they can react. I suggest we kill all unnecessary systems so as to appear dead. We may surprise them.”

“An admirable plan, Lieutenant-Commander. Implement it.”

PRIME ALPHA, CONTROL CENTER

“Commander, Searcher on aud, requesting permission to come inside and dock.”

Meehknet tore his gaze from the battles raging throughout his station. “Captain Britlot?”

“Aye, Commander.”

“Your situation?”

“We’ve lost our offensive capabilities. Shields, also, are gone. Repairs may be possible if we dock.”

“We’ve been boarded, Captain. Better, perhaps, if you go planetside.”

“The equipment and dockers we need are here, sir. If we go down we’ll not be able to rejoin the battle.”

Meehknet sighed. “Very well, Searcher, we’ll open the outer doors in three minutes. Be quick.” Be very quick. They would be most vulnerable at that moment. “Tempest, this is Alpha Command.”

“Commander Meehknet, what can I do for you?” Taglini asked.

“We have Searcher coming inboard, please direct defensive fire to our vulnerable quarter, sir.”

“Will do. Have you noticed that the station is taking less and less fire? The Tlartox seem to be withdrawing slightly, or at least not pressing.”

“Yes. No doubt they are hesitant to fire on us with their own troops inside.”

Taglini’s face eased in comprehension. “I think you have it. How are things inside?”

SEARCHER

“Space door is open, sir.”

“Take us in, Lieutenant.”

Searcher moved with deliberate speed through the open space doors. Once inside, the doors immediately began to close again. Weytok reversed thrusters and came to a crawl, followed directions and docked the ship. The dock allowed air into the shielded docking tunnel and Searcher was home.

“Power down all unnecessary systems. Let’s see what we can do for repairs and rearming. Now, let’s get the wounded to sickbay.”

“Another four 60s, if you can, sir.” Dorvon still gloried in the assist they received for the cruiser kill.

“If we can, Spacer, if we can.”

Keel Tumjut and Rawl Tetjuin appeared. “We’re ready to take Tianster out, sir.”

“Very good. There are enemy on board. Check with Control for the best route to sickbay, then get back here quick as possible.”

Britlot massaged his shoulders. He hurt everywhere, it seemed, but the tension seemed to be concentrated there. If only he had time to rest—but he didn’t. “Lieutenant Weytok, check with Logistics. Lieutenant Krirtol, work out a priority repair list. I’ll see about getting some dockers. Look lively everyone. Sub-Lieutenant Parenner, you have the bridge.”

Britlot left the bridge, followed by his two Lieutenants. They helped debark the injured Tianster and then Krirtol returned to the ship while Weytok went in search of torpedoes.

“Commander, what do you need?” The man was an aging docker foreman. Britlot’s eyebrows quirked. He’d never before been approached in such an affable manner by dockers.

“We have no shields and our weapons are down. The hull needs a quick check, but we still have integrity.”

“I’ll have people on it in five minutes. We’ll get you back out there as soon as we possibly can.” The man turned away then turned back. “That was some flying you did, to take out that cruiser, sir.”

Britlot grinned at the man’s retreating back. First time a docker had ever called him ‘sir’. Perhaps the Adians had the right idea with passing information on to non-combatants.

CHAPTER 29

PRIME ALPHA

Major Coll Britlot couldn’t recall being more tired. One alarm followed another. No sooner did they stop the Tlartox in one line of advance then the commandos found a weak spot elsewhere.

“Major, they’ve broken into Docking Bay Number One!”

Britlot heaved himself to his feet and ordered his entire company back into action. How many hours had this been going on? He thought he’d had a little sleep somewhere, but definitely not enough.

“It’s a wide open area, Marines. A different kind of fighting. Remember to watch above and to your rear. This isn’t going to be fun.”

They ran down the long corridors, slid down drop poles because the lifts were not fast enough, and cursed the designers of the station even though they had not built it with this sort of action in mind.

“This way, this way!” yelled a civilian docker. “Our spacers are holding them, but not for long.”

Britlot’s breath came in harsh pants, but he sent his troops surging forward again, the civilian keeping ahead of them, leading the way. Suddenly she stopped and the Marines came to a halt as well.

“Careful when you go through this airtight. You’ll have a long workbench just the other side, so go through low and fast. Unless they’ve gained the upper levels they won’t be able to hit you. Our people will be off to your left, maybe thirty or forty meters in. Tlartox have entered from the far right—at least that was the situation as of ten minutes ago.”

“You heard her,” Britlot ordered, “low and fast.” As Marines started filing in, Britlot turned back to the civilian. Weapons fire sounded in the distance, Marine response began and grew. “Is there another way in?”

“This is the best way. You’ll have the cover when you move forward. The other way you’d get cut to pieces. Might want to station a small squad there, though.”

“Ex-marine?” Britlot asked. The woman had given him the knowledge he needed without excess or leaving out anything important.

“Yeah, did a tour maybe fifteen years ago. Some things you just don’t forget.”

Britlot gave her a smile and clapped her on the arm. “Well, what you didn’t forget probably saved us a lot of casualties. Our thanks.

“Lieutenant. Take five marines and follow this woman to the other entrance. Don’t try anything stupid. Just guard the entrance and if you can take some shots without grave risk, do it.” Britlot turned and pushed his way into the line slipping through the door to the dock.

Someone had been careless. A dead Marine lay just two steps inside the bay. Others slowly infiltrated forward, just as they’d done during exercises. Britlot saw some looking back, covering their rear in case any Tlartox appeared on the catwalk above and behind them. He moved off to the left, wanting to get more information from whoever led the spacers.

The level of weapons fire increased as more of his marines entered the action. Someone let out with a blood-chilling scream. He couldn’t tell if it was Tlartox or human. A shot hit just above his head and sent him to the deck, breathing hard.

Side arm out, he made his way around a machine, watching every direction at once, or as close to that as he could. A man stood suddenly, loosed several shots, then disappeared. Britlot made his way in that direction. The man was obviously not trained in close quarters fighting and had forgotten everything they’d taught him back in his Academy days.

“No! Down!” Britlot yelled as the man reappeared in the exact same position. Too late. A Tlartox sniper’s shot flung him backwards.

“Here. Stay down.”

This man, in the light blue of the Confederation navy, motioned him over. Britlot moved quickly to him. The man raised his eyes only above his protection, fired three shots, ducked and moved. There was something familiar about him.

“Well met, cousin,” Coll Britlot rasped out.

Commander Mart Britlot stared at him, trying to remember.

“Major Coll Britlot, Adian Marines,” he reminded the other.

“Of course, that last day. Glad to see you and your friends.” Six more marines had snaked their way through the maze and joined them. “They surprised us,” Mart admitted.

“They’ve been doing that to us for hours now,” Coll Britlot chuckled. “How many of them are in here? Best guess.”

Mart pulled his hand-held from his belt. “Lieutenant Krirtol, how many in the bay now?”

“Captain, detection has counted at least two hundred to this time.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Well, you heard. Two hundred. And they are well ensconced.”

Coll Britlot looked across the bay to the ship docked there. He could read the name: Searcher. A sudden gleam came to his eyes.

“Can you get the ship’s screens repeated to you?” he asked.

Mart understood and gave a slow Britlot smile. “I think that is possible.” He spoke for a time into his hand-held and then tuned it. “Here we are. Lieutenant, please follow the Major’s directions.”

Major Coll Britlot had Krirtol run the scan over the bay, noting where everything was and the most likely spots for the Tlartox to hide.

“Can your ship fire her weapons?”

“In here?” The man was mad. Completely out of his mind. Mart told him so.

“Smallest weapon, minimum energy?” Coll laughed at the disbelief that manifested itself on Mart’s face. Then he became serious. “See, it’s either that or we hunt them down one at a time. That will take hours we don’t have and result in heavy casualties. Right now, thanks to your people’s quick action, we have them in a limited area. Several quick small bursts will dishearten them, boost our morale, and give us cover as we make a rush. We absolutely cannot allow them control of the bays. Light casualties or heavy. Your choice.”

“Lieutenant Krirtol, were you listening?”

“Aye, sir.” She sounded as shocked as he had been.

“Are the weapons back on line yet?”

“Aye, sir, they are. Just give me the targets and we’ll have a party,” a man’s voice came through.

“Thank you, Gunner Dorvon. Major?”

Major Coll Britlot listed four targets and Dorvon replied that he had them locked in his sights. “Just give me the word, but don’t rush in before I’m done. This’ll be no summer walk on Adia, Major; it will be spectacular. Glad I’m in here and not out there.”

Major Britlot took his own hand-held out and dialed his company’s frequency. “All Marines, attention. The scoutship Searcher is about to fire on the following targets.” He listed them. “Immediately after the fourth bolt we attack. Do not anticipate. Searcher has warned us that this will be quite spectacular.” He received affirmatives from all his officers and pointed his forefinger at his Confederation cousin. He jabbed it down, crouching as he did so.

Mart Britlot had been busy on other frequencies warning the spacers of the upcoming festivities. He shook his head at the major and lay right down on the deck. “Now, Dorvon!” He placed his hands over his ears.

The roar was incredible and pieces of machinery flew all over. It seemed that the bolts charged the very air with electricity and Major Coll Britlot felt every hair on his body stand up. It was not a feeling he wished to repeat, but repeat it did—three times.

“Urrah!” The shout rose through the sudden quiet of the bay, and the marines attacked. Mart Britlot followed Coll, and together they ran from cover to cover.

The four great blasts had torn the heart out of the Tlartox defense, and commandos rushed from the bay, not wanting to face that sort of firepower again. Those who couldn’t escape fought ferociously, once they recovered.

Mart looked at Coll, amazed. The man fought with a cold fury, seemingly reckless. In actuality he calculated his every step and took no needless risks.

Then came hand-to-hand and there were claws and knives everywhere. Blood covered the floor and Mart had only time to shoot and move, not think. He was swept up in something he knew little about and he found the fear exhilarating.

It ended.

Mart checked himself over. He still lived, unwounded. He looked around. Many were not. Tlartox Commando and Adian Marine lay side-by-side, one on top the other, dead and dying. He saw gore everywhere and heard agonized screams of pain as the victors did what they could for the wounded of both sides. He brought up his lunch. Then Coll stood at his side, the Adian holding his right forearm with his left hand. His fingers were bloody.

“I think I misunderstood the exact meaning of ‘spectacular’, Commander.”

Mart looked at him, and dredged up a smile, a far cry from the Britlot smile. “I think I may have misunderstood the term ‘light casualties.’”

Coll Britlot laughed harshly. “This? Yes, well,” he shrugged. “I have to go. Thanks to you, we have them on the run. Better to not let them get set up again.” He patted Mart on the arm and strode off, yelling for his company to reassemble; ordering a patrol to harass the Tlartox, and calling for medics.

Mart closed his eyes. His hands shook so badly he could barely hold his side arm. With great care he placed it in its holster and made his way back to Searcher.

He had no need to ask if they had seen. Pale faces met him. He turned and headed for the heads. He didn’t have as much to bring up this time, so he had to endure the dry heaves. Finally he finished and stepped out.

Feneya stood there, came forward and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Mart, Mart. I saw it. I, I thought…”

“Hush.” He held her tightly, wanting to never let her go.

CONFEDERATION PARLIAMENTARY CHAMBERS

Mart Britlot was not the only person to lose the contents of his stomach. Down on Lormar and on forty or more different planets, Confederation citizens watched, grey of face. Many, as had been prophesied, had turned off their screens. Many, many more had not. The Chamber of Parliamentarians debated the wisdom of allowing the channels to remain open.

“The Minister of Defense suggests that we cannot allow our citizens to be exposed to these graphic vid-records. Secrets are being broadcast. And, worse still, already a backlash develops. Our people have never seen such things.”

“Does the Minister desire that his name be on the document which orders closure of the channels?”

No one spoke. The cries of censure, which would arise, would deafen them. No one with his name on the order would survive the next election.

“Then let us deal with items on which we have a choice.”

No one liked that statement, yet no one was willing to argue with it.

WINTER SKY

“Hard a-starboard,” Captain Rellos ordered and Winter Sky came about in a tight arc. Tight for her, but not for the Tlartox who cut inside and opened her hull. Hull Breach alarms screamed, then were cut.

“Section eighteen open to space and isolated, sir.”

“Very good. Gunner, do something about that frigate.”

“Torpedoes fired, sir. They are too close to get away.”

On the screen, the Tlartox frigate turned sharply and hit her thrusters. It was no use. The torpedoes struck and her shields buckled. Other torpedoes ripped her into pieces.

Rellos smiled without humor. He had saved his torpedoes for just such an eventuality. The Tlartox, having noted that torpedoes were no longer being fired, had become careless. Even so, that wouldn’t have mattered without the updated guidance heads which defied Tlartox jamming. He sent a mental thanks to the factory people who had worked almost until they dropped, replacing them.

“Lieutenant Kellnel, get me a damage report.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Sir?”

“Lieutenant Sharden?”

“Prime Delta reports that it is falling to the Tlartox. Heavy casualties on both sides, but the enemy vastly outnumber our people. Our forces are retreating to starboard side upper.”

“Understood.” Rellos looked at Sharden’s pale face. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“They request that we fire on them, Starboard side mid, to relieve the pressure.”

Rellos checked the screen. Now the Tlartox fleet protected Prime Delta. They’d shifted more of their ships to the battle for the station, probably when they learned that the fight within went well for their side.

Winter Sky was in the unfortunate position of being the closest warship to Delta at the moment.

“Drive straight for them, helm! Gunnery, as soon as we are within range. One salvo, and then we’re out of here.” If the Tlartox would let them go—which he doubted.

“In range, sir, firing.”

“Get us out of here.”

PRIME STATION DELTA

Group Leader Rai Tlel pushed her group onwards. They’d taken only a short sleep break before rejoining the fight. Just a quick push and it would be over, she thought sarcastically. Fleet Admiral Tlomega should be here, trading blood for blood with the Confederation soldiers and their Adian allies.

“Let’s move. Group Commander Scairnth reports the humans in full retreat.”

Her group moved forward carefully, knowing that humans cut off from their retreats tended to fight rather than surrender. No one wanted to die from carelessness.

“Take a short squad and check that corridor,” Rai ordered Squad Leader Rel Tjenor.

The rest of the group passed though an open airtight. All but eight of them had passed through when the station rocked and the terrible hull breach klaxon went off. The airtight slammed shut, trapping the others behind it, even as the section was exposed to hard vacuum. Rai closed her eyes in pain and placed her hand against the airtight. “Go to Tlar, honored comrades. Go swiftly and sure.”

*

Rel Tjenor had run into a small band of humans and the weapons fire rose in tenor. Then came the blast and they had just two seconds to react. Rel and three of her short squad made it through an airtight before it slammed shut. Now they were locked in with the humans. Weapons spoke loudly.

A dying hiss told of vents closing. Rel turned her head to look at the Commando next to her. They all knew what that sound meant. They were isolated, with only the air inside the compartment. She swallowed hard. Almost of its own accord the firing between the two sides died.

“Hey, you Tlartox!”

Rel tried to recall the Confederation Standard she’d had to learn. “Hear you,” she replied, still crouched low.

“How’s about a cease fire? We’re all done for, anyway.”

She shook her head. Sar Krinth translated. Rel hadn’t known Sar knew Standard. She looked at the other three. It just didn’t seem to matter any longer. The human likely spoke truth. By the time either side made it to the compartment they would be out of air.

“Agreed, human,” she yelled back. She heard low voices speaking, then one of the humans stood up. A brave or reckless one. He righted a tipped over chair and table, pulled out a deck of cards and began dealing a solitary game.

If it was a trap, it was a trap. This also, didn’t seem to matter. Rel stood also.

“Know Jaggar?” she asked the human. That one slowly bared his teeth and gathered up the cards.

“Sure do,” he replied and pointed to another chair. Rel moved over, picked it up and sat down.

“Good. Not play Jaggar … oh, four year.”

“Anyone else?” the human called out.

Slowly, four more humans and her three commandos stood up and gathered round. Fighting seemed without meaning, now.

The two sides watched each other suspiciously, but nothing happened as the human dealt the cards. Rel took hers up and saw that she had a chance at making a quick score. She played a low one to see what he would do. He fell for it.

“Say, any of you have a Leiseth bar?” a short, black-haired human asked. “Heard they were pretty good.”

Sar translated and the four Tlartox looked at each other in disbelief. Rel reached into her ration pocket and pulled out one of the vile dried ration bars and handed it over. The human ripped it open and took a bite. His eyes widened in surprise, but to his credit he kept chewing and swallowed. “Damn, but that packs a kick,” he exclaimed. He took a wondering look at the bar and, to the further amazement of the Tlartox, took another bite. They began laughing, soon joined by the humans.

“Don’t think badly of us,” a tall yellow-haired one spoke, “Phirin’s been known to eat anything. Rest of us have taste.”

“Taste? How your ration taste?”

“Like shit,” replied the dealer. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out an Adian bar. Rel accepted it, took a small bite and chewed. Her eyes slitted and ears folded back. The three other Tlartox convulsed.

“Bad as ours. Why they feed us … shit?” She copied the human word, not knowing its exact meaning, but getting the gist well enough. That cracked up the humans.

*

In the vid control center, Communications Major Leth Rostel caught the exchange.

“That one goes out,” he ordered.

“Are you sure?” His Confederation host seemed to think it a bad idea.

“Very sure, Commander. They’ve seen enough gore for the moment.”

The Confederation Commander didn’t think it a good idea. Command didn’t approve of fraternization. On the other hand, were he there he would do the exact same thing.

“Major, Commander. We’re evacuating—now! Tlartox right behind us.” A Marine stood at the door, waving them out urgently.

“You heard him. Everyone out!” ordered the Major.

A mad scramble ensued and Major Rostel hesitated long enough to throw the switch transferring control of the monitors to Station Alpha. The few moments it took made them the last in his life as a group of Tlartox commandos spilled into the hallway, killed the marine by the door and then came after him.

“Hope you enjoyed the show,” the major spoke for the vid he knew was going to Alpha. “Sorry to leave in the middle of things.” A commando poked her head around the open door and Rostel got off two shots before dying. Neither shot hit his target. The commando stepped into the room warily, then her eyes went wide open as she saw the monitors.

“Get the Group Leader here immediately,” she called to her comrades in the hallway.

Rai Tlel was similarly impressed. She summoned a tech and, with the aid of what the vids showed, they made their plans for the final assault on the station’s defenders.

PREDATOR

Sab sniffed curiously at the undertone of blood in the ship’s air, noting once again that the Captain did them proud. Blood in the air was a trigger, pushing Tlartox senses to their limits, exciting and dangerous. The crew went to fever height. They preferred battle, even at poor odds, to almost anything else. But the odds would not be poor.

The hunt had gone well. Prime Delta belonged to them, except for a small band of humans who fought on, trapped in one small corner of the station. Prime Echo would be theirs soon. Tlomega had shifted the weight of the fleets so that they covered the two stations which they owned, denying reinforcement to the Confederation and allied troops.

The Confederation and Adian fleets now protected Primes Alpha and Bravo with their remaining ships. Over half of the enemy’s ships floated adrift, dead. Even now, Tlomega prepared plans for the destruction of those remaining. The crews, excepting those on small forays, rested, waiting for the final offense. Sab, however, had had enough.

She’d seen, at close hand, the fight for Prime Bravo. The brutal pummeling which Vindicateur had taken without trying to escape or surrender had impressed the Tlartox Admiral. She had put up a valiant but futile fight, Sab had thought. Three of their best cruisers—including Predator—had closed in on the old battleship. Tlomega had wanted to be there for the finish.

Then that Confederation cruiser had drifted by, dead by all detector reports. Suddenly space near the cruiser Tlyneet had come alive with torpedoes and the enemy cruiser had returned to life. Tlyneet, traveling slowly to keep the battleship engaged, could not avoid the torpedoes. They had taken down her shields and smashed her engines.

The action had been like a rallying cry for the enemy. Suddenly a dozen ships were inbound and Tlomega, mouthing curses, had ordered the two remaining Tlartox cruisers away to finish things at Prime Delta. And still, even as they retreated, Vindicateur had fired at them from its last remaining big turret.

Sab dragged herself to her chair, wanting nothing more than sleep. For three days this battles for the Primes had raged. Morale, fleet-wide, was down. No one had expected such a fight. Yet they could do nothing except fight. The Confederation destabilization of hyperspace had seen to that. A third Tlartox vessel trying to jump had blown up. Incoming vessels seemed able to drop without problem, but jumping had turned deadly.

She’d taken it upon herself to recall yet another fleet. It, and Tlentror’s fleet, would arrive at any hour now. Very soon after, Lormar would be theirs.

“Star Admiral, I have General Tlearfong on the vid from Prime Delta.” Blontera beckoned her. Sab wondered what Tlearfong had to report.

“Star Admiral Tlorth here. What is it General?”

There was a cut above Tlearfong’s right eye, blood matting the fur. The grey and black striped face held a mixture of weariness and anger. Certainly the ears were cocked at an angry angle.

“Where is that rat-spawn Tlomega, Admiral?”

Sab blinked twice. She cut the volume—too late. The entire bridge had heard Tlearfong’s words. The whole fleet would know within the hour.

“Fleet Admiral Tlomega is planning the final assault on Lormar and its defenders,” Sab replied cautiously. “May I help the General?”

“You can space the Fleet Admiral and her plans.”

Enough. Sab’s pupils slitted and her ears went back.

“Six thousand casualties, Star Admiral,” Tlearfong accused. “Six thousand of my commandos are dead or badly wounded.”

Ah, so that was it. Her ears returned to a more solicitous angle. “Fleet has suffered heavy casualties as well, General. The four Primes have—”

“Six thousand here on Delta, Star Admiral. Tlar only knows how many on the others.”

Sab’s stomach lurched. So many?

“And this against an enemy which your precious Fleet Admiral declared would turn tail after a sharp clawing.” Tlearfong was angry clear through. “Please give my regards to the Fleet Admiral and ask her to meet me on Prime Delta. Besides myself there are several thousand commandos who would like to meet her in person.”

Sab Tlorth wisely decided to not pass on that message.

VINDICTIVE

“Gentlemen, Ladies. We’ve all seen the vids and know how desperate the situation is at Lormar. We’ve all seen the tenacious defense of our fellow citizens by the navy, the Adian fleet and a mixture of Adian marines, Confederation marines, fleet personnel and volunteers.

“They have paid an enormous price. We cannot allow that price to have been paid in vain. In five minutes, Second and Fourth Fleets jump. Four hours after that we will be there. If the Gods are willing, we shall arrive in time to save the remnants of Lormar’s defense forces. I expect every man and woman aboard to be ready.”

Admiral Blarenti’s address went to all ships. He had been correct. The vids had deeply affected all who had seen them, and all had seen them. Now, they merely wanted to arrive in time—and to inflict their revenge upon the Tlartox fleet. Admiral Blarenti could not have hoped for a more dedicated, focused force.

The fleets stood in tight formation, ready for the last jump. Nothing would stand in their way.

“Jump!” Two hundred and sixteen vessels of the Confederation Navy winked out. “Maximum speed. Destination: Lormar.”

STARBURST

Vice Admiral Knerden faced a near mutiny. Ships coming in from hyperspace, not yet under his orders to not show vids from Lormar, had brought back the information and it had spread like wildfire. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to rush back to the lost cause.

He had to remain strong, to protect his fleet against its loss in the futile struggle for Lormar and her Primes. The remains of First Fleet was all that stood between the Tlartox and the overrunning of the Confederation. Even now a Tlartox fleet had come out of hyperspace near Rosneli, maneuvering to take out her Primes. Those Primes were, against standing orders from Fleet, preparing to defend themselves to the death, following the insane example of the Adians. About fifteen old frigates and one modern cruiser prepared to attack the Tlartox fleet. Insanity.

“Sir, I have a message from Admiral Blarenti’s Second Fleet.” Captain Yrgren was polite but distant and Knerden felt betrayed. The Captain also wanted to return to Lormar.

“What is it, Captain?”

“Second and Fourth Fleets are inbound for Lormar. Due there in four hours.” Under the impartial tone, Knerden was sure he could sense satisfaction.

“Thank you, Captain. With Second and Fourth Fleets taking on the Tlartox we are free to strike against the enemy. We will head for Tlartox space. Have all ships ready to jump within the hour.”

“Within the hour, aye, sir.”

Knerden couldn’t believe it. Fleet had ordered Lormar evacuated. What were Second and Fourth Fleets doing? It went against the strategy the best minds, including his, had developed. There would be hell to pay when HQ restored comm and found out.

The Tlartox still had the better part of two fleets insystem and others in Confederation space. It was madness to risk the bulk of their forces in a battle whose conclusion any with eyes could foresee.

He stepped from behind his desk. The forty-seven ships of his Fleet would make the difference. Hitting at the Tlartox supply lines and stations, while their own fleets were heavily engaged in Confederation Space, would have telling results.

He nodded to himself. It was the best strategy. And it wouldn’t hurt to be known as the man who took the war back to the enemy.

PRIME ALPHA

“Commander Britlot, good to see you made it through that mess.” Commodore Taglini smiled his most reassuring smile, though inside he felt a mass of nerves. He had led a small force of Confederation spacers in the battle for Docking Bay One. It had almost been too much and he didn’t know if he could take any more. Searcher’s weapons discharge in the bay had unnerved him.

“Commodore,” Britlot’s smile was genuine. It appeared that he had recovered quickly from the grimness of the battle. “I hadn’t realized that you weren’t in Tempest. How is she, by the way?”

“Ready to kick off the station, Mart. Between you and me, I’d prefer to face another Tlartox fleet than go through anything like that again. I don’t know how the marines do it.” He hoped that Britlot wouldn’t notice the shaking of his hands. “How’s Searcher?” he asked, changing the subject. “Saw what you did to that cruiser. Well done, well done indeed.”

“Thank you, sir. Searcher is ready to go. As soon as the dockers ascertain that it is safe to open the bay doors we’ll be spacers again.”

“Good, good. Hurricane is ready, also, so it’ll be just like old times.” Old times of a few weeks ago. Nothing would be like old times again. When this ended, he’d retire. See if Listra would like to spend the rest of her life planetside with him. They had earned it. He felt the pressure of the stick in his pocket and wondered if he could actually hand it over. It felt like a line he would cross, giving up hope.

“Mart,” his voice became soft and tentative. Britlot looked up in surprise. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course, sir. What is it?”

Taglini hesitated, then reached into his pocket. “Here. If anything happens to me, see that Captain Benteel gets this.” He turned suddenly and walked off, leaving a surprised Britlot holding a datastick.

Mart Britlot watched as Commodore Taglini straightened his back and squared his shoulders. His stride became a swagger, but Britlot wasn’t fooled; Taglini’s hands had trembled as he’d passed the stick. Britlot stood and watched as Taglini gave words of encouragement to some whom he passed and waves to others.

“Sir?”

“Yes, what is it?” Britlot asked the old foreman, the one who had initially greeted him when Searcher came aboard.

“All our systems are green. You can leave any time.” The old man looked at him. “Did you really fire her weapons inside the bay?”

“Well, not actually. I was outside at the time. But yes, Searcher did fire.” Britlot smiled. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but the man had given him and his ship all the assistance he could have hoped for—and more.

“You were in the fight, then?” The old man seemed impressed.

“Yes, I was. We were quite worried for a while, until the Adians showed up.”

The foreman’s eyes widened a little. “You did good work.” He turned as someone called to him. “Good luck out there, son.”

“Thank you, sir.” At the word ‘sir’, the foreman seemed to walk with just a little more spring in his step.

Britlot turned. Time to get Searcher ready for space again.

*

Group Commander Prawl Tlerik grimly directed the retreat. She roundly cursed the Fleet rats who had not properly cleared the way to the station, thus denying the Commandos half their force. The stationtox had fought hard, costing them casualties in every corridor, laying traps and ambushes. She had nothing but good to say of them. They had fought bravely in defense just as she now did. But the Fleet rats—that was another story.

Even without all their forces, they had done well until the docking bay. Who would have thought that anyone would fire ship’s weapons within the station? She had fought there and the effect had been horrendous. From there all had gone badly and the humans now pushed them back the way they had come.

“Tlasren, get your section over there,” she ordered. They had to protect their flanks.

“Down! Down!” Everyone flattened as a band of howling humans poured down the corridor she’d just indicated. She raised her side arm and began firing. Then they were among each other and there was no time. A human was about to plunge a knife into her when one of her commandos raked that one’s face with claws. A terrible scream ensued. Her own claws extended, she pushed into the battle. It became human against Tlartox, one on one. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air.

Prawl felt a terrible blow to the back of her neck and went down. Her vision blurred and her ears rang. She rose to her hands and knees and someone kicked her in the side. Rolling over, she clawed a human’s leg. It screamed and gave the commando it fought a chance to deliver the killing blow.

Shots rang out and she heard the spine-chilling cry of Tlartox on the charge. She slumped against the bulkhead and watched as another section swept the humans back in a brutal counter-attack.

Quiet. Except for groans and low cries, there was quiet. Prawl looked about her. Everywhere lay dead and dying humans and Tlartox.

Nearby lay a human female. Her head was all bloody and she had a gaping hole in her chest. She was trying to say something and, out of curiosity, Prawl leaned over her. The closeness of an enemy didn’t seem to frighten the wounded marine at all.

“Record,” the human whispered. “Want to send record.”

Humans. She should have done that before the battle. Make peace with the past, prepare for death. Humans just didn’t seem to understand. Left too many things undone.

Prawl stood shakily and found a comm station and toggled it on. A human appeared, looking slightly surprised at seeing the Tlartox Group Commander. She looked straight into the vid screen. “Group Commander Prawl Tlerik,” she identified herself.

“Major Bronil Esranol,” the human replied. “How may I help you, Group Commander?”

“I have a human. Wants to make final record.”

The human looked even more surprised. “We are ready to record, Group Commander Tlerik.”

Prawl turned and found the dying human. She lifted her into her arms and returned to the screen. “Make record quickly, marine. Not much time.”

“Bel Frincol, Sergeant, 1st Adian Marines. Send to my father, Kron Frincol, the following: Dad, you were right,” Bel gasped out. “Outside, even ‘Legumes-in-Sauce’ tastes good. I know that, now. Thank you.”

The Marine sergeant went limp in her arms. A strange final record, Prawl thought, but it seemed important to the human.

“Major Esranol, it is over. This one is no more.” She looked down, and moved her hand, pushing a few hairs away from Bel’s face, then looked up again. “Add to the Sergeant’s record that Group Commander Prawl Tlerik, Tlartox Commandos reports that this one did her duty well and brought honor to her unit.”

The major nodded grimly. “Group Commander Tlerik, you bring honor to your klatch and your progenitors. We thank you, honored foe.”

Prawl accepted her due with a stiff nod, only slightly surprised at the Major’s good manners. She carefully set down the marine and turned back to the screen. “Now I must return to my duties, Major.” She toggled off the screen as her rescuers, now once again in retreat, came back down the corridor.

They quickly checked their dead, treated the wounded, and left the corridor with a rush as the rear guard warned of oncoming humans.

Soon they’d be back near the hull. And, there, she knew of a good place for a final defense. The humans would pay dearly for their victory.

HONOR

“Admiral Cenet, I’m glad to see you are still with us.”

“Thank you, Admiral Fenton.” The fleet admiral had a patch over one eye, Cenet saw. Another screen showed Restigouche, battered and torn.

“We have one more battle, Admiral. The enemy comes even as we speak.” Fenton looked as tired as he felt, Cenet thought.

“Yes.” The fleet that had been slowly forming on the far side of Lormar’s moon was definitely inbound. Tactical information from the surface showed that the ships about the Tlartox controlled stations had also formed up.

“Raid incoming!” Cenet’s detection officer warned, and Cenet broke the connection in order to deal with this latest threat. He ordered Taglini’s small squadron of Hurricane, Searcher, Tempest and Parquel’s Luck, an Adian destroyer, to deal with it. The Tlartox designed the raids, Cenet had no doubt, to keep them awake, slow their reaction times and generally degrade their fighting abilities.

TEMPEST

“Hurricane reports shields down, sir!”

“Torpedoes away!”

Commodore Taglini acknowledged the reports as Captain Fronel picked himself up off the deck. They, too, had been hit hard and only the Helm’s impossibly tight turn saved them.

He overheard Navigation Lieutenant Wira Brilth, who had taken over helm, say dryly to Lowegtoten, “Specs say that turn was impossible.” Lowegtoten merely nodded, concentrating on the next target. Taglini patted his armrest, thinking only good thoughts about the old lady. Tempest would do.

“Searcher is drawing their fire,” Lowegtoten reported.

On the screen they could see Searcher twist and turn, then loose two torpedoes which struck a Tlartox frigate, killing her shields. Parquel’s Luck raked the frigate once before turning her attention to another raider, which closed on Hurricane. Tempest rocked with a hit.

“We’ve lost all Comm, sir,” Lieutenant Sorbine reported. “Antennas must be fried.”

Fronel looked helplessly at Taglini.

“I guess I’m not going to be doing much good here any longer. I’ll take over the Aux Bridge.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Taglini made his way out the door. Tempest shuddered. He was out of there, thanks be to the gods. He wasn’t sure he could take any more. Rop Jaron was glad enough to see him, turning over command to the Commodore in order to leave and take personal charge of the damage control parties.

He had nothing really to do on the auxiliary bridge. Taglini slipped a stick into his reader and pulled up the image of Listra Benteel. “I miss you,” he whispered to the image, wanting nothing more than a cabin of some sort on a planet far away from wars.

Lieutenant Grella Sorbine, who’d joined him on the Auxiliary Bridge, worked hard at restoring some kind of Comm with the rest of the fleet. Walking past the commodore, she took a quick glance at his reader.

Sorbine didn’t have time to consider it, for her work on a relay to one of the ship’s lifeboats took all of her attention. “I’ve got it,” she called out in triumph, when a smashing blow to Tempest sent her tumbling into the bulkhead. A roar filled her ears and through terribly blurred vision she saw the shape of the Commodore moving her way, pulling her by the arm and dragging her across the deck. She tried to tell him to stop, that it hurt, but the words didn’t leave her throat. It felt like a nightmare where you can’t speak, where you know that if you can just say something—anything—out loud, you’ll wake up and escape.

Finally Taglini released her and she groaned in relief. He said something, then moved off again. She struggled to keep moving, for somehow she knew there was danger; then she stopped as her mind at last processed his words. “Stay here. You’ll be safe.”

HONOR

Thirty minutes later, as the Adian and Confederation ships formed up for the final battle, the detection officer reported, “Raid withdrawing. Some damage to our ships, but all are still capable of fighting.”

“Here they come!”

“Put me through to Admiral Fenton on Restigouche.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

If anything, Admiral Fenton looked even more tired and drawn than he felt. The eye patch looked strange on her face. “Yes, Admiral?” Tired, very tired, Cenet thought, then paused to wonder just how he looked to her. He pulled himself together.

“Fleet Admiral,” he saluted, “it has been a pleasure serving with you.”

Fenton drew herself up and returned the salute. Her one dark eye seemed to shine with some sort of joy. “And with you, Admiral. Good hunting.”

“Good hunting.” He closed the comm.

“We aren’t going to make it through this one, are we, sir?” Cenet heard the question being asked of the Captain. He listened for the Captain’s reply.

“Well, Sub, we are going to do our damnedest.” Funny how you can tell when someone is smiling when they speak, without seeing their face. Both would be correct, the Rear Admiral thought regretfully.

Cenet looked down at his screen, at the pitiful remnants of the once proud fleet. The ships swung in line and then turned to meet the oncoming Tlartox. Cenet corrected himself. It was still a proud fleet, and he was proud to have been their commander. He just hoped that it would all be worth it.

BREVNIZ

Now, it was the turn of Sillan to be comforted. Abgil held him tightly. Bel Frincol’s death had devastated him.

“It’s okay, Sil,” she murmured in his ear.

“It’ll never be okay again,” he replied shakily.

“I meant that it’s okay to cry.” He wouldn’t, of course. Men. Even the shock of her death right in front of them, so to speak, had only stunned him to silence and withdrawal.

“If this is what fighting for us means, I’d rather live under the Tlartox.”

“No! Not ever.”

“No?”

“No, you will not even think that. They are giving their very lives for us. We will honor that and the freedom they buy. To say what you said dishonors the choice they made.”

She was right, Sillan had to admit. If they had believed it worth dying for, who was he to deny them? But why Bel?

Abgil admitted her error as she stroked Sillan’s cheek and found her fingers coming away wet. She held him more tightly. She looked back to the screen, listening to the Adian Major telling of the oncoming attack.

“Tlartox ships are moving in from Primes Delta and Echo; and from the direction of the moon, the new Tlartox force is driving directly for Alpha. It is unlikely that …”

“Sir! Emergence wave!”

CHAPTER 30

HONOR

On two hundred million screens on Lormar and twenty times that number elsewhere, citizens of the Confederation watched in an agony of suspense as the Adian Major in Prime Alpha told them of another imminent drop.

In thirty-eight ships of the fleet, tired crews, weary of the fight, waited for the enemy to finish the battle.

Rear Admiral Cenet looked down at his hands. They vibrated. Too little sleep, too many stay-awake pills. He didn’t even bother looking at his repeater screen. “Well, Captain, whose are they, theirs or ours?”

The Captain waited for a moment while the ships dropped. “Ours.” The word came without emotion. “They are ours. Second and Fourth Fleets have arrived. Message incoming.”

Cenet turned to the screen and recognized the Second Fleet logo as it came on screen a few moments before Admiral Blarenti appeared.

“We’re here, Rear Admiral.” He smiled, eager to get into the battle. “Now we’ll see what the Tlartox can do in a fair fight. Fourth Fleet is coming to your aid; we will take care of the fleet coming from the moon. Good work Admiral, and confusion to the enemy!”

PREDATOR

Tood Tlomega breathed out a long sigh. “So, they are here. At least Tlentror’s fleet is fresh. Action stations!”

Sab Tlorth looked at her repeater screen with a loathing she’d never felt before. Her ears went back to the angry angle, but she didn’t care who saw. “Very well, Fleet Admiral. Signal sent. We attack as planned. After we finish with the defenders we’ll go after this new fleet. Catch them between us and Tlentror. Captain Blontera, if you …”

“Emergence wave, Star Admiral.”

Sab’s stomach jumped. Not more of them. Not now. But the detection officer’s ears pointed right forward, interest and elation foremost.

“It’s our fleet from Rosneli!”

Tlomega turned from her screen. “Sab?”

“I ordered it recalled, sir. For just this eventuality.”

Tlomega bared her teeth, her eyes bright, ears cocked at an eager angle. “Good work. Now we finish the hunt.”

“Fleet Admiral, signal coming in from home planet.”

HONOR

“Admiral Cenet, vid from Fleet Headquarters. They want a conference call with you, Fleet Admiral Fenton, Admiral Blarenti of Second Fleet and Admiral Tensol of Fourth Fleet.” Ships at Krevost had apparently succeeded in destroying sufficient of the jammers in order to get a message through.

Cenet looked blank. “Put it through,” he finally said.

“Good day, Gentlemen, Lady. We have followed your gallant fight closely.”

“Sir,” Admiral Blarenti made the first move, “Lormar stands undefeated, and undefeated she shall remain. Our crews are ready to remove the Tlartox invaders. The fight continues, a battle is imminent.”

“No, Admiral, it is not. Upon direct orders from the Confederation Parliamentary Chambers, I am directing you to stand down your ships.”

The four admirals were shocked into silence. Or were they? Cenet saw Fleet Admiral Fenton relax into her chair. Was she so relieved that no more of her people had to die, that she would now consider surrender? Had he and his people fought so hard only to surrender now?

PREDATOR

“I can still win. We have superior forces.” Fleet Admiral Tlomega trembled in anger, yet kept her ears at a neutral angle.

The well-known Tox with the white chin under a black and gold face looked distressed. “Win?” she demanded. “No, Tlomega, we have already lost too much. There can be no victory.”

“Honored One, we have taken two of their Primes. The others will fall shortly. It only needs one more push.”

“Twenty thousand of our commandos lie dead and injured. Thousands of our Spacers lie dead, wounded or adrift in broken ships. Two of our fleets have been smashed and you tell me it needs only one more push? Have you any idea of the uproar this has caused throughout the Empire? Have you?” The Honored One’s voice raised sharply at that last.

Tlomega had to admit that she didn’t. The Empire shouldn’t know anything beyond what her information people passed back. For that matter, how did the Honored One know? She looked over at Tlorth. If that one had betrayed her she would pay.

“No,” the Honored One spoke quietly, “I can see that you don’t. You are, then, unaware that every battle has been witnessed in detail upon every world of the Empire. We’ve seen the space battles, battles on the Primes—both those we’ve won and those we’ve lost—and we’ve seen communications between the Adian and Confederate ships.”

The Adians were responsible. Hatred flowed through Tlomega. The furless rats had come back and stirred up everyone. She suddenly realized the ramifications.

“They are in league with the pacifists!”

The Honored one laughed harshly. “One suspects so. All of our channels have been thoroughly compromised. By the time we knew what was happening, it was too late. The Tox know, Tlomega, the Tox know everything. Your communications, also, have been compromised.”

Tlomega was shocked. How?

“In fact, I’d be very much surprised if this conversation is not going out to all of the Empire.” She looked over her shoulder and sighed. “Apparently it is. Fleet Admiral Tlomega, you will stand down your ships. Rescue work is the only activity you will engage in. Is that understood?” At Tlomega’s silence the Honored One snarled, “The Tox await your answer, Tlomega!”

Tood Tlomega let her tail relax and drag on the deck. Her head hung. “It is understood, Honored One.” The vid went blank.

“Sab, it is yours. I am going to my quarters.” Tlomega left a very silent bridge.

“Sir, message coming in from Adian battleship Restigouche.”

Sab held her ears steady. “Put it on, please.”

“Star Admiral … Tlorth? Fleet Admiral Fenton here. We are under orders to stand down our ships and cooperate with you in rescue work.”

Sab didn’t know if she could take any more surprises. “Admiral Fenton, such would please me greatly. There are many who might yet be saved. Our ships, too, have orders to stand down.”

PRIME ALPHA

Group Commander Prawl Tlerik crouched behind a box of metal parts and looked to her weapon. She had only a few charges remaining. Then it would be claws and fangs.

“Group Commander,” her Communications specialist called. “We have orders to desist fighting, sir. Orders directly from the General.”

Tlerik hissed at the news. Surrender. Dishonor. On the wall a screen came to life showing the Adian marine she’d talked with earlier.

“Group Commander Tlerik, this is Major Esranol. It pleases me to see that you yet live.”

And she’d thought the human had proper manners. Gloating was a vice of the weak.

“The fighting has ended. We would be honored if you would aid us in removing the injured to the aid stations and the dead to Docking Bay Two where they can be honored appropriately.”

“Very well, Major.” Orders were orders. “What would you have us do with our weapons?” It grated on her.

The major looked surprised. “Whatever you decide is fine with us, Group Commander. I suspect that they will just get in the way, however. Our forces will be placing theirs in secured areas.”

Tlerik looked at the remnant of her forces. A plethora of blank looks greeted hers. She hated to ask. “Then there has been no surrender?”

She was treated to a confused look on the Major’s face. “Hostilities have ceased, Group Leader. We have orders to cease fighting and to cooperate with your forces. I believe that your government and the Confederation will begin peace talks. Our fight is over. Now we must save those we can.”

Prawl Tlerik let out her breath in a long silent sigh of relief. She nodded.

*

In the Auxiliary Command Center, Captain Ten Llemartol sighed as the word to cease fire came through. “Stand down the weapons, it is over,” he ordered.

Over. He’d survived again, but only just. Without Captain Neco’s heroic charge and the sacrifice of Typhoon, he would be dead in space, even as Neco now was. Without the courage and determination of the Adian Marines and volunteers from his crew who fought and died in the corridors, the Tlartox would have made it to the Auxiliary Command Center. In fact, they had come within twenty meters before the attack had faltered and the Tlartox were driven back.

Ten Llemartol, the hero of Restovine, he thought grimly, had survived again where so many others, more deserving, had fallen. His gaze fell upon a Lieutenant whose name he’d forgotten. The woman looked dazed. “It’s really over?”

Ten smiled kindly. “Yes, Lieutenant, it is really over.” He turned away so as not to see her collapse into her chair and hold her head as sobs racked her body. Everyone else seemed intent on keeping their gazes fixed on nothing, careful not to look at each other.

Soon it would change, Llemartol knew. Soon the grief would come pouring out. Now it was time to remember fallen friends. Later would come the guilt that they had survived.

CHAPTER 31

TLARTOX HOMEWORLD

“We succeeded, Miz. It is over.”

Miz groaned and clambered to her feet. She had recovered rapidly from the wounds, but movement still caused pain. “Good, Vom, good. It was all for the best. But anger will grow in some of the hunter klatches. You and your Tox had best get off-planet as soon as you can. Some will feel your collusion with the Adians traitorous.”

Vom bared his teeth. “No doubt. Will you come with us?”

Miz considered that for a long time. “If Shads will be there, I’ll come.”

“I have heard no word and we must move quickly again. The hunters still look for us.” The ship waited. It wouldn’t take much to get to the shuttle and he wanted Miz with them. It would do her no good to stay, and a change of place would give her time to heal.

“Okay, Vom, I’ll accompany you. Where do we go?”

Vom bared his teeth at last. “Home, Miz, home.”

BREVNIZ

They should celebrate. Word of cessation of hostilities had come almost immediately to all screens. The Tlartox would not invade. There would be no bowing under the conqueror’s will. A time for celebration, indeed.

In the Brevniz community hall three hundred and twenty people stood silently and looked at the screens. Not a one had cheered the end of the fight. Only a weary relief stood out on the faces of the villagers. The vids had not ended. Now came vid-streams of Tlartox and human gathering the dead and wounded, taking them to the sickbays or the makeshift morgue. Sometimes Tlartox and human worked together.

A small group of those, working in pressure suits, erected a bubble seal on a hatchway door and opened it. Those in Brevniz already knew what they’d find.

Near a table, which still had cards dealt to the various seats, lay Tlartox and human together. Though their oxygen had not run out, the cold had got to them. Tlartox and human had huddled together for warmth. And thus the rescuers found them. A sealed bag of last records sat on the table.

One vid-cam scanned the faces of the dead, one by one, Tlartox and human alike, and listed their names. The list, the catalogue of faces went on and on. Abgil shuddered as the vid-cam showed Arrand Brenndol and she held Sillan a little more tightly. No one walked away from the screens. These were their defenders; they had given their lives for the people of Lormar, and witness was their due.

Bel Frincol’s blooded face appeared and a sigh went through the crowd. They counted as, one by one, three of the other marines they’d hosted appeared. Only three had survived and one, they knew, fought for her life in sickbay.

A very short tele-vid came in from Prime Alpha and the mayor and his wife hugged, tears of relief in their eyes. Their son had survived. His eyes looked haunted.

“I’m to tell you that the Adians wish to have their dead interred on Lormar, in the cities, towns and villages where they spent their last leaves, if possible. I’ll come down with them when all is ready.”

PRIME ALPHA

Commander Mart Britlot tried to relax in the chair. He failed. Searcher had returned to Docking Bay One. She would not be space-worthy again for some weeks. He had given the crew leave to do as they would while he grieved for his losses.

“Commander.”

Britlot jumped to his feet as Rear Admiral Cenet approached him.

“Sir.”

“Relax, Commander.”

Easier said than done, Britlot thought.

“You did very well and I’ve an offer for you.”

“Sir?”

“There is an opening for an executive officer on the Class-B frigate Opperen. It is yours, if you want it.” Cenet paused a moment, then added, “Captain Mellorin will soon return to retirement.”

Britlot stared. He hadn’t thought past the end of the battle; it was too soon to think at all.

The position was a good one, a stepping-stone to captaincy and, if what Cenet had hinted at were correct, that captaincy would come shortly. He should jump at it. His career was taking off. Why then, didn’t he feel happy?

Commander Mart Britlot smiled. It was only a career, after all.

SPACEDOCK BRAVO II

Captain Listra Benteel answered the vid-comm. The Fleet logo played for a moment before it was replaced with a face.

“Commander Britlot. Congratulations on your promotion.”

“Thank you, Captain Benteel.” He looked much older, Benteel thought. War did that to one, especially the kind of war he’d just fought. Britlot hesitated for a long moment.

“Commodore Taglini didn’t make it, sir.” A vise seemed to have hold of her heart. “He asked me to make this call should I survive and he not. Right at the end, they sent our squadron to ward off a Tlartox probe. Tempest took a hit, which knocked out the auxiliary bridge where the Commodore was at the time. I’m sorry. He rescued two people, went back in for a third and never came out again.”

Listra Benteel fought for breath, fought to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks. She fought in vain.

“Captain, he left his final record for me to upload to you; and one of the officers he saved reported that the last thing she saw him doing before the hit was making a record for you. Unfortunately it did not survive. In addition, I want to tell you that he was an inspiration to us. To me, especially. I shall miss him.”

Poor Tag. All he had wanted to do was to keep his honor intact. At least he had succeeded in that. But the cost. Life just wouldn’t be the same. She recovered herself sufficiently to notice that the download had completed. She’d view the final record in private.

“And you, Commander? I suspect that you are in for a quick promotion. You showed a lot of ability.”

Britlot smiled wryly. “Searcher took quite a beating during that last raid. They’ll probably break up the crew. But it doesn’t matter. I’m resigning my commission, Captain. I think it something that the Commodore would have approved of. I’m leaving with the Adians. I have people there.”

Benteel nodded. “Yes. I saw one of them: a Major Coll Britlot.” She couldn’t see the screen any longer. “Tag told me that he thought he saw something between you and your Lieutenant.” She left the question open.

“I’m hoping that she will come with me.”

“Good. Cherish each other.” She smiled as kindly as she could. “And thank you, Commander, for everything.” The vid went blank. With trembling hands she accessed Taglini’s final record, wiping dry her eyes. His face came up, the face she’d known so well, loved so dearly.

“My Dear Listra,” he began. “Let me say, first of all, that I love you and that has been the one thing which has kept me together during this time of trouble. More than anything, I want to return to you.” Her eyes misted over again and she closed them, listening to his words, knowing that he’d never again speak with her. They had all lost so much.

LORMAR

The rescue efforts continued for days. Drifting ships were towed to high orbit from whence they’d be taken to repair docks or scrapping docks. The job of gathering bits and pieces for safety of navigation would continue for months, if not years.

Shuttle after shuttle left the Primes for Lormar. They carried the bodies of the dead. In Brevniz and hundreds of other cities, towns and villages, graves were dug, funerals held and memorials planned. Those living, who had taken last leaves with the dead, went down to renew acquaintances and to attend the funerals.

As the rescue operations slowly ran out of people to save, Star Admiral Sab Tlorth of the Tlartox contacted Fleet Admiral Fenton on Prime Alpha.

“Fleet Admiral,” Tlorth greeted her with respect due to an honored foe. “Our operations are winding down and we would like to begin sending our ships back to Tlartox space, especially our hospital ships.”

“I understand. We appreciate being kept informed, Star Admiral. And how is Fleet Admiral Tlomega?”

“Sedated. It has been a difficult time.”

“Yes,” Fenton agreed, as she unconsciously rubbed at her eye patch, “a very difficult time. Is there something else, Star Admiral Tlorth?”

“Perhaps the Fleet Admiral didn’t understand,” Tlorth replied. “Is it safe to jump to hyperspace?”

“Ah, of course.” Now she remembered. “Very safe, Admiral. Depart whenever you desire.”

PREDATOR

“We are ready to jump, Admiral Tlorth,” Captain Blontera informed her.

“Good. The sooner we are gone from here, the better.”

“Admiral, if I might ask?”

“Captain?”

“Is it true that the humans have agreed to herd tlenfel for us?” From Blontera’s voice it seemed that she couldn’t conceive it.

“It is true, Captain.” The concession had surprised Sab, also. The Empire had required her to represent them in some of the negotiations, which had been held on Predator and on Lormar’s Prime Alpha. “Actually, they seem to be looking forward to it. They’ve already picked out a suitable planet.” Sab shook her head. “They’ve even gone further than that. They’re making plans for an area where tlenfel can run wild and those of the Tox who will, can hunt, just as Tlar had intended, claw against hoof. They have a name for it: tourism.”

“Humans are strange,” Blontera concluded.

“Agreed. But they are an honored foe.”

“Yes, Star Admiral, that they are.”

“Begin the jump, Captain, it is time to go home.”

Blontera gave the order with a sigh of relief.

PRIME ALPHA

Within hours, most of the Tlartox ships had departed and the Confederation spacers, never quite trusting the peace, breathed a sigh of relief. Only a dozen Tlartox ships remained, salvaging hulks or guiding debris into paths which would see confidential material sliding into the star.

The Adians transported their wounded to Mercy for treatment, then the long trip back to Adia. Rear Admiral Cenet requested permission to go aboard before she jumped to hyperspace and was surprised when the Adians denied his request.

“It is a time for rest, Admiral,” Fenton told him. “They know of your gratitude and appreciate it.”

Mercy winked out, and soon the last of the Tlartox, towing their damaged vessels that the Confederation not get a good look at their technologies, followed. In a similar manner, except where absolutely required, the Tlartox had conducted their own rescue missions on Empire ships while being denied access to Adian and Confederations ships. What Cenet found less understandable was the similar attitude of the Adians. In the end, outside the Primes, each had rescued mostly their own.

*

“Commander Britlot.”

The formality in Feneya’s voice startled Britlot. He cursed himself. She had heard. She should have been the first to know, and now she’d heard from another source.

“Feneya, I apologize. Rear Admiral Cenet was about to transfer me to another ship. I had to tell him then.”

Weytok didn’t look convinced. “And when were you going to tell me? Just before you embarked or by tele-vid?”

Britlot grimaced. “Ouch.”

Ouch. Yeah, right, Weytok thought. She had thought she was beginning to know him. Apparently not. Love ’em and leave ’em; she hated that type.

“Feneya, I was going to tell you at the same time I asked you to go with me.”

Her heart began beating faster, but she wasn’t satisfied. He was asking her to give up her career, everything.

“And if you wanted me, but weren’t able to give up your career, I was going to tell you that I would stay, will stay. But I have family there, Feneya. With Taglini gone, the only thing holding me here is you.”

A slow smile came to Feneya’s lips and Britlot began to hope. “Then it is my decision?”

“Except for my resignation, yes.”

“Give me a day to pack.” Tears came to her eyes and Britlot came into her arms.

“I’m coming, too!”

Britlot and Weytok disengaged and turned to face Lieutenant Krirtol. “Lieutenant?”

“I have a man there who loves me.”

Britlot pursed his lips, but Weytok was unable to keep a straight face.

“Yes,” Weytok finally replied, “but was it love or the excitement of leave?”

“Doesn’t matter. If they’ll take me, I’m going.” She gave a broad grin. “It’s an adventure!”

Britlot nodded. “I’ll inform the Rear Admiral and ask permission of the Fleet Admiral.”

Britlot wasn’t particularly surprised to receive permission from both.

*

Admiral Blarenti and Rear Admiral Cenet invited the Adian officers to a going-away party. Representatives from all the surviving Adian vessels attended. Their severely damaged vessels had already departed—under tow—along with the provisions ships.

“Fleet Admiral, if I might ask, what did your ships do to destabilize jumps to hyperspace?”

“Admiral,” laughed Fenton, “do you want me to give away all of our secrets?”

“Of course I do.”

“Very well.” She walked over to a comm station and raised the Comm-Techs. Fenton specified an Aud frequency. When contact had been made she spoke four words only. “Time to show yourself.”

“Emergence signal,” they heard from the command center.

“Repeat it to our screen, please,” Fenton requested.

On their screen they saw a small ship appear. Her lines were unknown to the Confederation officers. “Our secret weapon,” Fleet Admiral Fenton explained. “Equipment still classified ‘Most Secret’ allows Alliance to be almost undetectable in hyperspace. When a Tlartox ship began to jump she fired upon it, destroying it in the attempt. Slight of hand. Had they jumped an entire squadron, my bluff would have been called.”

“I understood that you told young Britlot that Adia hadn’t built a new warship in three hundred years.”

Fenton smiled. “You understood correctly.”

There was not much that could be said to that, so no one said anything.

Fenton’s smile grew. “Alliance is, ah, was a scientific research vessel. Her captain and crew were not members of the military, but agreed to test Alliance’s systems under war conditions. I hope it was not too hard on them.”

“On the matter of Britlot, I hear you are stealing him and two other officers from us.” Cenet decided to change the subject.

“Think of it as sending ambassadors. In time, we may have true ambassadors, until then this is the next best thing. Both sides will have time to get used to each other.”

Britlot appeared. “Admirals,” he greeted them. He no longer worried about speaking up in front of highly ranked personnel. “I understand that we are to be escorted back by Winter Sky.”

“Aye, Commander. We thought you would be happier that way; and they could use an extra officer or two. They lost a few in that last battle.” Fenton smiled indulgently. “And I understand a certain young lieutenant has claimed you as salvage. She put forth a most impressive case. First of all, though, I would like you, Commander, to escort me back to Restigouche.”

“A pleasure, Fleet Admiral.”

EPILOGUE

Restigouche had to be filled with people making repairs, yet on the way to the wardroom Britlot saw only a few. They were, he suspected, deliberately staying out of the Fleet Admiral’s way.

“Have a seat, Commander,” Captain Kaldon offered. Britlot sat and Kaldon poured wine for the Admiral, Britlot and himself.

“I’ve invited the captain of Alliance to join us. He expressed interest in meeting you.”

The three sat sipping wine until the door chime sounded. They rose and Kaldon went to the door. “Commander Britlot, allow me to introduce Captain Efdur of Alliance.”

Britlot didn’t allow his surprise to reach his face. “I had suspected,” he admitted as the Tlartox captain came into the room. They took each other’s hand and studied each other’s eyes.

“Shads Efdur,” the Tlartox introduced himself.

“Mart Britlot.”

“Yes, I can see that. I have had many good games of Jaggar with Major Coll Britlot. Tell me, how is he?”

“Alive and well, Captain Efdur.”

Fenton looked at him with her one good eye. “You said you suspected. When and why?”

“When the same seats remained empty in the Council Chamber during my questioning. At first I thought that my requests had upset the councilors. Perhaps they were pacifists. Then, when I heard of the unanimous decision to rebuild your fleets, I realized there had to be another reason they didn’t wish me to see them.”

“Very good, Commander. Anything else?”

“Your refusal to allow Rear Admiral Cenet on Mercy and our rescue teams to enter Adian vessels. The excuse of protecting your technology might work for the warships, but Mercy?” Britlot smiled disarmingly. “Then, back on Adia, your people spoke of neighbors, but no one gave any details. You kept me in windowless rooms, blacked-out vehicles and aircraft.” He shrugged. “It only stood to reason that some Tlartox explorers might get past the Phenomenon.”

Efdur bared his teeth. “Congratulations, Commander. Quite right. We come from explorers and settlers who survived the Phenomenon and came to rest in the Sivon sector. We met the Adians and decided that the problems of the Empire and Confederation should not be ours. Over the last two centuries the populations of our respective planets have mixed and all planets under our control have large minorities of one or the other population. Living together was surprisingly easy.” He sat down and Captain Kaldon poured him something from a different bottle. “Thank you, Captain.”

“I’m surprised that you—any of you—intervened at all.”

“A lesson had to be taught. To you, to the Tlartox Empire and to the Combine.”

“The Combine?”

Efdur bared his teeth. “Yes, the Combine as well. The signals from Lormar didn’t go to just the Empire and Confederation, you know. I don’t think the Combine will wish to wage war with a species prepared to defend to the last person.”

“I still don’t understand.” Britlot could see the sense of it if the war had involved the Adians, but it hadn’t.

“You see, Commander, there are others out there, too. What you have been calling ‘The Phenomenon’ isn’t. It is a,” he searched for the word, “fence. Yes, a fence. There are many such units as destroyed some of the ships of the Émigrés. The one you encountered was likely not the same one. Ships from the Empire encountered still others. Who, or what, built that ‘fence’ we don’t know. We have begun to discover why, however.”

Britlot sat, stunned. Then he began to understand why his comm signals hadn’t been able to get back to the Confederation. Had there only been one ‘Phenomenon’, reason suggested that if he couldn’t contact one star system, then he should be able to contact a different one in a different direction. But a fence!

“We are within the fence. You are without, you, the Empire and the Combine. And there are Others, also without, who would like to see you—us—all fighting each other. We cannot have that.” Shads bared his teeth again. Other officers began to slip in and Britlot noted without surprise that a few of them were Tlartox.

A sudden thought hit Britlot. “And if it had been us who had invaded Tlartox space? If the positions had been reversed?”

Shads laughed loudly. “Then it would have been the Tlartox émigrés who would have come back to aid their fellow beings in the confrontation.”

“With Adians in a supporting role,” Kaldon added.

“Great Chaos,” Britlot muttered, shaking his head. “How long …”

Fleet Admiral Fenton answered that. “We’ve had thirty years to prepare for this. Your discovery of Adia was simply a fortuitous event. We would have come regardless. Maybe a little later, for many opposed this course of action. That opposition is why only now are new warships being commissioned. Even as late as last year, when we knew that there would be war between the Confederation and the Empire, a decision to intervene had not been reached. Yet our work in the Confederation, the Empire and the Combine went on regardless, in hope we could overcome this opposition. Your talk to the Council did that for us. So, Commander, we are in your debt.” Fenton sighed. “I’m tired, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sleep for a week.”

The others stood. “So, Commander. Now that you know, do you still return with us?”

“Aye,” Britlot nodded. “I’m coming home.”

*

Every screen on Lormar held the vid-stream from the Emergence Cam. One by one the masts on the Adian ships came down. Masts with half blasted away solar collectors.

Mighty Restigouche led the way. Many of her turrets were mangled masses of armor and guns. Enemy fire had torn away a section of her great hammerhead bow and huge gaps in her outer hull spoiled her lines. The window appeared and Restigouche slipped through.

One by one, the fleet followed her. Not a ship remained undamaged. Holes gaped in hulls, turrets stood torn and twisted, antenna arrays slagged, and whole sections of some ships just weren’t there any longer. Some seemed little more than wrecks, yet they all moved under their own power and no one doubted their ability to fight again, if required.

And, as they left, Lieutenant Rensler, who had narrated their arrival, called out their names again. “Battleship Restigouche: two hundred and forty-eight dead, one hundred twenty-two wounded; Light Cruiser Meritie: thirty-three dead, twelve wounded; Destroyer Winter Sky: ten dead, twenty-one wounded; Destroyer Fendor’s Night…”

Eighteen warships in all, bloodied but unbowed. Undefeated, reputation intact, the 22nd Fleet slipped through the window into hyperspace and disappeared.

*

Relnie Fronel wiped the tears from her eyes. Lemm would soon return home. Tempest had survived and would be decommissioned again. Those who had retired would return to retirement. He had made the tele-vid, explaining that, but Relnie had seen the look in his eyes. It would take a long time for him to be free of the memories. It would be a long time for all of them.

“It’s over, Jol,” she commented as Colli turned off the vid. For the first time in days its images did not light the room. She didn’t care if that was the last time she ever watched it.

“Yes, mother, it is over. At the factory they have already begun arguing about the length of the morning break and if we should grieve the three minutes it takes us to get to and from the factory floor.” He gave a wry grin and shook his head. It was over, but it never ended. “Colli?”

“Yes Jol?” With Melsie in bed, there was quiet in the house.

“We’ve been invited to a wedding.”

“Oh?” She looked up. No one she knew contemplated marriage. “Whose?”

“Man named Rensol Nennor.”

“Rensol Nennor? Isn’t that the man you’ve had so much trouble with?”

“And the only one who offered to accompany me when I had to go into danger,” Jol confirmed. He hadn’t told her about that and her look of shock suggested that perhaps this hadn’t been the best way to bring it up. “He found someone during the crisis. Surprising how many did.”

Colli looked at him for a long time. “We’ll have to get a good present then.” She’d hear the story later, she decided. At least she still had her spouse. So many didn’t.

SPACEDOCK BRAVO II

Captain Benteel sat in the Officers’ Lounge. She nursed a drink. The vid showed the Adian Fleet’s exit. Most people watched with interest. Some did not. Behind her she heard the now obnoxious voice of Vice Admiral Knerden.

“If they hadn’t given that lousy ‘cease hostilities’ order, my fleet would have been deep in Tlartox territory causing them unbelievable problems. Now,” he grunted irritably, “even the Combine is talking peace. What’s a navy man to do?”

Captain Benteel stood slowly, aware that she definitely should not do this. Tipsy, not in the best shape for making such a decision, she plowed forward nonetheless. She grinned to herself. Better that way.

“Vice Admiral Knerden,” she addressed him. He looked up. “Vice Admiral Knerden, you are a child.” She turned and left the flabbergasted Admiral behind. “Pity you weren’t here to see it, Tag,” she murmured. “You would have loved it.”

She walked unsteadily down the companionway to her quarters, to the only home she knew.

END