Chapter 1

The bright red gurney moved quietly along corridors and around corners on its cushioned tires as it traversed the hospital starship. The controlling AI had a pre-set destination and ignored half-hearted attempts by operators and nurses to question its activities. The gurney passed a nursing station and a khaki-uniformed nurse lieutenant raised his head in an inquiring move. He returned to his viewscreen task when the gurney moved on without hesitation. The AI had received its program via HS xTaur’s computer system and would not deviate from its instructions.

The small vehicle eased aside and slowed when it detected two nurses in the corridor, heading towards their duty stations to commence their shift. They casually checked the empty stretcher borne by the gurney and continued, without comment; gurneys traveling under direction of their dedicated AIs were a common sight for a hospital starship. One of the nurses, her curiosity piqued by the unaccompanied vehicle, attempted to trace the gurney and its mission when she reached her duty station. Her efforts were unsuccessful, and she soon re-focused on her standard shift responsibilities.

After the two nurses passed, the gurney moved back into the middle of the corridor and accelerated, as though wanting to make up for time lost because of the brief delay. As it moved further into the interior of xTaur, it encountered fewer and fewer crew or medical staff.

xTaur was based on a category 10 warship; however, while it had extremely powerful shields, as a hospital ship, it did not carry major offensive weapons. It was able to defend itself against minor attacks and unfriendly boarding parties, and carried a small force of marines in support of its defense.

There were patients on board the hospital starship: personnel rescued from damaged or destroyed starships and wounded marines recovering from injuries suffered in recent territorial hostilities, Empire against Rim polities. Most of the patients were in their final stages of treatment and recuperation and would be discharged when xTaur reached her home base.

Medicos and crew rarely frequented the more remote areas of the hospital ship, and the linking corridors were unlit until motion detectors recognized movement and triggered illumination. Overhead lights flickered on and off in sequence, matching the gurney’s transit through the gray, fullerene-steel lined corridors. It moved along these corridors, now at an even faster pace, with programmed foreknowledge that its path would be uncluttered. Gurneys, rated as emergency transport equipment, had priority over most other AI-controlled mobile devices. This gurney did not falter in its progress, guided as it was by an accurate internal ship positioning system. As it traveled into the depths of the starship, it encountered only maintenance bots, which, recognizing the urgency of the gurney’s mission, moved quickly out of its path. These bots were not programmed to question the presence of other xTaur-registered AI ship life.

The gurney slowed as it approached a stretch of darkened corridor where lights did not switch on and its pace faltered. The gurney’s AI was receiving commands that appeared to conflict with its perceived reality. It halted its forward movement and edged sideways until it was pressed firmly against the outward wall of the corridor. At the moment it was in position, a section of the wall slid back, revealing a hidden doorway.

The door opened and a humanoid body fell through the opening, collapsing awkwardly onto the gurney. The AI did not question the unassisted nature of the body’s fall nor the existence of the damaged black sword that also fell; these things were outside its scope, as were the soft-hued red and blue lights of the portal revealed through the doorway. The gurney, directed by its AI control unit, used its arms to straighten its new burden, securing the body and ensuring it was in place on its stretcher. It placed the black sword alongside the body. Before the gurney moved away, the door to the portal closed, creating a seal undetectable to all including the most diligent and industrious searcher.

The AI had conducted a rapid assessment and determined the body was alive, although barely so. It recognized the critical nature of its passenger’s injuries and with renewed urgency, the AI instructed the gurney to retrace its original path. The vehicle accelerated to an almost dangerous speed, using its siren and flashing lights to warn of its approach and to advise of its urgent life-saving mission. As it traveled the corridors, it produced a detailed assessment of its patient. On return to the more populated sections of the hospital starship, it ignored nursing workstations on its path, even though nurses, alerted by its emergency alarms, attempted to offer their assistance. The gurney had a pre-programmed destination and would not be diverted from its target. It passed through areas populated with patients, doctors, and nurses, and ignored them all.

At last the gurney sensed its destination and slowed to almost a complete halt outside a small intensive care unit. The door to the ICU swished open and the gurney rolled inside, stopping beside a prepared bed. The sides of the stretcher dropped automatically, enabling easy transfer of its burden. A surgeon and two nurses, alerted by workstation instructions, which included the patients name and rank, were waiting and reacted without delay to their patient’s needs. The gurney’s AI downloaded its medical report to the ICU workstation.

“Lift him,” Dr. Yi said. She was dressed in white trousers and jacket with her colonel’s badges displayed on each shoulder tab.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the senior nurse.

The two nurses moved the patient from the gurney to the bed while the surgeon reviewed the AI’s injury assessment report, after which she examined the patient.

His head was badly bruised and bleeding from pressure-generated splits in his skin. There was a jagged wound, still oozing blood, reaching from his left temple to his jaw. The side of his head was her major concern, and the AI examination had identified a number of underlying fractures that, she hoped, had not caused brain damage. There was a possibility of brain swelling, which she would need to monitor and determine if and when surgery would be necessary.

“Quickly, remove his uniform,” she urged. When the nurses began to strip the unconscious body, she noticed the blackened hilt of the damaged sword. “What’s that?”

A nurse lifted the weapon. “A sword,” she said. “Damaged. It’s similar to those the front-line officers have. More ceremonial than anything else, I suppose.”

Dr. Yi said, “Put it in the cabinet with his clothes.”

She issued precise directions to her nurses as they prepped their patient. The intensive care staff carried out their tasks with little conversation. They attached sensors and data leads to the patient’s body and skull, and connected them to various diagnostic, monitoring, and pharmaceutical dispenser units. These would measure and report vital signs, monitor recovery progress, and insert medication into the tank and the patient. The nurses completed their tasks in minutes.

At last the doctor said, “Ready for full immersion.”

One of the nurses used a keypad to control the bed unit, moving it towards the immersion tank. The bed tipped, sliding the patient into the tank, where his naked body sank into the warm and welcoming liquid.

Dr. Yi used an ICU workstation to enter a set of instructions for the immersion process based on her assessment, together with details from the AI’s report. She entered her patient’s DNA sample via an attached input device. Meanwhile, small and accurate pumps added measures of fluid and medication as the immersion tank followed its new program. The doctor checked the reported details of her patient’s vital signs and, satisfied, closed the lid of the tank and secured it firmly. She expected, given the nature of her patient’s head injuries, her patient would remain in the tank for at least three weeks. She and her team would monitor him continually, day and night, during the immersion process. Dr. Yi’s main concern was the likelihood of brain damage, caused by what she assessed as the pressure impact from an energy weapon; she was hopeful surgery would not be required.

The gurney, its task completed, had reversed out of the intensive care unit. A one-time externally loaded program wiped the AI’s memory of the last thirty minutes and then deleted itself as the gurney, under its regular software control, returned to its charging station. The emergency transport unit halted in position over the ceramic power supply, now unaware of any of its recent activities.

Chapter 2

“Captain de Coeur?”

Steg raised his head off the pillow to look at his visitor. “Yes?” His voice was a croak. Almost instantly, his head fell back and his eyes closed.

“I’m Lieutenant Carson, Imperial Security. I have some questions for you.”

Steg tried to focus on the officer. His vision was blurred and his eyes watered. “Yes?” His voice had not improved.

“Tell me about your uniform. We do not have its design in our records.”

“Wha—” He did not hide his confusion.

“Your uniform. Where did you get it?”

“Issued—to me.”

“By whom?”

“Imp—Imperial Intelligence Agency.”

“There’s no such agency.” The questioner’s voice held a challenging tone.

Steg’s eyes closed again. His awareness faded as he lost consciousness and he did not hear the conversation that ensued when Dr. Yi entered the ICU.

“Lieutenant, what are you doing here?”

“Doctor, this is none of your business.”

“If you interfere with the well-being and recovery of one of my patients, it certainly is my business. Now get out of this unit.”

“You can’t order me—”

Although Dr. Yi was diminutive, her fury compensated for her tiny build. She arm-twisted the ImpSec officer and marched him to the ICU doorway. The doctor held the rank of colonel and she was not going to be lectured to by a green lieutenant, even if he was wearing ImpSec colors.

“You can’t do this to me. I’m Imperial Security,” protested the young officer, rubbing his wrist. His expression was petulant. He straightened his cuff, shaking out the crease resulting from the surgeon’s grip.

“Lieutenant Carson, you’re banned from all wards where I have authority. In future, if you wish to interview one of my patients, you must submit a written request for me to consider. Also, you will need to be accompanied by your senior officer. Understand?” Dr. Yi dusted her hands and turned away—she had concluded their conversation.

The ImpSec lieutenant left, futilely attempting to slam the air-cushioned ICU doors, all the while vowing, under his breath, revenge for his humiliation. He was far more accustomed to a different reaction; his typical target was some young and naive recruit, easy to both bully and browbeat. His report to his commanding officer would detail this encounter with Dr. Yi as an unwarranted assault on his person and as an insult to Imperial Security. He was annoyed at having his intentions frustrated by those whom he considered beneath him. His was an Alutan family and house failing, although he did not recognize it as such.

In the meantime the surgeon had stepped back into the ICU and checked the vital signs of her patient. He had been out of the tank for less than a day and was not yet in any condition to cope with questions, let alone unnecessary ones from ImpSec with their rough approach and automatic assumption of guilt.

Dr. Yi was pleased with the results of her medical treatment. The young captain was making progress. Oh yes, she thought, he has an ugly scar on the side of his face; the discoloration would fade with time and if necessary, Fleet would arrange surgery to reduce or remove any residual facial disfigurement. Her real concern was the possibility of some memory loss or impaired mental functioning as a result of the impact to her patient’s head. She would not know if her concern was real until he was further along his recovery process. She recorded her observations at the ICU workstation.

Steg sensed the presence of someone and tried to open his eyes. His eyelids flickered. At last he was able to hold them open. Judging by her uniform and shoulder tabs, a medical colonel was standing beside his bed, observing him.

“Good morning, Captain de Coeur,” said the colonel. “My Name’s Yi, Dr. Yi. How do you feel this morning?”

“I’m—not sure.” His voice still croaked.

The doctor checked the monitoring readouts along the top of the ICU bed. Her patient was recovering, much faster than she had anticipated.

“Your life signs are good. Your condition is improving.” She held his wrist. She intended the gesture to provide comfort and reassurance; she had already observed her patient’s pulse on the readouts. “What are you able to remember? Can you tell me what happened to you?”

Steg thought for a moment and frowned. “It’s all blank. I don’t know. Where am I?” He tried to raise himself off the pillow.

“Gently, don’t agitate yourself,” the doctor cautioned as she pushed him back. “You’re on xTaur, an Imperial hospital starship. You’ll meet my nursing team later. We’ve been treating you for almost four weeks now.”

“A hospital starship? Imperial?”

“Of course. Now tell me about yourself. I need to make notes for our medical records. Who’s your commanding officer?”

“I report to—to—Colonel—Denke. My CO is—General Boston.” His eyes closed and his voice faded.

Dr. Yi entered the brief details supplied by her patient. The ship system did not find a match to the officers he had mentioned. The surgeon frowned, wondering if perhaps she had misheard the names.

“This is an official enquiry, Dr. Yi,” reminded Colonel Richmond, the senior Imperial Security officer presiding. It was ten days after Colonel Yi’s run-in with the young ImpSec lieutenant. The colonel, together with two other ImpSec officers, both majors, was sitting behind a courtroom-like bench. The three men wore the green fatigues of serving military officers. Dr. Yi stood before the tribunal. She had dressed in her white uniform, with all the medals she had earned on the battlefield. It was an impressive collection, reflecting, amongst other awards, medals for her bravery in treating wounded personnel while under fire and for her dedication to her patients. She doubted the ImpSec officers would appreciate their symbolism.

“I’m aware of ImpSec and its enquiries,” said the doctor.

“So you should be familiar with our wide-reaching powers.”

“Your powers don’t allow ImpSec to question my patients and possibly endanger their recovery without my consent and my presence. The law’s well established. If you want, I can quote the Imperial Articles of War and supporting legal decisions, for your records.”

“No, it won’t be necessary, thank you. We are trying to discover how your patient, this de Coeur—managed to board xTaur. There is no record anywhere of his presence, until you commenced his treatment.”

“You’re not correct,” replied Dr. Yi. Her expression did not waver from its professional mien. “I received a MedSys notification, a standard medical alert, on my workstation, which included reservation of my ICU. This was timed at fifteen minutes prior to Captain de Coeur’s arrival at my ICU. Also, the gurney’s AI had established an initial diagnosis of his injury, some seven or eight minutes before the patient reached the ICU. So ship system records existed prior to my commencing treatment of the patient.”

One of the two ImpSec majors spoke up. “Agreed, Dr. Yi. We checked the medical alerts, and yes, one was delivered to you, at the same time the ICU was reserved. However, we don’t know—”

The colonel interrupted. “So, Dr. Yi, you contend you had no prior knowledge of this patient? None at all?”

“You are correct.”

“Do you know anything about this so-called Imperial Intelligence Agency?”

“I know nothing about the agency.”

“Yet you entered the details into the ship system?” interjected the other major.

“Of course. I entered the details advised by my patient.”

“So you enter anything your patients tell you?”

“Why not? I don’t have in-depth knowledge of all the Imperial military and quasi-military structures. I’m a surgeon and, may I remind you, a senior officer in the Imperial Medical Corps.”

There was silence for a long moment.

“Thank you, Dr. Yi. That will be all, for now.” The ImpSec colonel made a file entry.

Dr. Yi turned and exited the ImpSec office. She did not salute. She was more than irritated by the questions and the attitude of the so-called security tribunal. ImpSec had a problem, and it was obvious that its officers were reaching out to find someone other than themselves to blame for their security issue. When she reached her office an anxious nurse was waiting for her.

“Dr. Yi, they’re arresting Captain de Coeur,” she said.

“Come,” commanded the doctor, heading to the ICU. It was only a hundred yards from her office, and she reached the unit as an ImpSec team was preparing to move her patient from the room. She stood in the doorway, effectively blocking the exit.

“Lieutenant Carson.” Dr. Yi identified the ImpSec officer. She noted her other ICU nurse was holding a bruised wrist. “Please return my patient to his bed. You’ve committed at least one offense under Imperial Articles of War, and I intend to submit charges and arrange for your arrest. Do you understand?”

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, she turned to her senior nurse. “Nurse Rowe, please contact the SPs; the duty officer is Major Reid. Tell him we need his presence here, urgently. Tell him ImpSec, in the person of Lieutenant Carson, is attempting to kidnap one of my patients. Quote Articles of War section 3015, subsection 25. He’ll understand.” She did not add she had discussed this possibility with the major after Carson’s first foray into her ward. The doctor turned back to the stunned ImpSec team. “Well?”

“Sir, we’re following the lieutenant’s orders—” a young ImpSec sergeant attempted to explain. Lieutenant Carson remained silent. His plan to remove the patient while the tribunal questioned the doctor had totally unraveled.

“Since when does a lieutenant outrank a colonel?” Dr. Yi demanded. “Are you refusing to obey my lawful command? We’re still in a state of war, and your court martial—and yours, Lieutenant—will make media headlines. You’ll know, of course, the maximum sentence for this offense—as we’re not on an active battlefield where it would be execution—is life imprisonment.”

The sergeant signaled his men, a corporal and two privates, who were holding Captain de Coeur. The doctor watched from the doorway as they returned her patient to his bed. He was almost unconscious and was in no condition to be removed from the ICU. While she was watching, she heard, behind her, the arrival of Major Reid and his team of Starship Police. She did not move from her position and turned her head to address the new arrivals.

She said, “Major, I want to charge Lieutenant Carson for refusal to obey a lawful command, for conspiracy, and for breaching Articles of War regarding removal of a patient under treatment of an authorized medic. His team members are to be charged with conspiracy and, similarly, for breaching Articles of War. I suspect they assaulted one of my nurses and if so, that deed is to be added to their list of offenses.”

Reid moved forward and Dr. Yi stepped out of his way. His men followed crowding into the small room. Two nurses checked their patient while the doctor waited for the results of their appraisal.

“Dr. Yi, are you certain?” asked the major.

“Yes. I warned this officer, I gave him a precise and clear order. I have a recording; everything is recorded in our ICUs. He disobeyed my order. I cannot, as a senior officer in service of the Emperor, ignore an outright refusal by a junior officer to obey a lawful command. His men may not have known of my order; however, they’re aware, or should be aware, their actions were unlawful.”

“Very well. Lieutenant Carson, I’m placing you under arrest. Are you carrying any weapons?”

“I’ll have you broken for this, Yi,” snarled the lieutenant. “And you too, Reid, if you proceed with this farce. Now back off, and let me and my team go. In case you didn’t notice, I’m giving an order, a real order.”

“It’s time to realize,” Reid said, “this time your bullying tactics won’t work. Either co-operate, or I’ll order my men to treat you as a hostile offender. Your choice.”

This will mean another appearance at an ImpSec tribunal, thought Dr. Yi, as Major Reid arrested the lieutenant and his team. She was confident ImpSec would not condone the activities of this junior officer. Of course, she mused, they could, in future, place barriers to hinder my career, in which case retirement would be an attractive and welcome option.

Chapter 3

“Good morning, Captain de Coeur. How’s my patient today?” Dr. Yi smiled as she reached for Steg’s wrist. Five days prior she had authorized his release from the ICU and continued to be impressed at the speed of his recovery. Steg now occupied a standard hospital ward, and while it was designed to hold four patients, currently he was the only occupant. The furniture was utilitarian, the beds were basic and clean, and the walls and ceiling were painted a light blue. The floor was highly polished. There was a slight odor of hospital disinfectant. She had not checked but she was confident there was no dust anywhere in the room; the crew and staff on-board xTaur ensured its reputation for clinical cleanliness was never at risk.

“Improving, thank you.”

“Very good. Yes, I agree, all your signs show a steady improvement.” She tugged her compad out of a deep pocket and sat on the chair beside his bed. “Now, are you up to answering some questions for me?”

“Yes.” Steg was cautious.

Dr. Yi continued to portray reassurance. “Oh, I’m not nearly as aggressive as ImpSec. Remember, I can’t guarantee how long I can hold them off.”

“I understand—at least, I think I do. Can I ask questions, too?” Steg had enough core memory to realize there was knowledge to be gained that would aid his recovery.

“Of course. Now I have you listed as Captain de Coeur. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“First name and planet of origin?”

“Steg. I’m from Homeworld; it’s located in the Centaur Belt, Rimwards.” He had recovered general memories of his home planet and its capital, Castlehome.

“Good. Now we get to the interesting parts. How were you wounded?”

“I—I recall someone warning me about a blaster. The warning was followed by agonizing pain, and then everything went black. When I regained consciousness, I was here, on board your hospital starship.”

“Where were you when you were shot?”

Steg’s expression reflected his anxiety. “I—don’t know. I’ve tried to remember. I can recall general things—names of star systems, for example. But when I try for more pertinent details—personal details—everything is a blank.”

“I can confirm your injuries were caused by an energy impact. Fortunately, our tests so far don’t indicate any permanent brain damage. Memory loss? Yes, and all indications indicate it will be temporary. In simple terms you need some recovery time. My suggestion is for you not to stress, keep a relaxed attitude, and your mind should, at some stage, open the floodgates, so to speak. Timing is unpredictable, unfortunately. I can arrange some therapy for you, which may help. Now, you had questions for me?”

“Yes, Dr. Yi. My first question’s simple: where is xTaur headed?”

“We’ll first pass through the Aluta system—I think there are prisoners on board who are to be transferred off xTaur to one of the prison planets. Then we’ll continue on to the Freedom system, where we’ll discharge our remaining patients. Freedom’s our home base. Everyone’s anticipating leave, possibly a month or so. It’s been a long tour.”

“I think my next question’s as simple: what year is this?”

The surgeon smiled sympathetically. “This is 1650 Post Diatonic.” The Diatonic Era represented the period dating from when the new Empire fought with aliens, the Triads, who initially had come close to defeating the Empire’s military forces.

Steg frowned.

“Why, is that a problem?” Dr. Yi asked.

“I—I thought it’d be closer to 1800.”

“Interesting. I’ve heard of memory losses creating this type of contradiction, where the amnesia victim is somehow out of phase with his current time and place. I need to do some research.” She tapped another entry into her compad. “Indeed, our head of therapy will also be interested in this.” She smiled again. “Now tell me about your sword. It appears to be old, perhaps an antique?”

Steg looked startled. “My sword? Ebony—it’s called Ebony. It’s here?”

“Why yes. One of my nurses stowed it in your locker when we moved you into this ward.” Dr. Yi indicated the metal storage unit against the wall opposite the end of Steg’s bed. “It’s at the back, out of the way.”

“Please convey my thanks. I wouldn’t wish to lose Ebony. It’s centuries old and very valuable, at least to me. A family heirloom.”

“Well, it’s now scarred, damaged, on the hilt. Before I leave, do you have any more questions for me?”

“No, thank you. Are you sure—”

“The year is 1650? Absolutely. Remember, it’s important for you to relax as much as you can. Keep in mind what I said: you can’t force the return of your memories. One of my nurses will check on you later this afternoon, and I’ll visit again tomorrow morning. Oh, and your therapy treatment commences tomorrow.”

After the surgeon left the small ward, Steg climbed out of his bed, holding the end of the metal-framed bed for support. He was unsteady on his feet, far more so than he expected, and he fought against waves of dizziness. The tank-based processes, he realized, had not included maintenance of his physical fitness. He was shaken by the doctor’s answer about the year. His memories were of a different time. Something was wrong, yet he was unable to identify what it was. It took him almost two minutes, resting between each step, to reach the locker, even though it was only yards away. He opened the steel door and felt around, working his hand back as far back as he could without falling. The locker was deep. His uniform was hanging there, patched, cleaned, and pressed. Behind it, he found and grasped the hilt of Ebony. He lifted the sword out of the storage unit.

For some reason, he was disappointed. The weapon seemed dead, lifeless, and while he knew it was an inanimate object, for some inexplicable reason he had expected to feel its life force. Steg held the sword and examined the blade and then the hilt. The blade showed heat scaring, more cosmetic than physical. The pommel and grip were both badly damaged, he surmised, as a result of the blaster impact. He recalled carrying the sword high, across his shoulder, and suspected the hilt and pommel had saved his life, absorbing most of the blaster’s energy force, which otherwise would have impacted his head. He held the sword in both hands, horizontal, one hand on the blade, the other on the hilt, trying to remember. Nothing. He shuddered and returned Ebony to the cabinet.

Steg barely made the trip back to his bed without collapsing. He staggered and fell, face down, onto the bed; he relaxed, half-asleep, half-unconscious. He was not aware that his handling of Ebony had awoken the bio-nanite and micronic technology hidden in the hilt, and now, its recovery triggered, the sword began its own process of self-healing. Soon Ebony would reach out, seeking its rightful owner, in order to continue its protective responsibilities.

“I have good news for you.” Dr. Yi said. The touch of sadness in her voice conflicted with her smile. “Your current medical condition and your progress with physical therapy are both very good. I suspect your physical condition is back to what you would consider as your normal status. The head of therapy is hopeful that whatever caused your memory loss will resolve itself over time. He has one caution: the process is unpredictable. This all means I can discharge you from my care. There’s one problem—”

She had asked Steg to attend her surgery office and he was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs. When the doctor paused, he raised his head, alerted by the tone of her voice.

“I’ve deferred your medical discharge and can do so for another five days. Once I discharge you, ImpSec will step in. They claim you’re some kind of spy, and your membership in the Imperial Intelligence Agency is impossible, because the agency doesn’t exist. They want to arrest and try you before we reach Aluta, which is some weeks away. I’ve held them off; they realize this surgeon has extremely sharp teeth. If they follow their standard routine, they’ll arrest you, charge you, arrange a court hearing within twenty-four hours, find you guilty, and ship you to one of their private prisons on Centyr—it’s in the Alutan system. They’re Imperial prisons, all managed by the House of Aluta. Unfortunately, I upset ImpSec early in your recovery process, as you may remember.”

The doctor’s news settled on Steg’s shoulders like a dark, depressive cloak. He had focused on his recovery, physical and mental, and had not thought about proving either his identity or the existence of the Agency. He now had only days, it seemed, to find proof to convince judges in an ImpSec court hearing that he was innocent of any wrongdoing. Imprisonment in a jail run by a corporate house was not something he wanted to experience. He had heard about the conflict between Dr. Yi and the ImpSec lieutenant, a junior member of House of Aluta, and the severity of the young officer’s punishment would not endear Steg to that House. He—the lieutenant—in all likelihood deserved his sentence: dishonorable discharge from ImpSec and ten years in jail.

Steg didn’t expect his loss of memory would deter ImpSec from taking some form of revenge. He was at risk, and, he suspected, so was Dr. Yi.

“Will I be able to carry out research to find the details I need, in support of my defense? Or can you arrange for someone to help me, if I can’t use Imperial systems?” he asked.

“I’m unable to grant you access to a workstation. It’s beyond the authority of even a surgeon colonel, given the current circumstances. I can organize additional therapy under the guidance of one of my nurses. She’ll be able to run search commands for you. It’s the best I can do.”

“More than I could expect, Dr. Yi. Thank you for your help. I hope I can find something—” He rose to leave the doctor’s office.

He heard her comment as he closed the door behind him. “So do I, young man, so do I.”

Chapter 4

Steg was both successful and unsuccessful with his searches over the next five days. He validated the date, which seemed an impossibility, given the current state of his recollections of history and personal events. Admittedly, he had large gaps in his memory, gaps he had been unable to bridge, no matter how much effort he applied to the task. He continued searching system records via his nurse amanuensis, hoping at least something would surface to help him convince ImpSec he was genuine, and his claim to service in the Imperial Intelligence Agency was valid. To his dismay, his searches continued to be unsuccessful.

On the final day of his extended therapy, he met with Dr. Yi in the small recovery ward. He sat on one of the casual chairs while the doctor performed her final examination before clearing him for release.

“There may be occasions when you experience severe discomfort,” the doctor explained. “Loss of consciousness is possible, although unlikely, unless you are under extreme stress. If it occurs, you should consult a doctor as soon as possible.” She examined his scar. It was rectangular in shape with a deep disfiguring edge reaching from temple to jaw. “A good cosmetic surgeon can fix this for you.” She paused. “I gather your searches didn’t discover anything useful?”

“Not a thing. I seem to be in a different time era. There are events I found, which seem to belong in my past, and there are some which I think occurred and aren’t recorded. I’m confused.” He shook his head.

“We—well, the head of therapy and myself, are also perplexed. We can’t suggest any explanation unless somehow you have invented time travel.”

The doctor’s comment stabbed at Steg. He knew time travel was supposed to be impossible, yet something deep in the back of his memories stirred, attracted by the suggestion.

“Well, at least I tried,” reasoned Steg. “I can’t think of anything else to do, to protect myself against what’s coming.” ImpSec had placed a guard on his door some three days before, and he was now considered to be, informally at least, under arrest.

Dr. Yi patted his shoulder. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Steg considered the doctor’s question. “Ebony—my sword. I doubt ImpSec will let me take it with me. They’ll dump it somewhere. Can you keep it for me, until all this is over, and if I’m jailed, hold it until I’m free again?”

“Certainly. I can’t guarantee where I’ll be—”

“Don’t worry. As long as I know Ebony’s in safe hands. Somehow, I believe it’s important, very important, for me.”

He stood and walked over to his locker where he reached in for his sword. He lifted it out, removed it from its sheath, and held it in both hands. To his surprise, the hilt, both the pommel and grip, was restored, as was the blade. The weapon now showed no signs of damage at all. Perplexed, he wrapped his right hand around the grip and raised the sword, as though weighing it. Something stirred deep within his mind, a reaction, he thought, to his handling of the now restored weapon. A memory flashed its alert: there was hilt-hidden bio-nanite and other protective technology that not only generated the re-build of the sword but also was keyed to him, to his DNA.

Steg placed the sheathed blade against a chair beside the doctor. Ebony was longer than the doctor was tall. He was reluctant to part with the sword; he knew it was an important link to his identity.

“Well, I suppose tomorrow is inevitable.” ImpSec had scheduled his hearing for first thing the following morning. “I feel like a condemned man, yet I know I’m innocent of any wrongdoing.”

“I spoke with your defending officer yesterday. He’s a professional lawyer. I’ve heard good things about him,” assured Dr. Yi.

Steg had spent time with his counsel earlier in the day and did not contradict the doctor. Captain Farmer appeared to be well skilled in his chosen profession, but he had been almost brutal with his frank assessment. Steg, despite various ImpSec searches, remained unidentified; there were no records of either his DNA or his fingerprints, and the Empire did not have an organization called the Imperial Intelligence Agency. As far as ImpSec was concerned, the agency did not exist. While Captain Farmer had agreed Steg’s condition was irreconcilable with ImpSec’s claim he was a spy, his presence on xTaur was unauthorized. Steg brought his attention back to the doctor.

He said, “Yes, we had a good discussion, too. He thinks, if I plead guilty to at least some of the charges, the court will agree to a short sentence.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I should do.”

“Some of the medical staff are to give evidence, covering matters such as the suddenness of your appearance, the treatment we gave, and so forth. I’ll be giving evidence. My nurses are wishing the best for you.”

“Thank you, and please thank your nurses,” acknowledged Steg. “I’m also hoping for the best.”

“Yes, we all are.”

Steg understood the courtroom to be the same facility where ImpSec had conducted their initial enquiry with Dr. Yi. A guard had escorted him to the large room where he now sat at a small table in front of the judges’ bench. He was waiting for his counsel. No one else was yet in attendance. The rows of seats were empty, as were the three larger, more elaborate, seats behind the longer, highly polished judicial bench. After almost thirty minutes, a young lieutenant rushed into the courtroom, almost breathless. He was carrying a small file.

“Captain—I mean de Coeur. I’m Lieutenant Emerson, your counsel. I’ve some bad news for you—well, it’s more that it’s bad for Captain Farmer, I suppose. He’s had an accident; he’s suffered concussion and a broken leg. This is all so worrying. Unfortunately, I was next on the duty roster.”

Steg’s heart sank. “How did it happen?” he asked.

“No one knows. The captain’s still unconscious, and they won’t know until he’s awake. Now, tell me, what are the charges?”

Steg’s heart sank even further. “I thought Captain Farmer was going to confirm those details this morning.”

“Oh.” The lieutenant leafed through the small file, searching for the information. “There’s so little information here. He must have his personal notes in another file.”

Steg wondered why the young officer did not access the ship system where the captain kept his records. People were starting to enter the courtroom: two court officials, three nurses, two of whom he recognized, and some strangers, their presence likely no more than fulfillment of idle curiosity.

“Lieutenant, I suggest you request a stay of proceedings, because of the captain’s accident.”

“Oh, no. I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’d be a black mark on my record, if I’m not ready for the trial as scheduled.”

“This black mark’s more important than ensuring justice is done?”

The young officer’s face turned red, and he did not reply. He continued to leaf through the file. His lips moved silently as he read each page. Steg realized his chances of a professional defense were rapidly fading.

“If you don’t request the stay, I will. Even if I must dismiss you.” Steg was grasping at possibilities in an attempt to find a way out of this looming disaster.

His comment was met with a horrified expression on the lieutenant’s face. “Oh, no. That’s impossible. The schedule’s fixed.”

“In that case, I dismiss you as my counsel. Give me the file, and get out of my sight.” Steg plucked the file from the shocked junior officer’s loose grip.

The lieutenant’s jaw dropped. His face had turned from red to ashen. Before he was able to respond, one of the officials, apparently senior, raised his voice and issued a command.

“Attention in the court. All rise. Silence while the judicial officers enter.” Three ImpSec officers—Steg understood they were the same men who had questioned Dr. Yi—entered the courtroom and took their places behind the long bench. They were chatting quietly, joking and laughing, oblivious to any need for their silence; they would have been taken aback if someone made the point. More minutes passed as the three settled into their seats and shared comments about the contents of files on the bench top. In the meantime, the prosecuting counsel had taken his place at a table twin to the one where Steg was now standing. The senior official waited for another few minutes until one of the military officers gave him a signal.

“The court is in session. Please be seated. Judges are Colonel Richmond, assisted by Major Rayner and Major Dawson. Our first case today is Emperor v. de Coeur. Prosecuting counsel is Colonel Tanner. Defending counsel is Captain Farmer—” He was interrupted by the other court official who made a comment, inaudible to others in the room. The senior official appeared to be startled. “Apologies—defending counsel is Lieutenant Emerson. Prisoner de Coeur is charged under Articles of War, section 301, with the offense of spying for an unknown enemy. The accused is also charged with trespass, unauthorized boarding of an Imperial hospital ship, and impersonation of an Imperial officer.”

Steg blanched. Somehow he had trodden on a nest of stingers, and they were after his blood. The unfortunate young lieutenant, his supposed defending counsel, had almost collapsed at the mention of section 301; it seemed this was an extremely serious charge.

“Thank you. Any comments from counsel?” Colonel Richmond waited. When neither counsel commented, Steg spoke up.

“Sir. I wish to dismiss Lieutenant Emerson. He has neither briefed himself nor interviewed me prior to this potential miscarriage of justice.”

“Prisoner de Coeur, you have no standing here that allows you to address the court. All communications must be through the allocated counsel,” replied the colonel.

“Sir, I protest. The lieutenant’s not capable of representing me. He has no knowledge of the charges, has evinced no intention to establish with me the facts from my perspective, and doesn’t have relevant experience to act in this court.”

“Silence, de Coeur. I won’t warn you again. If you disrupt this court again, I’ll order you to be removed and you’ll be judged in your absence.”

Steg was furious and struggled to restrain himself. In his opinion, the proceedings were a farce. Later, when the prosecuting counsel introduced an expert witness who, once he was sworn in, uttered the most bizarre testimony about how the accused must have used an alien craft to approach and dock with the hospital ship, Steg kicked the lieutenant’s ankle with a flash of savagery and showed him a note on which he’d written: “Protest. Irrelevant”. The lieutenant turned his back and ignored the admonition.

“Sir, I protest.” Steg could no longer restrain himself. “The defending counsel should be objecting to these witnesses and their spurious evidence. This is a travesty. The lieutenant is inept and should be relieved of his role, if not of his commission.”

The presiding colonel smiled. “You had your warning. You’ll now be removed from the court. You’ll be returned here to listen to the verdict and the sentence.” He directed the court bailiff to remove Steg, who was first chained and manacled, as though he was a violent offender.

Steg was isolated from all subsequent involvement in his trial. The tiny cell, into which he had been ignominiously dumped, stank of body waste, putrid and potent. It was two hours before he was re-admitted to the ImpSec court. He looked around the courtroom. The medical staff apparently had been dismissed before his entrance. Dr. Yi was not in the room, nor were her nurses. He stared at the colonel, almost daring him to do his worst.

“Well, prisoner de Coeur, or whatever you call yourself. We’ve heard details from all the witnesses, including some sob story from the medics who treated you. The evidence, in our opinion, is overwhelmingly against you. We therefore find you guilty as charged under Articles of War, section 301, with spying for an unknown enemy. We dismissed the other charges as too minor for the court to consider. We believe Dr. Yi’s diagnosis is correct, in an abstract sense: some injury, which we suggest occurred as a result of your unauthorized access of this hospital ship, has caused your permanent loss of memory. The maximum penalty for this offense in time of war is execution by firing squad. Before we sentence you, do you have anything to say?”

“This entire hearing’s been a farce. Your lieutenant’s inept. Your court’s acting well outside the normal realms of justice. I protest the decision and the lack of justice.” Steg had realized nothing he said would change the results of the court, given its obvious intention to find him guilty.

“Indeed. And you offer no details of your mission, of your employers, of your failed and—to use your term—inept—spying attempts? Perhaps to cause us to reduce your sentence?”

“Sir, I don’t recognize this court—”

Whatever Steg was intending to say was lost, as he staggered, tried to steady himself against the table, and fell to the floor, unconscious.

“Bailiff, check the prisoner. I suggest a bucket of water poured over his face will suffice.”

The court bailiff rolled Steg onto his back and checked for vital signs. He looked up at the colonel. “Sir, this man’s unconscious. His pulse is erratic. I think the medics should handle this.”

“Oh, very well. Recorder, complete the records and include our sentence.” He looked around the room, frowning as the bailiff tried to make the unconscious man comfortable. “Bailiff, you’re responsible for custody of de Coeur until he can be removed from xTaur and taken to Centyr. The authorities at Diyark Prison can carry out our sentence. Court dismissed.”

The three officers stood and, joined by the prosecuting counsel, left the room. Lieutenant Emerson gathered his papers and, ignoring the body on the floor, also departed.

Chapter 5

Two ImpSec guards escorted their chained and manacled prisoner into the gray shuttle. The hospital ship barely paused its transit past Centyr, House of Aluta’s prison planet, while a number of shuttles removed prisoners destined for the four prisons on the planet. This prisoner and his escort were the last to board and took their positions at the rear of the craft. The seats were hard plastic, also gray, and their design would never win awards for either comfort or elegance. The guards sat their prisoner, threaded his restraining chains through eyebolts in the floor, and locked them closed. The man they were escorting wore drab institution-issued clothing. He ignored his guards, seemed oblivious of his surroundings, and did not react when the shuttle launched. Thirty or so other prisoners were on board, and they all wore the same anonymous garb, the same downtrodden expression, and the same air of hopelessness. The differences between most of the prisoners and the last man to board was the angry red scar down the left side of his face and his apparent imperviousness to his status.

There was one other difference. He did not speak. He moved when directed, and stopped when told, but did not answer when asked questions. He did not engage in conversation with his guards or with his fellow prisoners. It was not so much that he did not speak; rather, it seemed he was unable speak. Something had happened, something had brought him to the edge of a chasm that he yet had not crossed, and from which he was not retreating. He was frozen in a mental stasis, forever trying to remember, aware only peripherally of his circumstances. At random moments he would look around, cautious, careful to not engage eye to eye with anyone nearby, after which he would resume his downcast mien, again caught up in his internal mental turmoil.

The shuttle landed at Diyark Prison, and the prisoners, their leg chains released from the eyebolts, shuffled off the small spacecraft escorted by their alert guards. Some were violent or had reputations for violence. Some were killers. Some were thieves. Some may even have been innocent of their charges. All had fallen foul of ImpSec, fairly or unfairly, and it made no difference. All were chained.

Guards escorted their charges through their destination’s inbound processes, handing over their captives, their files, and keys to the prison authorities. The guards from the hospital ship re-boarded the shuttle, relieved their responsibilities were at an end. They were anxious to quit themselves of the Centyr system with its four prisons; their harsh reputations were more than deserved. The guards waited in silence as the shuttle pilot performed his pre-flight checks preliminary to returning to xTaur. The shuttle departed with a roar ignored by the disembarked prisoners as they shuffled forward in rows to a line of reception stations.

The receiving clerk read aloud the file notes preparatory to re-keying the data into the prison’s record system and looked up at the prisoner under escort, now, of two prison guards. “Steg de Coeur. Spy, section 301. Employers unknown. Possible brain damage. Has memory loss and is incapable of speech. Understands basic instructions.” His vocalizing was as much for the benefit of the accompanying guards as for his own purposes. “Are you de Coeur?”

The prisoner remained silent. One of his guards pushed his shoulder, an ungentle blow. “Answer the man,” the guard directed.

“It does say “incapable of speech,” reminded the input clerk, checking notes in the folder. “I’ll mark him down for a medical examination. He’s a temporary resident, according to the notes. Cell 511, Block J. He needs to be issued a blanket and eating utensils. Go on, he’s all yours.”

“Thanks, Harry. See ya,” responded the second guard, tugging on one of the chains securing the prisoner. The group of three moved off; two were eager to deliver their charge, the third, unknowing or uncaring of his whereabouts.

“And this time remember to bring back the chains.” The shouted reminder followed their exit.

The cell was small with floor to ceiling vertical bars on the side opening to the outside world, which consisted of a narrow walkway patrolled by guards. The cell had no external window, and no daylight penetrated its gloom. The bars, the walls, the floor, the ceiling—all were painted the same shade of gray. The thin blanket and even the coarse uniform worn by each prisoner matched the pervasive color scheme. Odors drifted up through the grilled walkways, neither identifiable nor appealing, and permeated the cell.

All cells were the same: small, featureless, gray, and poorly lit.

There were armored and recessed video cameras and microphones in each cell, along walkways and corridors, in ceilings, and at patrol intersection points. This equipment was supported by face and voice recognition software, designed to detect prisoners who were out of position or possibly involved in illegal activities. Authorities dealt harshly with infractions, adding penalties of solitary confinement and loss of privileges, although the latter were difficult to identify, as few privileges were available to inmates of Diyark Prison.

The man in Cell 511, Block J, sat on the edge of his bed, inert, his focus elsewhere. Earlier, he had joined the lines of prisoners when his cell door automatically opened to allow him to exit for his evening meal. A subconscious prompt had ensured he carried his eating utensils: a spoon, fork, and plate, all plastic, none of which provided material for any kind of offensive weapon. He stood with other prisoners, silent, slowly pacing towards the food dispensers. The meal was almost as colorless as the decor of the dining hall and as tasteless. When the meal break ended he was returned to his cell, and again he dropped deeply into some inner world, mentally disengaged as his synaptic repairs continued.

Two days later, a guard escorted the prisoner, chained again, to medical offices in an adjacent building. The guard exchanged brief words with the medical orderly at the reception desk after which the orderly addressed the prisoner. The man wore the same style uniform; he too was a prisoner.

“Your name’s de Coeur?” he asked. The subject remained silent, his head bowed. The orderly turned back to the guard. “I see what you mean. Leave him with me. Come back in an hour.”

“Are you sure? We’ve been instructed to keep him chained and under guard, while outside his cell block. You should check the detention notes.”

“No, he’ll be safe with me. Go on, I’m sure you can find something more interesting to do.”

The guard departed with a relieved smile on his face. The orderly led the man into a small room containing basic medical equipment. There were no video cameras or microphones visible on the walls or ceiling.

“Now, de Coeur, sit here while I check your vitals. Call me Mac, everyone does.” He proceeded to take and record readings of temperature, blood pressure, weight; these were simple, basic measurements. Steg, shuffling and distracted, moved as directed by Mac.

“Well, your vital readings are all in acceptable ranges. How do you feel?” When Steg did not answer, the orderly repeated his question, louder and more firmly. “I asked, how do you feel?”

Steg looked up at the orderly’s face, into his eyes. The orderly swallowed, momentarily wondering if releasing the guard had been a good idea.

“Some—some more of my memories are returning.” Steg’s speech was hesitant, as though he was exploring and discovering words. “It’s been a slow process. There are gaps.”

“Very good. Tell me, where are you from?”

“Homeworld, in the Centaur Belt. That’s Rimwards.”

“It’s an independent world?”

“Yes. It’s a free world, a good place to be.”

“Pity.” The man’s empathy was genuine.

“Why?”

“You realize you’ll never see your home again?”

Steg stilled all movement as he intensified his visual contact with the orderly. He reached out and gripped the man’s arm. “Why?”

The orderly frowned. “You don’t know? You’re to be executed. According to your file, an ImpSec tribunal sentenced you to death.”

Steg stayed silent for a moment. He retained his grip, only releasing the pressure when he saw the reflection of pain on the other man’s face. “I collapsed in the courtroom. I was unconscious when the hearing ended. I think they shipped me straight here, afterwards. No one said—I didn’t know—”

The orderly sat Steg down, aware of the consternation his comments had caused.

“ImpSec.” It was a curse. “They make their own rules.”

“When—when will they carry out this—when will they execute me?”

“They don’t publicize their schedule. I checked your records earlier; there’s no date set for your execution, only the sentence.”

“Thank you, Mac, for telling me.”

“I didn’t think—well, I suppose I thought you knew and that’s why you seemed so despondent.”

“Despondent? Oh, I see. No, I’ve been preoccupied, focused on re-building my memories.” He laughed. It was a bitter, humorless sound. “I suppose I’ll complete the task at the same time the authorities carry out ImpSec’s sentence.”

The orderly completed his examination of Steg and decided he did not need to refer him to the doctor. “He’s hopeless, anyway. He’s addicted to one of the more poisonous Joy by-products—his nervous system’s shot. That is why they posted him here, as a prison doctor. He’d never be allowed to practice medicine, outside.”

Steg was deep in thought on the return to his cell. His memories were returning, although his bleak prediction they would be complete at the point the prison carried out his execution seemed more than probable. He had progressed; he was able to recall details of Homeworld from his childhood, teen, and later years. He was beginning to tap into recent memories, although some still eluded his efforts. Even though he realized his efforts might not succeed, he decided he should continue his task of rebuilding his memories.

They came at midnight. He had been in Diyark for almost thirty days, despondent, waiting for news of his scheduled execution. Four guards quietly and quickly entered his cell before he woke. One held a weapon against his head while a second guard placed a loaded dispenser against his neck and triggered an injection. Steg did not have an opportunity to protest and within seconds the dose had taken effect. He sat, wide-eyed, immobile, on the edge of his bed.

“Come along, de Coeur,” said one of the guards, in a low voice. Steg stood and waited for the guard to direct him.

Another guard chuckled. “You see why they call it ‘Come Along’?” he commented. “It amazes me, every time.”

“Cravit, shut up. We need to get him out of here while the video and mikes are off,” the senior guard said. “Come on, let’s go.”

Surrounded and directed by guards, Steg moved out of the small cell and along the walkway. The group passed through checkpoints without challenge as they descended to the ground floor and exited the building. Their destination was the landing pad where a shuttle was waiting for its final passenger before take-off. Lights around the pad illuminated the anonymous space vehicle; it was a mottled green color, without insignia or markings. Steg was urged inside, joining nineteen other prisoners similarly drugged, with their escorts. Some guards already were exiting the shuttle. He sat down as instructed and a guard strapped him in.

“Sixty seconds,” a voice announced over an address system. The remaining guards rushed to the exit, leaving the prisoners unattended in the shuttle cabin.

“Ten seconds,” progressed the voice. “Locks sealed. Take off in …5…4…3…2…1.” The shuttle departed with a tremendous burst of speed, heedless of the comfort of its passengers; fortunately, they all were drugged and unconscious of their adventure. The craft, nose up, lifted at almost full acceleration. The pilot was in a hurry.

A small force of mercenaries, dressed in bland military-style clothing, was waiting for the shuttle when it docked and locked into an access bay on its home starship. They directed a team of laborers, humanoid, to unload the drugged prisoners and clean the shuttle cabin. The bodies were dumped onto a magsled and driven away by one of the laborers under escort of two mercenaries. Another group of workers was waiting at its destination to move the unconscious prisoners to their temporary holding cell. When the shuttle was emptied, it was prepped for its next load.

Chapter 6

Steg awoke to the sounds of moans and groans from a number of recovering prisoners. His head spun, his senses reeled. They—about twenty, he estimated—were in a large room, the floor and walls of which appeared to be unpainted fullerene-steel, providing a utilitarian decor. The room was cold, and gravity seemed to be set at two-thirds normal. He felt a mild vibration from where his head rested on the deck. They were on a starship, he realized. He had no idea of how or why; his last conscious memory was of a guard holding a stunner to his head.

He nudged the nearest man. “Do you know what’s happening?”

“Oooh—frek, no. My head feels like someone beat it with a rock.” The speaker tried to sit up; it took him three attempts and almost half a minute to succeed. Others now had recovered and were also trying to assess their circumstances.

Steg at last gained his feet, half-staggering as he did so. He reviewed the room of stirring bodies and spoke up, his voice cutting through the struggles and moans. “I think we’re on a starship. We’re underway. Gravity’s about 70 percent. Anyone know more?”

A ragged chorus of negatives and curses answered his question. Steg looked at the men on the floor; most had recovered consciousness. He was still unsteady and braced himself against a wall.

“Anyone think otherwise?” No one volunteered an alternative. Most now were watching Steg with undisguised interest, some with a possible challenge in mind.

After a subdued conversation between three men, one of them, urged by his immediate companions, staggered to his feet, swayed for a moment, and then stood upright. He was untidy, his uniform torn, and his face revealed scars from prior confrontations.

“Who t’ frek are you?” the man asked as he moved forward, his entire body promising a physical threat.

This, Steg realized, was a challenge that either he accepted and won, or else he backed down now and discarded any future attempt to organize or influence the group. He was not inclined to back down.

“Steg de Coeur. Sentenced to death by ImpSec. And you?” He positioned himself as the man edged closer. Steg was intuitively relying on in-built muscle memories for the pending confrontation.

“Trooper—or should I say, ex-trooper Rippin. Sentenced to three life terms for killing a frekin’ officer an’ his two lady friends.” He spat on the floor. The man stood tall. He was more six feet tall and carried at least twice Steg’s weight.

One of the trooper’s companions interjected, “Rippin was drunk at the time. He can’t remember doing it.”

Steg wondered if the man had been unfairly sentenced. The trooper soon disabused him of his doubt.

“It’s me second frekin’ officer—they didn’t catch me for t’ first one.” He was almost in reach of Steg. Other prisoners had hastily moved away from the threatening storm and as a result, there was a cleared space around the two men.

Steg relaxed, muscle memories rushing to his aid. He felt no fear. His stance failed to impress the trooper and the man continued his approach. Others, however, took note for the future. Steg saw his opponent had somehow gained possession of a knife and was holding it across his body, the promise of a fatal ending contained in its thin sliver of a blade.

“This’s what does ’em in,” Rippin proclaimed. “This little feller.” He waved the knife back and forth.

Steg did not hesitate. He moved forward and snap-kicked Rippin’s knife arm while the man was waving the weapon. The blade spun towards the ceiling, reached its peak, and fell, clattering, to the floor. The trooper staggered backwards, screaming incoherently. His forearm was broken and his arm hung, useless. Steg picked up the weapon and slid it into his belt.

He said, “Anyone else?”

Rippin cursed and rushed forward, attempting to end the fight with a blow from his meaty fist. Moments later he screamed with added pain as Steg broke his other arm. Rippin backed away, pain and bewilderment conflicting on his face.

“Someone? You,” Steg pointed to Rippin’s companion. “You seem to know this man? Look after him; stop him from trying more stupid stunts.”

“Yes, I agree,” said a voice from the door. A man wearing an apparently military uniform stood in the opening. His shoulder badges indicated he held the rank of captain; otherwise his uniform was anonymous. The roomful of prisoners had been intent on the action between Steg and Rippin, and no one had noticed his entry. “You—with the scar—hand me the knife. You won’t need it. The rest of you—Scar’s now your senior officer. Do as he instructs or face consequences; be aware they may be fatal. Scar—what’s your name—de Coeur?” Steg nodded, and the stranger continued. “He will be in command of this group for as long as you’re on board Wasp. Do you understand?”

There was a general and subdued murmur of assent. Steg walked to the mercenary captain and handed over the knife.

“You come with me. Rippin, an escort will be here in five. They’ll take you to our medics. I expect you’ll be in plaster for a while. Any more trouble and I’ll find an airlock for you, understand? The rest of you—get some sleep. I know, I know, there are no beds. Sad. Roll up some floor. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Steg followed the captain out of the room, wondering where he was going, and what he had initiated with his defeat of the other man. The corridor’s dull metallic surface offered no clue as to direction or location. He was somewhere in the middle of a starship, if his assessment was correct. He could guess nothing more.

The captain stopped at a door and entered a key code, hiding the details with his body. The door swung open and the mercenary directed Steg inside. He waited until Steg entered the room, and then closed the door and departed. Two men, uniformed, presumably mercenaries, were each seated at a desk. One, wearing sergeant’s stripes and holding an earpiece to his ear, was watching a video screen. Steg watched for a moment and realized the screen was displaying the room where he had been held. The second man, a colonel, was reading file notes. The officer raised his head for a moment and pointed, directing Steg to a chair beside his desk. He continued to read the file notes. After five minutes had passed, he pushed the files to one side.

“You can handle yourself. You’re intelligent. Why’d you do something dumb like taking on ImpSec?”

“Coincidence and the unknown, I suspect. I still don’t recall how I boarded xTaur, and my presence—unexplained and unauthorized— caused major worries on their part.”

“There must have been more to it?” The colonel seemed genuinely curious.

“I suppose.” Steg nodded his head. “A young ImpSec officer and the surgeon responsible for my treatment had a falling out. ImpSec, as a result, were obliged to court-martial their officer. He was dishonorably discharged and received a ten-year sentence. ImpSec used me for revenge.”

“Hmm. We were monitoring the holding room. You’re fast. Efficient. Dangerous. What rank have you held?”

“Captain in the Imperial Intelligence Agency, astronavigator and military shuttle pilot.” Steg was experiencing incremental although measured steps of recall as hidden processes increased the repair of his memory-tattered past.

“Good. We need another captain. You’ll have as many as you select from this and a second load of another twenty when we make our next pickup.”

Steg mentally shook his head, trying to clear his confusion. “What’s this all about? Who are you?”

The colonel replied, “My name’s Ryan Attwood. I command a small battalion of marines. We’re mercenaries, operating under a private flag. We’ve been issued a letter of marque by Sicca—you know, the War Merchants. I’ve two hundred and fifty men, plus about fifty in logistics and support, mainly humanoid. Oh, and there’s the ship’s officers and crew, about a hundred or so with a small force of ship marines; they’re an almost balanced mix of Terran types and aliens. I recruit from wherever I can. Imperial prisons are one of my main recruiting sources. I buy bodies, those sentenced to death or never to be released. We get some good, some bad.” He shrugged. “We return the bad. If we can.”

Steg’s immediate reaction was to class the mercenaries as pirates, even if they did possess a letter of marque. Such a letter allowed them legally to go into battle against other starships, as long as they were authorized under a properly contracted arrangement with a planetary government. Without that letter and contract, they’d be classed as pirates if they attacked another starship or engaged in planetary-based warfare. He needed time: to understand, to consider what his strategy should be, to benefit from this unexpected opportunity to gain his freedom.

“Colonel, I’m exhausted. I think the drug’s still affecting me.” He rubbed his forehead. “Can we discuss this tomorrow?”

“Certainly. I’ll get a corporal to show you to your new quarters. A captain doesn’t sleep on the floor.”

Steg gave his cabin a cursory examination when he entered; there was a bed, two steel storage cabinets, a desk and chair, an entertainment block, and two casual chairs. Comfortable and space enough although he had no possessions to store. It was a marked improvement on his cell. His mind was buzzing with a mix of stress and tiredness, and after a quick shower in the fresher, Steg collapsed onto his bed. He slept soundly for eight hours, waking only when someone knocked on the cabin door.

Steg opened the door a fraction and peered out through bleary eyes. It was the same corporal.

“Captain de Coeur?”

“Yes?”

“Sir, the colonel’d like to meet with you in an hour. Breakfast’s available in the officers’ mess.”

“Very good. Where’s the mess?”

“Head to your left, take the next corridor to the right, it’s the fifth door on the left.” The corporal indicated the general direction. “After you’ve eaten I’ll escort you to the colonel’s office.”

Steg nodded his assent. He showered and dressed in the mottled-green uniform provided to him by the corporal. It was better, Steg thought, than his prison garb. He dumped the gray clothing into a recycle bin. He followed the corporal’s directions to the mess where he sat and enjoyed his breakfast, a welcome change from the tasteless rations served in Diyark prison. He finished his meal and stepped out of the mess, looking for his escort; it was time to meet with the colonel.

As promised, the marine was waiting for him. He said. “It’s not far. The colonel’s office is along here.”

When they entered the same small office of the previous evening, the colonel dismissed the corporal and cleared a chair of paperwork. He indicated Steg should sit.

Steg waited for the colonel to begin their meeting; he was uncertain what direction the conversation would head. At last the officer closed the folder he had been reviewing and focused on Steg.

“No one ever told me there would be so much paperwork,” Attwood complained. “You’ll find out, I’m sure. Now, let me see. What the hell is the Imperial Intelligence Agency?”

“The Agency’s a small operation. It was established by the Emperor and fields about one hundred operatives, Drawn from Imperial Marines or Special Forces, senior, experienced, highly skilled. We operate a dreadnought and have another two available. Our focus is intelligence. However, it’s become apparent the agency’s even more secretive than I thought. I don’t understand why no one knows of its existence.” He did not mention the date discrepancy embedded in his memories.

“Interesting. You have an obligation to report to them?” A frown creased the colonel’s forehead.

“Yes. I’ve been kept away from all communication devices, so far.” He hid his suspicion that portals somehow had moved him back in time.

“How did you board the hospital starship while she was underway?”

“I’ve no idea. I don’t mean to be flippant, but I have no memory of boarding xTaur. I’m only now beginning to remember how I got this.” Steg touched the scar down the side of his face.

“If I can answer your questions about us—here, today—will you work for me?”

“Let’s discuss what you intend, first.”

“Good. I’m short of intelligent people who also can handle themselves. I can get plenty of general rankers; however, I need officers. My second in command, Major Fowler, wants to retire. When he does, it’ll leave me more than short-handed. I told you last night, we’re mercenaries, operating under a letter of marque. Legally, we’re an extension of the Siccan military, and while we can negotiate our own assignments, we’re accountable to them. One consequence of the arrangement is that we cannot contract against any of their allies.”

“I’ve some knowledge of Sicca. What kind of assignments do you look for?”

“Overall, we’re a small force and our mainstay activities are short-term missions, which can be financially rewarding. Sometimes it might be anti-piracy. Or other times we’re hired to knock sense into a small-time local terrorist-type uprising against a legitimate government. If the reward percentage is good, we may do a search and retrieval, say, if some general or politician has fled a planet with a case full of ill-gotten funds. Our typical involvement profile is intra-system, only rarely inter-system. We belong to a loose association of mercenaries, and we avoid conflicts with our associates. We’re able to call on another ten to twelve units, upwards of three thousand men, if needed. Finally, we’ve access to general infantry, a Siccan brigade group, up to a hundred thousand or so, supported by armored units, if we need lots of grunts on the ground.”

“The impression I’m gaining,” Steg said, “is you’re claiming a clean operation. You’re implying no piracy, no slave runs, no opportunistic raids, no ransom attacks? Your assignments are legitimate, always contracted, and supported by Sicca?”

“Precisely.” The colonel tapped his files. “We’d lose our letter of marque, and the authorities on Sicca would outlaw us, otherwise. Personally, I wouldn’t like to be pursued by Siccans if ever they proscribed me. They’re called War Merchants for a good reason, and we wouldn’t survive for long if we challenged them. If they didn’t kill us, they’d lock us up in a Siccan prison for the rest of our lives. Rest assured, we’re legitimate privateers, fully authorized by Sicca. I can show you our documentation, if you like.”

Steg nodded. “Very well. So what makes you stand out as mercenaries? Why should I join a small group of, to be blunt, near-pirates?”

“You need to take into account our successes. Our strategies. Our honor. Our armor. We have a trained and motivated force. Their earnings are high. I can let you have summary reports, copies of what we provide to the War Merchants.”

“I still have concerns,” Steg said. “So you take murderers and others, press-gang them, and expect they’ll fit into your way of fighting and support your letter of marque?”

“We look for potentially good recruits—people like yourself, for example. If they don’t accept our offer, we return them. Later, if anyone disobeys lawful commands or tries to mutiny, we hand the survivors over to Siccan authorities, who deal with them for us. Come with me. I’ll show you some of our set-up.” The colonel stood and headed for the door. Steg followed. He did not notice the sergeant smiling to himself.

Chapter 7

Attwood led Steg further into the starship. They changed levels both up and down, as Steg followed the mercenary leader. He was surprised at the extent of core structural reinforcements, which appeared to have been installed in the last two or three years. The fullerene-steel was brighter and newer and, in places, sturdy beams had been added to the original construction of the starship.

At last they stopped outside a set of double doors, which was locked and secured electronically. A sign on the bulkhead threatened all kinds of penalties for anyone who attempted an unauthorized entry. The colonel keyed in numbers, provided a vocal response to a directed security question, and when the lock released, swung open one of the heavy doors. He stepped into the room first, signaling for Steg to follow.

“Hi, Monty,” Attwood said as he closed the door. “I’ve brought Steg de Coeur to meet you. He’s the one we offered a captaincy, as you suggested. How’s business?”

Steg was stunned to see a large, multi-tentacled, cephalopod-like alien located in a large glass-walled tank. The alien’s eyes were huge and round. He had no neck; his head was integrated with his body, forming a large bulbous base for all his tentacles. These, Steg guessed, were twelve feet long, and colored in bright, almost glowing, red and blue stripes. They were covered in small suckers and had sharp barbs distributed along each flexible limb. The reinforced glass front of the tank, he estimated, was twenty feet high, reaching to the ceiling, and a hundred feet across, stretching the width of the room. Shadows prevented Steg from seeing all the way into the tank although he suspected it stretched back some hundreds of feet. The alien, whom the colonel had addressed as Monty, was resting on a stone or coral bench at the front of the tank, and was working at what appeared to be an array of computers. He continued to enter commands, touch-typing with the tips of two of his tentacles while he spoke to his visitors.

“Excellent, thanks, Ryan,” replied Monty, waving three tentacles. “Hi, Steg. Welcome to my world.” The voice, a deep baritone, came from speakers set high on the glass wall.

Steg, unable to determine what generated the alien’s voice, was momentarily speechless.

The alien chuckled. “Yours is the typical reaction.”

“Sorry, Monty,” Steg said. “I was surprised. Colonel Attwood didn’t warn me. Thank you for your welcome.”

The alien waved a tentacle, indicating a set of chairs in front of his tank. “Sit down. Let’s talk for a minute or two.”

“I’ll leave Steg with you, Monty. All right?”

“Sure thing, Ryan. Come back in an hour. We’ll let you know if we finish earlier.”

A stunned de Coeur sat on one of the indicated chairs as the colonel departed, closing the heavy door behind him. Steg heard the locks click home.

“I hope your tank is waterproof,” Steg said.

“Ha. I hope yours is airproof,” returned Monty with the octopus equivalent of a chuckle. “Now tell me everything. I want to know all the details, in your own words, of what happened to you, since you arrived on xTaur. I need all the data you can provide. Let’s see if you can tell me anything of your memories prior to that temporal point. If it’s not an Imperial secret, of course. Dr. Yi seemed like an empathetic doctor, I’ve read her case notes. Talk to me.” Monty was persuasive and Steg found himself willing to talk, to consider and possibly disclose items he had not mentioned to the doctor or to the therapist. He did not remark on the alien’s ability to penetrate the hospital ship’s computer records—he was beyond surprise.

The discussion, or more like, the data transfer, lasted close to two hours. Monty listened to Steg’s narrative and every so often asked a detailed question, ensuring he had a complete description of place, people, and events. Towards the end of the second hour, Steg noted almost subconsciously Colonel Attwood’s return. The mercenary leader had seated himself on a chair beside the heavily reinforced external wall.

“I think I’ve covered all the details—at least those I can remember—until my arrival here,” Steg concluded. He hadn’t mentioned the date discrepancy, which continued to worry him. “Except I’m not sure yet, where ‘here’ is.”

“Good, good. You’ve been extremely helpful. My team will enjoy these details.”

“Your team? May I ask questions now?”

“Of course. My apologies, I didn’t think to provide opportunities for you to do so, I was so interested in your story. Yes, I have a team. They’re my wives, four of them. I don’t know how I survive their nagging, I really don’t.” Steg was now certain an octopus could shrug.

“Tell me about Colonel Attwood and his mercenaries.”

“First—Ryan, go away. I don’t want you to get too ego-boosted. We’ll let you know when we’re finished. It won’t be much longer.”

Steg turned to the colonel. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Attwood waved a hand. “Don’t worry. I kept quiet; you both were engrossed. Monty, don’t keep him here all day; we’ve lots of work to do.”

“Very well. About another thirty minutes? We’ve things to cover, still. Steg, you can always come back, anytime, if you have more questions or want to talk about anything you like.”

“Yes,” agreed Steg. “As Monty said, as long as I can have follow-up discussions.”

Again the colonel securely closed the heavy door when he departed. Neither Steg nor Monty noticed.

“Where do you want to start?”

“Who—what are you? I have not heard of an intelligent cephalopod-like alien, what we would describe as an octopus. At least, not one who can talk, use a computer system …?”

“Ryan rescued me and my wives. Two starships—they were pirates, Rim-based—had attacked our starship, a small freighter. We would’ve defeated them except they had more missiles than we could defend against. Ryan and Wasp, this starship, destroyed the pirate ships and came alongside to provide assistance. After some hit and miss efforts, we established communication and described our oxygen and water requirements. Ryan arranged temporary quarters for us. It was difficult. At first we had only a small tank on Wasp, and it was cramped. It took some time to build our habitat to this size. We gradually increased our water environment, introduced some of our tools and technology, worked out how to have our computers connect to Wasp’s system, and well, there you are. I use a sound wave converter to produce a version of standard Anglo speech. I’ve improved it while I’ve been on board this starship.”

Steg was impressed. It was a short story covering what seemed to have been a fraught and dangerous time for the aliens. “Are you a member of his mercenaries?”

The alien considered the question. “A sub-contractor, more like. Once I understood what he did, we agreed, Ryan and I, we’d provide consultative services to his mercenary operations. We’re his strategy team. We get a share of his increased profits as our fee. In three years, we’ve paid for all the modified weapons and recovered the construction costs of our habitat. We used our technology to improve the starship’s shields, its beam weapons, and we added a rail gun, it’s a monster. We had to design and install some major reinforcements to Wasp’s structural infrastructure, to ensure we didn’t end up stressing the ship—we have to carry a heavy water load for our habitat. In turn, we’ve helped with other system, reactor, and s-t upgrades. Finally, we’ve earned almost enough to pay for repairs to our own starship.”

“So you’re his secret weapon?”

“Exactly.”

“Where do you expect me to figure in his mercenary team?”

“We saw your prison file when we were searching for more recruits. You were listed for execution and we decided to explore your background. We gathered some data—my wives have systems expertise. They penetrated the prison’s computers, and as a result, we all wanted to meet you. There’s something we can’t quite identify, which is why I sought so much detail from you. Something happened to our ship system, to a lot of ship systems, according to our investigations, in the minute or so preceding your arrival on board that Imperial hospital ship. A significant number of starship and planetary computer systems were subverted for a short period, after which their dynamic memories were cleansed of any details of the event. It was all extremely efficient. We suspect these events, the system activities, and your boarding of the hospital starship, are somehow related. We want to be around when you recover all your memories. Perhaps you’ll be able to help us solve this mystery. We encouraged Ryan to include you in his press gang recruiting and, well, here you are.”

“You’ve told me why you want me here, but why does Ryan want me?”

“It’s simple. He doesn’t have enough high quality leadership resources. He needs more support. We want to be more ambitious with our assignments. Unfortunately, he can’t take on a higher level of challenge without adding higher quality officers. We consider you to be an ideal recruit. He doesn’t have a capable deputy, and you are a candidate for the role, once you’ve settled in.”

“You made your assessment from Dr. Yi’s files?”

“Plus other data. The prison had copies of ImpSec files, and we accessed those, too. Imperial security is riven with holes.”

“Where are you from?”

The alien stilled the movement of his tentacles. A burst of bubbles covered his head. “Steg, we’re cautious about opening our space up to Terrans. We’ve told one person, the colonel, the location of our home system. If anything should happen to me, he’s promised to return my family there. With regret, I can’t say more, at least for now.”

“I understand. My kind can be overwhelming, in more ways than one.” Steg reflected for a moment. “Can you assure me Colonel Attwood’s mercenary activities are legitimate, in full compliance with the letter of marque? Confirm he has Siccan support, and he’s an honorable man?”

“We listened to everything he told you and guarantee its truth and accuracy. Oh, he’s a tough commander and won’t brook any breach of discipline, once someone’s agreed to serve with his force. A person can refuse to sign on, and he’ll return them to where he press-ganged them. So if you refused service now, he would smuggle you back to Diyark Prison. If you want to leave his mercenaries later, say after a year, his response would depend. He might release you, with pay. Or arrange for you to be held on Sicca, as a prisoner of the Merchants of War, if he thought you were a danger to his operations.”

“Monty, at the moment, I can’t think of any more questions. I’ll have some, I’m certain.”

“Good. Now, I’ve alerted Ryan, he’ll be here shortly. You’re welcome back, anytime. I might have more questions, too. Don’t hesitate to visit if you regain any of your missing memory.”

Steg nodded his agreement and added. “There’s one other item.”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to meet your family.”

“They’re shy. I’ll tell them, and in time, I’m sure they’ll make themselves known. When they’re ready—”

“Yes. I understand.”

Steg sat in the chair next to the colonel’s desk. Attwood moved folders away from the center of his workspace and looked at his recruit.

“Well, what do you think?”

“You definitely blindsided me. I never expected to talk to a water-resident alien, here, on your starship.”

“There are other things I’ll show you as you settle in. We’ve improved our defensive and offensive profiles with Monty’s guidance. He’s also helped us to improve our real-time communications, computer systems, and stealth shielding. He’s made design changes to our exo-armor and, as a result, my marines could out-fight any three or four armored Imperial marines; not that we plan to get into a dispute with Imperial forces. Monty takes delight in helping us make improvements and always searches for tougher assignments; they’re more rewarding, financially. Now there are people I want you to meet: the Wasp’s commander and her bridge crew, for example. Her Weapons team. Plus my other officers.” He paused. “What do you think? Are you in?”

“What about my obligation to report to the Agency?”

“I heard parts of your discussion with Monty. You don’t remember enough, yet, to contact your—what is it?—Imperial Intelligence Agency?”

“Correct.”

“When you regain your memory and if you still wish to make contact, to report in, we can determine how to proceed. I won’t block you without good reason—for example, if we’re in the middle of a mission. Will that be acceptable?”

Steg considered his other options and none appealed. He could reject the offer and his return to prison would be inevitable, or he could say yes and risk contracting with illegal mercenaries. He did not take long to decide; returning to Diyark would result in his death. “Yes, I agree, I’ll sign on. Subject to the proviso we’ve agreed, I’ll work with you and accept responsibility as one of your captains.”

“Done. Sergeant Riddell, make out the contract, please. Include a clause to cover the point we agreed.”

“Yes, sir. Welcome, Captain de Coeur, to Wasp and to the Stingers.”

Chapter 8

When Steg requested some workspace, Riddell pointed to the spare desk in the small office.

“Sir, you can use this desk for now. I’ll arrange another work cabin for you and I’ll also set up access to the shipcom and our computer systems. In the meantime, we’ve some hardcopy files on the latest recruits, which you can read.”

Steg read through the documents describing his potential company members. Wasp, with the second shuttle load of press-ganged prisoners, had collected forty potential recruits, extracted from two of the four jails on Centyr. His task was to prepare an initial assessment of each man, based on ImpSec and their records; he planned to refine those in face-to-face interviews. He rejected some of the prisoners based on his quick assessments. Ex-trooper Rippin was the first he nominated for return to Diyark. Others, apparent career criminals or outright thugs, he also rejected. Most of the remainder, he decided, were worth interviews. First, he needed support staff, at least one sergeant and two corporals. He waited for Sergeant Riddell to look up from his current task.

“Sergeant?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Do we have any spare NCOs? Sergeant or corporal or rankers ready to be promoted?”

“Sir, if only—” The sergeant sighed. “Seriously, no. It’s one of our problems. We’re short-handed, as you’ll discover.”

“I’ll see who I can use in these new batches.”

“I wish you luck. If you end up with a surplus, please let me know.”

Steg nodded and returned to his review. At last he selected three men whom he thought might meet his requirements. He spoke to the sergeant again.

“Riddell, can I borrow the corporal I met earlier? I need someone to act as guide and temporary support until I sort out these recruits. Perhaps after I have a meal break?”

This time Steg had a better opportunity to examine the officers’ mess. There was a chef and a steward plus a small serving staff. Steg sat with the captain who had removed him from the group of recruits after Rippin’s attack.

“So, de Coeur, what do you think so far?” The captain held out his hand. “By the way, I’m Dean, Hugh Dean. Call me Dean, everyone does.”

They shook hands. Steg was about to commence his lunch when he saw a large insect had climbed onto the table. It looked around for a moment and then headed directly towards him.

“What the frek—”

His companion laughed. “It’s one of Monty’s spies. He builds them. I suppose he wants you to carry it with you. Good afternoon, Monty.”

The metallic insect halted and, facing the captain, waved its frond-like feelers. It turned back towards Steg and crawled over to face him. Steg inspected the insect, still undecided whether he should swat it or greet it. The construct had a shiny red carapace under which he thought he discerned folded wings. Its body was about two inches long, and the feelers added another inch or so. Eight legs completed the structure. The result was somewhere between a vividly colored beetle and a starship croacher. Steg nudged the insect construct with his finger. It sat back and stared at him with multi-faceted blue eyes.

“You think Monty wants me to carry the darn thing?”

“Yes. At the moment he doesn’t have direct communication with you. Of course, he’s able to use Wasp’s system; however, it’s not private or secure. Pick it up and place it on your collar, behind your ear.”

Steg did as Dean suggested. He felt a soft touch of a feeler behind his ear and heard a tinny replication of Monty’s baritone.

“Thank you, Steg. I forgot to mention there’ll be occasions when I’ll need to communicate with you in private. Later we’ll arrange a small surgical implant for you. It’s a painless operation—well, almost. The implant will allow us to communicate whether you’re on or off Wasp, as long as you’re within a klick or so.”

Steg finished his meal, still bemused, which he thought was becoming a permanent state. Corporal Jones was waiting when he exited the mess.

“Corporal, I need somewhere to work with the recruits. A small interview room and a way to segregate accepted recruits from the rejects.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve reserved space. The recruits are waiting, now. They’re on D deck, section 23, room 25. Not far.”

Steg followed the corporal to where the forty press-ganged recruits were assembled. They still wore their gray uniforms and presented a mix of bored, curious, and frustrated faces as they turned towards Steg and the corporal.

“As you know, my name is de Coeur. I’ll be your captain, if you join Wasp’s mercenary force. I’ve been advised the starship and its mercenaries are an extension of the War Merchants of Sicca and have legal authorization for their operations. If, for any reason, you don’t wish to join the mercenary force or if I decide I don’t want you, you’ll be returned to your cells on Aluta. No one will believe any story you tell, so don’t think there’s any chance of blackmail. Those who don’t want to remain on board, please move to the left; others remain on my right.”

Three men moved to the left. Steg nodded at them and said. “We’ll arrange for your return.” He turned to the group on his right. “Corporal Jones will call you by name, and you’ll enter the interview room. I’ll decide whether I want to recruit you. Understood?”

No one objected. Steg entered the small room, sat at the desk and waited for the corporal to call the first name on his list. A burly man, middle-aged, in excellent physical condition, entered and stood at ease in front of Steg. The corporal followed, closed the door, and waited near the wall.

Steg read aloud from his notes. “Alexander Kirby. Imperial Marine. Sergeant. Sentenced to life for a serious assault on, and causing the death of, a senior officer while a state of war existed.”

The ex-Marine snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.” His face was expressionless.

“What’s the background to this? Tell me what happened and why you’d be a good recruit for me.”

“Sir. Yes, I killed an ImpSec major.” He looked at Steg. “I caught him sexually assaulting my wife when we were attending an official function. He was attempting to rape her, and when she protested, he broke her arm and her jaw. I broke his legs, his arms, and his nose. I also busted some of his ribs, and one penetrated a lung. The medics arrived too late to save him. I was found guilty of murder. The tribunal sentenced me to death.” He turned his attention to the far wall, behind Steg, his face still expressionless. “Sir.”

“Now, why would you be a good recruit?”

“Sir, I’ve over thirty years of experience in the Imperial Marines. I held the rank of senior sergeant, gunnery. I’m classed as expert in most Imperial weapons. I can pilot a shuttle, and I trained as an exo-armorer. I’ve had recent combat experience.”

“You’re willing to serve with a non-Imperial force?”

He smiled. “After my experiences with ImpSec, yes, sir.”

“Good. Corporal Jones, we need a uniform and sergeant’s strips for Kirby. Welcome to the team, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir. It’ll be a pleasure. I saw you take down Rippin. It was very professional.”

Steg had decided to accept men for Attwood’s mercenary force if he could identify at least some extenuating circumstances for their offenses. Prison and other records revealed all the press-ganged recruits had committed serious crimes, although there was a possibility ImpSec had railroaded some. He interviewed the next two candidates on his list and, based on their experience, background, charges, sentences, and personal details, he selected them to serve as corporals. He suspended further interviews until his recruits changed into their mercenary uniforms, after which he delegated the remaining assessments to the three men. They were to be his core NCOs and would need to live day-to-day with their decisions. Two days later, at the conclusion of the selection processes, Steg checked and confirmed their assessments and decided borderline cases.

Finally, Steg and his new NCOs approved thirty of the prisoners for addition to Wasp’s mercenary force. Colonel Attwood, after confirming their selections, made arrangements to return the rejected prisoners. The starship remained on station above Centyr, and its prisons were short shuttle flights away. There was a timing issue to resolve; the return would be carried out when there was a suitable transfer window.

Steg had no idea how the return would be handled; it seemed there was a vigorous black market in live bodies that the mercenary colonel tapped into when he needed additional men. It was one way to discover and recruit ex-military resources, thought Steg, although the method seemed to be fraught with high risks and was not something he would have considered.

After the selections were completed and final recruits approved, Steg sat with his new NCOs and discussed a training program.

He said, “We need to get these people to an acceptable fitness level, add weapons training, and conduct more realistic exercises—for example, starship boarding and defense.”

“We can commence with a fitness program whenever you want,” Kirby replied. “We need a large area, perhaps a shuttle or storage bay. It’ll take three, maybe four weeks, for everyone to reach a semblance of fitness. We’ll commence weapons training once the team settles down. Field exercises, I agree; they’ll be an interesting challenge.”

There was a faint whisper in Steg’s ear. It was Monty. “Wasp has an empty storage bay set up as a training area, with gravity set at plus 20 percent. It’s available ten hours a day. What will your schedule be?”

“Thanks, Monty. I’ll check,” Steg said. The three men stared at him, perhaps thinking their captain had taken leave of his senses. “Kirby, there’s a bay set up for fitness training. Gravity’s adjustable. We can have access up to ten hours a day. Oh, this little guy’s a communication device.” He tapped Monty’s construct, which was clutching his collar.

“Frek,” said Kirby. “I was going to mention you had a king-sized croacher on your neck. Okay, we’ll prepare a schedule. It’ll be ready this afternoon for your review. We’ll commence tomorrow. Do we include you?”

“Absolutely. I want to be fitter than the rest of you, as a matter of principle.”

“Sounds like a good challenge, sir,” Kirby said. The two new corporals smiled.

A circuit of the empty docking bay was a quarter klick, and on the first run, Sergeant Kirby set a modest pace. The two corporals took their places on either side of the recruits. Steg followed some three yards behind the last man, positioned to check for strengths and weaknesses in the runners. They ran sixteen circuits of the docking bay, followed by a rest of fifteen minutes. The sergeant followed the break with a series of exercises targeting cardio and muscle strength, which took thirty minutes. Again, he rested the group. This sequence was repeated, twice more. The men were exhausted at the end of the third set of exercises.

“A passable effort,” the sergeant said as he reviewed the exhausted recruits, “for beginners. We’re going to increase the pace and distance this afternoon, after your mess break. I promise, by the time we finish with you, you’ll be fitter than you’ve ever been. In a week we’ll adjust gravity to 1.5, to add to your stress. I want you back here in two hours. Dismissed.”

“Good work, Sergeant,” Steg said, after the men departed. “I agree with your physical program. Remember to plan some combat exercises. We’ll have more to do, of course, to build a reliable fighting force. I want you to meet with Wasp’s armorers and find out when we can get the men fitted. When they have their armor, we can drive them harder.”

Chapter 9

As an ambush, it was effective. Steg stepped around a corner of one of the starship’s long corridors and was confronted by six of the rejected prisoners armed with knives and heavy metal bars. One man had a projectile weapon, an old handgun, unsuitable for use on board a starship. He held the weapon against the temple of one of the female crew, who appeared to be terror-stricken. Steg didn’t know her name or duties, although he’d seen her in the mess arranging refreshments for on-duty bridge officers.

Rippin, his arms bandaged, was standing in back of the small group. He nudged his immediate companion and said, “That’s frekin’ him. He’s the one I want you to kill. Do it, now.”

“All right,” Steg said. “I want you to release this girl, disarm, and return to your cabin.” While he understood the possible futility of his instruction, he had no alternatives. “Go, now.”

Monty whispered in his ear. “I’m disconnecting gravity in your section of the corridor and switching off the lights. Ten seconds and counting, from now.”

Steg braced himself, grabbing hold of a stanchion as Monty cut the gravity and extinguished the lights. Steg used the sudden release of gravity to launch an attack. He tackled the armed man who, startled by his sudden weightlessness, lost his grip on the hostage. Steg grappled with the man, struggling to gain control of the handgun. He was confident the hostage had escaped in the confusion. Meantime, as Steg was fighting his attackers, Monty synchronized resumption of gravity and lights with the arrival of an armed squad of troopers, who charged along the corridor.

The prisoner was stronger, probably a heavyworlder, and Steg was unable to gain the upper hand. When gravity resumed, they both tumbled to the floor of the corridor, and Steg lost his grip on the firearm. Someone, in the melee, fired the gun. He heard an explosion and felt a crushing blow to the back of his head. He collapsed, unconscious.

Underlying the strong odor of medical disinfectant was a more subtle trace of a familiar perfume. It reminded Steg of something or someone far away, a memory that he was unable to trace, yet he knew was wrapped in sadness. His head was throbbing again. Someone had hit him. Another someone, he thought, had shot him. Steg opened his eyes. He was on a hard bunk in the starship’s medical unit, and a nurse was taping a pad to his right temple. At least, he thought she was a nurse; her clinical uniform certainly gave that impression. When she finished her task and stood back, he raised his head and looked around the room. Three nurses solemnly regarded him.

“We think you’ll survive—it’s a small crease,” commented the nurse who had applied the pad. “You have a nasty bump on the back of your skull; it’ll go away after a day or two.”

“You seem to be collecting scars,” the second nurse said. “Although this one will not be as bad.” The first nurse was wiping his forehead with a damp cloth. She was tiny, almost elfin, and her figure was lithe, even sensuous. He was not misled; he suspected her apparent softness disguised a hidden strength. Her hair was black, cut short, and brushed away from her eyes. He looked again. The three nurses were almost identical in appearance.

A synapse triggered.

“Fain,” Steg whispered. “Fain. You’re all Fain.”

Fain was a planet known for its female humanoid constructs. Their origins were mythical, disguised in rumors. Visitors were allowed on Fain only to make a purchase, and they were few. He knew each Fain was designed to give pleasure, to care for her Fain-master. The most terrible of tortures for a Fain was to be alone, deserted by her contracted master. Something was out of line, he thought; these did not appear to be contracted Fain, dependent on a humanoid alien—typically Terran— male.

He waved the nurse away and sat up. The room spun, and he gripped the side of the treatment bed until it settled down. The third nurse, who seemed to be the senior of the three, picked up a scalpel. Her purposeful move belied any innocence in her intent. The second nurse placed a restraining hand on her arm. He recognized the threat; he knew Fain protected their own against any who would abuse them.

“Why do you say Fain?” asked the second nurse.

“I—I have some memories—of a Fain.” He felt pain. It was not physical.

“I thought you’d lost your memories,” challenged the third nurse.

“I had, yes, although they’ve been returning in larger batches, and I’m also experiencing additional flashbacks.”

“Where did you meet this Fain?” Again, it was the third nurse.

“On a mining planet. Her Fain-master had been assassinated, and his killer was hunting her. She and I, we formed an alliance, I think.”

“And what happened to her? Where is she?”

“She—she was killed. I’ve a memory of carrying her—her body.” Images flashed through his mind of a struggle down into hidden regions of a city, level after level, and then carrying a still, tiny body to the surface on a faraway planet. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Who killed her? Was it you?” asked the third nurse. She held the scalpel in her right hand. It was poised for action, and Steg realized she knew how to use the blade. Perhaps not only as a surgical instrument.

“No. I rescued her.” His memories were growing more definite. “There was someone, a corporate security chief; I can’t remember his name. He caught up with us and shot her. It was revenge. She hated him. He had killed her master. She—her name was Milnaret, Milnaret of Fain. She asked me to call her Millie.” Memories were starting to link; another neural network was building, strengthening. His confidence was growing that he would soon have all his memories, and soon his recollections would be complete.

The third nurse dropped the scalpel onto a tray with a clatter. “Very well. As far as I can determine, you’re telling the truth.” She turned her attention away from monitoring screens above his bed.

Steg realized he was hooked up to various devices. The first nurse began disconnecting him, removing sensor after sensor.

“We were checking in case your new head wound was more serious,” explained the second nurse.

“It was convenient you were still connected,” the third nurse said. “Our equipment provides an effective lie detector. Fortunately for you, you passed.”

“Can you remember anything more?” the first nurse asked. “We would like to know about one of ours.”

“No. It’s flashes of scenes. Some are—personal.” His face colored. “I won’t tell you those.”

The three nurses laughed; it was a mutual expression of sympathetic humor. The first nurse finished removing and storing sensor leads while her companions tidied the small surgery unit.

“Do you know what happened? How long was I unconscious?” Steg asked. “I’ve no idea how I got here.”

“You’ve been here about twelve hours.” It was the third nurse. Steg thought he would get dizzy, switching his attention from nurse to nurse.

“Monty alerted your Sergeant Kirby, and he and a squad of your men rescued you. It was professional, I understand. They were seconds too late. We think you were hit across the head from behind and shot. The shot may have been accidental, in the confusion,” the first nurse said.

“Did their hostage escape?”

“Oh, yes. She’s safe. She’ll want to thank you,” she replied.

“What happened to the prisoners?”

“Rippin’s dead. So is the man who shot you,” the first nurse continued. “The others? They were beaten. No bones broken, though. The colonel’s returned the survivors to the planet. The shuttle has returned, and we’ve got all our supplies. I understand the colonel’s been waiting for delivery of a munitions order, and it’s now loaded. We’re scheduled to depart orbit in an hour or so.”

Steg addressed his question to all three nurses. “Do you know everything that happens on Wasp?”

“Captain, there are fifteen of us—Fain—on board. Individuals, independent, intelligent. A rare event for Fain to be independent, as I’m sure you’re aware. We’ve a wide variety of duties. We, not only us three, but all Fain on board, are qualified nurses. Four of us are trained up to field surgeon level. It’s our task to keep you alive if you’re injured in action. Remember also, the starship carries a lot of men. We’re free Fain. I’ll let you fill in the blanks,” said the first nurse, with a smile.

Steg colored again, and the three nurses giggled at his discomfort. He asked, “Can you tell me your names?”

“I’m Tessa.” She indicated the second nurse. “Allow me to introduce Sara.” She pointed to the third nurse. “The lady who was holding the scalpel is Stacia.”

Steg nodded to each Fain in turn as she was introduced. “Would you have used it?” he asked Stacia.

“Oh, yes, if you had harmed one of ours. Without hesitation.”

“I’ll remember,” he replied. “I thought you had to be contracted to a man? Millie explained it to me.”

“Not when we can support each other. As I said, there are fifteen of us, and we are trained to be free, to accept life without a Fain-master.” Her reply was matter of fact, although Steg had never heard of free Fain.

“I suspect there are some stories—”

“One day, when we know you better.”

Chapter 10

“He simply appeared,” exclaimed the nurse, barely controlling her agitation. “The gurney delivered him to our ICU.”

The Alutan Advocate-General’s Senior Representative, Ser Mason, paused his note taking and looked her in the eye. “You acted promptly, providing assistance.” It was an observation, almost praise. The small amount of warmth in his voice did not assuage the tension in the room.

The gloomy interview room with its dull gray walls added to her discomfort. Two men—from the regional office of the Advocate-General, she had been told—occupied the chairs opposite her, across the table, which was of heavy metal, paint peeling, and bolted to the floor.

“We are trained—we are all trained to react quickly to emergency situations with our patients.” She smiled hesitantly.

“Yet he wasn’t a patient.”

“He was—his details were in the ICU database. Our unit had been reserved, and we were on alert. He was injured, dying, perhaps.”

“And he didn’t speak to you?”

“I think he moaned with pain. He was unconscious all the time.”

“What injuries did he have?”

“He appeared to have been burned, blasted, somehow, on his head and shoulder. Left hand side. Some of the burns were severe. It was though he had been heavily impacted—with almost deadly force—on the side of his head. He was concussed, and the ICU diagnostic identified brain swelling.” She paused for a moment and then rushed her words. “He was carrying a sword, and I think the hilt must have partly protected his head where he had been blasted.”

“A sword? Do you know where it is?”

“It was with his belongings, in the unit. Dr. Yi said to store it with his uniform.”

The questioner made another note. “She did? When was that?”

“When we prepped him for immersion.”

“Did you or Dr. Yi know this man?”

The room was suddenly still. She drew a breath. “No, not at all. I told you—I told the others—those military—ImpSec—people—I had never seen him before. We treated him the same as we would any patient.”

The Advocate-General’s Senior Representative turned to his companion, whom the nurse assumed was the junior of the two men. “Ser Brest, any questions?”

The younger man stared at the nurse. She shuddered inwardly. His eyes were cold, his demeanor not threatening but accusing, as if he had found her guilty of some unstated and unknown serious crime.

He spoke. “Do you actually think we are all idiots?” His voice was almost venomous.

“Wh—what? I have told you—”

“A pack of lies. That’s all we have been told, by you, by the entire medical staff, here. This stranger, unknown to you all, a uniformed officer, dramatically appears, injured, magically delivered by a gurney, and you all rush around to care for him.” Brest stopped, seeming to restrain himself from expressing more anger.

She rushed her words, almost crying. “It’s true. He was delivered by the gurney. Of course we would care for him. It’s what our hospital ship does, you know.” A tiny glimmer of rebellion struggled to surface from under the waves of her fear.

Senior Representative Mason checked his notes and then continued as though his companion had not spoken. “How was this man dressed? What was he wearing and what did he carry in addition to this sword?”

“It was—it seemed he was wearing a military uniform. Similar to the uniform our marines wear. Not as fancy, more utilitarian. He had rank insignias, like an officer’s.”

“So you think our uniforms are too fancy? You are an expert?” demanded Ser Brest.

“No—no, not at all. I didn’t say that. Our marines are brave. They like to have color in their uniforms, is all.”

“Did he have other weapons?” asked Mason.

“Well, he had the sword, of course, and a sidearm. I don’t know what kind of weapon it was.”

“We’ve been checking the security camera files and have a surveillance video, which we’d like you to watch.” He turned to his younger associate. “Run the first file.”

She had wondered why the video equipment was set up on the table. She waited as the younger man switched on the equipment and selected a file on the linked computer. After a moment the file opened.

“Now watch. This is corridor 25A, on voyage 121, thirtieth day, seconds before twenty-hundred hours.

The video displayed the gurney, empty, heading along the corridor. The display froze. The nurse looked up at the man who was managing the display.

“Keep watching,” Brest snarled.

She returned her attention to the frozen image. After what seemed interminable minutes, the video re-commenced, and now the gurney was traveling towards the camera. It held a patient.

“That was six minutes later. Now tell me,” the Junior Representative asked, “just how did you manage that? These cameras are secure. No one has access to them. No one.” His voice grew more intense, savage. “How did you do it?”

“But—but I didn’t do anything.”

“So you say. Run the next file,” Mason directed. The video showed the two nurses and a doctor as they began to prep the patient. “That’s the sword you mentioned?” There was a sword beside the unconscious body.

“Yes.”

“And this is you, your fellow nurse, and Dr. Yi?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He signaled again, and Brest continued the video, which was focused on the medical team as they carefully placed the patient into the immersion tank. “That’s it? Nothing else you want to tell us?”

“No, sir. That’s all that happened, sir.”

“Amazing. Something untoward’s taken place on this starship, and you’re all involved. We haven’t discovered how you interfered with the camera—”

“Sir, I did not interfere with any camera.” She almost stamped her foot. She was indignant, and her innocence overcame her fear. “We treated an injured person. That’s what we do.”

The older man looked at his companion. “What do you think?”

Brest looked up from his computer screen. “Reluctantly I must admit, the sensors say she is not lying.” His voice had lost its venom. “Either she’s been processed in some way to defeat our equipment, or indeed, a extraordinary—inexplicable—event occurred on board the HS xTaur.”

Mason made some more notes, and when he finished, the two men silently packed their equipment away.

She watched anxiously until it seemed they were about to depart, and concern won the day. “So I can go?”

Mason looked at her for a long moment. “Oh, indeed, no.”

She frowned, biting her lip. It was a bad habit and one she had not been able to stop. “Am I under arrest?”

“Shall we say—assisting with our inquiries? We intend to question the members of your ICU team and other medical personnel again to discover the truth of what happened on your starship.”

He stood up and headed to the door as he spoke, followed by his companion. “No, you’ll be assisting us for another day or two. Perhaps longer. Whatever it takes. There’s a guard outside this door and he’ll escort you back to your quarters. We’ll continue to provide—um—secure—accommodation for you and the others until we’re finished. No, don’t protest. It won’t do you any good, at all.”

Nurse Rowe sat back in the hard metal chair and stared with hopelessness at the wall as the two men exited. She knew they would discover only that the medical team had treated the patient until eventually he’d been removed by ImpSec to their prison.

Chapter 11

“The more time I spend in space, the more certain I become that we cannot account for everything we encounter,” said Brest, as they made their way towards the Citadel housing the headquarters of the Alutan Advocate-General and his deputies. It dominated the entire surroundings and was occupied by at least five hundred deputies and thousands of their support staff. Additionally the Advocate-General could call on twenty thousand or more field representatives, plus all the Alutan-sourced units of ImpSec when and if required. The total force, well in excess of two hundred thousand personnel, was to support the A-G’s primary mission of securing the oligopolistic corporate structure of House of Aluta and its vassal worlds. It was too few, at times, Brest thought, given the worlds they needed to keep secure and the pressures arising from those worlds. Enforcement and fear was the A-G response, and it seemed effective. So far.

His companion laughed. “Try telling our boss. He expects an answer—a solution—for everything. This one’s going to throw him. Wait and see.”

Their passes allowed them through the various checkpoints until they reached the upper levels where the Deputy Advocates had their offices. Here, even though they were accredited employees, they approached the guards cautiously. It was a well-supported rumor the guards were selected for their complete lack of a sense of humor. The two men handed over their passes and then, separately, walked through the screening station. Of course they carried nothing that could be regarded as a weapon this far inside the Advocates’ Citadel. Each man was handed temporary floor passes, which would expire after three hours. If a pass-holder was still on the floor when the time limit expired, the freedom provided by the pass would automatically end. No excuses. Immediately following expiry of a pass, the holder would be tracked by overhead detection devices and, more than likely, would be shot by nervous guards.

“Relax,” commanded Mason. “Stymo isn’t as bad as that. He’ll bark, for sure, if he’s displeased; however, he was in the field, once. He knows what it’s like out there. Here we are, this is his office.”

They handed their floor passes to a door guard who examined them carefully before allowing both men through the heavy security door into a large outer office.

An aide waved them towards a conference room. “Sir Stymo will join you in five minutes. Please take a seat. Refreshments are available. Help yourselves.”

The conference room was large enough to seat twenty people in relaxed comfort. “This is set up for a large group,” whispered Brest. “Last time we debriefed, we met in a side office. I think we may have fallen into the pit on this one.”

Five minutes turned into ten. They waited in silence. Thirty minutes had passed when the door opened and a group of strangers entered, followed by Deputy Advocate Stymo. He greeted the two men in friendly tones.

“Gentlemen, so pleased you could attend. I invited some of my associates; they are interested in your investigations. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Senior Representative Mason and Representative Brest. Take a seat, please, everyone.”

There was a flurry of exchange greetings and gradually the gathering settled into attentive listening.

“Thank you all,” said Sir Stymo. “You have all read my summary? I, too, am anxious for a detailed briefing on this bewildering series of events. Senior Mason, would you like to start?”

“Yes sir.” He looked around the conference table at his attentive audience. “Gentlemen. A month ago we received a report from ImpSec concerning events they’d encountered on one of our hospital starships—HS xTaur—resolution of which was beyond their scope. They asked for our assistance. This happens only rarely and thus the A-G categorized the request as urgent. We, that is, Representative Brest and myself, were transferred from our other investigations and directed to meet xTaur at Waypoint G10. We each arrived within twelve hours of the starship. In the meantime, ImpSec’d sequestered a group of medics, both doctors and nurses, some of whom are senior specialists, removing them from the starship. They were, of course, extremely annoyed, indeed angry, and lodged protests with the Imperial Medical Service and the Imperial Naval Base on Freedom, which is xTaur’s home port. I expect there’ll be formal statements of complaint in due course, addressed to the A-G.”

He stopped for a moment, anticipating questions, and then continued at Sir Stymo’s direction. “In all, ImpSec removed and sequestered twenty-five medics from xTaur, plus five general hands. They copied a large number of files from the starship’s security cameras and other security and tracking devices. Eventually ImpSec allowed the starship to continue to her home port while the medics were held for our arrival.”

“And what caused this alarm, Senior?” asked one of the attendees. Mason did not know his name.

“That’s what we set out to determine, sir,” Mason responded. “Apparently—and I say this with some care—a stranger, wearing an unknown military uniform, suddenly appeared on board this Imperial hospital starship and was delivered by gurney to an ICU, while the ship was in transit. His name and rank had been entered, somehow, into the MedSys records, prior to the patient reaching the ICU. He had been severely injured by a shot from some kind of blaster or similar weapon. The medical teams provided diagnosis and emergency treatment, and after some days of intensive care, downgraded the stranger’s condition from extremely critical to serious, with full recovery expected.

“ImpSec, via a junior officer, became involved and attempted to remove the patient from the ICU. The senior medico, Colonel Yi, previously had ordered the junior officer out of her wards. She charged him under Articles of War for attempting to remove a patient under treatment, contrary to her express orders. Details are in my report. The officer subsequently was discharged from ImpSec and sentenced to ten years imprisonment. ImpSec, once the patient was released from medical care, arrested him for spying—a Section 301. This was followed by an unusually rapid hearing, and the ImpSec court sentenced him to death. He was offloaded to one of our prisons on Centyr where the sentence was to be carried out. The man has since disappeared. There’s no trace of him anywhere that we could find.”

“This is all verifiable?” snapped one of the listeners.

“Sir, ImpSec provided all their security videos for us. Hours of recordings. We have been through all of them, sometimes more than two or three times. The files are authentic—we had them validated by A-G Laboratories. Double checked, by two separate labs. It is our determination that the tapes validate the account of the medics.” He paused and looked around the table. No one questioned him.

He continued, “We identified and accounted for everyone in the medical teams. Prior to our involvement, ImpSec also carried out checks, which we validated. Of course, our checks were more thorough. We questioned everyone, multiple times, intensively. We truth-tested them. A-G Truth Teams monitored our tests and confirmed our results. Everyone believes absolutely the details they told us. Our investigations confirm the medicos are telling the truth.”

Sir Stymo held up his hand. “Very good. I take it they have been released and allowed to continue to their destination?”

“Oh, yes, sir. We ensured their service reports do not contain anything unfavorable. They all performed their duties, as one would require. They cooperated fully with our investigation.”

“Did you question the ImpSec officers?”

“Yes, sir. Aggressively. Including the young lieutenant. You’ll find our recommendations in our detailed report regarding the members of the ImpSec court who tried this so-called spy. They were—cavalier, shall I say—with how they carried out their duties. This person—spy or not—did not receive a fair trial.” Mason looked to Sir Stymo for direction.

The A-G deputy waved him to continue his report. “You investigated the prison—what is it, Diyark?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Diyark Prison’s nothing short of a hellhole. Prisoners arrive there and simply disappear. Of two hundred prisoners delivered to Diyark in the prior three months, thirty or more had disappeared as of the time of our investigation. I wouldn’t be surprised if more have disappeared since. There were too many prisoners and disappearances for us to investigate further. Our detailed recommendations include the need for a major investigation—the prison’s rife with corruption.”

“You have documented this corruption?” The question was from one of the other men seated around the table.

”Yes, sir. We’ve included evidence where we could. We weren’t equipped or authorized to conduct a detailed investigation of a prison with more than five thousand inmates and fifteen thousand employees.”

Sir Stymo said, “Well done, indeed. Brest, do you have anything to add?”

“Sir, I agree with everything presented. We co-authored the report.”

“Excellent.” Sir Stymo addressed the attendees around the conference table. “Ladies and gentlemen, I will arrange delivery of copies of the report and associated files. I’d like to thank Mason and Brest for their excellent investigation. If you have questions of fact, scope, or otherwise after you read and review their report, I can arrange another meeting.” He turned back to the two investigators. “I know you’ve only now returned from Centyr. Take a well-deserved break and report back to me in one week. I’m sure we’ll have some questions for you.”

Brest and Mason thanked Sir Stymo and left the room.

“What do you think?” Brest asked.

“We did a good job. Old Stymo agrees. We’ll find out what the others think, I daresay, when we return.”

Brest was killed three days later in a water skiing accident. The driver of the boat that ran him down was never identified. A day later, Mason was killed by two men when he stopped to assist them with their vehicle, which appeared to have mechanical problems. The assailants were not identified. ImpSec reported that their investigations had failed to uncover any link in the two deaths. They did not address possible links to a recent report submitted by the representatives.

Chapter 12

Steg spent most of his spare time on the starship’s bridge. It provided an environment in which he felt at ease. He was impressed by the obvious efficiency and professionalism of the bridge team. Weapons, as usual, had twelve people from her section’s full complement of forty, on shift, at their workstations, diligently focused on training exercises while maintaining a watch for other starships. The Systems team maintained the huge computing and communications environment, fielding ten people per shift. Engineering had most of their team in the engineering control section, amidships, typically with two or three on the bridge. The Astro team, smaller than either Systems or Weapons, with only four people per shift, was extremely proficient, and Steg spent a lot of time working with their star maps and multi-dimensional displays of space.

A large portion—there were still major gaps—of his tattered memories had returned, and he was aware of the extent of his experience as pilot on a variety of in-system craft and as an astronavigator. Sometimes he experienced peculiar sensations, which discomforted him; he would hear faint voices and very high frequency bursts, the latter sounding like high-speed data transfers. He did not mention these odd events to anyone, in case they thought he was delusional in some way.

Commander Joyce Gillespie, Wasp’s captain, encouraged his visits. She said it helped to break the monotony while she and her bridge officers guided the starship to the system next on Monty’s list. Gillespie was tall, of slim build, with light blue eyes. She wore her red hair tucked under her cap. In Steg’s assessment, she was a capable captain, and he’d been told she had more than twenty years of command experience. He thought her senior officers were equally capable.

“Why does Monty want us to visit Eo 3?” she asked Steg, almost rhetorically. It seemed the alien did not often share his preliminary strategic reasoning. “It’s not on a nexus, and we’re not a destroyer. We don’t want to use the juice to jump directly, and it’s taking us too long to get there.” Wasp was designed, configured and sized as a frigate, and the starship was fast and well-armed; while it had power to drill its own s-t jumps, generally that was reserved for longer transits or in the case of emergencies when the energy cost would be offset by the starship’s survival.

“He said a conflict’s building on the main planet; you’ll see it’s on the charts as Eo 3d. The locals call it Eos. You, know, I continue to be surprised at the scope of his intelligence gathering. It seems pirates are smuggling arms and military equipment to a rebel force on Eos. Monty expects the legitimate government will be amenable to an assignment with our mercenaries. There’s likely to be a starship engagement, too,” Steg said.

“Oh. So he talks to you?”

“Sometimes. Enough to keep me interested, I think.”

Colonel Attwood joined them on the bridge. “Steg, Monty said you were here, wasting everyone’s time. His words, I hasten to add. Commander, we’ve a planning meeting this evening. I’d like you and your senior officers to join us. Steg, you, too. Main conference room. Twenty-two hundred. Suffering from long distance boredom, huh?” He did not wait for any acknowledgments and turned away and left the bridge.

“So we’ll hear what our cephalopod friend’s planning?” Gillespie mused.

“Yes, I believe so. I’d better stop wasting your time, too. I need to see how the armorers are progressing with my order. I can’t deploy my company without exo-armor.” In Steg’s opinion, the sooner his men were issued with the same type of armor used by Attwood’s marines, the better it would be for their training and potential for survival in any engagement. The skeletal structure of the exo-armor provided additional strength and endurance, and its shields protected the wearer against most projectile weapons, shrapnel, and radiation. It also provided protection in space vacuum, providing the wearer with an oxygen-rich atmosphere for up to twenty-four hours.

Wasp’s officers, consisting of Commander Gillespie, the lead Astrogator, Chief Engineer, Weapons, and Systems leads, were already seated around the oval table when Steg arrived. He was almost immediately followed by the mercenary officers including Colonel Attwood, Captain Dean, Major Fowler, and other captains and lieutenants whom he scarcely knew. He counted—there were twenty attendees.

Attwood called the meeting to order. “Everyone, thank you for attending. Monty produced an outline proposal for discussion. Monty?”

“Good evening, all.” Monty’s baritone was accompanied by his image on a large viewscreen located at the end of the table. “As some of you know, we’re heading to the Eo 3 system, or to be more precise, to Eo 3d, known as Eos, which is the inhabited planet of the system. It was first occupied by a humanoid species—probably Terrans—about five hundred years ago. The settlement’s been successful with agriculture, manufacturing, and export trade, the population’s now close to one billion, and the planet is wealthy. This wealth has given rise to their current problems.

“There’s a small group of violent political dissenters on the planet who want to overthrow the current democracy and install their own form of government. They want to impose a dictatorship, benevolent, of course, at least to them. These dissenters, rebels I suppose, are about to receive a shipment of heavy arms, more than enough for them to overwhelm local defense forces. They’ve arranged purchase and delivery with pirates who have their own objectives for the planet. I suspect, based on data I’ve accessed, when the rebels and legitimate government are engaged in mutual destruction, the pirates will step in. Once they’ve achieved control, they’ll strip the planet of its wealth, and given its location, use it as a base or supply point for their operations in the region. Questions?” The alien paused, allowing for reactions from his audience.

He continued when no one spoke. “The freighter is on its way to Eos with its load of arms. It has an escort, three small corvette-sized starships. I suggest the following for consideration. Option one: we capture the freighter and its contents. I estimate we can recover five billion standard credits on the open market at Sicca or Tacia, and our costs would be two billion, assuming we’re able to drive off the pirates without expending too much ammunition. A net of three billion. We need a contract with the planetary authorities to make it legal, otherwise we’re the pirates.

“Option two: we negotiate for a dirt-side action against the rebels and combine it with the freighter contract. The gross to us—both contracts—would be close to ten billion. Deducting our costs, the return’ll be six billion. Option three, and the last option, is to add defeat and capture of the pirates. The probability is high that they’ll defend the freighter anyway, so an action against them is likely to be inevitable. Additional cost of eliminating the pirates is one billion, covering missiles, power consumption and repairs. We may be able to salvage one or more of the pirate starships.”

“What’s the likelihood of a contract with the local authorities? For either the ship, or the ship and the rebels?” Fowler asked.

“Major, I sent a message to the Eos Minister of defense, and he replied yesterday. The government has no significant military starship resources. They’ve local asteroid mining craft, some shuttles, two or three light frigates, and a small space station supporting modest inter-system trading operations. They’re exposed. Their decision making process is lethargic—it lacks urgency. However, this local group of rebels is becoming more open and aggressive in their attacks. When I provided a copy of the freighter’s manifest and asked if they wanted those arms in the hands of these people, their reaction was almost immediate. I forwarded a letter of undertaking for their acceptance, authorizing us to capture the freighter and its contents. I expect their reply tomorrow. The contract gives us authority to act as customs inspectors with rights of forfeiture. We get the freighter and its contents, if they are in breach of local customs laws. If we manage to capture the freighter, I expect the planet-side contract will follow.”

“What details do you have of the pirate ships, their crew, tonnage, military supplies, and so forth?” Colonel Attwood asked.

“I prepared a summary. If you open your pads and access the top file, you’ll see the first page summarizes the pirate force. Please read and when you’ve finished, we can discuss the details, and I’ll try to answer questions.”

Steg opened the file and perused the summary details. There was something vaguely familiar about the description of the pirate starships and their configuration. He wondered if he’d encountered them or some similar force before he was injured. He closed his eyes. A synapse triggered, joining others, and another tatter of broken memory surfaced.

“Monty, I’ve some additional information,” Steg said. “I recognize these starships. The pirates are non-humanoid. They’re called Xesset, and I believe they’re a hive-like civilization. Their starships are small and exceptionally fast. If they think they’re losing a battle, they’ll trigger self-destruct mechanisms without consideration of the crew’s survival, to prevent their vessel falling into non-Xesset hands. They’re aggressive and effective fighters. If they take over the planet, those whom they don’t kill, they’ll enslave.”

Everyone was silent, even Monty. After a long moment of consideration, the alien spoke. “You’ve had experience with these Xesset?”

“Yes, I believe so. The details in your briefing file triggered a memory link. I recall engaging with a team of Imperial Special Forces to help capture a Xesset ship. It was almost a disaster. We managed to board the target and took over the engine room. Our destroyer was unable to keep pace. We disabled the destruct device and stopped the drives, so the destroyer could catch up. We had a major battle on our hands. We won.” Everyone around the table stared at Steg, intrigued by the brief details.

“Steg, meet with me after this. I want details, everything you can remember,” Monty said.

“I’ll do what I can, of course. I think Xesset are from way out the other side of the Rim.”

“Does this alter any of your strategy, Monty?” Colonel Attwood asked.

“The basic outline stands. How we handle the pirates requires reconsideration.”

“Please address those details. I like the idea of capturing the freighter and its cargo, plus of course, the ground effort. I want to know how to cope with these aliens.”

“I agree.”

“Steg will meet with you after we conclude this meeting. Review his data. Let’s meet again tomorrow, same time. I want a plan to defeat these Xesset.” The colonel looked around the table. “Any other questions?” Heads shook. “Good. Meeting ended. Steg, go visit with Monty.”

Steg spent an hour sitting in front of the huge glass window as Monty drilled into Steg’s recollections, asking question after question and repeating the process with variations of each question. The process was both physically and mentally draining, and his shirt was soaked with perspiration by the time Monty decided he had extracted everything of value from Steg’s memories of the aliens.

“Steg, your information is invaluable,” Monty said. “I’ll change my strategy—it might’ve been disastrous for us, if we’d tried to capture the Xesset, without knowing more of their tactics. If you can recall anything else, for example, how you disarmed the self-destruct device, please let me know as soon as you can.”

Steg sat back in his chair. He had exhausted every thread of his current memories and repeated and repeated the details for Monty. It had been an intense interrogation. He did not know, did not yet recall, all of his own actions on board the Xesset ship. There was a gap; he was missing a key item of data, and it worried him. He had recalled and described in detail the Special Forces strategy, their shuttle ride and entry into the alien starship, their battle with the crew, and their successful capture of the alien ship, over and over. He had described his impressions of evil, of his awareness of an immense threat to Imperial, Alliance, and other regions of civilization posed by the aliens, but was unable to describe why he had those feelings.

“Xesset are dangerous,” he had concluded. “They’ve no compunction, no inhibitions against killing non-Xesset, no concept of our morality. We were unable to communicate with them—we had no common terms. I believe we must destroy their starships without attempting to capture them.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Monty said. “We can put our stealth shields to good use. Wasp’s been modified using some of our, let’s say, combined cephalopod, Terran and other alien technology, and while the energy demands are high, the shields are extremely effective. We’ve been within ten thousand klicks of an Imperial destroyer while it was engaged in search mode, and they didn’t detect us. Point is, we can get close, drop shields, and fire our weapons. We can raise our shields and move away—we’ll be difficult to track. If I’m correct, we’ll be invisible to them while we’re shielded. Their targeting will be based on guesswork. We have missiles, grasers, and rail guns. We’ll use the rail guns to destroy the pirates if we think we can’t capture them.”

Monty later presented his modified strategy to Colonel Attwood and the combined command team. It reflected changes arising from Steg’s recollections of the Xesset, of their fighting abilities, and of their starships.

“I’ve an improved risk assessment, based on information from Captain de Coeur. In basic terms,” Monty said. “We must obtain a contract to eliminate the starships escorting the freighter. It’s the most critical task. Worst-case scenario is if Xesset are crewing the freighter and decide to blow it up rather than allow it to be captured. The risks are higher, far higher, than my first assessment.”

“Are you confident de Coeur’s data is accurate?” Major Fowler challenged.

“Yes. I’ve confirmed it using a number of sources. His information provides a keystone; it holds the rest of my data together, supporting and completing it.”

“So, do we still want to do this?” The speaker was one of the other mercenary captains.

“The return is high. We can increase our fees, based on this new data. The Eos government will understand the risks posed by Xesset occupation when I hand over this additional information.”

“Very well. Monty, you’re charged with finalizing negotiations with the authorities. Aim for a complete package. We want authorization to destroy the pirates, capture the freighter, and to take out the terrorists on the planet,” Colonel Attwood said. “While we want the best price, we can’t let these aliens take control of a populated planet, if we can stop them. The probability is, if we travel anywhere near the freighter, based on Steg’s information, they’ll attack us. We’d be entitled to defend ourselves.”

Steg met with the colonel after the strategy session to determine how he and his new, as yet untried, force would assist with the proposed attacks.

“I’ve a concern, Colonel,” he said. “We’ve had these men for less than two months. They’re fit and we’ve been providing combat training. They’re equipped with exo-armor. Some are experienced; some aren’t. They all have potential. However, I’ve no idea how they’ll react in battle conditions.”

“Hmm. I’ve made the same assessment. My suggestion: we hold your unit in reserve and use it if we need to support an assault on the freighter. Later, I’m sure we can deploy your men against inexperienced rebels on Eos. We’ll have opportunities to assess your company’s abilities, after which we can better plan its future utilization.”

“Yes, sir, I agree.”

“Very well, that’s how we’ll do it. Commander Gillespie estimates we’ll be on station, ready to deal with the freighter, in fifteen days, so you have time for more training. Good luck.”

Chapter 13

The next week passed rapidly, with training exercises taking every spare minute of each day. Steg participated in all the sessions, pushing his sergeants who, in turn, drove the men in the small mercenary company. They all tried to outdo their captain, which gave Steg an extra edge of motivation. He arranged for some of Wasp’s crew to build a mock-up of the freighter’s bridge in one of the empty bays using plans provided by Monty. He split his men into two groups, one attacking and one defending the mock-up. He switched their roles, again and again, until everyone was exhausted. At the end of the week, he was far more confident about the capabilities of his small force. Of course, there were no guarantees—the bridge on the freighter might be completely different or his company could be ordered to attack or defend the freighter’s engineering control room or be held in reserve and not see any action.

“What do you think, Kirby?” Steg wiped perspiration from his face.

“Very good, sir. The men are familiar with their exo-armor, and they’re learning to work together. When they’re under fire from a real enemy, they’ll either fall to pieces or perform as a unit. There’s only one way to find out.”

“You are a sad man, Sergeant, a sad man.”

“Yes, sir. I’m not paid to be happy.”

“Let’s see what happens with this venture. If we see action, and we’re successful, you’ll get a bonus.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant maintained his morose expression.

Steg understood Kirby wanted to join in the pending action, and the men in his small company reflected a similar attitude. It would be a bad news, good news situation if they were required to board the freighter. It would mean Major Fowler’s force had encountered serious opposition and possibly higher casualties than expected; however, it also would give his men an opportunity to demonstrate their readiness.

“The men have done well, Sergeant. Give them the rest of the day off,” suggested Steg. “They need a break. So do I, now I come to think of it.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant moved off to dismiss his men.

The company did not yet have a name, which Steg thought he would remedy before they saw action. He planned to arrange a company patch for the men to wear, to reinforce their identity and build morale.

Steg decided to venture to Wasp’s bridge to obtain an update of the starship’s status. He was anxious to discover when they would be close to the Xesset. The colonel had scheduled a readiness meeting for the following afternoon, and Steg wanted to be prepared.

Commander Gillespie was on shift. She and her bridge crew were relaxed, confident in their abilities and plans. According to their projections, Wasp was on course to make contact with the freighter and its escort in seventy-two hours.

“We’re ready,” confirmed the commander. “At least as ready as we can be. Monty’s been thorough, as always. I understand your data was helpful. Our primary strategy is straightforward: full stealth and when we’re in range, we attack. Of course, assuming the Xesset won’t be able to detect us.” She frowned.

“If they do?”

“We rely on Weapons. She’s been driving her team—she’s relentless—and for the last week her team’s been in war games heaven and so has she. The Xesset will have to be good. We’ll have surprise, stealth, training, plus a motivated crew.”

“The Xesset are good, I know. Monty’s tracking the freighter?”

“Yes, he’s using way station traffic messages to monitor its progress. Astro has confirmed our ETA against the freighter’s projected course, given our current speed. Her estimate is plus or minus five hours, and we’ll refine details tomorrow morning. I hear you’ve been training hard?”

“Setting an example for my company,” Steg acknowledged. He left the bridge and headed to the colonel’s office. There was no one in attendance, not even the duty sergeant. He decided to call it a night; he needed a shower and a good night’s sleep.

Steg placed Monty’s croacher-like construct in a drawer of the smaller of the two steel cabinets. He’d explained to the alien he didn’t plan to be available three shifts a day unless they were in action against an enemy. He’d also deferred the alien’s proposed communication implant; in his opinion, it was too invasive. He spent longer than usual enjoying the shower. He needed the heat to ease his muscle aches from training. He closed the fresher door and dried himself.

Now that’s odd, he thought. He was certain he’d left the main lights in his cabin switched on before taking his shower. He turned off the fresher light and felt his way across to his bed. When he sat on the edge of the mattress, he heard a stifled giggle. Intrigued, he felt around the bed and encountered a body under the bed covers. It wriggled. Steg turned on the small bedside light.

A Fain peered up at him, her eyes sparkling. It was Tessa, from the starship’s medical unit. Steg lifted the bed covers—she was naked. He lifted the bed covers higher and found a second Fain; she too was unclothed. He recognized her; she was Sara, also from the medical unit.

“What’s this?” he asked. “Are you expecting me to be ambushed again?”

“No,” Tessa said, giggling. “We decided to ambush you. Well, we wanted quiet time. All the mercenaries are preparing for action, and they tend to get over-excited. We’ll have some tired Fain, by tomorrow. We’re sheltering. If you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” Steg edged himself into the bed. “If you promise no one’s coming after me with a scalpel. Move over.” There was a flurry of movement as the two Fain made room. “I do have a question, though. I’ve avoided getting one of Monty’s implants—what about you? Does he distribute his communication implants to Fain as well as to the officers?”

“No,” replied Tessa. “He isn’t interested in Fain. I don’t think he understands us, our abilities, our culture, or our potential. He hasn’t grasped quite what we are, and he thinks we’re not a factor in his machinations.”

“Good. Now, about this ambush …”

It started when he woke. His eyes were still closed. He stretched; somehow avoiding the collection of warm bodies snuggled around him. He was in a half-awake, half-asleep state, when the voices began. They were not real voices; rather they were streams of data, somehow vocalized or at least presented in a form that he could comprehend. He identified natural signals, planets chiming their measures of heat and cold, stars singing their siren songs as their gravitational pull drew in wandering meteors, and deep space navigation buoys and other waypoint markers transmitting their monotones, with voluminous streams of data, some coherent, some incoherent, some a mix of the two. Steg struggled to make sense of this dream state.

He focused on a stream of data that seemed to be heading straight towards him. It contained a series of data packets, which, he suspected, he could intercept and unravel. He reached for the closest packet and flowed with it as he unassembled its structure and contents. It was, Steg thought, like holding a tiny bird and feeling its heartbeat, slightly accelerated, not with fear but with an urgency to complete its errand. The data contained a detailed message from the planetary authorities on Eo 3d, and it was addressed to Monty. He copied the contents and released the struggling package to complete its programmed journey. He read the message.

And sat up, wide-awake. He read the message again. It was not from Eo 3d. The subject matter was Eo 3d. The data source was one of the Xesset pirate ships. He cursed.

A Fain peered up at him. “Are you always this noisy when you wake up in the morning?” she asked.

It was Stacia, the scalpel-wielding Fain. Steg did not hide his surprise. “What? How did you get in here?”

“The others were needed in medical. There was a fight earlier this morning—no, none of your lot. A small number of broken bones, plus lots of cuts and bruises. Some of the cuts needed stitching. It was the end of my shift, so Finch and I swapped with Tessa and Sara.” A second Fain, whom he did not recognize but assumed she was Finch, raised her head, her eyes barely open, and said, “Shhh.” She closed her eyes and fell back to sleep.

“Stacia, I’ve an urgent matter to discuss with Colonel Attwood.” Steg kept his voice low. He started to get out of the bed.

The Fain held his arm, blocking his movement. “Oh, you wouldn’t know,” she said. “He’s with the Charion priestess, him and three of his officers and some of his men. She has a prayer room way in back of Wasp. They’ll still be under the influence of the soporific the priestess uses. You won’t get any sense out of them until this afternoon.”

Steg cursed silently. Charion was one of the religions followed by the Siccan War Merchants—a mainstay of the Charion philosophy assured reincarnation for any of her followers who fell in battle. Attwood had not mentioned the religion, and Steg had not expected the commander of the mercenaries to be out of action for most of a day preceding their contact with the Xesset starships. He cursed again. Stacia stroked his arm. Steg asked, “What about Gillespie and her people?”

“They’re on duty, always ready for action. Don’t expect to have any coherent conversation with Attwood, Fowler, or their two top sergeants until later today.” Stacia must have recognized the concern in Steg’s expression. “Is there anything we can do?”

“No, it’s something I need to pursue, at least for now. I’ll let you know if I need your help. Go back to sleep.”

Before he left his cabin, Steg comlinked with Sergeant Kirby. He gave the sergeant instructions to assemble their company in the briefing room that they had taken over as a war room. It was next to a command deck containing a fully functional copy of Wasp’s bridge. He gave Kirby an hour to ready the men; he needed breakfast before his day deteriorated any further. He left Monty’s communication insect in its steel drawer.

Steg sat alone while he was eating his meal, reflecting on his detection of data flows. He realized, with a sudden shock, more of his missing memories were now complete. The therapist on the hospital ship had said he needed to relax, to stop stressing, and he assumed his night with the two Fain had achieved the needed relaxation. He smiled to himself, distracted for a moment. He focused back on his current situation. The alien cephalopod was in communication with the Xesset, he was certain. The message he had intercepted was part of an ongoing exchange, and the contents indicated the conversation had been conducted for some time.

He was trying to pursue multiple strands of thought, all elusive, and he was getting nowhere. First, he wanted to return to Homeworld. It now was obvious to him that he had somehow triggered a time shift as he entered the portal after the Lady Gaetja had, in a fit of revenge, attacked him. The blast from her weapon had hit and burned across his head. He remembered the blinding pain and not much else as he stepped into the portal on Homeworld, his home planet.

His problem was simple to state and difficult to resolve—he needed to access a portal to attempt his return. The difficulty was that most portals—a hundred or so—were located on Imperial Fleet starships, mainly large destroyers and even larger dreadnoughts. Other portals, perhaps no more than ten or so, if his recollection was correct, were located on planets; one was on Homeworld—others he knew of were on Jochum, Jochum II, and Aluta. To compound the problem, he was a fugitive, unlikely to obtain access to any portal except those on Homeworld or in the Jochum system—both distant from his current location.

The second strand was the imminent confrontation with Xesset starships and the apparent betrayal by Monty. Survival of his men—of the starship, its crew, and the marine force—would depend on him.

Steg reached out, attempting to access the computers in the alien’s watery world. He sensed Wasp’s systems; they were within reach, his awareness of them forming in the back of his mind. To his disappointment, his access to Monty’s systems was limited and he reached only as far as the alien’s external communication system. He re-programmed the comms equipment to hide messages until he released them, whether Monty was the sender or recipient. It was a temporary measure that he could keep in place until he determined how to respond to the danger posed by the alien. When anyone ran diagnostics on the system, it would appear to be a program glitch combined with hardware failure, which in theory would take days to repair.

He decided the officers’ mess was not the appropriate location for his endeavors and ceased his efforts. He would try again, later, perhaps from his cabin, to access Monty’s computers.

It was almost time for his meeting with Sergeant Kirby and his men. He had not progressed his intention to name the company. He shrugged; he doubted Attwood would complain if he decided on a name without consultation.

Chapter 14

Kirby called the company to attention. Steg stood next to him on a raised dais and looked at the faces watching him.

Steg said, “Please take a seat.” He continued after the noise and movement settled. “I won’t keep you for long. We lack a company name, so I’ve made a unilateral decision: welcome to Ebony Company. If anyone has suggestions for badges, discuss them with Sergeant Kirby. For the moment, I want you to wear a black band, right arm, for quick identification. Later, we’ll arrange exo-armor markings. Now to the real business of the meeting.”

“Listen up.” Kirby’s voice shut off the side conversations.

Steg continued, “I must caution you. The upcoming confrontation with the alien pirate ships will be a significant challenge for Colonel Attwood’s mercenaries. I’ve had some experience with the Xesset—I was part of an Imperial force that boarded a Xesset starship, and we barely survived. They are ferocious fighters and they don’t take prisoners. They’ll kill you without a second thought. I expect they’ll attempt to capture Wasp, so be prepared; we will be attacked. Sergeant Kirby will inform you when to armor up. Please understand, you all will be at risk from the moment we make contact until we destroy these alien starships and control the freighter, this Djamu. Questions?”

“Sir, if we see action, will we be paid?”

Steg silently wondered at the priorities of the members of his new company. “Yes. We’re in reserve to either protect Wasp or attack the freighter. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to get yourselves into trouble. Under your contract, if we engage with the enemy, we participate in the bonuses. Anyone else?” He waited a moment but to his surprise no one raised any other question. He turned to Kirby and said, “You can dismiss the men, Sergeant.”

Steg asked Kirby to remain behind when his men left the room. Steg said, “Sergeant, our security may be compromised. I want a bodyguard for me, consisting of two marines From Ebony Company operating in three or four shifts. They need to protect my back until we complete this engagement with the Xesset.”

Kirby’s expression didn’t alter. “Yes, sir. I’ll arrange the first shift to report to you in fifteen minutes.”

“Good. Have them meet me at the entrance to the bridge. I want them prepared to anticipate anything. The subsequent shifts should wear exo-armor.”

Steg waited until his two bodyguards arrived before entering the bridge. He knew the men and had seen them in training—they were fit and capable. He acknowledged their presence and said, “We may experience some security problems over the next two or three days. I want to be able to function without needing to watch my back. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The replies were in unison.

“Good. Accompany me. Do not intrude. Your responsibility is to protect me, so only act if you think my safety’s at risk.”

Again the reply was affirmative and in unison.

Steg keyed open the door to the bridge. Commander Gillespie was on duty, working with her Systems chief; they appeared to be in the middle of a difficult problem. He stood patiently until Gillespie looked up from her monitor. She said, “Monty claims his damned communications are down. He sent a message via one of his bugs. We can’t find anything wrong.”

“Commander, I need five minutes of your time and a workstation.”

“Yes?” She was annoyed at his interruption. “Now?”

“As soon as you can. It’s urgent.”

“Very well.” She directed the Systems chief to continue with her task and moved to a vacant workstation. She inspected Steg’s two companions, frowned, and turned to the workstation. She made no comment about his escort. “What do you want?”

Steg entered commands on the workstation and relayed the key Xesset message to the display. “Earlier today I intercepted this message. Please read it.”

The commander read aloud from the display. “We confirm receipt of your modified offer, reference 3101. You have undertaken to assist us to defeat the mercenaries carried by Wasp. You have offered to transfer to us copies of the designs of all weapons and shields installed on the starship. On successful conclusion of our engagement with the mercenary force, in consideration of your assistance, we agree the starship will be transferred to your control. We confirm we have transmitted by authenticated message a copy of the executed contract to Adsin Bank Head Office, Dir System, and agree to their arbitration if needed, under Dir Commercial Code. Copy of Adsin Bank communication confirming this is attached.”

The starship’s captain re-read the displayed text and cursed. She read it a third time. She checked the header metadata. She raised her head and stared at Steg. “How—where did you get this?”

He shrugged. “It’s the content that matters, not where I got it from. I recommend we keep Monty fully isolated, at least until we sort this out.”

“The colonel won’t like you doing this,” she cautioned.

“He’s otherwise occupied, I understand. Until he’s back on duty, I’m asking you to support me.”

“Hmm. Is this all you’ve got? The message could be forged, or a diversion? Why would he betray us?” Gillespie wanted to ensure she was not at risk from some wild idea created by the new mercenary captain.

“Yes, it’s all I have at the moment,” Steg admitted. “I’ll provide you with more, later today. I believe the message is genuine. The header metadata and authentication codes are included, and they check out as genuine. You can get your Systems people to verify the meta-structure. The contents are clear. He gets the ship; that’s motive enough.”

Gillespie shook her head. “Unbelievable. Why did they transmit this in the clear?

“This is a directed signal; in theory, it can’t be intercepted.” Most inter-system and starship messages were directed to specific communication destinations, ensuring messages were received and electronically processed only by the intended addressees. Unauthorized interception typically resulted in garbled data, unless the interceptor was military with high-powered processing support.

“You managed to intercept it?” The commander raised her eyebrow.

“I’ve some techniques available for this type of situation.” He knew any attempt to explain his abilities would create more problems, and he hurried on. “If I may make a suggestion?”

“Yes?”

“I think everything Monty has provided about the Xesset starships—their existence, location, course, even details of the freighter—will prove to be misleading. The freighter may not even exist, or may not be in this region. We must verify everything he’s told us. This is urgent. Can your people commence the task? Instead of working on Monty’s problems?”

“I’ll issue instructions. What are you planning?”

“I want to uncover more data to provide to you, and later, to Colonel Attwood. Also, I plan to meet with Monty. Once he gets wind of what we’re doing, he’ll act against me, you, anyone who’s able to stop him.”

“I agree. Now I understand why you have your two friends with you. I approve. I’ll get some of my starship marines stationed here on the bridge, for additional security.”

Steg returned to his cabin and stationed his two escorts outside the door. “I need two to three hours, undisturbed. Allow no one to enter, not even if we’re about to crash. If Colonel Attwood visits, please let me know. No one else. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The two soldiers stood to attention, one either side of his cabin door.

Steg closed and locked his door and made himself comfortable on his bed, fortunately now unoccupied. He wanted to find the half-awake, half-asleep state that he had experienced earlier. He closed his eyes and relaxed. It did not take long for the familiar streams of electronic symbols to reach him; these were, he realized, the same sensations which he had experienced in the past, before his memory loss.

He sought and detected the message queue on the communications device feeding into the alien’s computer. He checked the device and accessed its controls without difficulty. The message stack covered the last two to three weeks—Monty, presumably unaware it was possible to hack into the device, had not cleared his messages. Steg transferred copies to the workstation used by Commander Gillespie with a request for her to arrange their analysis. After he transferred each message, he deleted it from the source system. When he finished, Steg considered his next chore. Somehow, he needed to penetrate Monty’s computer complex, if for no other reason than to ensure it didn’t have linkages into Wasp’s command and control systems. If these links existed, he would need to disable them as quickly as possible.

Steg again tried to find the alien computer and failed. He was unable to detect an access point other than the communication link. He reflected on the problem, struggling to identify a solution. He decided to examine the starship’s system; he should be able to identify if it had links to the alien’s computers. This, he realized, would take time. He relaxed again and reached out for Wasp’s primary mainframe-based system, which controlled the starship. It was controlling and monitoring every electronic-related function on board Wasp. Steg saw commands as they were issued to the starship’s drive, he detected low-level maintenance algorithms, he identified the astrogation star-maps and the relative position of the starship, and he heard conversations between departments. Every so often he observed a strange pulse of data moving into the processing units and in response, a similar pulse returned to an unfamiliar device outside his scope. These pulses, he suspected, represented system penetration by the alien.

He moved his attention to the starship’s hot standby system, located amidships, protected, safeguarded, well away from the primary system. The standby mainframe performed the same functions as the primary system and was designed to be available within two or three seconds if a failure occurred in the primary. He checked and double-checked and did not discover any strange data pulses issuing from the standby system. Monty, he thought, either was unaware of the hot standby or had decided there was no need to duplicate his penetration in all components of Wasp’s systems. Steg turned his attention back to the primary computer and searched for the standby controller. It was designed to detect an electronic heartbeat, a pulsed signal indicating everything was functioning as required in the active primary system, and if the heartbeat did not arrive at the hot standby, it would immediately instruct the standby to take control.

He triggered failure of the heartbeat signal, thus initiating system failover. Emergency sirens roared throughout the starship as the apparent collapse of the primary system was detected. It was a heart-stopping moment for the crew; if the standby system did not step up to take control with a seamless transfer of all functions, Wasp would be adrift until its primary system was restored, a process which would take days to complete. In the interim, nothing would work; basic controls would fail, astrogation, engineering, and weapons functions would be inoperative. The starship would drift, unable to navigate and incapable of defense against an enemy. Steg waited, almost without breathing, as did most of the bridge and crew, until the siren sounded again, signaling a successful failover. He monitored the operations of the new primary system, checking there were no strange data pulses. At last, satisfied, he decided to carry out his next step.

It was time, he thought, to visit Monty, to explore the motives of the alien and his wives. He exited his cabin and signaled to his two-man bodyguard to accompany him. These were the second shift and were wearing exo-armor. Each guard carried a standard military-issue weapon, capable of causing major damage, death, and destruction. Steg checked the time. He had been in his cabin for what had seemed like minutes but which, in reality, was closer to five hours. He shrugged; he needed first to deal with Monty, and afterwards he would meet with Colonel Attwood. Time was running out. He increased his pace.

Steg stopped at the voice-controlled door into the room where previously he had sat talking to Monty. He pressed a button beside the small microphone and speaker unit. “Monty, this is Steg de Coeur. I want to speak to you.” He released the button and instructed his escort, “Keep the door open once he unlocks it.”

The door lock clicked and Steg pulled at the heavy handle. The door opened; he stepped into the room, while his escorts stood in the doorway, preventing closure of the heavy metal door. Monty was busy at his workstations.

The alien turned and stared at Steg through the solid glass panel. He turned away and resumed his workstation task. Steg waited. At last Monty spoke.

“Yes, de Coeur? I’m extremely busy, so make it fast.”

“Yes, I know. I also know you’re dealing with the Xesset.”

The octopus-like alien stilled movement of his tentacles. He turned again and stared at Steg.

“What do you mean?” he demanded

“It’s simple enough. I intercepted communications between you and the Xesset. As a result, I implemented steps to prevent you sending or receiving any more messages. I also cut off your links to the main computer systems. You’re now isolated.”

“What do you mean? Of course I haven’t been communicating with the Xesset. It would be betrayal of Wasp and her crew, of Colonel Attwood and his mercenaries.” Monty’s arms were changing color, moving from blue and green to orange and to red, and the colors were becoming more and more vivid. The alien continued tapping at workstation command buttons while he was speaking. He threshed his arms in apparent frustration, causing the water to froth and bubble around him. “What have you done?” His question was almost a scream.

“I cut you off.”

“You can’t do that—you don’t have the authority—you don’t have the knowledge. I’ll make sure Colonel Attwood executes you for mutiny.” The alien continued his attempts to access computer links. His head and limbs now were all vivid red.

“Monty, your attempt to gain control of Wasp has failed. I’ve enough evidence to present to Attwood. I have a copy of the communication from the Xesset agreeing to your terms, with the starship as your reward.”

“Impossible—it’s not possible for you to know—besides, it’s a collection of lies.”

“Unfortunately for you, it is possible. I have copies of all your communications. I know the Xesset agreed to arbitration under the Dir Commercial Code, although why you’d trust those pirates is beyond me. Commander Gillespie’s people are analyzing all your messages. We’ve obtained enough evidence to hand you over to the Sicca War Merchants. I’m sure they’ll work out how to jail you—I imagine they’d be eager to fill a small tub for you.”

“You think you know everything, don’t you? You’re too late, this time, de Coeur.” The alien gave the equivalent of a snarl. “The Xesset are on their way to intercept Wasp. We’ll see who survives that encounter.”

“Thank you, Monty. I’ve been relaying our conversation to everyone on board. I’m sure you’ll be dealt with fairly.” Steg turned to his two escorts. “Let’s go. I don’t think there’s anything more to be gained here.”

Chapter 15

Colonel Attwood stared at Steg with an expression of total disbelief. Steg had briefed him on Monty’s betrayal when he arrived on the command deck. “What?” he shouted, “Monty’s colluding with these pirates? He’s betrayed us? I—I don’t believe you!” The colonel slammed his fist into a bulkhead.

“It’s true, Colonel,” Commander Gillespie confirmed. “I’ve been reviewing messages Monty’s sent and received over the last three weeks. My staff have been assisting me. We’ve proof he’s been communicating with these Xesset and has entered into a contract with them. His reward, once you and your men are defeated, is control of Wasp. In turn, they’d get all our technology. Steg met with Monty almost an hour ago and challenged him about his contacts with the Xesset. His conversation with Steg was a virtual confession; he didn’t realize Steg was broadcasting their conversation, ship-wide. We recorded it all, if you want to listen.”

Attwood glared at the commander and turned back to Steg. “How did you access these messages?”

“They were transferred from Monty’s communications system to Wasp’s. We have headers, contents, validated receipts, everything. There are hundreds of them. There’s enough evidence to arrest and transfer Monty to Sicca without further investigation,” Commander Gillespie replied, saving Steg from a direct answer.

“I—I don’t understand. I can’t hear Monty on my link, either. It’s like I’m deaf. There must be a mistake, a misunderstanding, surely?”

“No, Colonel. We all heard his confession over the intercom when Steg was questioning him.”

The colonel’s eyes seemed to be unfocused. “This is your fault, de Coeur. I’ll have you arrested—for—for—providing false evidence.” The colonel’s move towards Steg was blocked by one of Steg’s armored bodyguard. “What’s this?” Attwood looked aghast at the marine from Ebony Company and stepped back as awareness penetrated his apparent fugue. He glared at Steg. “Are you threatening me?”

Steg surmised the colonel was still under the influence of the narcotic used by the Charion priestess in her pre-battle ceremony. “No, sir. I decided I might need protection while the news about Monty was circulated and verified. People are known to attack the messenger when there’s bad news. Commander Gillespie’s been reviewing the alien’s communications, and she confirmed there is verified evidence of his treachery. You have no basis for suggesting I’m providing false evidence.”

“Well, no, of course not,” muttered the colonel. “But I can’t hear him. It’s so difficult—I’ve lost my link to Monty. We—I—depend on his input, on his assurances and direction. I feel—isolated, yes, that’s it, isolated.”

“Colonel, we have to determine our strategy; this time, without the alien’s involvement. We must also determine what to do about the Xesset,” Gillespie said, adding the weight of her command to the discussion. “My bridge crew’s been reviewing the details Monty provided earlier and so far, we’re unable to find either the freighter or the pirates. Either they’re remarkably well shielded, or they’re somewhere else.”

“Very well. We’ll meet in fifteen minutes—I need to speak with my officers, first.”

Steg raised his hand to attract Attwood’s attention before he exited the bridge. “Colonel,” he said.

“Yes, de Coeur?”

“I’ve placed guards on Monty’s area. I’ve instructed them to prevent any and all access, no matter who tries to contact the alien. There’ll be no exceptions. The guards are armored, and they’re the best marksmen from my company. We’ve also mined the access window to his front—ah—office, much to Monty’s extreme displeasure. I’m sure we can close the blast doors to prevent water from reaching critical areas, if we need to.”

“You’re thorough.”

“Yes, sir.”

The mood in the meeting room was noticeably different from the last meeting. All the bridge and mercenary officers were seated by the time Steg entered. His two armored guards accompanied him, and their presence generated negative reactions from Attwood and Fowler. He ignored the officers’ comments, and the guards remained standing behind his chair.

“The problem’s simple,” Steg said to the waiting audience. “Monty’s betrayed us. He’s contracted with the Xesset to help them defeat our forces. He’s agreed to override Wasp’s defenses. His motivation—he gets this starship. The Xesset, in turn, obtain all the technical know-how they can persuade Monty to deliver to them. Of course, they also earn their fees for supplying arms to the rebels on Eos. They likely have an intention to take control of the planet for themselves. I assume Monty has access to your central accounts and can drain any credit balance, if you’re all dead. Monty’s betrayal is verifiable. We have copies of his communications, and Commander Gillespie’s team has reviewed every detail. Additionally, most of you heard my earlier conversation with Monty. I have a recording if anyone wants to listen to it again?”

“What you’re saying is outrageous,” Major Fowler challenged. “It’s—impossible, for you to know he’s betrayed us.” There was a murmur of agreement from some of the other mercenary officers.

The bridge officers protested; they had spent the last eight hours or more working through the messages transferred to Commander Gillespie’s workstation and as a result, were well convinced of the alien’s treachery.

Gillespie voiced her support. “While I don’t know how he managed it, de Coeur exposed weeks of messages between Monty and the Xesset. We’ve read all his communications, including dialogs with each of the government officials and rebel leaders on Eos. He has been playing on all sides. There is a freighter. Yes, it does exist, and we’ve confirmed it’s loaded with enough munitions for an extensive ground war. We’re still trying to locate the Xesset starships.”

“Shouldn’t we have Monty online?” asked one of the lieutenants, young and inexperienced, whom Steg had not previously encountered. “He’s our strategy expert.”

Everyone, including Attwood, stared at the junior officer. His ears turned pink, and he looked down at the table surface. He swallowed. “Um—I suppose not.” His voice trailed off.

“Captain de Coeur,” Attwood said.

“Yes, Colonel?”

“You got us into this mess—now get us out of it.”

“You’re hardly being fair—” Gillespie began.

“Very well,” Steg interrupted. “I accept. With conditions. First, I need full operational command of both the starship and your mercenaries. Do you agree?”

Attwood was silent for a long moment. He appeared to be taken aback. Steg thought there was a high probability the mercenary colonel had expected him to protest, to make excuses, to back away from any further involvement in resolving the problems he had exposed. Instead, Steg, the newcomer, had taken, swallowed, and digested the bait, without hesitation. Except now Attwood was possibly the one who had been caught.

“There’ll be a cost,” Steg added into the silence.

“What—ah—reward—do you expect?” the colonel asked.

“The freighter and its contents.”

“What?” came the protest in unison from most of the mercenary officers. Even the bridge crew looked concerned.

“Without my warning, you would’ve walked into a Xesset trap and lost Wasp. Your entire force of Stingers ambushed and more than likely killed. You, yourselves, everyone in this meeting room—if you weren’t killed in action—would be put to death by the Xesset.”

“If we don’t agree?” Attwood asked.

“You’re on your own,” Steg said. He hoped the colonel wouldn’t recognize the falsity of his statement. He would agree to fight the Xesset without hesitation.

“Let me see,” reflected Attwood. “You somehow derived all this data, impugned our strategist, and now expect to take over the operation to capture the freighter. Oh, I acknowledge your potential capabilities, I’ve seen how you’ve organized and trained your company. You’ve demonstrated experience and capability. But why, for freksake, should I entrust you with my command?”

“Because you’re facing an enemy force, and you know they won’t stop until you all are dead? Because your strategist betrayed you, your ship, and your people? You all heard the broadcast of Monty’s admission? If not, Commander Gillespie can replay the recording for you.” Steg waited.

The debate was noisy and aggressive. The commander and her crew were adamant in their support of Steg and his conclusions regarding the alien’s betrayal. The more experienced mercenary officers, except Attwood and Fowler, gradually acknowledged they needed to support Steg, while the less experienced, younger officers continued to support the colonel.

At last Gillespie cut through the arguments after the same voices repeated the same objections for the fifth time. “Enough. As commander of Wasp, I now call a vote. We have three options open to us. One, we can withdraw from this venture. Of course, if we do so, there remains a high risk the Xesset will still pursue us. Remember, we’ve accepted a contract with the authorities on Eos. In any event, I refuse to risk the ship in the subsequent legal action that would be justifiably brought by the planetary authorities if we withdraw. So, as commander, I’ll override the decision if a majority votes to withdraw. So one is not an acceptable option. Two, we can proceed with this venture guided by Monty, which’d be particularly stupid, and in any case, I require the aliens to be confined under arrest until we can hand them over to the authorities in Sicca. Finally, we’ve the third course of action, for de Coeur to command our forces to counter the Xesset. Yes, there’s a risk. However, as usual, we’ll survive if we’re sensible.”

Gillespie tore sheets of notepaper into strips and handed them around to each attendee, excluding Steg and the two armored guards. “Now write one, two or three on your paper, fold it, and return it to me.” She watched patiently as her instructions were carried out. Eventually, after she annotated and folded her paper, she had a heap of paper strips, all folded, in front of her. She looked at Attwood. “Colonel, I also need your vote.”

The colonel, with obvious reluctance, wrote on his strip of paper, folded it, and passed it across to the commander. She shuffled the folded papers, unfolded them one by one, and arranged them in piles according to the number written on each strip. When the commander finished laying out the strips of paper, there was one vote to withdraw, three to continue with the venture with Monty, and seventeen to allow Steg to command the mercenary forces in an action against the Xesset.

“We continue the action against the Xesset under de Coeur’s leadership,” Gillespie confirmed. “We have a clear majority vote for that option. Colonel, do you accept this decision?”

Attwood glared at Steg and then at Gillespie. “No, I damned well don’t,” he snarled. “It’s totally unacceptable.”

“Colonel, I’ll remind you we’ve followed agreed protocol as defined in our letter of marque. We’ve voted, and the majority decision is clear and undisputed.” Gillespie frowned. “The rules in the letter issued by Sicca require you to either comply with the majority vote or resign. So agree or I’ll accept your resignation, now. The same applies to anyone—any officer here—who refuses to accept our majority decision.” She looked at each of the officers seated around the meeting table. “Do any of you refuse to accept this majority decision?”

“I refuse,” Colonel Attwood said.

“Likewise,” Major Fowler said.

Two other officers also refused; one was the young lieutenant who had suggested Monty should be included in the meeting, and the last was a lieutenant who appeared to be even younger.

“Very well,” Gillespie said. “Your verbal resignations are accepted, effective on conclusion of this meeting. You’ll be designated as passengers, and you’ll be required to disembark when we reach a suitable system, which’ll happen at the ship’s convenience. Please remove your insignia and rank badges from your uniforms. Your resignations and status will be broadcast ship-wide when we conclude our meeting. Understood?”

The four officers nodded their acceptance of the commander’s rulings. They were silent, aware they’d been treated according to conditions contained in their letter of marque. Attwood reached a hand to his collar and began removing his rank badges.

Gillespie turned to Steg. “Well, de Coeur, it looks as though we’re in your hands. Can you—”

One of Steg’s guards leaned forward, his expression intent, and interrupted. “Captain de Coeur, I have a communication from Sergeant Kirby. He says to tell you Monty and his four wives may be trying to exit their quarters. He’s worried they may try to take over or damage Wasp. He said he needs you urgently in our war room.”

Chapter 16

Sergeant Kirby had discovered one of the recruits was a communications expert, and as a result of some intensive and rapid re-engineering, shipboard cameras, both internal and external, were now relayed to display panels in Ebony Company’s war room.

“Show me,” Steg directed as soon as he entered the room, which was occupied by Sergeant Kirby and five marines from Ebony Company. All were watching different live displays from around the starship. Everyone was wearing exo-armor, with helmets ready to don, and had their weapons in case of action.

“Iwao, let me see the latest,” Kirby said. Iwao Banryū was the company’s new communications expert. He was an inch under five feet tall, and Steg estimated his weight at two hundred pounds. He was a heavyworlder, and Steg had seen him lift twice his weight with ease.

Iwao keyed in a short command and the images on the largest screen switched to display a long corridor. Steg recognized it; he had walked down its length when he visited with Monty.

Iwao explained. He ran one hand through his bristled hair while he gesticulated with the other. “This leads to the main entrance for their water tank. We’ve seen some of Monty’s little insects venture out. They’re trailing wires back inside. We think he’s using the wires for guidance and communication. He has a bug stationed outside the door. It’s been there for ten minutes, and I suspect it’s on guard duty. Another two were there earlier—they’ve withdrawn back into the tank room.”

“What weapons can we can use against Monty’s insects? Without wrecking Wasp?”

Kirby replied, “We have AI-controlled mobile weapons units in the armory—they’re AWEs—Automated Weapons, Enhanced. They’re armored and heavily armed. They can be effective. I activated three of them, earlier. They’re carrying everything from heavy machine guns to lighter weapons, with grenade launchers, fire lances, almost anything you’re likely to need short of heavy artillery or nukes. Once we deploy an AWE, it can be manually operated, from here, for example, or set to automatic, in which case the weapon’s AI takes control. I’ve already tasked one; it should be at this end of the corridor in a minute.” He pointed at the screen. “We’ll control it from this workstation. We’ve also set up some booby-traps along the corridor, and we can trigger them anytime. The trap near the door will destroy all his bugs in that area.”

Steg said, “Good. We’ve got infrared cameras in the corridor?”

Iwao nodded.

Steg continued his instructions to Kirby. “Cut off the power supplies to the tank and surrounding areas. Monty’s bugs may not be able to see in the dark. Power loss will help convince him he’s on the losing side. Once the AWE’s in place, use it to destroy the scout and all his other insects in the doorway. Hold the traps in reserve. You can commence when you’re ready. I want to isolate the tank, so we need to identify all the blast doors we can close to block Monty off. When you close a blast door, take full control: post guards and don’t allow anyone to override your commands.”

Steg waited as the sergeant instructed his men.

When Kirby finished, Steg asked, “Did you find the intake and outlet valves for their water environment?” He suspected the aliens’ watery habitat was refreshed or supplemented from time to time and had earlier suggested Kirby to check blueprints against the starship’s structural modifications to discover where the valves were located. Steg wanted to threaten Monty with loss of his environment; however, he didn’t want to risk simply pumping the water out into the vacuum of space at an extremely low temperature, and besides, they might need the water.

Kirby said, “Yes, sir. There’s a complex of valves; one seems to be an intake valve, the other an exhaust valve; they’re both located in an empty shuttle bay. We found a number of large bladders in the same bay. They’ve got a huge capacity; they’ll each hold about forty tons of water. I suspect the bladders were used for transporting water to Wasp. We can use them to drain off the water. While we may not be able to completely empty the tank, the loss of even a hundred tons of his environment should alarm Monty.”

“I agree, it’s worth a try.”

“I’ve a small team, three men; they’re linking up a bladder to the valve system now.” Kirby was accustomed to acting on his own discretion.

“Good,” Steg said. “Tell them to go ahead as soon as they’re ready. Send some more men to guard them. When Monty discovers he’s losing water from his habitat, I’m sure all hell will break loose.”

Iwao spoke up. “Sergeant, we’re ready to send the AWE into the corridor.”

Kirby said, “Get the weapon close to the doorway into the tank area as quickly as you can.”

Iwao added, “We can watch its progress from the corridor cameras and when it gets closer, I’ll add the AWE’s camera output to the display.”

The heavy-duty, track-mounted AWE, a range of weapons protruding from its threatening bulk, moved along the corridor, its progress relayed by camera after camera. When the unit was ten yards or so from the croach-sized construct located outside the tank doorway, the operator halted its forward motion and targeted the tiny device. He selected and fired a shotgun shell, the impact of the pellets shattering the scout into multiple fragments. He backed the unit away from the doorway and waited.

Steg’s concentration was interrupted by Sergeant Kirby.

“Captain, our team at the water valve advise they’ve filled the first bladder and are tractoring it away to the bay doors in case we need to dump it into space. They’re preparing a second bladder.”

“Tell them, well done. Next, I want you to deploy three units, all the men of Ebony Company not currently engaged, as follows: one to help protect Wasp’s command bridge, one to Engineering and the third to be ready to respond to any attack by Monty. We’ve nowhere near enough men. I’ll arrange support from the Stingers. Ebony Company can’t do everything. I’ll update the commander, talk to Captain Dean, and I’ll communicate with Monty. He needs to understand we’re in control. Let me know when your team fills the third bladder; it’ll give me additional leverage.”

Steg headed to the bridge where he found both Colonel Attwood and Captain Dean in discussion with Commander Gillespie. Attwood appeared to be still complaining about Steg’s recent activities.

“If I may interrupt—” He paused, waiting for acknowledgment.

“Yes, yes.” Attwood was abrupt. The other two were far more courteous. The commander smiled her welcome.

“Dean, I need some of the Stingers to supplement the Ebony Company. I want to mount defensive teams to prevent Monty from damaging or taking over the ship. I’ve tasked my company to send men to the bridge here and to Engineering. I’m holding a small unit in reserve. We have to protect Weapons and Systems and all the shuttles. We don’t want Monty trying to escape. Can you work with me?”

“I suppose there’s nothing I can do to stop any of this, so go ahead, instruct Dean.” The colonel’s comment was almost a snarl. He turned and stomped off the bridge, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed.

“Well, that clears the air,” Dean said. “Mind you, he did surrender his rank badges to the commander. How many and where?”

“Liaise with Kirby. We’ve set up a war room adjacent to the command center on C deck. I need your Delta Company if you can make them available. More, if possible. Monty will try to communicate with the Xesset, which we must prevent. We’ll need relief teams.” After reflecting for a moment, he directed a question to the commander. “How many shuttles do you have?”

Gillespie replied, “Six. I’ve four of my marines guarding each bay. They’re good marines, although too few, of course.”

“Dean, if you’ll also support the shuttle guards?”

“Certainly. I’ll arrange for Charlie Company to step up; that’ll give me a total of close on a hundred men. Will it be enough?”

“Yes, do it. You have my authority.” Steg said. “I suspect we’ll see some violence in the next few hours so exo-armor is mandated. We don’t know what resources Monty can bring into play and possibly I’m over-reacting. We stationed an AWE outside the tank room. It destroyed one of his bugs, and I expect he’ll send out more. We’ve commenced draining water from his habitat into large bladders, which my men found in the shuttle bay behind his tank. I expect Monty to react violently when he realizes we’re draining his swamp. He might strike out, either to flee Wasp or to take it over.”

“You’ve been busy,” Dean said.

“Prudent actions. I’ve instructed Sergeant Kirby to block all accesses around the aliens’ habitat and to cut power and lights. If you think of anything, let him know. I want to discuss some details with Commander Gillespie, after which I’ll head back to the war room. Questions?”

“No, none at all. Lots of interest, though.” Dean headed off the bridge, eager to deploy his men and participate in whatever action was required to protect the starship.

“As Dean said, you’ve been busy,” commented the commander. She appeared to be stressed, concerned for the safety of her ship and crew.

Steg nodded his head. “We’re working the Ebony Company into a disciplined team, and they’re proving to be effective now they have real tasks to carry out. They’re eager for action. They’ve a need to prove themselves. I suspect I’ll have to call on some of your people to help, in particular, Systems and Weapons. If you agree, can you let them know I may call on their expertise?”

“Consider it done. I’m pleased to hear you’re providing protection for my bridge and all starship command departments.”

“It may not be needed. I’m trying to second-guess what Monty and his wives may attempt. As I said to Dean, we’ve no idea of what Monty’s capabilities might be. He may fight or he may flee. Question for you—how much control do you have over the shuttles?”

“Not much. We can lock the bay doors.”

“I think we should take control of shuttle departures. However, Monty may be tempted to use the Xesset self-destruction technique to kill both crew and mercenaries if he feels totally locked in. It might be better if we can persuade him to escape, to channel him towards a shuttle and once it leaves the bay, destroy it.”

“My Weapons team would like some target practice.”

“Very well. If you’re confident they can hit a small shuttle, perhaps we should allow him an opportunity to escape.”

Two interruptions came simultaneously.

“Commander, we’re intercepting a message addressed to Monty. What do you want us to do with it? It’s coming from a Xesset address.” The speaker was one of the commander’s bridge crew.

“Sir, Sergeant Kirby says there are indications Monty is about to deploy more of his bugs. Shall we destroy them?” The speaker was one of Steg’s guards, relaying a communication from the war room.

Steg said, “Tell Kirby I said yes, and I’ll be there in less than a minute. Sorry, Commander, I have to leave you. Let me know what the message contains.”

“Certainly. Keep me informed, please.”

Chapter 17

Steg joined Sergeant Kirby and his team who were watching a real time video display of the corridor outside the aliens’ tank room. Dean, accompanied by a lieutenant and two sergeants, had already arrived at the war room to liaise with Kirby. As they watched, a dozen or more of Monty’s bugs rushed out from the doorway from the alien habitat and, after a moment’s delay, moved towards the AWE. Its operator-controlled shotgun fire blasted them into tiny fragments. This, according to Kirby, was the second foray by the constructs. Unlike the previous attack, which seemed to have been more an information gathering exercise, these mechanical insects were loaded with explosives, and as each insect was hit by pellets from the AWE, it exploded with a surprising intensity. Fortunately, none of the bugs had reached the weapons unit.

“Move the AWE,” Kirby directed. “Monty knows its position now.”

The operator used the remote controls to move the unit away from the doorway to the other side of the corridor, barely completing the task before another wave of insects was launched. The AWE operator again fired and destroyed all Monty’s bugs without the unit suffering any damage.

“He must have hundreds of the damn things,” Kirby said. “We’ve destroyed about forty so far.”

“Expect larger ones, with more explosives,” Steg said.

The operator, without prompting, moved the AWE still farther back from the doorway, backing it up against the heavy door closing off the corridor; he wanted more space and time to deal with the tiny attackers.

Steg’s guess was correct. The next wave was a mix of bugs escorting three or four larger constructs, each six to eight inches long.

“Hit the big bugs first,” Kirby instructed. The operator had maintained his manual control of the AWE and commenced firing; his shots were accurate. The larger bugs each exploded when hit by small flechettes. Next, the operator targeted the smaller bugs and destroyed them with shotgun blasts before they reached the mobile weapon.

“I think I should speak to Monty to make sure he realizes these attacks will only antagonize us,” Steg said.

“He hasn’t noticed his habitat is leaking water, otherwise he’d be screaming by now. The men have filled the third bladder; they’ve drained over a hundred tons,” Kirby advised.

“Good work. Tell your men to start another bladder and keep draining the habitat until you tell them otherwise or they’ve used all the bladders.” Steg turned to Iwao. “Can you rig a connection to Monty without providing him any other access outside his tank?”

The connection was made, and after a small delay, Monty answered. His image and sound were relayed to a smaller display screen.

“Yes?” Monty was abrupt.

“Monty, we’ve closed all the blast doors around your habitat. You’re locked out of Wasp. Your bug attacks are ineffective. Oh, and we’ve drained over a hundred tons of water from your environment,” advised Steg.

Monty’s head rapidly changed colors, settling to a brilliant red. Three of his long tentacles thrashed the water. His voice rose to a scream. “You’ve done what?”

“We’re draining your environment. We’ll stop if you surrender.”

Monty turned his head and appeared to be conferring with his wives, off screen. He returned his attention to Steg, his agitation building.

“You can’t do that to us,” he shouted. “I’ll kill you all if you don’t stop taking our water. You, de Coeur, I’ll make an example of—the agony of your death will resound across Terran space.”

“Monty, threats won’t help. You’re a danger to us and to the ship. You can waste time while we continue to empty your tank, or you can cease hostilities.”

Monty looked away again. His wives were off camera and Steg assumed they were advising him. A long conversation ensued. At last Monty turned back to the camera.

“My wives advise me to listen to you,” the cephalopod said. “What do you propose?”

His body language was less arrogant, thought Steg, although he was still a brilliant red. Steg detailed his requirements, which, he hoped, would ensure the aliens stopped being a threat.

“You must agree to cease your attacks on Wasp, its crew, and the mercenaries. We want cameras inside your tank, monitoring your work areas and all the possible exits from your tank. Surrender your manufacturing equipment and raw material, and your weapons and explosives. If we detect any further threat, we’ll re-commence draining your tank without any warning or discussion. Understood?” Steg had no confidence the alien would cease hostilities; however, he needed to maintain a positive approach while expecting the worst.

Monty conferred with his wives. After a minute he returned his attention to Steg. “We agree. We’ll set cameras up for you, covering exits and work areas. It’ll take an hour. There are two access locks. One is in the shuttle bay where the water valves are located, and there’s one here, adjacent to the glass wall. We’ll use the bay lock to surrender our materials, including weapons and explosives. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes. In one hour, we want to see camera links in place. Also, in one hour you should have completed moving everything I requested into the shuttle bay lock.” Steg instructed Iwao to end the connection.

Dean asked Steg, his expression quizzical. “Do you trust him?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. There are two other locks, which he didn’t mention, both accessing internal areas of Wasp. I daresay he thought you wouldn’t know about them.”

“I suspected he was hiding something; it was far too easy. He’ll retain enough equipment and weapons to support whatever he’s planning. However, for the moment, we’ll play fair. Kirby, instruct your men to stop draining the tank. Leave the bladder in place so they can recommence if necessary. Work with Dean to guard the access points including those Monty didn’t mention. You’ll need some fast response teams; go for maximum flexibility. I expect we’ll see some attempt to break out later today, either at shift change or late tonight, possibly after midnight. Identify paths between Monty’s exit locks and the shuttle bays. I think we can block their access to the bridge, leaving them the alternative of using a shuttle for their escape. Plan on allowing them to take a route to a shuttle that is not a primary craft—it may end up being destroyed.”

“Agreed. We can funnel them in almost any direction. Can’t make it too easy for them, though; it would raise their suspicions,” Dean said.

“Yes, their exit will require careful stage managing. They’ll possibly try to take hostages, to prevent us destroying them when their shuttle leaves the starship.”

“Sir?” The interruption came from the communications expert.

“Yes, Iwao?”

“If I had a few hundred tons of water and suitable equipment, I’d start using the water to produce an explosive mixture of gases.”

“Hmm. Dean, Kirby, assume Monty has weapons grade explosives in either solid or gaseous form. There are gas detectors throughout the ship—make sure they have hydrogen in their detection spectrum. Check if Engineering has reduced the power supply to the aliens’ habitat; they should be providing only enough for internal lighting. When they depart, we might have to pump the air in their habitat out to space, in case they leave an explosive mixture booby-trapped for us.”

Kirby said, “I’ll get the bladder team thinking about how they would clean up—they’re good engineers.”

“Good. I’m going to the main bridge. I plan to be back after lunch.” He had not heard from the commander about the contents of the message the Xesset had sent to Monty.

“Oh, good, I was about to page you,” Gillespie said when Steg entered the bridge. “We’ve been checking the message header and metadata to ensure its accuracy. The contents are interesting—damning, actually.”

“What have you found?”

“The Xesset are protesting because they haven’t heard from Monty on schedule. They’re wittering on about his lack of communication. The message also confirmed their route; they listed the way stations they’re planning to use, which is excellent detail for us. We can use their course data to determine our tactics.”

“Excellent. I suppose we’d better prepare a message to send back from Monty. Do you have enough information to produce a suitable reply?”

“Yes, I think so. My people are checking if they can determine whether there are buried sequence metrics somewhere in each message. You know, something indicating this is message ten, this one is eleven, twelve, and so on. The Xesset will know a message is suspect if it doesn’t contain the necessary sequence metric. I’ve had my communications team working through all the copies of Monty’s sent messages, but so far nothing stands out.”

“Interesting possibility. Perhaps we should take a risk?”

Gillespie said, “I’ve reached the same conclusion. I’ll get my team to draft a reply, based on the message threads. It’ll be ready for review in an hour.”

“Good. I’m heading to the mess. I feel as though I had breakfast yesterday and nothing since.”

“Give me a minute and I’ll join you. After lunch I’m back on watch until midnight,” the commander said.

Chapter 18

“You seem to be popular with the Fain?” the commander commented as she sipped her coffee. She and Steg were enjoying a quiet moment in the officers’ mess, both understanding they had challenges to address after their meal.

“What? Oh, yes, they enjoyed patching me up, I think.” Steg recalled the scalpel. “It was touch and go for a moment.” He felt his face redden and changed the subject. “You’re ex-Fleet?”

“Retired with a large salvage bounty. My neighbors had no idea of what Fleet life was about, and we had nothing in common. Got bored. So five years ago we purchased Wasp—it was a retired frigate, ex-Alliance Navy—they’d removed all its weapons, of course, although we soon added what we thought were necessary once the War Merchants issued our license. ‘We’ including Rose Curtis, commonly called Curtains—she heads up Weapons, and our Engineering chief, Thi Baan. He’s Tacian, runs his department efficiently. You haven’t met him; he’s always in Engineering. Rose and Thi were on the same salvage trip with me, retired at the same time, and were as bored as me.”

“Bored now?”

Gillespie laughed and took another sip. “Certainly not. There’s a bit too much risk, though, this time. What do you think?”

Steg considered the question. He was not risk averse, yet did not think he took undue risks. He said, “I’ve been talking with your Weapons team and if the changes to Wasp are as good as everyone says, I believe we can defeat the Xesset, even if we’re outnumbered. This ship’s larger, almost as fast, and, from what I’ve been told, is strongly shielded, both for defense and stealth. We’re carrying heavy-duty weapons, far heavier than the Xesset can mount on their smaller ships. So, unless we suffer some unexpected misadventure, which is always possible, I’m confident we’ll win out.”

“What about Monty?”

“An irritant. Oh, of course, he can harm us. We don’t know what surprises he has up his sleeve, so to speak. We’ve enough mercs to manage him and his wives. It depends on his strategy, I suppose. We’ve threatened his habitat by draining off a hundred tons or more of his water supply, and he knows we can drain a lot more. We’ve cut off his power, we’re guarding his exit points, and he’s lost communications.”

“I wanted to ask you: how do you access and control his communications?”

“I’d prefer to leave the discussion for another day.”

“Understandable. I’m still curious, however.”

“Commander, when I can, I’ll tell you.”

“Jessica, please.” She patted his hand as she stood. “We’d better see what’s happening, I suppose.”

“Indeed. I’ll check Monty’s status, first. I’ll be on the bridge in thirty minutes. I want to re-read the Xesset’s last message and review your proposed reply.”

“Comms will be ready for you,” promised the commander.

Steg returned to the war room to find Sergeant Kirby and Captain Dean in conference with three other mercenary sergeants; two were from Dean’s company, and one was from another of the mercenary companies.

Dean turned to Steg. “We’re allocating rapid response resources. Everything is quiet, for the moment.”

“Calm before the storm,” Kirby predicted.

“Anything I need to know?”

“The AWE is still in position; corridors are sealed, Engineering has confirmed power has been cut off except for a domestic connection, and we now have cameras giving us views of different parts of the habitat. Not total coverage, of course. Monty surrendered large quantities of weapons and explosives. There’s been no noise or movement at any of the locks, at least, nothing we can detect,” replied Kirby.

“Good. As you said, it’s the calm before the storm. I’ll be on the bridge, if you need me. I want to review our recent Xesset messages.”

Steg read and re-read the latest communication from the Xesset to Monty; it had arrived in the last hour. He read it again, deep in thought. He read the earlier message. He turned to Commander Gillespie.

“There’s something wrong with these.”

“What do you mean?”

“They both have a different feel compared with previous messages. The prior messages were direct, had no surplus details, contained bare information. See, here, the messages are far too detailed and precise, and are set out with a lot of deliberation. It’s as though they’re saying ‘Hey, come and get us.’ There’s too much information about their course, about their intentions.”

“I see what you mean. Ross, what do you think?” The commander handed the flimsy to the Comms lead.

Ross perused the message again. “I’ve read it six times. I wondered. I thought there was something different. I agree.” He handed the flimsy back to the commander.

“We’re being set up,” Steg said. “Somehow Monty has broken through our communication barrier. I wonder—Ross, can you check what private messages from everyone—crew, mercs, officers—have been transmitted over the last twenty-four hours? If Monty used his insects to reach Attwood or anyone else who doesn’t believe he’s betrayed us to the Xesset, he may’ve persuaded them to send a message in some kind of code to alert his friends.”

The search took thirty minutes. Ross indicated the main display in front of his workstation, drawing Steg’s attention. “Look. Here are two messages. Attwood sent a message early this morning. And—what’s his name—the young lieutenant—ah, Berkin—also sent one, almost at the same time. Same addressee. Each message is made up of blocks of characters, a code of some kind. Here’s a third one, sent by Fowler, also blocks of characters. Monty knew his targets.”

“So he managed to send word out before we shut off the corridor. I suspect he used his bugs with a pre-recorded message to communicate with the targets, possibly via their implants; it was a matter of getting close enough, I suppose. Monty’s a definite challenge.”

Commander Gillespie came over from her station. “What have you found?”

“There are three apparently coded messages with indications they were sent on Monty’s behalf,” Ross replied, indicating the selection on the screen.

“We can assume the general content,” Steg added.

“And the senders were?”

“Attwood, Fowler, and Berkin.”

“Idiots. I’ll ban them from sending any more messages unless we verify the contents, first”

“I suspect Monty’s using small bugs to contact them. We’ll need to decontaminate Wasp,” Steg said. “Can Weapons handle that for us?”

“With enthusiasm—her team will enjoy the challenge of finding and destroying tiny, Monty-made bugs. I’ll get them started. It’ll take an hour or so to program the AI sweeps.”

“Good. Weapons also needs to be on alert for the arrival of Xesset ships. I suspect Monty’s requested them to come to his rescue. The question is whether they’ll send one or two ships to carry out their mission. It depends, I suppose, on what they see as the risk for their freighter. Let’s assume the worst: two ships to attempt his rescue, with resources for a number of boarding parties. Commander, may I work with Astro and Weapons to determine our strategy? We’ll reverse the ambush.”

Thress, the Astro watch commander—Thress seemed to be her only name—was eager to help address the problem and instructed her team to load and display starcharts matching their course. The multi-dimensional hologram added depth to the chart data, highlighting Wasp’s current position and marking the intended path the starship would travel in the next two to three days. The Weapons lead joined in the planning session, as did Commander Gillespie.

“As we know, the freighter is traveling from Astoner to Eos,” Thress said. One of her team members added the proximate freighter course to the display, and she continued. “We should intercept them here, in about fifty hours, if we continue our present heading and speed. You said the Xesset are providing three ships to escort the freighter?”

Steg said, “Yes, although they’ve now changed their strategy. We need to re-plan. Assume one Xesset starship remains with the freighter. The other two are on an intercept course to reach us, well before your time point. My reasoning is they’ll want to stop us before we reach the freighter. So, they’ll look for us here, don’t you think?” He indicated a point along their path, away from way stations and standard shipping lanes.

“I agree,” Thress confirmed. “We’ll be at that intercept point in thirty hours or so at our current speed.”

“What if we changed course to meet up with the freighter as it reaches Eos?” asked one of the team members.

“The Xesset would sweep search between this intercept point and the Eo system, and they’d soon find us,” replied the Weapons lead.

“We have alternatives,” Thress said. “If we increase our speed, it changes our transit profile. The Xesset will expect us to travel at our normal cruising speed. Our drives are running at sixty percent. What if we moved it up to ninety? For twenty-four hours?”

Commander Gillespie said, “If we climb above our intended path here, arrive earlier, and take up station above the intercept point, we’ll alter the Xesset ambush scenario. This asteroid belt has the potential to provide lots of opportunities for us to hide and wait?”

Thress did some quick calculations. “We would arrive there in a few minutes over twenty-four hours.”

“Wasp‘s capable of running at ninety percent, and we’ve plenty of power reserves. It’s practical,” confirmed Gillespie.

“The Xesset are unlikely to reach there in less than thirty hours, so we’d be settled in a good six hours before they arrive,” Steg said. “I like it.”

“We’ll use our stealth shields—they won’t see us. Let’s do it.” Commander Gillespie issued instructions, confirming the new course and speed. A frisson of excitement stirred the bridge watch—at last they were taking the initiative, not merely reacting to events.

Steg returned to the war room to update Dean and Kirby. “Our plan is to try to ambush the Xesset,” Steg said. He did not provide a detailed briefing in case the word spread through the mercenary companies and was passed to the ex-officers. If Attwood or another of Monty’s friends still had access to a communications unit, there was a danger the Xesset would be informed of their adjusted strategy. “Wasp has excellent stealth capabilities, and we’ve an approximate location where the Xesset are likely to attack. We’ll try to strike before they do.”

“I agree, our stealth shields are good,” Dean said. “Wasp’s able to hide from even Imperial destroyers. Hopefully, the Xesset scanners won’t be any more effective than Imperial.”

“What if Monty has provided the Xesset with our stealth shield frequency pattern—would they be able to find us?” Steg asked.

Kirby and Dean each had horrified expressions.

“You’re damned frightening, you know,” Sergeant Kirby complained. “I’ll worry about this for days.”

“Well, for a couple of days, anyway,” Dean said.

Steg smiled and half-saluted on his exit from the war room. He wanted to spend time in quiet deliberation and headed to his cabin. His two guards hurried to match his pace.

The First Senior Acolyte paused in his contemplation of data flows presented by the Glass Complex. The huge computer, embedded deep under the foundations of Castlehome, continued its intake of data from numerous systems across Imperial, Alliance and Rim regions. Fifty or so Acolytes attended its processing and it regularly presented its analytic views to them and to the Senior Acolytes. However, the First Senior did not always agree with its analyses nor with its recommendations.

“Yes, Helen?”

‘First, I have a report for you—the Ebony Project.”

“Come in, take a seat. You, too, Tobias. Don’t stand out there, I won’t bite. Close the door.” The First Senior’s office was shaped like a small conference room, with viewscreens along each of three walls. His desk was tiny, and the room had few furnishings. The two Acolytes entered and took a seat at the conference table and the First Senior joined them. One of the larger screens glowed into life; the Glass Complex was connected and monitoring the discussion.

“So what do you know?” asked the Senior.

“Sir, it has taken a while. The Complex refuses to acknowledge it experienced a programming error. We’ve identified the decision point and I’m inclined to agree, although Tobias does not. In any event, the Complex transferred Steg de Coeur to what it assessed as the optimal destination for treatment of his blaster injury. It totally ignored the time dimension.”

“That’s what I claim is a program error,” interjected Tobias. He and Helen, both senior and experienced Acolytes, had worked together on the Ebony Project for the last year or so, ever since the attempted military takeover planned by Lady Gaetja. That woman, realizing her scheme had totally failed, had taken her revenge by ambushing de Coeur. Fortunately her blaster shot had not killed him, although the injury he suffered had been extremely serious.

“Let’s get to the important part of your report,” urged the First Senior. “We can discuss time parameters all day and still be at an impasse. You need to consider how the Complex regards time and space—its structure covers both. But I digress. Your report?”

“Yes, sir,” said Helen. “Steg de Coeur has recovered most of his memories. His system communication abilities also have returned. We—well, the Complex—recorded his use of those abilities and backtracked him to a small starship. The Complex confirmed his time location and we now know it had sent de Coeur back to an Imperial hospital starship in 1650 PD. The portion of the system managing the Ebony Project had previously refused to disclose the time dimension of his possible location; we think it was trying to hide its reach into the past.”

The First Senior ignored the details about the Complex’s time-reach ability. It was not new knowledge for him. “He’s safe?”

“As far as we can determine. He’s been separated from the Ebony sword, so we don’t have detailed information.”

“Separated? How did that happen?”

Tobias replied, “According to the Glass Complex, at first the sword was too damaged to communicate its report. It initiated a self-repair routine, aided by the Complex; however, it was badly damaged from that blaster attack. Then de Coeur ran into some difficulties, we have a separate report on those, and gave Ebony to a doctor on the hospital ship for safekeeping. She—that is, Dr. Yi—has an excellent record for treating head injuries. The difficulties de Coeur encountered were almost fatal. He was sentenced to death by an ImpSec tribunal while he was still regaining his memories. We almost lost him.”

“I’ll be interested to hear that report. What is he doing, now?”

Tobias and Helen exchanged glances. Helen said, “We don’t know, yet. The starship he’s on is part of some kind of mercenary outfit. He’ll be at risk until we get him off the ship.”

“What about Ebony? Can we recover the sword?” the First Senior asked.

“We’re going to try,” Helen replied. “We believe we can use the Glass Complex time-reach ability to set up a recovery plan. Dr. Yi has retired; she’s now located on an outlying Imperial planet called Freedom. We’ve run some scenarios, and if we use Ebony to influence her, we can arrange for her to surrender the sword. There’s one of Homeworld’s banking subsidiaries on the planet and we could have it act on our behalf. Once Ebony’s under our control, we can use a number of techniques to either get it back to de Coeur, or return it to us, here and now.”

“Very well. Now, I want you to be careful. No one—and I mean no one—is to be informed about the time aspects of the functionality of the Glass Complex. Not even the Second Senior.” The First Senior Acolyte diverted his attention to the Glass Complex and its data flows. After a minute or so, he returned his attention to the two Acolytes and said, “The Ebony Project is now sealed and details cannot be released outside this office. I have established a mandatory prohibition, understand?”

The two Acolytes nodded their understanding. Helen said, “We had reached that conclusion, Senior.”

Breach of a mandatory prohibition imposed by the First Senior Acolyte would be regarded as treason by Homeworld’s legal system and would attract extreme penalties. Details of the rules that governed the Glass Complex, and the penalties for their breach, were included in Acolyte training.

The First Senior said, “Good. Continue the project. Provide me with a report on the ImpSec difficulties. Implement a recovery program for Ebony. As soon as you have more updates regarding de Coeur, contact me immediately. The Glass Complex indicates his survival is critical for Homeworld, although I have no idea how he will be retrieved from 1650 PD.”

Chapter 19

Steg made himself comfortable on his bunk. He had almost complete memories of all of his past, including details of Homeworld, Castlehome, the planet’s capital, the Acolytes, and of the computer complex—the Glass Complex—located beneath the huge castle. He missed his sword, Ebony. Somehow the weapon aided the abilities that allowed him to take control of starships and to communicate with and influence major systems complexes. He’d listened to the songs of the stars; now, he wanted to explore his reach and strength, to confirm his ability to detect distant electronic signals and messages.

He closed his eyes. He relaxed his mind and let it settle into a calm stillness. He drifted away from Wasp until it became a speck in the reaches of space. He sensed starship traffic in far off shipping lanes; there were freighters, liners, and military vessels, all light years away. His attention was caught by a distant planet, which almost overloaded his senses with its undisciplined outpourings. He could spend hours roaming from signal to signal. Mindful of the urgency of his task, he moved his focus back towards Wasp and began to search space in its vicinity. Steg worked outwards from the starship, gradually expanding his scope towards the expected location of the freighter with its Xesset escort. Time passed, unmeasured. At last he found the freighter, on course for its expected destination. He waited, watching, his senses tuned to detect communications between the freighter and a Xesset ship. At last a short burst of green and red symbols caught his attention—the freighter was in contact with its alien escort, exchanging messages. The contents were unintelligible; he assumed they were in Xesset language-based codes. He tracked the communications and found the escorting starship; it was within a parsec of the freighter, close enough to protect it if someone attacked the starship with its load of weapons and far enough away to be overlooked by anyone checking on the freighter.

He had discovered one Xesset vessel escorting the freighter. He needed more; according to Monty, the Xesset had a total of three starships on their way to Eos. Steg waited, monitoring the two starships for new transmissions. At last his attention was caught by a short burst of electronic data from the escort. It was another directed signal, and he tracked it to its destination. He had found the remaining Xesset starships, and they were heading away from the freighter. He had enough data. He fed the location and heading details of all the starships into Wasp’s computer system. He would update the details later; in the meantime the computer would churn the numbers to confirm two of the starships were on a heading to reach the likely attack point. If not, he would re-address his assumptions. Exhausted, he slept.

Steg’s dreams of Castlehome were shattered by the piercing shrill of Wasp’s emergency alarm. The howling sound removed all thoughts of sleep, and he jumped out of bed, wide-awake. The noise was joined by a pounding on his cabin door. He looked out—one of his armored guards was at the door.

“Sir, the alien has broken out of his tank. Captain Dean—”

“Tell him I’ll join him in the war room.” Steg had slept in his clothes. He tugged on his boots and left his cabin at a run, followed by his two guards.

The violent, almost ear-shattering sound of the alarm was easing off as Steg arrived. Kirby was closest to the door when Steg entered the war room. “Well, Kirby, what’s happening?”

“Sir, Monty’s exited through a lock into level 5, above his interview room. We have him on camera. He’s about to encounter teams from Dean’s company. They’re good, experienced.”

“Show me.”

The small operational team moved back to allow Steg to view both the camera shots and the multi-dimensional hologram of the starship showing where Monty had exited his tank. There were four red symbols displayed on the hologram, tagged as intruders.

“It’s Monty and three of his wives. They’re wearing strange armor. We’ve got them on screen,” Dean said as he joined Steg. “We tagged them—see the red stars? All armor HUDs will show them as enemies, no second guessing required.”

“Everyone, including us, should be wearing exo-armor,” Steg said. “In case Monty and his wives manage to break through a section.”

“It’s only you and me without armor. Your company and the marines from Delta and Charlie are armored. Crew and ship’s officers are all behind reinforced barricades; it’s a standard process. The bridge and command decks are well protected. I’m not sure about Attwood and his cronies—they could be anywhere. We cut off their access to exo-armor.” Dean sounded as though he also didn’t care.

Steg examined the image on the viewscreen. He said, “Monty should be near the first line of booby-traps?”

“Any moment now. The teams are waiting for the traps to trigger before they react. Our mines are all anti-personnel stuff—we’ll end up with scarred paintwork, I suppose. We’ll start with armor-piercing flechettes and switch to more powerful anti-armor explosive shells, if necessary. The only thing—the way he’s headed, I’m not sure Monty’ll take our bait and retreat towards the shuttle bays. I think he wants the primary command deck.”

“We can stop him?”

“Yeah,” Kirby said.

Steg worried his confidence might be misplaced.

The sergeant said, “Watch on the screen—they’re about to hit the detector beams. I’ll also relay comms from the teams.”

Everyone in the war room halted their other activities to watch the action unfolding on the screen. Monty, covered in a flexible armor, was using two pairs of his tentacles for walking; the result was a cumbersome, stiff-legged gait. He held a heavy weapon in each of the other two pairs of tentacles. His three wives, each only half Monty’s size, were following his lead, struggling with smaller weapons.

“If size is any indication, Monty could do some damage with those guns,” Kirby said. “We’ve adjusted gravity to 3 in the corridor to make it more difficult for them to maneuver.”

As he spoke, the corridor exploded in fire and smoke as rows of anti-personnel mines, hidden in the walls, exploded outwards, targeting the aliens. Steg heard the wash of harsh explosive sounds over the comms link with the squad leader. He checked the screen—the marines were moving forward, trusting their exo-armor shields. An AWE was in advance, and it commenced firing heavy caliber flechette blasts down the corridor at the aliens.

The squad commander instructed his men, “A Team, open fire. Aim for legs or arms. B Team, prepare to lay down covering fire.” A hail of intensive weapons fire filled the corridor.

Steg caught glimpses of the armored cephalopods through waves of smoke wafting along the corridor. Monty’s wives, smaller and lighter, were knocked down by the force of numerous projectile impacts and were struggling to aim and fire their weapons. Monty had been hit in the tentacles he was using to walk. Steg watched as the alien dropped to the floor and began readying his two weapons. The rapid fire from A Team was creating major difficulties for the cephalopod. At last, it seemed Monty was ready, and sprays of lighting streamed out from the barrel of each of his strange weapons.

“What the hell is he using?” Kirby muttered.

The lightning spray hit one of the marines, and his scream was cut short as the full impact roasted his exo-armor.

“Switch to anti-armor, now. Both teams, fire at will,” ordered Dean.

The fire rate increased, and Steg could hear the heavier caliber weapons from the AWE. Exploding shells impacted the aliens who were struggling with their weapons. Steg thought there was a likelihood more than paint would be stripped from the walls by the heavier fire. Two of Monty’s wives had suffered direct hits from the missiles, and their armor had ruptured, the water content adding steam to the clouds of smoke in the corridor. Monty’s weapons were no longer firing. They had been hit and damaged by the AWE shells. Monty was scrambling on the floor, trying to join his wives, two of whom had ceased to move. The third, smaller alien had also ceased fire; she was attempting to attend to her two fellow wives.

The heavy fire from the AWE impacted Monty’s armor, causing it to freeze up. The alien was struggling to survive but had not yet given in. He stripped off parts of his armor apparently to regain mobility in spite of the dangers of exposure. His armor was leaking water. He was struggling to reach his wives and at the same time was trying to reset his lightning generator weapons.

“Target everything on Monty,” Dean commanded. His instruction was followed by another rapid burst of fire from his teams. The shells exploded, and their force lifted Monty into the air, slamming him against the bulkhead at the end of the corridor. He rolled, tentacles moving aimlessly, out of control. He was unable to stand; he was weaponless and the impacts of exploding projectiles had pushed him away from his wives. His tentacles thrashed and twisted. Steg enlarged the image on the screen, focusing in on Monty. His tentacles were seeking and grabbing mindlessly, using their razor sharp teeth to flense whatever they contacted, including other tentacles; their ability to safeguard their parent body was lost due to severe injuries. A pool of water, purple blood, and stripped flesh built around the formless bulk that had been Monty.

“Cease fire,” Dean said.

There was no movement from the cephalopod aliens. Smoke and steam whirled and gradually cleared as the ventilator fans reacted to clear the air. The silence was a sudden shock after so much noise.

“It’s a pity Monty was so focused on getting to the command deck,” Dean said. He and Steg watched as the A Team leader moved his men forward to examine each of the aliens.

“Tell him to take care; their bodies could be booby-trapped,” suggested Steg.

“Done—part of SOP,” Dean replied.

The marine completed his examination of each of the four armored aliens. He triggered a communication to the war room as he stood. “They’re all dead.”

“Well done,” said Dean. “I’ll send you some support to clean up. We taped it all; you can watch the replay later if you want. What happened to your man?”

“Sadly, he’s dead. The lightning blast split open his armor and electrocuted him. Monty’s weapons were more powerful than we expected. We’re fortunate he didn’t get an opportunity to set them up properly.”

Steg said to Kirby and Dean, “We need to determine a response to his weapon in case the Xesset have them.”

Kirby said, “What if we turned on the fire sprinklers—would that ground them?”

The two men nodded.

Dean said, “We can do some tests.”

Steg added. “Also consider installing steel mesh in the ceilings. If we dropped mesh on anyone carrying a lightning weapon, it might ground it or cause it to backfire towards the shooter. Lots more testing needed.”

“I’ll organize some men for the task,” Dean said.

“What about Monty’s fourth wife—at least he said he had four?” Steg asked.

“We still have the communication link we used before. I’ll try to make contact. She might answer,” Kirby said.

“Tell her we’ll accept her surrender, and in turn we’ll provide and maintain an adequate environment until we can land her somewhere suitable.”

“Monty always was the spokesperson,” Dean said. “She may not be able to speak to us.”

“Understood. Kirby, see what you can do. Dean, we need to empty and examine the tank in any case—it could be mined. I can’t imagine Monty would miss an opportunity to damage us if he was defeated. As for his surviving wife, if necessary, we’ll build a temporary tank to house a small cephalopod. Can you get your engineers to start working on those tasks?” Steg said.

“I’ll check. They found another five collapsible bladders so they can drain off a lot more water if necessary. They may have a solution for emptying the containers into space. I’ll arrange for a team to search for explosives or traps. I’m sure we can do something for the survivor.”

“Good. I’ll be with Commander Gillespie. Keep me updated. Tell the men well done.”

Chapter 20

The bridge of Wasp was fully manned with everyone watching as the starship’s Helm edged the starship up to the asteroid belt, seeking a gap where she could position and hide Wasp amongst the huge tumbling rocks. Steg thought the woman was Tacian; she was surprising petite, with vivid green hair and her eyes changed color between shades of blue and green, seemingly on a random basis. She appeared to be barely out of her teens. The maneuver was completed without incident, and the bridge officers applauded. She turned to the commander, a relieved smile on her face. “I don’t want to do that again, ever,” she said. “I aged about fifteen years, I’m sure.”

“It was well done, Aadan,” Joyce Gillespie said. “I had complete faith in you.” The commander addressed the bridge. “Now we’ll wait for the Xesset. Our last report indicates they’ll be in this region in approximately seven hours. We’ll cloak in six hours. Remember, we need to run silently—no signals, no outbound communications, and minimum electronic activity.”

When the commander completed her instructions, Steg said, “You have an excellent bridge team. Aadan is outstanding.”

“I agree. She’s invaluable. How did Monty’s attack end?”

“The alien’s dead. He charged out with three of his wives in support. They were also killed. We think there’s one survivor although we haven’t managed to contact her yet. We’ll have to convince her we don’t mean harm unless she attacks us. The problem will be to get her back to her home planet once this is all over. Maybe Wasp can take a trip when you complete this assignment?”

“I suppose we could help. Let me know when you’ve managed to communicate with her.”

“I’ll keep you updated. How are you progressing?”

“As you saw, we’ve moved into the edge of the asteroid belt. We laid out passive sensor stations on the way in. They communicate on a directed narrow beam, which should be undetectable by the Xesset. The sensors expand our observational reach. We’ll know if a ship arrives anywhere within five light minutes or so. I’ll get Weapon’s team to show you, when you have time.”

“I’ll look forward to their demo. Have you seen the colonel? I worry when I don’t know what he might be up to.”

“No.” She paused, tapping her fingers on her command console. She continued. “He has been very quiet. You’ve alarmed me, now. I’ll have some of my crew check for him and his companions. You might organize your men to do the same. I suggest you start with the priestess—they could be with her.”

“I’ll check. In the meantime, contact me or Dean if anyone finds him. Them.”

The mercenary captain was supervising the clean-up of the debris and damage resulting from the battle with Monty and his wives, and when Steg joined him, he said, “They put up a good fight. However, they were totally overwhelmed. I thought he’d have more sense than to take on all of us.”

“You have a point. I wondered. Maybe he panicked. It’s one thing to sit back and plan strategy, but it’s entirely different to be threatened with direct action. Did he think the Xesset were closer? Or did he expect support from Attwood?”

Dean said, “Either or both. Too late now. We don’t know enough about him to determine whether this was typical behavior. He was interested in our culture and philosophies and totally reserved when it came to his. We talked a few times. He would never tell me anything about his race or origin.”

Steg said, “He questioned me, over and over. It was one-sided; he didn’t disclose background details, at all. I have another task, if you can spare some men? We’ve lost sight of the colonel and his companions. We need to know where they are at all times. It’s worrying when they’re silent. They could be planning something as nonsensical as Monty’s escapade.”

“Should we restrain them? We can organize three cabins and tell them to stay there. Guards on the doors would keep them locked away.”

“Agreed. In the meantime, can you arrange for a couple of small work parties to start sweep-searching Wasp? I’ll go visit their priestess and see if she knows anything, assuming she’ll talk to me.”

Steg walked almost the length of the starship, towards the stern, to the cabin occupied by the Charion priestess. It was located past the E deck storage areas where bays and shelves held items a starship might never need, and when it did, the ship would be days away from the nearest way station. Replacement parts, spars, coils of metal for engineering, all measures of nuts and bolts and nails and screws, spare parts and raw materials for the 4D printers, shuttle and air-v spares, computer components, and other items filled the shelves. The crew of Wasp, when carrying out repairs, couldn’t visit the nearest starship chandler for a missing part or component; it either was here, in the stores, or there was a template for its manufacture by the printers.

Aware there were another three decks holding similar supplies, he realized Wasp had a comprehensive inventory of supplies and spares.

Power saving lights switched on as motion sensors detected his transit and turned off after he passed by. Gradually, odors from the industrial mix of oils, lubricants, and other materials typical of a starship were replaced by a new and strange odor that strengthened as he continued. It was, he assumed, incense from the priestess’s ceremonies. As he neared his destination, he observed the walls of the corridor were no longer painted starship gray; instead, broad sweeps of vibrant primary colors spread from floor to ceiling. The floor was rainbow striped, the colors separating and merging in waves, only to separate again. Now, battle scenes replaced the broad sweeps of color on the walls. They portrayed men and aliens fighting, some together, some against each other, with ancient weapons, spears and swords and slings, and showed men dying, turning into skeletons and being resurrected to fight again. Finally, slowly, gradually, all colors merged until there was only one color: black. Now the floor, walls, and ceiling of the corridor were one.

Steg almost stumbled as the lights, which had been growing dimmer, were suddenly extinguished. Ahead, a soft glimmer of light filtered its way through a heavy curtain. He had, he assumed, reached the quarters of the priestess. He stopped at the curtain. There was no bell, no signs, nothing to use to announce his presence. He wondered what the polite protocol was for gaining admission.

“Steg de Coeur.” The speaker had a soft, feminine voice with an unexpected vibrancy. He suspected it was electronically enhanced. “Please enter. Your presence is welcome, if unexpected.”

Steg pushed aside the curtain and entered the room. It was furnished as a small sitting room, with six soft and inviting chairs, two small tables, lighted incense sticks, and rugs hanging on the walls. Oil lamps provided a flickering illumination. The incense odor was stronger, almost oppressive. The rugs portrayed battle scenes of individual death and destruction; they were separate and smaller replicas of the scenes on the corridor walls. The ceiling was painted black. The floor was decorated with a large and extremely lifelike painting of an inferno. He looked down and it seemed the flames were reaching up, enveloping his legs. He shook his head and looked away. The multidimensional challenge of the flames faded.

An alien stepped out from behind a curtain at the end of the room; he did not recognize her species. Her face was heavily made up with a red ochre or colored dye applied to her cheeks and lips. Her head was wide; her brow was heavy and overhung her face. Her mouth extended from one side of her head to the other, and when she smiled, Steg saw two serried rows of gleaming white teeth, pointed and sharp. Her tongue was split, lizard-like, and it flicked out and back as she walked towards Steg. She wore a heavy gown-like garment; it reached to the floor, covering and hiding her body. He was unable to see her legs or feet, and her hands were hidden inside the folds of her long sleeves.

“Yes, I’m Steg de Coeur.”

“As I said, welcome.” Her tongue flicked out and back again. “As you probably realize, I am a handmaiden of Charion, god of war and eternal life. You may address me as ‘Priestess’, if you like. What can I do for you?”

Steg wondered if the priestess was able to smile. Her facial structure and expression was dark, foreboding, and almost threatening. He restrained a shiver of unease.

“Priestess, I am seeking one of your followers, Colonel Attwood.”

“Aah. My dear colonel. He’s a troubled man. No, I haven’t seen him for at least twenty-four hours. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No. Nothing else.” Steg began to back out of the room, observing, as he moved, changes in the floor painting. It now showed skeletons, warriors, trying to climb away from the center of the vivid red inferno, up and over the edge of the painting, into the room. He stepped backwards, brushing past the entrance screen and into the corridor. He sensed the priestess was a threat of some kind. He turned and walked back along the corridor, glad he was returning to the more frequented areas of the starship. He couldn’t help his reaction: he shivered.

As he returned along the painted corridor, he sensed an electronic disturbance and searched for the source. He contacted the commander on his comunit.

“Gillespie.”

“Commander, the Charion priestess has access to a powerful computer with external communication capabilities. Can you arrange for Engineering to disconnect power to her area of the starship? Leave her with enough for minimal domestic needs.”

“Certainly. Did you find the missing colonel?”

“No. I take it Dean’s search has also been fruitless?”

“You may. Two teams are still searching. So far without success.”

“I’ll join them and see what’s happening.”

Steg caught up with one of the search teams. It was led by Sergeant Riddell, and he and three marines, all with heavy weapons, were in continuous communication with the second team led by Kirby as they searched along corridors and checked unused and vacant cabins and empty storage bays.

“No sign of our missing officers?” Steg asked.

“No, sir. No trace, anywhere.”

“Has anyone checked the shuttles?”

“Do you think?”

“It’s a possibility if no one’s seen them. They can’t just disappear. Perhaps our missing passengers want to join with the Xesset. The colonel probably thinks he can steal a shuttle and contact the Xesset and warn them of our ambush. It’ll be his death, if he tries. He doesn’t understand they’ll either kill him and his friends or use them as slaves.”

“You know these Xesset?”

“I helped in freeing a planet captured by them.”

“Tough?”

“Very. The inhabitants were regarded as slaves and the Xesset killed them out of hand if they disobeyed.”

“We’ll make sure we win against them, sir. I’ll continue the search along this corridor and when we’ve finished, I’ll report to Captain Dean. I agree, we should check the shuttles.”

“Good. Be prepared for stupid behavior. They may try desperation tactics. Something like opening a lock while you’re searching the shuttle bay.”

“We’ll seal the bays first, in case of tricks like that, and set the locks to manual. They’ll be forced to have someone exit their shuttle to open the lock doors.”

“Good. Tell Dean I’ll be on the bridge. Keep me informed.”

“Yessir.”

Chapter 21

The starship was running quiet, and the subdued voices of the bridge shift added emphasis to everyone’s concerns when Dean joined Steg on the bridge.

The young captain said, “I heard there’s no sign of our missing colonel.”

Steg replied, “No. I checked with their priestess. That was an experience. She’s certainly portraying a corner of some kind of warrior hell. Unfortunately, he wasn’t there.”

The commander sniffed and said, “I can smell Charion incense.”

“It was in full flow when I entered her quarters. I think she has cameras monitoring the corridor so she can prepare for visitors.”

“Engineering has cut off her power. You were correct. We checked the power usage records. There’s been some hefty power drains, so she has something happening there. As you said, either computing or communications, or both. I’ve made a decision to have her removed when we get to the next way station.”

“Time to clean ship, yes?” Thi Baan, the chief engineer said.

“Definitely,” Gillespie confirmed. “So where do you think our colonel is hiding?”

Dean said, “I’ve instructed Riddell and Kirby to check the shuttles. They may be hiding aboard one, waiting for an opportunity to exit. I can imagine Attwood thinks he can do a deal with the Xesset, even more so if he reveals our ambush.”

“Damn the man,” Gillespie said. “What’s happened to him? He’s been an effective leader until recently.”

“When did the Charion priestess join the ship?” Steg asked.

The commander reflected for a moment. “Two years ago. It was after we completed Monty’s modifications for his tank habitat. Attwood invited her. I suspect now Monty may have managed it somehow. She kept very much to herself. She had only four or five followers, I believe. The Charion philosophy doesn’t appeal to many—it’s all death and destruction.”

“So the colonel’s had two years or so of combined Monty and Charion influences, to which we can add the Xesset effect. There’s your nexus.”

“You’re probably right.” She shrugged. “Nothing we can do now, except clear the ship. Can Kirby let us know when he’s ready to check the shuttles?”

Dean said, “I’ve arranged it with the two teams.”

The shuttle bay cameras relayed their images to the wide screen in front of Gillespie. She and the bridge team concentrated on the display. Kirby and Riddell with their two teams had entered the shuttle bay and sealed the hefty doors that gave the craft their access to space. The men took only minutes to shut off the automated and electronic controls, and now the doors would require manual intervention before they could be opened. Three shuttles were parked in the bay, tethered with tie downs, silent and still, all seemingly unoccupied. A whining alarm, announcing lack of air in the bay, was audible on the bridge.

Sergeant Riddell, accompanied by armored marines, approached the first shuttle and plugged a lead into a communication port beside the rear entry door. This connection gave him visual and audio access to the shuttle’s internal systems. He included the bridge in his audience as he as he broadcast his message.

“This is Riddell. The bay doors are sealed and manually locked down. All the air has been pumped out of the bay. I’m going to open the rear door of shuttle three. Please advise if anyone is on board before I do so.”

The sergeant waited for a minute. No one responded to his message. He keyed in the manual code. The door swung wide. He ordered two marines forward, and they entered the shuttle. After three or four minutes they exited the craft and conferred briefly with the sergeant. He closed the shuttle door.

He updated the bridge. “Empty. Kirby, your turn—check shuttle two.”

Kirby and his team moved forward to the adjacent shuttle. Riddell held his team back, their weapons at the ready.

Before Kirby reached the second small spacecraft, its rear door swung open and two men jumped out, with weapons firing haphazardly, presumably targeting the approaching team. Kirby immediately returned fire. The two attackers fell, wounded, and were surrounded by four Ebony Company marines. A third man exited the shuttle, his hands raised. It was the missing colonel. He was followed by Major Fowler, also with his hands in the air. All were wearing oxygen masks.

“I think Kirby found the missing men. I wonder what they thought they were doing. I’m going to the bay,” Dean said.

“I’ll come with you,” Steg said. “Commander, we’ll provide an update as soon as we have details.”

Steg and Dean waited for Kirby and his captives to exit the shuttle bay via the air lock. The marines were carrying or assisting the two wounded officers. Four Fain from the medical unit were also waiting; they were tasked with triaging the wounded men and escorting them to the medical unit. They had rushed to the lock with two gurneys when they heard details of the encounter. The third person through the lock was Colonel Attwood and finally Fowler; they both were wearing restraints. When Attwood saw Steg, he voiced an explosive diatribe.

“You. This is all your fault. If you hadn’t criticized Monty, we’d still be working with him. Now two of my fellow officers are injured. It’s all your fault.” He caught sight of Dean. “And you, you’re a traitor, too. I’ll have you all shot.”

One of the Fain touched Attwood on the arm, and he quietened in seconds. She held up a blast injector for Steg to see and then escorted the now subdued colonel towards the medical unit. She was speaking to him with a soft soothing voice. He seemed to have forgotten all about Steg and Dean. Kirby and his team accompanied the two senior officers and their Fain attendants to the medical unit.

“They’ll need to keep him under observation,” Steg said. “He’s lost his props. We’ve taken away his power base. He may need professional help. We’ll have to arrange treatment for him when he leaves Wasp.”

“Agreed. Sad, I think. I’ve worked with him for nearly three years.”

Steg turned his attention to Riddell. “Any idea why they reacted like that?”

“No, sir. They were stupid. That’s all I can say. Stupid. They’re not experienced enough to succeed with an attack against armored men. When Kirby returned fire, he tried not to kill them. Unfortunately, the young lieutenant may not survive. The other one will live, according to the Fain.”

“Both teams did well. Write up your report. Ask Kirby to do the same. If either of you need to debrief with myself or Captain Dean, we’ll be available.”

“Thank you, sir.” Riddell and his team rushed to catch up with the Fain who were guiding the gurneys transporting the two wounded men.

“Your men did a good job,” Gillespie said to Steg and Dean when eventually they returned to the bridge. “The young officers are lucky to be alive. Kirby could’ve killed them both. I’ve read the preliminary report from the medics plus the action reports from the two sergeants. It seems Attwood’s in need of psychiatric care, which is beyond our capabilities. We’ll arrange treatment for him when we complete this contract.”

“It’s a pity. He’s been a good leader of the Stingers.”

“I agree. We’ll need to rethink their future after this contract. With luck, we won’t have any more trouble.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’ve a suggestion for you. You’re more aware of Fain capabilities then most of us. Could one of the Fain persuade Monty’s surviving wife to talk with us?”

“An interesting idea. I’ll see what they think. I’m going to confine the priestess to her quarters. I’ll have Dean position a twenty-four hour guard on the access corridor. Do we have anything else to worry about?”

“Only two Xesset starships due to arrive in about four hours.”

“A minor issue.”

The alarm sounded three hours later, an hour before the expected arrival of the two Xesset fighters. Steg swung off his bunk and hit the reply button.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Can you come to the bridge? One of our shuttles just launched. I suspect it’s our passengers. Or, I should say, our ex-passengers. I’m running security tapes to check.”

“On the way. Contact Dean.” Steg covered the distance to the bridge in record time and joined the commander and her senior team. Dean arrived seconds later.

“What happened?” Steg asked.

“We’re gathering the details. Minutes ago the shuttle powered up, the bay door dropped, and they launched. It seems the Charion priestess left her cabin before the guards were in position. We think she released Attwood and his men. Anyway, they’ve all gone. Two Fain nurses who were on duty were knocked unconscious. Stacia says there’s a strong incense odor in the medical unit.”

“Damn. We should have been more alert,” the mercenary captain said.

“I didn’t think the priestess would rescue her followers. That’s a surprise,” Steg said.

“We’re tracking the shuttle. They’ve hit the burners, and I think they’re preparing to jump.”

“See if Weapons can get an idea of their heading,” Steg suggested. “Can Security tell us who’s in the shuttle? They may have taken Monty’s widow, if you can check?”

They all watched the security tape replay. A relatively tiny space-suited cephalopod figure accompanied the Charion priestess to the shuttle bay. A few moments later, Attwood wheeled in a gurney carrying the seriously injured lieutenant. He was assisted by the other lieutenant and Major Fowler. The colonel unlocked the shuttle door release and waited while his companions boarded the shuttle, two of them controlling progress of the gurney. Attwood followed them up the small shuttle gangway. Within minutes the bay doors opened and the shuttle launched.

The commander said to Steg, “Damn. You’re right. That’s a full house. If it wasn’t for our need to remain hidden here, I’d pursue and shoot them down.”

Steg said, “We can assume they’ll intercept the Xesset. This is going to get interesting.”

“We’ll reposition Wasp; this location’s compromised,” the commander said.

There was a flurry of activity as the bridge team leapt into action to move the starship to a new location.

Weapons reported, “We’ve managed to get a heading on their first jump. I can confirm their course is intended to intercept the Xesset.”

The commander said to Steg. “We should’ve tightened security.”

“I agree,” Steg said. He turned to Dean. “Do you think the priestess’s dose of incense may have been more than merely smoke? Could she have used a drug to influence us? Normally, I would’ve had someone like her under guard and locked away, with a far stronger security net around Attwood. Likewise for Monty’s widow.”

“Hmm. It certainly feels like a forced failure. I agree we were excessively lax, and I can’t account for it. I suspect you’re right. However, we’d need a forensics expert to determine whether we’ve been influenced by a narcotic.”

Commander Gillespie said, “I’ll arrange for Engineering to scrub our air, in case there’s a lingering effect. It’ll take the best part of a shift.” She turned her attention back to her Helm who was preparing to move Wasp.

Thirty minutes later the starship was in her new location, and the three remote drone sensors’ narrow beam communication links had been re-focused.

“Commander, I was certain I’d only have to do this maneuver once in my lifetime. I hope this is the last. I don’t think my nerves will cope with a third time.” Aadan wiped her brow, theatrically.

“Very neatly done, I must say,” Gillespie said. “You’re improving with practice. I’ll try not to inflict a third time.” Wasp was now using the shelter of a gigantic and slowly tumbling asteroid. Other rocks, some larger, some smaller, presumably the remnants of a past planetary disaster, were moving together with their protector, forming a stream tens of millions of klicks long and almost a million klicks wide and deep.

Gillespie instructed, “Weapons, I want our shields up, now. The Xesset may be delayed for a short time while they meet up and confer with Attwood, but they’ll be visiting us shortly.”

Tension on Wasp’s bridge increased as the minutes threaded their way towards the expected arrival time of the two Xesset starships. The Weapons team anxiously checked the drone communication links for the tenth time. Steg located himself at a spare command module, and, ignoring the surrounding turmoil as the bridge crew prepared for action, sat back and closed his eyes.

He reached out past the drones, searching for a trace of the familiar evil that heralded the Xesset. Steg felt the passive traces from the waiting sensors and moved past them. He ignored the call of nearby stars and evaded the shrieks from the swarm of asteroids sheltering Wasp. There were whispers from strange, possibly intelligent, entities, far too remote to explore. There was no trace of the Xesset starships. He waited, his eyes closed, his mind floating in space.

Almost to the second of the time estimated by Rose Curtis, the Weapons team leader, two starships burst out of their s-t transit. Their arrival was followed by a third, smaller, signal. Steg assumed it was the fleeing shuttle, returning in company with the Xesset. He estimated the starships had broken out of their s-t jump at least two light minutes distant from Wasp’s current position, near to its initial hiding place. The Xesset craft were close together, which surprised him; he had expected them to approach from different directions. Presumably they wanted to present themselves as a more powerful force. However, the two starships together were easier to locate.

Steg returned his focus to the bridge, opened his eyes, and said to Rose, “The Xesset have arrived. They’re traveling with a third craft—it’s smaller. I assume it’s our missing shuttle.” He provided the proximate location, a three-dimensional reference point. The bridge crew no longer expressed surprise at Steg’s abilities, and one of the Weapons team entered in the coordinates and quickly confirmed the presence of the starships. The team re-directed the general directive array of the sensors, focusing them on the Xesset location, tracking the alien ships as they moved towards the asteroid swarm.

“They’ll be in range of our weapons in approximately ten minutes at their current speed, assuming a turnover if they’re planning on decelerating so they can search for us. If they do a fly past, they’ll be here sooner,” said the Weapons team leader. “I’ll update as they get closer. The third vessel is our shuttle; I did a passive check of its responder.” She entered a command on her workstation and the larger screen in front of the bridge refreshed the displayed starchart to include the relative positions of Wasp and the other craft.

One of the Weapons team, monitoring signals from the passive sensors, interrupted, almost shouting. He said, “Commander, we have indications of a large starship, destroyer size, just breaking out of s-t. Origin unknown. It’s close to the Xesset ships.” The display refreshed automatically, adding the newcomer to the starships seeking Wasp.

Chapter 22

The Alliance captain was a big, burly man, his rough beard hiding a number of scars resulting from starship mishaps and possibly other more youthful misadventures. The stories were hidden in Admiralty files, although rumors embellished the truth to an alarming degree. Now he, Captain Richard Montrose, was more mature and commanded an Alliance destroyer, Defender. He and the warship’s crew were creating an unexpected storm as they carried out anti-piracy sweeps across this edge of the Fury Nebula. His ears itched—a silent signal his suspicions were correct: they were about to encounter more pirates.

He sat in front of a huge semi-spherical viewscreen, relaxed, as his bridge crew prepared to exit their s-t jump. A substantial number of his crew had worked with him for almost two years and their group performance was always professional. Their achievement scores continued to be impressive, raising some envious comments in the inner reaches of the Admiralty. These results served to make him drive his crew harder, and they all enjoyed the challenge.

“I want to see the position of every starship inside five light minutes, within thirty seconds of exit,” he reminded his Tactical team.

“Yes, sir,” replied Jessie Brent. The young commander was totally unfazed by the pressure the skipper was applying. She spoke softly to her team. “Fifteen seconds or you’ll pay my bar bill for the next week.”

“What was that, Tac?” questioned the skipper.

“Just reminding my team, sir.”

“And you’ll pay mine, if it’s more than twenty seconds,” he whispered, sotto voce, yet loud enough for the bridge to hear.

“Damn. I mean, yes, sir.” There was a soft round of laughter across the bridge, quickly silenced as the skipper raised his head, as though seeking a miscreant.

The watch navigator began counting down the seconds to re-entry into normal space, adding to the tension on the bridge. “Re-entry,” he marked, and commenced a second count to add to the pressure on the Tac team. “…13…14…15…16…17…18…”

“Sir, we have two small starships and a smaller craft, possibly a shuttle. There are some anomalies my team wish to check,” reported the Tac commander. She posted the positions and descriptions on the huge screen.

“What are the anomalies?” asked the captain.

“There are three passive sensors. At least, that’s what we’ve identified. We’re stripping their data. They appear to be focused on a location inside the asteroid stream, which could mean there’s a ship lurking there.”

“Find it.”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded. “Tell your team well done. I suggest you pick up their bar bill next off shift.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a brief outburst of cheers from the Tac team, quickly silenced in response to the captain’s frown. Their commander continued, “Sir, they’re definitely sensors, Imperial origin, modified. We suspect there’s a ship in this portion of the stream, possibly tumbling with this rock.” She circled the section of the asteroid belt on the screen display. “It’s large enough to shadow a small vessel. We’ll keep searching for it.” She paused to listen to one of her team members. “The two starships are alien. Their species is unlisted. We don’t have details of their craft.”

“Hail the aliens in Standard. Tell them we want to know who they are, where they’re from, and what they’re doing here.”

The Tac commander recorded a brief message and set it to transmit on two frequencies. Her team watched and listened for a response.

“Sir, we’ve detected and recorded a narrow beam exchange between the shuttle and one of the alien starships. There’s a two-minute delay. The exchange is in Standard.”

“Replay.”

“Yes, sir.” The bridge crew listened to the exchange of message.

“Attwood to X One. That’s an Alliance destroyer. Suggest you respond to their hail.”

“X One. They have no jurisdiction here. We will continue searching for our target.”

“Attwood to X One. Can you take us on board? We’re exposed, here.”

“I have another solution.”

“Sir, we’ve detected a particle beam firing by one of the alien ships. It destroyed the shuttle.”

“Put me on the frequency used in their exchange.”

“Yes, sir. You’re on, now.”

“Alliance destroyer Defender to starship X One. We’ve recorded an unlawful attack by your craft on an unidentified shuttle. Stand to and prepare to be boarded. This is a legal order permitted by Alliance-Imperial and related treaties. Defender out.”

The bridge waited; it was almost as though everyone was holding their breath. After a wait of almost four minutes, the alien starship responded.

“X One to Alliance destroyer. You have no authority over us or our systems. We are busy, with urgent matters to attend to.”

Montrose raised his head to examine the viewscreen. “Which ship destroyed the shuttle?” he asked the Tac commander.

Jessie marked the starship on her monitor, and the viewscreen displayed one of the alien vessels circled in red.

“Good.” Montrose entered a code in the small keypad on his command station. “Action log. Captain Montrose. My executive decision, based on evidence contained in the bridge log of even date and time, is to destroy the starship, which attacked an unarmed shuttle, killing its occupants, without any apparent legal basis. If the second alien starship does not comply with my orders, we will destroy it, also. End action log.”

He turned to the bridge. “Prepare for action. Master Gunner, ready tubes one and two. You’re authorized to use beams and grasers for offensive fire. Helm, alter our course and head five degrees to port of the marked starship. Accelerate to point five. Tac, prepare a firing schedule for two missiles. Shields up. Implement.” His commands were acknowledged in turn by each team leader.

The destroyer moved forward as though at a snail’s pace, at an almost imperceptible speed in the vastness of its operating theater. However, instruments on the bridge reported a different story. The Alliance starship leapt into its accelerated motion, turning to take the position instructed by Montrose. The Helm team monitored progress of Defender as it accelerated towards the target, and Tactical watched for changes in the position of their target. The distance was too short for the destroyer to reach the speed indicated by the skipper, and it would be still be accelerating when it reached a suitable firing position for its attack on the alien starship. Their speed would reduce the effectiveness of any response from the aliens.

They were half way to the target starship when the Tac commander said, “Sir, the alien ship has begun to move away. She’s showing remarkable acceleration.”

“Helm, go to point eight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re overtaking her,” confirmed the Tac commander.

“Missiles ready, sir,” said the Master Gunner. “Our defensive shields are fully deployed.”

“The second starship has changed course, possibly to position itself to attack us from behind,” said Tactical.

“Missile one launched. Contact expected in fifteen seconds. Missile two launched.”

The missiles could accelerate to fifty thousand KPS in ten seconds and reach double that in fifteen. While they were not capable of exceeding light speed, given a long chase they could give it a good fright. The bridge teams watched as the plot displayed on the huge viewscreen showed the tracks of the alien ships and the missiles fired by Defender, the latter projected to coincide with the fleeing starship in less than sixty seconds.

“Sir, the second starship is moving into an attack position,” warned Jessie Brent.

“Master Gunner, take out the second alien starship.”

“Yes, sir.” The Master Gunner paused, checking his display. “Missile one has made contact. Shields destroyed. Missile two is impacting…now. The first alien starship is out of control, streaming wreckage and atmosphere. Graser team reports the second starship has been destroyed. Just scattered debris remaining.”

“Tell your team I said well done. Right, everyone, let’s find this hidden starship.”

The bridge crew, comfortable in the evidence of their superiority, prepared to intensify their search for the ship they suspected was somewhere in the asteroid belt. The destroyer moved closer to the stream of tumbling rocks, some mountain size, to allow the searchers to focus more resources on their task. They were confident of success.

Chapter 23

The bridge team on Wasp watched and listened, entranced, as the destroyer made itself known to the Xesset. The Weapons team had tapped into the Alliance starship’s transmissions and was relaying these to the bridge.

“That is one large piece of work,” said Rose Curtis to her team. “I hope we don’t have to take it on.”

“Keep focus,” cautioned the commander. “Our stealth shields are good. We’re not likely to be attacked by them—they’re Alliance and there’s a Sicca-Alliance treaty, which provides for Siccan letters of marque.”

“They’ve detected our remote sensors. They stripped all their data,” advised one of the communications team. “They’re efficient.”

Weapons said, “They can probably triangulate on the tight beam orientation and work out where we are. At least approximately.”

“Comms, prepare a message package. Include our ID and the Sicca letter of marque. We’ll send that if they challenge us.”

Steg said, “Commander, I suggest you include a summary of our knowledge of the Xesset. The Alliance skipper may appreciate the additional information.”

“Should we tell him of the third ship?” Gillespie asked.

“Let’s see what dialogue we get into.”

Wasp’s bridge team watched the almost clinical destruction of the two Xesset starships. The scattered debris and tumbling portions of what once were aggressive military-style starships attested to the Alliance starship’s battle efficiency. Steg was inclined to reach out to the destroyer, to assess its systems and possibly to take control if the Alliance starship posed a threat. After a short internal debate, he restrained himself. The destroyer’s skipper, if he detected such an intrusion, could take it as a threat of enemy action, possibly causing him to deal with Wasp in the same manner he had dealt with the Xesset.

“The Alliance destroyer is heading this way,” advised Weapons. “She’s got a good estimate of where we are.”

“Hold tight. Maintain external electronic shutdown. Keep our shields at full power,” the commander instructed.

The approaching starship’s position was being updated continuously on the display, and the bridge was silent as everyone watched the progress of the destroyer towards Wasp. The Alliance starship commenced a transmission as it approached.

“This is Alliance destroyer Defender to unidentified starship. We know you are hiding somewhere in this asteroid belt, presumably to escape or ambush the two alien starships we destroyed. If your presence is legitimate, you will respond. Otherwise we’ll assume you’re engaged in illicit activities. If so, you will be arrested or destroyed. Respond now. Defender out.”

The transmission looped. Steg and Commander Gillespie exchanged an unspoken agreement. The commander said, “Comms, transmit the data package.” The transmission included ownership details of Wasp, of members of the starship’s command and the mercenary officers, and a copy of their letter of marque.

The destroyer’s transmission stopped some seconds after Wasp’s data transmission began. There as a short period of silence, presumably while the Alliance bridge crew examined the contents of Wasp’s transmission.

“Defender to Wasp, This is Captain Montrose. I accept your credentials subject to my team physically checking your ship. Please exit the asteroid belt and drop your shields. You have my personal undertaking that Defender will not fire on you, unless you do something stupid. Defender out.”

Aadan again took helm responsibility and slowly edged Wasp out of the tumbling stream of mountainous rocks. At the commander’s signal, she ceased the starship’s forward motion once she had moved the ship into the relative safety of open space. Weapons then cut the shields. The Alliance destroyer moved from its position and headed closer to Wasp.

“Defender to Wasp. Well done. You have a proficient helm. We’re readying a shuttle and will be at your bay in thirty. Please ensure neither arms nor force are raised against our team. We don’t want to lose men or destroy your starship. Defender out.”

Steg and Captain Dean with their two senior sergeants, Kirby and Riddell, waited for the Alliance team at the lock leading out of the shuttle bay. The four men were unarmed although they were wearing exo-armor. Steg thought the precaution was prudent. He had issued an order that no weapons were to be brought into the presence of the Alliance team. Commander Gillespie had protested—she wanted one of her marines on the bridge, armed. Steg reluctantly agreed and had advised the Alliance captain of Wasp commander’s decision to have her bridge guarded, as a matter of prudence, not as a potential threat to the Alliance team. The need had been accepted, with cautions.

Two heavily armed Alliance Marines exited the lock, apparently reported to their team and then stood to attention. Five more armored personnel followed. The apparent Alliance team leader looked at the small group waiting for them and dropped his faceplate.

“Captain de Coeur?”

Steg identified himself and followed with an exchange of introductions.

Steg said, “I’ll lead the way to the bridge conference room. Commander Gillespie is waiting for us.”

He introduced the commander after the Alliance team entered the conference room. They sat at the table, the chairs almost overwhelmed by the weight of the Alliance armor.

“Commander,” said one of the visitors. He was bearded although the growth did not fully disguise the scars on his face.

One of his companions, the apparent team leader, moved as if to protest. “Sir—”

The speaker waved the team leader’s interruption aside. “Not, now, Tomkins. Commander Gillespie, I’m Richard Montrose, captain of Defender. I thought I’d honor your courtesy by accompanying my team. Also, I’m curious and want to hear your story first hand. After witnessing the alien starship’s murderous attack when it destroyed the shuttle, I have some understanding of why you were sheltering in the asteroid belt. Now, tell me more.”

Commander Gillespie said, “Thank you. In brief, we, that is, Wasp officers and crew, together with some two hundred and fifty troops, constitute a mercenary team authorized by Sicca. I included a copy of their letter of marque in the data pack we transmitted earlier, and I can show you the sealed original. We recently negotiated a contract with the government on Eo 3d to intercept a freighter heading their way. It’s loaded with heavy weapons and munitions intended for a rebel group that is challenging the authorities. The freighter is—was—under escort of three small alien starships. You destroyed two. We believe the aliens also were planning to take control of the planet.”

“Very succinct. Who was in the shuttle that the aliens destroyed?”

“That’s where the details get a little complex,” Steg said. “There’s some more background you should be aware of. Three years or so ago Wasp rescued a small group of aliens—cephalopods. They were accommodated on board and provided technical support to Wasp and to our military force. Unfortunately, they betrayed our operation to the Xesset; in return, the cephalopods wanted to gain possession of Wasp. The mercenary commander, Colonel Attwood, was also involved, possibly misled by his trust in the cephalopods—we detected message packets he sent on behalf of the cephalopods to the Xesset. We held a meeting and as a result of our majority vote, he and his three supporters resigned. I took charge of the military force. The colonel and his group disliked their new role as passengers. They attempted to steal a shuttle, and we had a minor engagement during which one of his group was injured. We had a Charion priestess on board, who was working with the cephalopods and assisting their attempt to takeover Wasp. Later, the colonel, his supporters, and the Charion priestess, together with the surviving cephalopod, succeeded in another attempt to steal a shuttle. We suspect they were planning to warn and join with the Xesset. Then you turned up.”

“Again, a succinct briefing. I hope you have log records to support these details?”

Steg replied, “We’ve produced a more detailed briefing pack and included comprehensive files—copies of bridge logs, videos, audio recordings, copies of unauthorized communications, everything we thought was relevant.” He hoped the Alliance visitors did not raise questions about how he had gained copies of the Xesset communications.

“Tell me about the surviving cephalopod,” the Alliance captain directed.

“When we discovered the communications between the Xesset and the cephalopods, we challenged the leader. He admitted his involvement to me; unbeknownst to him, our conversation was communicated to the entire ship—I was broadcasting our conversation live. We then had a minor on-board engagement when the cephalopods tried to take control of Wasp. Only one of the four cephalopods survived. Details including copies of operational reports are included in the second data pack, which we’ll send to you.”

“You’ve had an interesting few days,” said the visiting captain.

“It’s not finished,” Gillespie said. Dean nodded.

Steg explained, “We have to complete our contract with Eos—we’re required to stop the freighter reaching the rebels. If our data’s correct, there’s only one remaining Xesset starship to deal with, although Xesset might be on board and in control of the freighter. We’re also negotiating to remove the threat of the rebels on the planet.”

“Understood. I’ll have my teams examine the additional data you’re providing. If they raise questions, I’ll expect you to respond with answers, clarification, and so forth.”

“Of course.”

“Now, I’d like my team to examine your ship. We prefer to be aware of who is operating in regions we sometimes visit. It’s a case of know your enemies and your friends. If you can make some of your people available, too?”

Steg looked at the Alliance skipper and asked. “Can you clarify that last request?”

“Oh, we’d like to talk to some of your crew and the mercs, so we get to know you better. If everything you’ve told us here is above board, we don’t plan to engage in intensive cross-examination. No, it’s simply to understand who you are.”

“I can make Dean available. There are two sergeants whom you’ve met. We have a Fain medical team. I’m sure they’ll be forthright.”

“Fain? A medical team? On board?” Apparently the Alliance captain had not expected to hear of Fain involvement.

“Yes, and they’re trained and experienced to surgeon level.”

“Interesting, indeed. Yes, we’ll talk to one or two of your Fain.” He turned to Commander Gillespie. “What about your bridge officers? You have a tactical team?”

She replied, “Weapons. Yes, you can meet with my Weapons lead. However, while I understand why you’re proposing these meetings, I want all of them recorded, and I want a member of our senior team involved in each meeting.”

Steg said, “I agree.”

The Alliance captain laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Let’s plan this together now, so we don’t interfere with your internal operations. In the meantime, I’ll arrange to send a copy of your second briefing pack to my security team on Defender for them to review.”

Chapter 24

“That seemed to go well,” said Dean after the shuttle had returned to the destroyer. The Alliance captain and his men had conducted their interviews—“discussions,” they had called them—and seemed satisfied with their intelligence gathering.

“Perhaps. They were far too affable.” Steg shook his head. “The captain—Montrose—is a very smooth operator. I think Wasp’s been contaminated by tracking and listening devices, courtesy of the Alliance team. Tell the men you want them to search everywhere for listening devices, even places the Alliance visitors didn’t check. They shouldn’t destroy anything—we need a map of what the team left behind, first, and then we can determine our response. Let Gillespie know what you’re doing. She’ll want some of her experts working with you. I’m going to be in my cabin for a while.”

Steg was curious to discover, if he could, the reactions and conclusions of the Alliance team and their destroyer captain. He suspected two of the visitors were highly skilled security spooks; their interview approach had been professional. Fortunately, everything the visitors heard and observed had born out the details contained in the briefing packs. He settled back in his bunk and relaxed, seeking the mental state that permitted him to reach out, far beyond the boundaries of his cabin.

The Alliance starship, internally, was a mass of electronic activity. Little of its chatter and random data leaked out beyond the bounds of the vessel, and Steg suspected that when Defender engaged its shields, it would be as difficult to find as Wasp, if not more so. He spent time looking for communication devices, seeking a way to tap into Defender’s electronics systems in order to hear even casual conversations.

At last he discovered a small device located on the bridge, which provided visual and audio possibilities; he determined it was a monitor long superseded and probably forgotten, a surprising omission for what seemed a well-disciplined starship. That worried him—perhaps the device was intended to be found by anyone able to penetrate the starship’s electronic defenses. There might be a telltale indicating to Defender’s security team that he was eavesdropping. He stayed connected to the device while he continued to search for other methods of obtaining information, and he also watched as the destroyer prepared to get underway. The captain’s intention, it seemed, was for the starship to resume its anti-piracy patrol.

Steg had his doubts. As the starship began to prepare for s-t penetration, he released the device. He had worked out how to tap into the internal intercom function without triggering any telltales. He had also found the files produced by the captain and the small boarding party when they returned to their ship; he planned on copying and then reviewing them in depth after the Alliance destroyer departed. He listened to the bridge conversation.

“Sir, their eavesdropper has released our AV unit. I think they’d have difficulties maintaining a link at this distance—we’re now over five light minutes away from Wasp.” Steg assumed the speaker was a security officer.

“They’ve damned good equipment to link in here the first place. We missed that aspect of their abilities.” Steg recognized the captain’s voice.

“Yes, sir. My guess is de Coeur has some electronic skills—or someone in his team does, whom we didn’t meet. That’s the only way they could’ve intercepted some of the messages they provided to us. He’s good. He’s managed to take over that mercenary unit in a few months. They’re disciplined and loyal. A rare combination.” It was the same security voice.

“And those Fain—I wouldn’t like to be operated on by any of those if I was against de Coeur.” It was another voice; it belonged to one of the team members who had led the interview discussions.

“Just make sure you are never in that situation, McPhee,” said the captain.

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re far enough out to make our jump. Helm, use the course Astro prepared—let’s go visit that freighter. We can stand off to see if Wasp makes an appearance. Tac, make sure we’re not detected by either the aliens or by our new friends, when they arrive. Come on, let’s go.”

Another voice said, “Jumping in 5…4…3…2…”

Steg withdrew before the starship began its s-t transit. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he was linked to their system when that transition took place. He now had copies of the Alliance reports, and planned to spend time reviewing their contents and conclusions. Assuming always that the files he discovered were not plants—they hadn’t been encrypted, again a surprising omission for such a professional operation.

His later review of the Alliance files disclosed nothing to raise a red flag. The team that had visited Wasp had produced reports along the lines he expected. They described Wasp and the Stingers as a legitimate mercenary group operating under the Sicca letter of marque, currently contracted to Eos. There were some almost disparaging remarks about the likely effectiveness of such a small team; however, the assessment had not included an analysis of the Stingers’ exo-armor, nor of the weapons and shields available to Wasp. They had concluded their reports with a recommendation, signed off by the Alliance captain, that the destroyer would divert its patrol to the location of the freighter and monitor the operations of Wasp and its small mercenary team, unless more urgent matters arose.

Good to know, thought Steg. Wasp needs to take care. Neither the starship nor its mercenaries should go in shooting—their approach had to be legal.

Commander Gillespie called the strategy meeting. Steg and Dean attended, representing the Stingers. The starship was represented by the commander together with her Weapons, Systems and Astro team leads. At Steg’s suggestion, Stacia of Fain was also invited; the Fain, he had said, should have representation if they were being committed to a strategy that impacted them.

Gillespie said, “We expect to exit s-t in approximately four hours where we’ll be on the edge of the Eos system. If our navigation team is as good as it should be, we’ll be a day ahead of the freighter and its escort. Be aware, based on Steg’s information, Defender will be in the region, too.”

“How do we justify stopping the freighter?” asked Stacia.

“We’ve been authorized by the Eos authorities to act as their customs inspectors. We can stop and check any vessel heading into their territory. The freighter—it’s called Djamu and is registered with the Grange system. It’s a typical flag carrier—the crew are not Grangians—and has registered its destination as Eos. The crew is mixed, with some Terrans, including the skipper and two other bridge officers. The Xesset starship has not declared any destination.”

“So we sit and wait for the freighter?” asked Rose Curtis, the Weapons lead.

“Yes. We’ll request Djamu to stop and allow us to board for a customs inspection. There is a probability the Xesset will attack us at that point. Alternatively, they may be cautious; they’ve lost their two companions. We’ll have to be ready for almost anything.”

Steg said, “We know Eos has not issued an import license for military supplies or weapons. So, if we find any, it gives us a reason to arrest the freighter and take possession of the shipment. We expect our actions, at least, will trigger an attack by the aliens, assuming they’ve been passive to that point.”

“Have you decided who’ll lead the boarding party?” Gillespie asked.

Steg said, ‘Yes, it’s my responsibility.”

“I offered to arm wrestle,” Dean said. “He refused.”

Steg smiled. He had used his experience of fighting Xesset forces to reinforce his claim. Dean had agreed, reluctantly.

Steg said, “There may be Xesset on the freighter, either hidden or generally at large. If so, they could attempt to repel us when we first board, or let us go about our inspection and try to ambush us later. We’re using three teams, twenty marines in each. Kirby and Riddell will lead two. I’ll lead the third. Dean will have the remainder of our mercenary force at the ready here, on Wasp, in case the aliens try to board her. We’re going to review our tactics after this meeting. We’ll be armored and fully—and I mean fully—armed. If the Xesset attack, we must overwhelm them immediately.”

“Do we have any more questions?” Gillespie asked her bridge team. “No? Very well. Steg and Dean, I’ll let you go meet with your mercenaries. Stacia, you should brief your team. I want to discuss tactics with Rose and Lessa.”

Chapter 25

“Wasp to Djamu. Please acknowledge.”

Commander Gillespie had taken over communications on the bridge of Wasp. The starship was half a million klicks ahead of the freighter, moving slowly to an interception point. Two shuttles, fully shielded, had launched earlier from Wasp and were now in a holding position about a thousand klicks off the freighter. The Xesset vessel was holding position about a hundred thousand klicks away from its charge. The bridge team had not been able to discover the whereabouts of the Alliance destroyer; however, they were continuing to search.

The freighter was slow to respond. Eventually a signal reached Wasp. “Yeah, this is Djamu. Whatja want?”

“Wasp to Djamu. We’re Eos Customs. I’m transmitting our credentials. Prepare to be boarded for an inspection.”

This time the delay was even longer. “Like hell we will. Go jump into the nearest star.”

“Wasp to Djamu. I recommend co-operation. In less than five minutes you will have entered Eos jurisdiction. Either prepare to be boarded or turn back. I’m transmitting another copy of our credentials and a copy of the relevant regulations. If you continue on past our jurisdictional border without allowing our team to board, expect one of our missiles to impact somewhere between your bridge and your engine room.”

This time the wait was not as long. In the meantime the Xesset starship had drawn ahead of the freighter.

“This is Djamu. We’re carrying an important shipment of medical and hospital supplies for your planet. It’s required urgently. We can’t afford the delay your inspection will cause. People will die.”

Gillespie ignored the message from Djamu. Her concern was the Xesset ship.

“Wasp to unidentified escort of Djamu. You are entering Eos jurisdiction. Do not interfere with authorized and legal activities of Customs inspectors. Remain at least five hundred thousand klicks away from Djamu. Wasp out.”

The Xesset did not reply, although the vessel slowed and stopped its approach towards Djamu. The freighter had also slowed. Steg comlinked with Commander Gillespie. He said, “Commander, the Xesset and the freighter are in communication, trying to work out a response to our demands. The freighter captain’s requesting permission to allow us to board. He thinks he can bribe us. The Xesset are objecting.”

“Good. I’ll continue to maintain pressure on the freighter.”

Gillespie followed up with another transmission, “Wasp to Djamu. Send a copy of your manifest. Do not proceed further without our permission. Prepare to be boarded for inspection now.”

The two starships, Wasp and Djamu, had come almost to a stop. Steg was tempted to instruct his two-shuttle force to move up to the freighter, but decided instead to hold off until the Xesset ship was further away.

After a long delay, the freighter replied, “Damn you. All right, come and carry out your inspection. It’ll be your job that’s at risk when your bosses hear you’ve delayed us.”

“Wasp to Djamu. Tell your friend to back off. I want at least half a million klicks between it and you, is that clear?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

A shuttle launched from the Xesset ship; Steg assumed it contained reinforcements for the freighter. “Commander, I need Weapons to fire a warning shot in front of that shuttle. We want them to back off.”

“Sure, Weapons can handle that. We’ll provide a colorful demonstration. Weapons, you heard. Scorch the nose of that Xesset shuttle.”

Seconds later the flare of a graser blast lit up the region around the Xesset shuttle. The beam must have shaved the heat shield off the front of the small craft, Steg thought. It tumbled until eventually its pilot brought it back under control, and it immediately returned to dock with the Xesset starship.

“Wasp to Djamu. I said tell your friend to back off. I now want them a million klicks away. Any attempt by them to bring up shields or use weapons will attract my attention, and I assure you, they don’t want that to happen. You will remain in your current location while your companion backs off. Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” came the reply.

Slowly, the Xesset starship began to move away from the freighter. It was a gradual and almost painful process. In the meantime, Steg had used the diversion to move his two shuttles closer to the freighter, sheltering the small craft behind the body of the larger starship, away from the Xesset. He navigated his craft towards the freighter’s shuttle bay while Kirby’s pilot directed the second shuttle to its position some fifty or so feet off Djamu’s hull, directly in line with their engine room.

The freighter crew, under duress, opened the lock to its shuttle bay, and Steg guided the shuttle through the huge access doors and settled the craft onto the deck. Mooring ties automatically locked into place. His shuttle was facing the exit, and he could blast his way through the doors if the freighter crew attempted to trap them. He comlinked to the other shuttle. “Kirby, we’re inside. We’re closing the doors to balance air pressure. We should be through their personnel lock in five.”

“Roger that. My team is ready to commence entry—we’re in position right above the engine room. Give the signal and we’ll be through the hull in seconds.” Kirby was tasked with piercing the hull and taking over the freighter’s engine room. Without power, the freighter would be at the mercy of Wasp.

“Good. I’ll keep broadcasting as we progress.”

Steg led a small team into the lock. Ten more would follow once he was through and into the freighter proper. The remainder would remain on board to protect the shuttle, although he would use them as backups if necessary.

Steg stepped out of the personnel lock and almost gagged. The starship was in need of a major clean up, starting with the atmosphere. He suspected their scrubbers must be faulty or hadn’t been serviced in a long time. He looked around the entry area—there was debris everywhere. The freighter was a mess; it seemed it had not been cleaned or had even light maintenance for possibly years. He was met by a scruffily dressed bridge officer and three members of Djamu’s crew. Only one, a Xesset, Steg suspected, was in armor. Djamu’s personnel all carried lightweight weapons, which were unlikely to cause damage or injury to his team.

“I’m Captain Banner, skipper of Djamu,” announced the officer. “I need to see your documents, the originals.”

“I’m de Coeur, senior officer of Eos Customs.” He handed over a case. “Our credentials.”

The skipper flipped open the case and gave the contents a cursory glance. He handed the documents to the armored crew member. “Here. Check these,” Banner said. He looked alarmed when more mercenaries followed Steg through the lock.

“Fifteen of you, all armored up, to check my freight?”

“We sometimes find we need to protect ourselves,” Steg said. “Can I have the manifests for your delivery to Eos?”

“Well… I thought we could sit and discuss what you’re looking for, first.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. You know, I could be extremely generous. I’m sure you and your men could do with some—shall we say—additional spending money?”

“You have enough to bribe all of us? There’s my men here, another ten in the shuttle bay, and I’ve another shuttle standing off. Plus, of course, there’s our commander and bridge officers and another five teams or more on board our starship.”

“Well, I didn’t think I’d need to be generous to all of you. Perhaps you and these men here.” He looked around at the heavily armed mercenaries, each wearing Customs badges. Eos had sent badge and other templates with the signed contract. The mercenaries had spread out, some surrounding the small greeting party, while others were positioned ready to advance along the corridor.

Banner turned to the armored alien. “Are those documents valid?”

The Xesset grunted and handed back the case to the freighter skipper. “Get on with it,” the alien instructed in awkward Anglo. He added a short sentence in his own language.

The Xesset’s words triggered a connection and then another and another, all cascading, when Steg recognized that the alien had added: “I should kill you all.”

He froze for a moment. He had an entire Xesset dictionary available to him; it had been uploaded by a process created by Homeworld’s massive computer system, the Glass Complex. The computer system on the Imperial destroyer ss Ziangka had used the process to dump the Special Force’s entire knowledge of Xesset into his brain, minutes before the Imperials had launched an attack on the fleeing alien starships.

Steg said, in High Xesset, “All Xesset are would-be killers, it seems.”

Startled, the alien drew back and raised his weapon, almost defensively. He said, “You—you are a nonbeliever. How can you speak my language?”

“It is not that difficult. Put your weapon down unless you want my men to shoot you.” The alien did not move. Steg continued, “Where are your companions? You’d better tell them they should surrender to us.”

The alien backed away, then turned and ran back along the corridor, disappearing around a corner.

Steg had reached his hand out and stopped his men from firing at the retreating alien.

“What was that all about?” asked Banner.

“I told him to surrender.”

The freighter skipper was ashen faced. “You can speak their language? No one I know can do that. What are you? Are you one of them?”

Steg ignored the man’s agitation and said. “Cargo manifests, please. I won’t ask a third time.”

“It—it will take a moment for my cargo master to get them for you.” Banner was perspiring; small beads were running from his receding hairline down the sides of his face.

Steg triggered the comunit. “Kirby, the skipper and his Xesset friends are stalling. Get ready to penetrate the hull.” His instructions were private, delivered only to his teams. Then he returned his attention to Djamu officer and said, “Banner, stop stalling. Take us to the cargo pods, now.”

The Djamu skipper and his two crew members at first did not move, despite Steg’s instruction. One of Steg’s men, Cerpio, a heavyworlder, grabbed the freighter’s captain and lifted him effortlessly out of the way of the mercenaries. The crew members turned and ran back along the corridor.

“Let them go,” Steg instructed.

To Steg’s surprise, the freighter skipper shrugged off the mercenary’s restraining hand, turned, and headed down the corridor. He said to Steg, “Very well. Follow me. We’ll go to my cargo master’s office.”

Steg beckoned to his men to move forward. He wasn’t confident the Xesset would let them access the cargo—there was going to be a confrontation, he was sure. Djamu’s skipper took them along empty corridors, past heavy bulkheads, onwards through what seemed to be the core of an almost deserted and badly maintained starship. Steg thought the crew were in hiding, unwilling to catch his or his team’s attention. He didn’t blame them. The skipper stopped at a door that was signed Cargo Master, knocked, and opened the door. Steg looked past the man into an unoccupied work cabin. It was untidy with papers piled high and spread all over the single desk, with some on the floor. A work unit was also on the desk; the keyboard was sweat-stained, and the case was fractured in places.

“My cargo master’s office. The man is a coward,” cursed the skipper. “I’m going to have search for details myself.”

“You can waste your time if you want. I’m not wasting mine. I want access to your container hold, now.” As Steg spoke, he felt a tremble in the structure of the starship. Banner looked startled and then alarmed. The starship was under way.

“Did you order this?”

Banner said, “No. Someone—it’s probably the Xesset. I’m losing control of my own ship.”

“I think you’ve already lost control,” muttered one of the mercenaries.

Steg instructed Kirby, “Blast away. Get to the controls in the engine room and stop this freighter.”

“Counting down,” Kirby said.

Steg visualized the directional explosive device, which Kirby’s team had put in place—all its force was targeted to penetrate the hull of the freighter. Seconds later the exploding device created a different tremble in the structure of the starship. Sirens blared, and emergency locks slammed shut, triggered by air venting out of the ruptured hull.

“What—what’s happening?” Banner glared at Steg, his alarm morphing into panic. “You, you’ve done something to my ship. I must get to my bridge.”

At Steg’s signal, Cerpio stepped forward and again restrained the skipper. “No,” the heavyworlder said. “You’re staying with us.” Banner struggled for a moment and then seemed to inwardly collapsed, perhaps realizing he could not escape.

“Captain Banner,” Steg said. “The attempted departure of your vessel while undergoing customs inspection is a breach of inter-system trade regulations and of our laws. You and the freighter are now under arrest; we’ll formalize all of this after we inspect some of your containers. Restrain him, Cerpio. Kirby, how’s progress?”

Kirby provided a running commentary of his progress. “We’ve penetrated the hull, as you probably can tell. Emergency lock doors dropped into place as they’re supposed to, preventing atmosphere evac. No one’s in sight, nothing’s here to stop us. We’re through the emergency airlock. We’re now at the engine room. There’s only an engineer and two stokers here. They’re unarmed. We’re about to cut power to the drive, brace yourself.”

The freighter shuddered and jarred as it came to an uncontrolled halt. Dust fell from stanchions and out of unseen crevices. Small items, fragile, fell and broke, shattering on the gray plasteel floors, while other items, hardier, thumped and bounced when they hit the floor. Steg and his men braced themselves against the walls of the corridor while the starship rippled and flexed, until finally everything settled. Banner was thrown to the floor by the shock wave. The silence was startling. Except for a hiss of air as the ventilators continued their function, the freighter was still, silent, stationary.

Steg assisted the shaken freighter captain to his feet. He asked, “How many of the aliens are on board?”

“Aliens?”

“The Xesset? How many are on your ship?”

“Just—just three of them. One is always on the bridge, and one—protects—me. The third one’s in charge.” He gave a short laugh that almost turned into a cry.

“Did you hear that?” Steg asked Kirby.

“Yes. I can leave Riddell with seven or eight men in control of the engine room and join up with you, if you like. The pilot’s got our shuttle locked down onto the hull, and I’ll leave two men to support him. I can bring the rest with me.”

“Good. Tell Riddell the three Xesset could prove to be tough opposition if they decide to try to regain control of the engine room. We’ll head to the nearest cargo pod. Hold on for a moment; let me confirm our destination.” Steg had details of the freighter’s layout from earlier records provided by Monty. He looked at Banner. “Lock 14F—that accesses the nearest cargo pod?”

“What?”

“14F—that’ll allow us to access cargo?”

“Yes, yes.” The man seemed to be pre-occupied. “The Xesset will try to stop you, though.”

“Let me worry about them,” Steg replied. “Kirby, 14F is confirmed. We’re heading there now. I’ll bring the skipper. Join me.”

Chapter 26

Steg watched while Banner made two attempts to key in the pass code. Both attempts were failures. He tried again, this time taking care to control his shaking hands. The retaining bolts clicked and the pneumatics controlling the huge door into the cargo pod slowly slid it open. Lights switched on, revealing row after row of containers. Each container, Steg estimated, was fifty feet long, and fifteen high by fifteen wide. They were stacked in blocks, four containers high with two rows, each row five containers long, so that a block held 40 containers. He counted ten blocks in the pod.

“There must be hundreds of the damn things,” Kirby said. He and his men had met up with Steg a minute or so after he had reached the access lock.

“About four hundred in this pod,” the skipper clarified.

“How many in total?” Steg asked.

“We have five cargo pods, so two thousand containers.”

“All full? Two thousand fully loaded containers?”

“Yes.”

“Hell—someone’s serious about starting a war. Very well. Tell me what these contain?” Steg indicated the nearest block.

“There’s a detailed manifest recorded at the front of each of the blocks,” the skipper said. He reached for the compad for the first block and handed it to Steg.

He read through the summary. For some containers, the contents list was a simple description, one line. Others were more complex.

“So this first one, here,” Steg tapped the container, “contains three-inch bolts? With packaging? Now why wouldn’t your customer use 4D printers to manufacture whatever bolts they required?”

The freighter skipper was even more nervous. “I—I don’t know. They ordered bolts, we received bolts, we’ll deliver bolts.”

“Not munitions?” Kirby queried.

“Munitions? Of course not. We’re not gunrunners,” the skipper protested.

Steg said, “I want my men to open that container. If you don’t have keys and the combination, my men will cut off the locks.”

“No-no, they’ll kill me—”

“Who’s they, and why will they kill you?”

“The Xesset. It’s my death sentence if I allow you—”

“You’re not allowing us. We’re doing that entirely on our own. Go ahead.” Steg turned to two of his men and pointed at the container lock.

Seconds later the door was open. One of the marines tugged at a heavy carton and tore it open. He pulled out a box; it contained an ammunition belt with .50 caliber bullets. “These are strange bolts,” the man said, trying to hide his smile.

“Well, Banner?” Steg asked.

“Come to my cabin, and we’ll discuss this,” the skipper offered.

Steg laughed. “Oh, no. This is a non-bribable situation. We can discuss whatever we need to, here and then on your bridge.” Steg looked at the details displayed on the compad for other containers. He tapped on the door of the next container. He said, “I suppose this contains heavy weapons, not farm machinery? And the next one doesn’t contain irrigation piping—perhaps ground to air missiles?”

“I don’t know!” the skipper almost shouted his protest. “It must be the Xesset—the aliens and my cargo master—they’ve conspired to bring a container of weapons on board. I knew nothing about this, nothing.” He was almost in tears.

Steg decided the man was an excellent actor. “So if we examine some of the other containers, we won’t find any more weapons?”

“How would I know, I’m only the skipper? No one tells me anything. I’m innocent, I tell you. It’s those aliens, it’s all their fault.”

Steg instructed his men to examine three more containers further into the cargo pod. They contained weapons or other military materiel. Steg communicated his findings to Dean, still on board Wasp.

“It sounds as though they have enough there to start a war,” Dean said.

“I suspect that’s the intention,” Steg agreed. “We’ll place guards to prevent access to the pod access locks. I’ll take Banner to the bridge. I need to go through the formalities for his arrest and for taking possession of the freighter. I’ll let you know if we need help.”

“We can send more men, if you need.”

“Good. We’ve enough men for the moment. As a precaution, though, you could get a company prepped and armored. I’ll let you know if we need them—it’ll only be if it starts to go pear shaped,” Steg said.

“Okay. I’ll report your situation to Gillespie; she asked to be kept informed.”

Steg turned to Kirby. “I want you to set guards on the access locks to the cargo pods. Four men for each. Check if the locks can be blocked off. Set up a barrier for protection. You know the rest.”

“You think the Xesset might try to take control of the cargo?” Kirby asked.

“Well, more than take control, once they realize they have few alternatives. If the Xesset decide to detonate some of the missiles, for example, that’ll ignite the other explosive materiel and we’ll have a complete disaster on our hands. We may not survive it. They could detach the pods; we’d be exposed if we attempted to recover them.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of that.”

“I need to take control of the bridge and complete the formal arrest process. I’ll need a small team to come with me. Join me there once you’ve organized your teams to guard the cargo pods. When you get to the bridge, we’ll set up our watch—I’m not sure I want to trust Banner and his crew. Oh, and we’ll have to arrange for a full search of the freighter to find the aliens; we can’t continue to operate safely with three Xesset on the loose.”

Minutes later Steg reached the bridge with Cerpio and Jonash escorting the freighter captain. Three nervous crew members were on duty; they remained silent, avoiding eye contact with Steg. They did not protest his presence or his statement that the starship was under arrest.

The Xesset were conspicuously absent. None of the bridge officers knew the whereabouts of the three aliens. At least, so they said. The Xesset had disappeared, and whether they were planning to take back control of the engine room, were communicating with the starship, or plotting some other action, Steg was not prepared to guess. They would need to search the freighter; in the meantime he needed to complete the arrest formalities.

Steg addressed the skipper. “Captain Banner. I’m recording this conversation, both video and sound. You can request a copy if you wish. Your customs declaration—here’s a copy, it has your signature—lists your cargo as farm equipment, building supplies, and general construction materials. We examined a random selection of ten containers against their manifests. The contents did not match the manifests. The containers we inspected in your presence contained weapons and military supplies of one kind or another. I’m adding images of the sampled contents to this interview file. I suspect the contents of the remaining containers are similar. In light of this unlawful act, I’m authorized to arrest you and to take control of this starship. Banner, as skipper, you’re now under arrest. According to Eos law, I have to read this to you.”

Steg extracted a document from his documents case and read aloud the formal arrest statement. He added, “When we find your cargo master, he’ll also be placed under arrest. The same will happen to anyone else who the authorities at our way station prove is involved in this smuggling attempt. The more you assist, the lighter the penalties. Do you understand?”

The now despondent freighter skipper nodded his head. He said, “Yes, I understand.”

“Very good. As I said, Djamu is now under our control, as authorized by our government. We’ll transfer you and all your crew—plus the Xesset, when we find them—to Wasp, where you’ll be held in the brig until handover at the way station.”

He looked at the bridge officers in turn and said, “If you can prove to the Eos authorities you’re not involved, you’ll be set free, I’m sure. However, the freighter and its illegal contents are now the property of Eos, to be disposed of as the authorities see fit.”

Commander Gillespie looked at her Weapons lead. “Are you certain?” she asked.

“Yes, Commander. The Xesset escort is moving towards the freighter, which places it at risk. If the aliens fire a missile at Djamu we won’t be able to stop it from here.” She used her holo-marker and indicated a position on the display between the symbols representing Djamu and the Xesset ship. “I recommend we move immediately to this position. That way, we’ll have some chance of preventing a disaster.”

“Very well. Go to full shields, now. Helm, get us relocated as quickly as you can. Weapons, prepare for action—if the Xesset attempt to engage us or the freighter, I want you to take them out.” Before the bridge officers completed acknowledging her instructions, Gillespie hit the comunit button for a ship-wide announcement. “All hands. Hear this. We’re now at condition red, with ship-to-ship action imminent. Captain Dean, report to the bridge.” The commander sat back in her command seat, confident her officers and crew would carry out their well-practiced duties.

When Dean arrived, the commander waved him over to her bridge station.

“Problems?” he asked.

“Not yet. Anticipated. Look at our display. If the Xesset continue their move, they’ll be able to fire at the freighter, unless we can interpose Wasp here. We’re fully shielded—the Xesset may guess our tactic; however, they shouldn’t be able to detect us. I want you to communicate the situation to de Coeur. If we can’t stop the Xesset actions, he and his men may need to abandon the freighter. Keep your comlink short, we don’t want the aliens tracking our electronics.”

Dean laughed. “I can’t see him agreeing to that. If his men are at risk, though, he’ll take steps to protect them. I need to give you an update, too.”

The commander signaled for Dean to continue.

“At least for the moment, de Coeur is in control. They have the engine room; they’ve mounted guards on the cargo—it’s weapons, as expected, at least in the containers they’ve sampled. He’s arrested the skipper. His concern is the three Xesset who are somewhere on board. The aliens may, in desperation, try to detonate some of the cargo, which could destroy the freighter.”

“A simple problem—find and capture the Xesset,” Gillespie said.

“Exactly what he said. I’ll update him with our change of position and report anything new from him as and when we talk,” Dean promised as he left the bridge.

“Sir, Wasp has disappeared from our screens. They have extremely effective shields,” reported the Tac lead on Defender’s bridge.

“What else is happening?”

“Sir, the boarding parties are inside the freighter—Djamu—and she’s now stopped dead in her tracks. The Xesset ship is turning towards the freighter. Its movement is slow, almost a drift rather than a planned course change.”

“There’s your answer,” said Captain Montrose. “If Djamu is full of munitions, the Xesset may fire a missile at her and explode it all. They’ve demonstrated they’re bloody heartless. They could easily destroy the freighter, killing everyone on board, including their own crew and Wasp’s mercenaries. Although they’d lose their investment, which must be significant. I suspect Wasp is moving to protect the freighter. Keep trying to tap into communications, from anyone to anyone.”

“Sir, we’re two light minutes away—by the time we read a message, it’ll be all over.”

“I still want to be updated with blow by blow details. You never know—we might need a good mercenary team in the future.”

“Yes, sir. My team will continue to monitor. If you would authorize us to move closer, we should be able to intercept their point-to-point comms. I’d like to be within weapons range.”

“Do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter 27

Dr. Yi poured herself a small glass of wine—it was a new vintage, grown on the hills outside Freetown, the capital of Freedom, which had been recommended by the local vintner. Its golden glow promised a taste experience. Condensation beaded on the outside of the finely cut crystal glass. Her preparations were complete. Local cheeses, delicacies, wine, juices were all ready. Her guests, fellow hospital workers, were due to arrive—she checked the time—in fifteen minutes, unless they decided to be fashionably late.

Retirement from the Imperial Medical Service, she reflected, was an experience, which she now regretted not actioning sooner. The softer civilian lifestyle was relaxing, at least temporarily. She sighed. She felt there was something missing; her duties were not as challenging as she needed. Her conflict with ImpSec had left a mark on her service record, she was sure, although it was not a visible one. Fortunately, the local hospital, even if the resources people were aware of the issue, had not raised it in their interviews.

She had to admit there were flaws with her new circumstances. Her rented apartment was not much larger than her shipboard quarters, and its only positive was the accommodation subsidy paid by the hospital. She had a superior at the local hospital who seemed to have absorbed the entirety of the hospital’s bureaucratic regulations. The crowded cities of Freedom, the rapidly repressed tremors of terrorism as people objected to the yoke of the Empire, and the unexpected pervasive presence of Imperial forces gave the impression the Empire was growing distrustful of all its citizens. There was fear on the streets, which she tried to ignore.

The sound of the doorbell interrupted her reverie. She walked to the door and checked the video display of the internal security system. A stranger stood at the entry lobby to the apartment complex. He was dressed in a uniform, although not of any Imperial service, she was certain. She pressed the talk button.

“Yes?”

“Colonel Yi?”

“Dr. Yi,” she corrected.

“My apologies, Dr. Yi. My name is Barreda, Jakob Barreda. I’m a personal assistant to Senor Maxwell Arraya, Director of Banque Vanarra. He wishes to meet with you, at your convenience. I have a written invitation and letter, which I can leave in your lobby. A vehicle and escort will be provided. He instructed me to state this is a personal invitation, nothing to do with banking business. He wanted you to understand this is not a sales call.”

There was a tendency for the upper classes on Freedom—or indeed, for those with pretensions of such—to eschew electronic communications, so the delivery of a written invitation was not out of the ordinary. What was unexpected, she realized, was that she was the target of such an invitation. She was intrigued.

“I have heard of the bank, of course.” Banque Vanarra was reputed to be the oldest and most trustworthy banking group on the planet. “Please leave the correspondence. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Dr. Yi.” The speaker touched the point of his cap in an informal salute.

The doctor watched the video display as the man dropped an envelope into her lobby letterbox. The inbuilt sniffer would check—as it did for all correspondence and small packages—for explosives or other contaminants. Once checked, the letter would be automatically delivered to her fifteenth floor apartment. She waited until the man left and then returned to the table where she had placed her glass of wine. She would read the communication after her guests departed, she decided.

“Dr. Yi, Dr. Yi. I’m Maxwell Arraya, and I’m so pleased you could visit.” The speaker was impeccably dressed in a formal business suit. He was shorter than she had expected, although she did not know why she had that expectation.

“Senor Arraya.” She held out her hand, which the banker pressed and released.

“Indeed. Call me Maxwell. Welcome to my office. Please, please take a seat. I would have invited you to my home, but there is a slight touch of business content to our meeting, and I like to keep these things well separated, if you know what I mean.” The man’s smile appeared to be genuine.

The meeting room was probably larger than her total apartment and was furnished in antique, if not ancient, furniture. Large paintings of armored knights and their battles covered each wall except for the floor to ceiling windows, which overlooked the main parklands of the city. She carefully sat at an antique table that would, she estimated, be worth her lifetime earnings.

“Your assistant, Jakob Barreda, indicated this was not a business meeting?”

“Indeed, yes. He was instructed to state we did not intend a business meeting. Indeed not. There is a topic—not related to banking business, I assure you.”

“Sir, I’m confused.”

Senor Arraya said, “My apologies, yes, apologies.” His expression was rueful. He consulted the contents of a folder. “Normally, with a guest, I would discuss the weather or the economy, perhaps sometimes our political scandals. However, today, I prefer to focus on why I invited you to meet with me. You will forgive this directness, I trust?”

Dr. Yi nodded, her expression showing her bewilderment.

“Good, good. I will attempt to clarify. Please be patient, Dr. Yi. Now, I have some questions, if you will bear with me. The first one is easy: you recently retired from the Imperial Medical Service?”

“Yes, that is no secret.”

“When you retired you had the rank of colonel?”

“Again, that’s no secret.”

“You served on HS xTaur?”

The delayed return of the hospital starship and of a number of its medical staff had been well publicized in the local media, so there was no issue was likely to arise if she acknowledged her service on the hospital ship.

“Yes, I did.”

“Now, now, hmm. Here we may be heading into deeper waters. On your last tour, on the return leg, you treated a young man who had lost his memory?”

“Ah—I suppose that is not a secret, either.”

“He gave his name as Steg de Coeur?”

Dr. Yi nodded her head.

“Good, good. He was, according to my information, treated professionally. Indeed.” Senor Arraya turned the page of the file he was reading. “ImpSec, it seems, did not show any sympathy towards this young man?”

“I—I don’t think I can respond to that question.”

“No, no, of course not.” He turned to the next page. “He was carrying a sword, I believe?”

Dr. Yi was silent for a moment. She nodded her head. “He called it Ebony.”

“Ebony. Oh, excellent, excellent.”

The bank director looked up from the page he was reading. “Dr. Yi, please forgive me. These were what I would call grounding questions. I needed to make sure I am speaking to the right Dr. Yi. Now, do you know the whereabouts of this sword—ah— Ebony?”

Ebony was in her apartment, carefully stowed away in the bottom of a case containing household items. “I believe so, yes.”

“It’s in your possession? Under your control?”

“I prefer not to answer that question, at least not until I know more.”

“I understand, yes, I understand.” Senor Arraya removed a page from his file and set it aside. He withdrew the next page, glanced at its contents and then looked at Dr. Yi. “I suppose you know your patient was sentenced to death for spying?”

“Y–yes. We—myself and my nurses—gave evidence at his trial and were advised of the verdict and sentence.”

“Do you know, yes indeed, that the sentence was not carried out?”

Dr. Yi sat up straight in the antique chair, its age probably the reason for its uncomfortable structure. “No, I did not.”

“Please read this, so that I may destroy it as quickly as I can.” Senor Arraya slid a sheet of paper across the table.

“Destroy it?”

“Read it, you’ll understand.”

Dr. Yi started to read and then stopped. “This is—?”

“Yes, it’s genuine. It’s also extremely sensitive. Please, please continue reading.”

The page was a copy of an extract from a report produced by two representatives of the Advocate-General; it summarized their visit to Diyark Prison and their inability to discover the whereabouts of a prisoner who had been delivered there some weeks prior to their visit. The man’s name was Steg de Coeur. The report stated there was no record of the prison officials carrying out the sentence of the ImpSec judges. It concluded with the statement that the officials were unable to locate the prisoner, that a search to determine his whereabouts had been unsuccessful.

Dr. Yi raised her head. “This is almost—unbelievable.”

“The A-G representatives apparently carried out a thorough investigation.” Senor Arraya opened a small metal container on the table. “May I—?” He gestured at the sheet of paper.

‘What? Oh—oh, yes.” She slid the sheet back across the table. Her fingers trembled.

The banker placed the page in the metal container and closed the lid. He pressed a button on the side of the container. Dr. Yi caught the impression of a faint wave of heat accompanied by a low whirring sound. The banker raised the lid and checked the interior. Small ash fragments drifted out. Apart from some ash residue, the container was otherwise empty. He closed the lid.

“I have another question for you. If—if you were to know the whereabouts of Ebony—yes, I know.” Senor Arraya raised his hand, stalling her objection. “I said, if. Let me see.” He looked quickly at the next two or three sheets of paper. “Indeed.” He looked up and focused his attention on Dr. Yi. She was almost taken aback by the intensity of his regard.

“Dr. Yi. We occasionally have a need to utilize a courier firm. You understand, as bankers, sometimes we might have a need to deliver documents, titles perhaps, sometimes a valuable heirloom or other items, from here to our other branches, to our head office, or indeed, to other banks in our trusted correspondent network. These deliveries often are, of course, interplanetary, system to system. You understand?”

“Y—yes, I think so. I can well imagine where something might need to be delivered as you describe.”

“At times we receive odd requests. This one certainly fits into that category. We’ve been requested by one of our correspondent banks—oh, it’s a well-established and trusted bank— they hold shares in our bank, and we don’t have many shareholders, at all.” The banker paused and consulted a sheet of paper. “Let me see. We’ve been requested—if at all possible—to find this sword—Ebony—and to entrust it to our correspondent courier service for delivery.”

“To de Coeur? Is he alive?”

“I cannot—I don’t know. Ebony is described as an invaluable, no, irreplaceable heirloom. If we can discover its location—talk with whoever has possession—we are instructed to arrange for the courier service to deal directly with that person. I suspect it will be delivered to the correspondent bank I mentioned. I—I’d prefer not to mention the identity of that bank.”

“I think I understand.”

“Good. Good. Do you have possession of Ebony?”

“I promised de Coeur I would hold Ebony for him.”

“Can you release Ebony to our couriers?”

Dr. Yi reflected for a long while. Senor Arraya was patient.

“Yes, I think it should be acceptable to de Coeur, given the background you’ve provided.”

The banker visibly relaxed. “I had hoped you would agree. I can have the courier call tomorrow, at whatever is a convenient time for you?”

“Yes, certainly. I’d say mid-morning. Something like ten-thirty or so?”

Senor Arraya beamed. “Excellent. Excellent.” He made a note in his folder and then turned to another sheet of paper. “Now I have one more topic to discuss. There is an independent system, located Rimwards, looking for well-qualified medical practitioners. I’ve been asked to see if you would be interested.” He reached for a second file and pushed it across the table to Dr. Yi. “There are videos describing the planet, plus an offer from what appears to be a prestigious hospital. It seems they are seeking a senior surgeon. Oh, and first class travel vouchers—the journey would take, I believe, about three months.”

“Why—what’s this about?” She did not reach for the folder.

“Well—yes, well, I believe it—the travel—is a gift, whether you accept the position or not. The hospital offer is apparently because they have been made aware of your professional standing and experience. The posting includes good quality, attractive accommodation, rent free, I believe. Remember—oh, yes, it’s Homeworld—Homeworld is an independent system.”

Dr. Yi slowly reached out for the folder. Perhaps she should view the videos, she thought. Hmm, she reflected. Homeworld. Steg had described the planet as his earlier memories had returned. She could consider their offer.

“I may be taking liberties, yes, liberties—I’d recommend, if you wish to accept the offer, that you do so without delay. There are potential issues—ImpSec—if you know what I mean?”

Dr. Yi nodded her head. “I fully understand, Senor Arraya. I’m inclined towards accepting. I’ll decide quickly.”

“I’ll arrange for your decision—either way—to be conveyed to Homeworld. Confidentially, of course. I can arrange your travel as long as you give me at least twenty-four hours notice.”

“Of course.” Dr. Yi smiled. She had already made up her mind to accept.

Chapter 28

At a distance, the distant starships formed a frozen tableau; only two were discernible electronically and Defender’s bridge crew were making guesses as to the position of the mercenary ship. Its shielding was excellent. The freighter was apparently adrift, although its engine room appeared to be under the control of a small mercenary force. As far as the Tac team could determine, the freighter’s bridge was also controlled by the mercenaries.

“Can you find any evidence of conflict on board Djamu?” asked the skipper of the Alliance destroyer.

“No, sir,” Jessie Brent, Defender’s Tac commander, replied. “We’ll keep trying. The mercenaries haven’t reported to Wasp since they said they’d identified weapons and other military supplies, and that they were arresting the skipper. We cannot detect any fighting. I recommend we dispatch a class Z, and place it close enough to penetrate the freighter’s internal communications and relay back to us?”

“Authorized.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jessie instructed her team to launch the drone. It would be a while before it would be in position. In the meantime Defender was moving closer to the immobile freighter.

“What’s your progress with Wasp’s shield? Aren’t any of our trackers getting signals out?”

“No, sir. We need to get hold of a copy of their technology,” Jessie suggested. “It’s the best I’ve encountered, ever.” She did not hide her admiration of effectiveness of Wasp’s shielding. “They’ve blocked out all electronics. There are no emissions. Our sensors are returning nothing but empty space.”

“Didn’t we learn anything about their shielding when our team was on board?” The question was probably rhetorical; the skipper had read all the reports.

“No, sir. Their shipboard security was far better than we expected, according to the spooks. Wasp was well hidden in the asteroid belt, sheltering behind that mountain-sized rock. However, no one appreciated how effective their shields were. We now know.”

“Hmm. If the merc team on board Djamu make any transmissions, track them. In the meantime, keep searching, you could be lucky.”

“Yes, sir.” Jessie turned back to her workstation. If she could identify Wasp’s shield frequency change patterns…

Steg organized a brief conference with Kirby on Djamu’s bridge. Aware that Wasp had raised stealth shields, he was not transmitting to the starship.

“I can handle the bridge once we get some power,” Steg confirmed. “What’s the engine room like?”

Kirby nodded. “My guys didn’t do much damage when they forced the engineers to shut everything down. I had to shoot up a workstation, first, to make a point. No one was hurt. Riddell can persuade the engineers to power up when you say go.”

“Get him working on that.” He waited for Kirby to pass on his instruction. He continued, “I don’t want to leave the bridge; I need to get us underway. So you’re in charge of the Xesset search.” He turned to Djamu skipper, who was listening. “Banner, can we secure passage ways from here? Close down airlocks? I don’t want Xesset moving back to areas we’ve searched. I’d welcome any ideas from you, so speak up. If the Xesset sabotage this ship, you’re as much at risk as we are.”

Banner said nothing.

Kirby said, “Come on, man. Don’t you realize we could stuff you out a lock and no one would raise any objections? The Xesset will kill you—all of us—if we don’t find and capture or kill them.”

One of the Djamu bridge crew said, “Banner, don’t be a fool—we need to survive. Tell them whatever they need.”

Banner sat at a workstation, his momentary rebellion at an end. “Very well. Yes, we can close off airlocks from here. Some utility tunnels may be difficult to block. I don’t think the Xesset know about them. When they boarded, they took over a section of D deck, well forward of the engine room, for their quarters. I’ll show you.” He accessed his workstation and displayed a high-level three-dimensional schematic of the freighter.

Kirby sat with Banner for ten minutes, working through the high level and more detailed schematics, assessing the practicality of closing down airlocks and blocking off sections of the freighter. At last he looked at Steg and said, “This may be overkill but the simplest approach is to open the ship up and let its atmosphere go. Perhaps not all over, but in most areas, except perhaps here and in the engine room. What do you think?”

“If we open the ship up we’d be at risk, too. We’ve only got twenty-four hours built into the exo-armor, so we’d need to return to Wasp after say twenty hours to be safe. We could do it in shifts, go to Wasp, replenish the atmosphere, and return. A last resort, I think. Does the ship have a facility to store the air as we remove it from a locked down section?” Steg asked.

“We have scrubbers and tanks for storage. We can pipe air to the scrubbers from each section. It might be more difficult to manage,” Banner replied.

Kirby said, “In that case, I’d like to start with areas near the cargo pod access locks and then move forward, deck by deck, section by section. I can—or the bridge can—close off airlocks remotely and secure them so they can’t be reversed.”

Steg nodded. “Yes, that will be safer, even if it takes longer. Control atmosphere transfers to the scrubbers and then store it temporarily. As each section is cleared, we can release atmosphere back into it—at least the scrubbed air will help get rid of this horrible stink.”

Banner looked as though he was going to object. Steg said, “Yes, Banner? You were going to say something.”

“We’ve survived. It costs money to maintain a starship, you know.”

“You know the air in this vessel stinks. We may be able to improve it, we’ll see.” Steg turned to one of the bridge crew. “You—what’s your name?”

“Rolston, sir.”

“Rolston, do you know how to handle the atmosphere transfers to and from the scrubbers? Do you have high volume pumps we can use?”

“Yes, sir. I can do that. You want me to liaise with your sergeant? Kirby?”

“Yes. Kirby will identify each section, and you will remove the air, and scrub and store it. Then, as required, you’ll re-introduce atmosphere into sections indicated by the sergeant. No tricks, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Steg checked with Kirby, “Is Riddell in complete control of the engine room?”

“He said Djamu now has power. He advised caution—he said not to impose high demands all at once. The engine room apparently needs maintenance, same as the rest of the ship.”

“I’m not surprised. Tell him I’ll try to get us under way as gently as possible. Start your search for the Xesset. Stopping the aliens—I don’t care how—is the priority. All the teams are yours, except if you can spare someone to help me here—Iwao would be good. I have a feeling I’m going to need technical support. Add three or four guards. This bridge is likely to become a hotspot.”

After Kirby and his escort left, Steg addressed Banner, indicating a remote corner of the bridge, away from workstations and equipment, “Sit over there. I don’t want you interfering with anything on the bridge. You understand the Xesset are likely to try to kill all of us, if they think they’re at risk? Also, the ship out there will blow us up, if they think they’ve lost Djamu and its freight?”

“Yes, I understand. Okay, I won’t do anything stupid.”

Iwao reported to the bridge while Steg was examining the main bridge workstation. He was accompanied by mercenaries, some of Dean’s men whom Steg recognized as capable fighters.

“Sir, Sergeant Kirby said you needed assistance?” Iwao said as he entered the bridge.

“Iwao, yes. I need help with the electronics here. Ulston,” he addressed the senior of the four men sent by Kirby. “You’re in charge of bridge security. Add Cerpio and Jonash to your team. Place a guard on Banner. Shoot him if he attempts to escape or betray us to the Xesset. That goes for anyone else on the bridge. I expect we’ll see some reactions from the aliens. I want you to seal the doors, lock them down. Then take up positions to guard access. You’ll permit people to enter the bridge only if we know them and want them in here. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. The sergeant explained. He said to tell you he’ll send more men if he can or if the bridge is attacked.”

“Good. Iwao, I need a working Astro workstation. Check with”—he looked at the other bridge rating—“what’s your name?”

“Dresk, sir.”

“Tacian?”

“Yes, sir.”

Steg turned back to Iwao and said, “Check with Dresk which is the most suitable workstation for astronavigation. Make sure it functions properly; we’re going to need it. If you can, isolate it so that it can be operated only by us; make sure its security is tight. Once we have a functioning Astro station we can rely on, we’ll be able to start plotting courses. In the meantime, I’ll use this workstation to see what’s happening.”

Steg used some dirty rags to wipe down the skipper’s chair and dropped them onto the floor, unable to hide his distaste. He switched on the workstation and waited for it to initialize. Its controls were standard with the screen labeled for simple touch and display functions. He tried to activate external sensors, and after a minute or two, gray and white shapes flickered across the black backdrop of the screen. He decided to try an alternative approach.

He suspected the Alliance destroyer had followed them—or perhaps had even preceded them—to monitor their interception of Djamu. If he could detect that other starship, there was a possibility he could tap into its sensors, which would be far better than anything available on the freighter. He concentrated, ignored the siren calls, the random traps of circling electrons, the attraction of orphan pulsars, and reached out, seeking the electronic footprint of Defender. At last. He avoided the AV trap; he thought he might have a use for that, later. He slowly dropped into place, immersing himself in the destroyer’s electronics.

“Sir, we might have an electronic intruder.” The alert came from the Tac commander. “At least, something odd happened, and I don’t know how else to account for it.”

“Did you run the Scavenger suite?”

“Yes, sir. It returned null. However, the Intruder suite advises there’s an additional resistance across our sensor units. It’s never happened to Defender before, and our research hasn’t found any similar events in our NavRecs.”

“I’ll be there in sixty seconds.”

Montrose was on the bridge in fifty-two seconds. “Anything more?”

“No, sir. Well, the resistance has decreased. It’s a lot less; it’s now way below our normal detection threshold if we hadn’t already found it. It could be something as simple as dust affecting our physical measures. Or it could be a subtle intrusion.”

“I wonder—do you think it could be our mercenary friends? I suspect those on the freighter need to know what’s happening around them. Our sensors would be a hell of a lot better than anything Djamu has and perhaps better than what’s available on Wasp,” Montrose conjectured.

“Captain de Coeur?”

“He strikes me as being far more adept than he lets on.”

“He must have some capable equipment, sir.” The comment was from the Security commander. “My team saw nothing like that when they checked Wasp.”

“We were on board for only a short time.”

“Yes, sir. We’ve always been confident on our prior inspections, when we check out a starship, that we’ve discovered everything. I’d be worried if my team has slipped up this time.”

“Perhaps it’s not your team that’s slipped up. Maybe there’s someone who is far in advance of us.”

“Yes, sir. Although we’re not 100 percent certain there is an intruder.”

“Assume the worst. There’s an intruder. Find it.”

“Yes, sir.” Heads bent low over workstations and intensive discussions broke out as Defender’s team of experts sought answers to critical questions: was there an intruder, and who had the ability to penetrate a stealthed Alliance destroyer? And of course, what could they do to prevent future intrusions?

Chapter 29

Steg cut his link to the Alliance starship. He thought the benefits of the update he had gathered from its sensors outweighed the risk he had taken. He was impressed, though, with the destroyer’s bridge team’s ability to detect a presence in their system. As a twist to their tail, he had activated the otherwise useless AV device to flash a green light every five seconds. The only way for them to stop the flashes was to totally remove the device. He knew it was a provocative move; however, he hoped Captain Montrose would understand the gesture as implying he meant no harm to Defender.

He assumed Wasp had raised its stealth shields so it could move to intercept possible strikes from the Xesset starship. He tucked away for later evaluation the fact that the Alliance sensors could not find Wasp; the technological enhancements provided by Monty were far more effective than everyone had realized. It was a pity the alien had proven untrustworthy. There was future leverage there, he thought, if Gillespie needed to bargain with the Alliance skipper. Assuming Montrose was not too upset with Steg’s access of the destroyer’s electronics.

He was reluctant to reach out to the Xesset starship. He had memories—very painful and unpleasant memories—of when he had done that when Special Forces Major Denke had led his team to board a Xesset ship, with Steg an unwilling team member. The battle between the boarding party and the Xesset defenders had been brutal. The only way Steg had been able to prevent the Xesset from blowing up their own starship was by taking over the alien systems, an experience that had caused him to lose consciousness. The distaste was still in his thoughts, coloring everything Xesset. He shuddered. Perhaps he needed to repeat that experience as a cleansing process.

His thoughts were interrupted by a furious pounding on the heavy protective doors that gave access to the bridge. He looked up, wondering.

“The Xesset, sir,” said Ulston, catching his eye. “We’ve been observing them on video. Iwao set up some remote cameras for us when we came in. There’s three aliens in the corridor, and they’re firing a heavy pellet weapon at the bridge doors. We don’t think they’ll do more than make a dent in the metal. The doors are well built. I’ve alerted Sergeant Kirby.”

“Thanks. Keep monitoring.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steg checked his workstation sensor display. The gray and white shapes had resolved to a nearly useful image. He assumed the darker gray shape was the Xesset starship; its proximity measure indicated it had moved closer.

“Dresk,” Steg addressed the freighter’s crew working with Iwao. “What external weapons does Djamu have?”

“Only one, sir, a railgun. It runs the length of the ship. It’s powerful—assuming we hit the target. It has problems. The ship itself must be aimed at the target. It’s a one shot weapon. Well, it takes fifteen minutes to re-load, at best, so it might as well be. We fired it once at a pirate and it darn near shook Djamu to pieces. Missed the target. Gave’em a helluva scare, though. Us, too.”

“Well, it’s something, I suppose. It’s loaded?”

“The skipper always kept it loaded, sir. There’s a Weapons workstation I can use to check, if you want?”

“If Iwao can spare you?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Iwao. “I’m about finished. You’ll have a dedicated Astro workstation, secure and isolated, in about another five minutes.”

“Good. Dresk, go ahead and set up a weapons workstation for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The thumping at the bridge’s main access door had increased in volume and frequency. It sounded as though the Xesset had swapped to a heavier weapon.

“Ulston—update please.”

“Yes, sir. The Xesset have mounted what looks like a pellet-based machine gun. They knocked out the cameras, though, so we can’t see what else they’re doing. We’ve alerted the sergeant and he’s on his way. He said the passageways have been booby-trapped, so he has to clear a path. We’re confident the doors will hold.”

“Ask Kirby if he wants Rolston to extract atmosphere from the area outside the bridge?”

“I did, sir—he said not yet. He’s getting closer. The Xesset are devious, he said.”

Steg laughed to himself. “I could have told him that.”

Ulston said, “Kirby’s worse, sir. I’ve worked with him before.”

“Sir, your workstation’s ready,” said Iwao.

Steg tried to ignore the high velocity impacts on the access doors as he accessed the Astro workstation. Iwao had done a good job of prepping the equipment, he thought, and the workstation’s performance was better than the one he had used to access Djamu’s sensors. He started researching possible courses for the freighter. The starship was far slower than Wasp and it would take more than two hours to get up to speed, without allowing for the freight burden. He calculated again and added another hour to his estimates. It would take them over three hours to reach minimum speed for s-t penetration. Assuming, of course, the Xesset ship did not attack and destroy the freighter in the meantime.

He contacted the engine room. “Riddell, I’m going to maneuver Djamu—I want to adjust our heading. We’ve a railgun that has to be aimed using the ship itself, and I’m going to point us at the Xesset. I’d like you to check the weapon—there should be both access and controls available from the Engineering section. If we fire it, at the least it’ll give them one hell of a surprise. With luck, we might cause them to back off. With good luck, we might actually hit the darn target.”

“We can cope with a bit of jiggling around, sir,” Riddell confirmed. “The jump into s-t is the bit that worries me. Apparently the crew prays to all the gods they can think of, every time Banner makes a jump. Pity Djamu’s not as good as our Wasp.”

“We’ll do it cautiously, when we’re ready. I’ve made all the allowances I can think of to cope with the freighter’s configuration and low power, and I’m planning three hours for the run up. We have to stop the aliens first—they’re knocking on our door at the moment. Kirby’s on his way to sort them out.”

“Good luck with that, sir. In the meantime I’ll check out the railgun, make sure it’s loaded and ready to fire. The engineers here should be able to help.”

“All right. I’ll start adjusting our heading now, to point at the Xesset starship. I’ll let you know when I want to fire it.”

“Very good, sir. We’ve got everything under control here.”

Steg checked the location of the Xesset starship again and took control of Djamu’s helm using the Astro workstation. The freighter’s movement was slow and ponderous. He monitored the heading indicator displayed on the workstation screen and made minor adjustments until he was satisfied. He entered instructions for the auto-helm to adjust to any positional change of the alien starship. After what seemed an age, he was able to turn back to planning for the s-t jump. The heavy thumping caused by the Xesset’s weapon firing at the bridge doors stopped. The bridge was silent. No one spoke. The tension grew as they all wondered if Kirby had been successful.

“What do you think, sir, should we—”

An explosion ripped open the doors, and the shock wave threw everyone across the bridge away from the destroyed doors. Exo-armor saved Steg and the other mercenaries from anything more than light bruising. He could not check Djamu’s crew because the three Xesset had immediately entered the bridge firing their weapons. Ulston and his team recovered rapidly and returned effective fire and one of the Xesset fell in the first seconds of the conflict, severely wounded. Steg expected the bridge to be nothing more than wreckage within minutes.

He shouted in High Xesset, “Cease firing. That’s an order.”

There was a momentary pause. The two remaining Xesset stood clear, raised their weapons, and aimed at Steg. The mercenaries took advantage of the lull and fired at the aliens. Steg had set his weapon ammunition selection to flechettes and sent a hail of the deadly projectiles at the nearest alien. Both were quickly overwhelmed and collapsed, dead or wounded, to the floor of the bridge. The last Xesset to fall pulled the pin from a hand grenade and lobbed it towards Steg. The alien had overestimated his strength and the grenade landed halfway into the bridge. The explosion destroyed workstations, and shrapnel expanded as it blasted across the bridge.

Steg could see Banner’s body. The freighter skipper was dead; either bullets or shrapnel had torn him to pieces. He used his comunit. “Stop firing, the Xesset are down. Ulston, you and your team check each body. Be careful of traps. Jonash, you and Cerpio work with Iwao. We’ll need bridge controls.”

As he finished speaking, Kirby and his men rushed onto the bridge through the wrecked doors.

“Damn,” he said. “We had to disable traps all the way. They’d set pressure triggers, wired hand grenades, anything they could think of.”

“We’ve lost Djamu’s skipper. Probably some of his bridge team. Ulston’s checking for survivors. We need to clean up, if you can supervise. I’d like to get these workstations back on-line. I’ll report to Wasp.”

While Kirby and his teams checked for life signs and struggled to restore order to the bridge and its equipment, Steg comlinked to Wasp.

“Commander, we’ve defeated the Xesset who were on board. They hit the bridge, killed the freighter captain, and either killed or wounded his bridge crew. They made a mess of the bridge workstations. I expect we’ll now be targeted by their ship.”

“How long before you have controls back?”

“Depends on how quickly we can access functioning workstations. If the Xesset starship makes a move against Djamu, let me know. We’re somewhat exposed.” He wasn’t going to mention the railgun when there was a possibility the aliens could overhear their conversation.

“You’re in a tough spot. We’re in position, fully shielded. Wasp out.”

Steg disconnected. He contacted Riddell in Engineering. “The Xesset are dead. They managed to damage our bridge controls. Kirby’s organizing clean up. What secondary workstations can you access?”

“We’ve two clumsy looking bridge units. One is Helm and the other looks like Astro. And there’s a sensor station. They seem to be in working order.”

“Good. I’m coming down there with Iwao. See you in seconds or less.” Steg waved his hand at Iwao to catch his attention. “Engineering has some bridge controls. Leave that and come with me. Kirby, I want an escort, in case there are some Djamu crew looking for revenge.”

Chapter 30

“Ah, got them, sir,” shouted Defender’s Tac lead. “That communication was enough to give us a trace. Adjusting sensor displays, now.”

“Tell your team, well done,” said the Alliance skipper. “Can you replay the comms?”

“Yes, sir. Happening now.”

The destroyer’s bridge team listened intently to the conversation between Steg and Gillespie.

“What do you think, Tac?” Captain Montrose asked.

“If the Xesset make a move, Wasp needs to be on top of it. Otherwise an unarmed freighter against a medium-sized military starship—not much hope of survival.”

“The aliens are probably conflicted. Obviously, they could destroy Djamu. Wasp is the unknown card.”

“Should we provide assistance?” Jessie asked, curious as to the skipper’s position.

“Tempting. We’d have the right to do so if the Xesset attempt to board or attack Djamu. If they fire missiles or use other weapons, it’d be all over for the freighter before we could stop them. We would then destroy their ship, of course. Not much consolation to the mercs on the freighter, though.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We should move closer. Helm, take us to a million klicks. Tac, keep defensive shields up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steg, Iwao, and their escort entered the engineering command deck at a rush. Riddell indicated the workstations, and Steg headed to the Helm station, first instructing Iwao to test the sensor station. He booted up the unit and waited for it to display. The visuals were not as clear as they should be although he thought the results would suffice. He reviewed their heading, relieved it had held constant. Now he needed to check the position of the Xesset starship.

“Iwao, what do you think? Do we have sensors?”

“Yessir. The display is scratchy. However, the details are usable.”

“Good. Link it through to this workstation.”

A minute later Iwao advised the link was in place. Steg checked the position of the Xesset ship to discover it had moved towards Djamu and he had lost the prior alignment.

“Riddell, can you fire the rail gun from here?”

“Yes, there’s a station linked directly to the weapon. I checked circuits and it seems to be working. We have steerage; Djamu didn’t suffer any degradation from the attack on the bridge. Just remember she’s not a tight ship, so no wild maneuvers, please.”

“I’ll do my best.” He entered the heading adjustment to re-align Djamu with the aliens. “I need to talk to the Xesset. Do we have external comms?”

“Yes, sir. Good luck getting them to listen.”

“Oh, they’ll listen. Whether they’ll be sensible is another question. Let Kirby know we may be firing a rail gun and we don’t know how the freighter will handle it. Get ready for action.”

Steg estimated it would take Djamu five minutes to re-align with the Xesset ship. He monitored the gradual re-orientation of the freighter, and as its heading came into line he entered a command for the Helm station to continue to track the target. He keyed the freighter’s comunit and mentally braced himself. He needed to communicate in High Xesset. He grimaced—the evil wrapped around the language always challenged him.

“Sir, we have a transmission from the freighter. They’re sending to the Xesset ship. I assume it’s in their language.” Jessie Brent relayed the communication to the bridge audio. Everyone listened to the apparent exchange.

“That sounds like de Coeur’s voice,” Montrose said.

“Yes, sir, I agree. He sounds fluent. The Xesset replying seemed surprised, almost alarmed.”

“I doubt he’s sending them a good morning greeting.” Montrose sipped from his coffee mug. It was early morning for Defender’s crew, and he had just taken up his position on the bridge.

“The aliens sound excited.”

“Probably didn’t expect to hear someone speaking to them in their own language. We need to find out more about de Coeur. He’s got more surprises than most mercenary captains.”

“Sir, Djamu has just fired a rail gun.”

“I’ll be damned.” There was a stunned silence on the destroyer’s bridge.

Steg had silently rehearsed his message, determining in advance the appropriate High Xesset language structure for conversing with an inferior.

“Djamu to Xesset ship.”

A surprised voice replied after a delay of almost a minute, “This is Grace of Success. Who are you?”

“Don’t question your superior. Get me your commander, now.”

“Who are you to order me?”

“Listen, irredeemable drach, I said get your commander. Do it or I will demand your head. Now!”

There was silence for another minute. Steg assumed there was an intense discussion taking place on the alien starship’s bridge.

“This is Force Leader Konya. Who are you and why are you threatening my soldiers?”

“Listen to me, Force Leader. My men defeated the paltry team you left aboard Djamu. We will defeat you just as easily. Surrender now, to save your men. Otherwise you will die and I will eat your heart. This I promise in the name of the god, K’Harnat.”

The alien was silent. Steg’s words were intended to create consternation on the part of the Xesset listeners. Steg had just sworn an oath that required him—if he were Xesset and failed—to surrender to the priests of K’Harnat who would ceremonially execute him on one of their altars. Steg was glad he was not Xesset.

“You blaspheme, alien. You are a drach, a cur, running loose in the streets of Xesset civilization.” The Force Leader continued to express his opinion of Steg in colorful terms. Steg interrupted the word flow.

“Silence, you inferior demon spawn. Surrender now or lose your ship. You have fifteen seconds.”

Steg looked over to Riddell who was standing open-mouthed. While he did not know what Steg was saying to the aliens, he could feel the force of the exchange and was totally surprised the captain of Ebony Company was communicating, apparently fluently, in the Xesset language. Steg released the comunit and said, “Fire on my mark.” He then resumed his communication with the Xesset Force Leader and counted down, in High Xesset, “…4..3…2..1.”

He signaled, and Riddell fired the weapon.

The old freighter almost shook itself to pieces. It lurched and writhed as the metal projectile accelerated along the ceramic tube, which had been added to the length of the body of the starship. Lights dimmed and flickered. Metal groaned and shrieked. Steg did not know the projectile’s weight or eventual speed—he just hoped Djamu would survive the kinetic and magnetic forces required to send the lump of metal towards the alien starship. He watched the sensor display on the Helm workstation as it mapped the expected path of the projectile towards the alien ship. The two seemed to coincide.

“The specs state a weight of five ton, sir,” commented Riddell. “The projectile should split into five one ton units shortly after launch. I think it’s like a large shotgun.”

“Any idea of the exit speed?” Steg asked. “Energy? Range? Anything?”

“No, sir.”

“The Xesset starship’s about five hundred thousand klicks away. If the railgun gets its delivery up to a fraction of light, we should see a result.” Steg checked the elapsed time. “About now.”

He had the sensors at full magnification, and the Xesset ship almost filled the workstation’s screen. The display showed an impact on the vessel’s protective shields. The components of the railgun projectile were apparently following in a line, hammering the shields, one after the other. He counted the hits. There was a flash—the shields had failed after three strikes. Two more projectile fragments impacted the now unshielded alien starship. Steg could visualize atmosphere, accompanied by debris, streaming out of the rupture. The freighter’s sensors were too weak to provide the details he needed to assess the damage.

“Check our status,” he directed Riddell. “Let Kirby know the Xesset ship’s been hit. Tell him their shields failed. I don’t know the extent of the damage. I’ll see if Wasp is able to provide more information.”

“Djamu to Wasp. This is de Coeur. Is the commander available?”

Gillespie’s voice carried mixed tones of worry and amazement. “What the hell did you use on the Xesset?”

“Djamu has a railgun. Primitive, although it packs quite a punch. We were fortunate. However, we need some data from Wasp. Our sensors are weak; they’re barely worth the power drain. Can you let me know what’s happening? Damage?”

“You’re full of surprises. Their shields blew after the third projectile hit them. The last two pierced the hull, forward of the bridge—at least, where we think their bridge is located. She’s accelerating now, at an impressive rate, trailing debris and atmosphere. We assume they’re about to go s-t. Congratulations to you for your team’s survival.”

“It was risky. I didn’t know if the railgun would even work. There was a possibility it would tear Djamu apart. I’m surprised the freighter survived the stresses—I suspect she’s been reinforced. It’s definitely a one shot weapon—it’ll take at least fifteen minutes to reload.”

“What’s your next step?”

“We need to transfer Djamu survivors to Wasp—probably ten or so crew. We’ll hold them in the brig until we reach Eos. They should be relatively harmless. I’ll return most of our men and keep only a small crew on board the freighter. I’ll be in the first shuttle. We need to plan the next steps, which I don’t want to do over an open comlink. Djamu can’t go too fast or it will fall apart. We should send details of our capture of Djamu to the Eos authorities; we need their sign-off, confirming Djamu’s ours.”

“Good. I’ll send the message advising success. Use the draft we prepared?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Oh, the Fain want to know if you or your team needs their help?”

“We’ve one or two minor injuries. Nothing serious, so we’re okay. Djamu’s bridge ratings—those who survived—are being treated by Kirby’s men. Tell Stacia I said thanks, though. I’ll get shuttles underway as quickly as possible. Djamu out.”

“This is far too entertaining. I want to see what happens when they arrive at Eos. The probability the Xesset will also arrive there with reinforcements is—oh—conservatively—I’d say 99 percent.”

“Sir?”

“Well, don’t you agree? The Xesset high-tailed out—they didn’t know whether another projectile was likely to follow. They’ll want revenge. Plus they’re not going to give away a freighter load of munitions—they’ll want to know where it is. We’ll get there first and wait and watch. This is just too good to miss. Oh, and send de Coeur a message. Tell him well done, thanks for the entertainment, and we’ll see him at Eos.”

“Sir, you’re sure?”

“Come on Tac, you must agree we’ve had our money’s worth. He’ll need help to survive.”

“Yes, sir. I do agree—we’re all interested to see what happens next. I’ll send the message now.”

“Good. Astro, prepare your course for Eos.”

“I have it ready, sir.”

Montrose raised his eyebrows. “You have? You won the bet?”

Astro smiled and nodded her head.

“Well done. Let’s go.”

Chapter 31

Steg, Captain Dean, and Commander Gillespie were in the small conference room next to the bridge. Steg had transferred back to Wasp by shuttle, and when he disembarked, crew rushed to congratulate him. It took almost thirty minutes before he managed to get to the meeting he’d requested.

“Commander, I didn’t want to use a comlink for this discussion. I don’t want Djamu to continue to Eos. The contract gives us ownership of the starship and its freight once we capture her, using their Customs laws. We’ve followed the processes as required without any missteps. We’ve an excellent witness—the Alliance destroyer.”

He didn’t mention Defender’s congratulatory message. He was certain Wasp’s commander had read it; the destroyer’s captain had sent it as an open message, after all.

Steg continued, “I think we would be taking an unnecessary risk if we take the freighter to Eos. Instead, I’ll put a skeleton crew on board and send her to Sicca—the market there is open and well managed. We should try to complete our contract so that Wasp reaches Sicca before Djamu gets there. If not, the freighter can dock and wait for us. We can provide for contingencies.”

“What about you—are you coming with us to Eos or going with your freighter?” asked Gillespie.

Dean sat straighter, his hands on the table. He said, “I’d like to know, too.”

“Go with Wasp, of course. We’ve a commitment to proceed against the rebels, and I want to complete the tasks in our contract. Besides, I expect the Xesset will be there, too. They will want the freighter’s cargo and undoubtedly still have plans for Eos. I think I can out-maneuver them, with your help.”

Dean relaxed. Commander Gillespie patted the back of Steg’s hand. She said, “Good. I thought that would be your decision. Now, who do you want to crew Djamu?”

“I’ll allocate at least twenty men from Ebony Company. Kirby can take charge; we can promote him to captain. We can use members of Djamu’s crew—the engineers, for example, weren’t directly involved in smuggling. Same for the general crew. I’d like to have some of your people for bridge duties.”

Dean asked, “How much trust do you have in Kirby and your men?”

“Well, I can’t say complete trust, of course. They’re a good team, and he’s an effective leader. I’ll set up system blocks to ensure they don’t deviate from their course to Sicca. If they try to change course I’ll get a message. I’ll be able to track them. In case of an emergency, they’ll have to signal me so I can authorize a course change.” Steg looked at Commander Gillespie. “If we had the bridge headed by someone like Rose, I’d be more relaxed.” Rose Curtis was co-owner of Wasp.

“You don’t think we’ll need her in Eos? What if the Xesset arrive and attack Wasp while we’re there?”

“She has a well-trained Weapons team who’ll step up, I’m sure. I’ll miss Kirby. However, I’m confident we can win through. Dean?”

“As long as the Xesset don’t come with a fleet, I’m okay. I’m confident we can disarm planet-side rebels, unless there are thousands of them.”

“Seeing we have their freighter full of weapons, we can assume the rebels won’t be well equipped, and I’m confident we’ll have the advantage, and far better armor. Is there anything we need that we could transfer from Djamu before we let her go?”

Dean shook his head. “No, we stocked up when we were recruiting you and the rest of your company.”

“Commander?”

“No, Wasp is fully armed and stocked. To the teeth, I suppose. Rose has been anxious to use some of it.”

“Good. Can you talk to her? At least initiate the process for me?”

“I’ll start the discussion. You and she will have to negotiate rates, though.”

“Thank you. It might help if you can spare other bridge people, too? You’ll have a better idea who we’d need on Djamu?”

“Of course. I’ll add that to the discussion with Rose. We’ll work out a crew for the freighter.”

“Good. I’m doing the same with Kirby and Ebony Company. Let me know when you’ve spoken with Rose.”

Two days later Steg monitored the viewscreens on Wasp’s bridge as Djamu made its s-t jump. Wasp volunteers had lined up at the chance to take the freighter to Sicca, attracted by both the change in routine and the promised bonus. Wasp’s engineering team had even modified and re-loaded the rail gun and claimed their improvements would permit a five-minute reload, although Steg wondered whether Djamu would survive another firing of the weapon. Kirby had accepted his assignment, and he had quickly moved Ebony Company to the freighter. Both Steg and Kirby were hopeful the trip would be uneventful.

Steg turned to Commander Gillespie when the freighter symbol disappeared from the display.

“I hope Djamu didn’t shake up her crew too much.”

“Worried?”

“No, Commander. Well, not much.”

“Good. We can make our jump now, if that’s all right with you?”

“With me? Certainly. Let’s go.”

Wasp kicked out of s-t on time and at the planned distance from the Eos way station. Steg watched while the bridge team checked the status and location of their starship.

“Excellent,” said Commander Gillespie after all sections reported in. “It’ll take another three hours before we can dock. I’ll arrange some time off for my crew, only an hour or two at a time—the way station is relatively modest in size; they are still building up traffic. You should consider some time out for your men, too.”

Steg said, “I asked Dean to set up shore leave for the Stingers. We’re also trying to keep it to a couple of hours at a time. And the Fain said they want to explore.”

As Steg and Commander Gillespie were speaking, another starship broke out of s-t into real space. The Weapons team, eager to maintain their reputation, quickly identified Defender; they all assumed the Alliance skipper wanted to see how they would fare with the rest of their assignment.

Gillespie said, “He’s either checking up on you or simply wants more entertainment. Weapons, can you give me details of starships at the station?”

“Yes, commander. There’s some small craft; they look like miners, five, six of those. Ten mid-size freighters, inter-system types. A small passenger liner. A couple of couriers. Two frigates, small ones—probably only for show or local defense. Another two starships, which appear to be alien, although I don’t think they’re Xesset. Some private yachts, large, probably inter-system capable. There are some heavy-duty surface-space tugs, cargo carriers, I’d say. A number of lighter shuttles. Of course, there’s the Alliance destroyer, which arrived a minute ago—I assume she’ll stand off. They may not have docking rights. Besides, the military types always want to be able to react quickly, which they can’t do if they’re docked.”

“That’s why you’re assuming only a few hours for shore leave for your crew?” suggested Steg.

“Got it in one. We’ll be far more helpful to you if we’re standing off.”

“Good.”

Steg watched as Wasp slowly moved towards the planet and its way station. He listened to the transmissions between the station authorities and Wasp—there was nothing untoward in the exchanges.

“Wasp to Eos Way Station. We request docking for three days. We require general supplies.”

“Eos to Wasp. Welcome to our system. Tug on standby. See separate message for docking details. Also we’re sending files containing our customs rules, station regs, and local laws. You can list your needs and any merchandise you have for trading on EMN—that’s Eos Market Net—there’s a 10 percent commission, each way. Planet-side dealings require Customs clearance. Eos out.”

Steg flinched at the add-on rate—the station would take 20 percent of any transaction, half from each of the seller and buyer.

“If we make major purchases here, they’re likely to be expensive, based on those rates.” Gillespie said. “I’ve routed the messages and attachments to a general purpose display for bridge, engineering, medical, and to the rec area for general access.”

The Alliance destroyer announced her presence and declined docking and other assistance offers. Apparently visiting warships generated substantial income for the traders on the way station, and the station response seemed to be disappointed at the loss of potential revenue. Other com traffic appeared to be routine.

Steg met with Dean as Wasp moved towards the way station. “Start researching planet-side—the so-called rebels—who we need to deal with. There should be news items and perhaps more detailed reports available. See what your intelligence people can tap into.”

“I’ve already initiated a station search. We’ve found only a small amount of public material, so far. We need to be a lot closer to attempt a dirtside search. Our intel team says we’ll be more successful once we dock.”

“What have you got so far?”

“There’s been some small protests on the planet, for example, some government buildings bombed with minor damage. No deaths, at least none reported. It’s the type of almost casual protest you see on numerous planets.”

“They must have funds, though? They purchased a freighter load of munitions.”

“There’s one province—very wealthy—no protests there, at all. According to the on-station scandal sheets, one of the major commercial houses in that region is suspected of growing J-trees and producing a range of Joy products. It’s a high cash earner and gives them inter-system contacts.”

Joy was a potent, highly addictive pleasure drug, banned in most systems. It was produced from the leaves of J-trees, a cultivated bush, using a simple distillation process. Fruit from J-trees produced an even more potent drug. The leaves and fruit, if processed differently, had beneficial properties, which outweighed by far by the addictive contents. An uncut dose of Joy would, in most cases, be fatal, agonizingly so.

“Get the team to dig as deep as they can on that possibility. We’re still hours away from docking, and I’d like to have results by the time we get to the station.”

“Will do. Have you heard anything yet?”

“I’ve sent off messages to the local authorities. Monty did say the Eos government officials were slow to respond. They now know we’ve taken possession of the freighter. I’ve requested intelligence on the rebels. It’ll be interesting to compare what they provide, compared with the data the team gathers.”

An hour later his comunit chime sounded. Steg read the details displayed on his workstation. The feed was anonymous, there was no way to back-link the message to its source; it contained a number of files which, based on a quick review, provided in-depth background on Eos, its politicians, military capabilities, economics, and drug trade suspicions. He laughed out loud. The Alliance captain was being supportive. Steg forwarded the files to Dean, with a note to not even try to guess their source.

They were halfway to the way station, and he and Dean were reading through the anonymous material when the comunit chimed again. This time the message was from Eos, providing a secure comlink to the president’s office, apparently from someone describing himself as the president’s aide. Steg made the requested call.

“I’m Steg de Coeur,” he said, when the link was answered. “I’m deputizing for Colonel Attwood. I’m responsible for execution of our contract.”

There was a short communications delay before Steg received his reply. The person on the other end of the video link appeared unimpressed with Steg and his role. “I don’t care who you are,” he replied. The transmission contained static, and the image of the other person jittered across the screen. “As long as you carry out the terms of the contract, yeah. What’s the status of the freighter?”

“As we advised, we took possession and have control of Djamu and its load of weapons.” Steg again waited for the reply.

“Good. At least you’ve succeeded with the first objective, yeah. The president wants details of your plans for dealing with the terrorists.”

“We’ll carry out the remainder of the contract, as agreed.”

He kept his reply bland and noncommittal. Steg did not mention the contract did not require them to communicate any plans. Indeed, that would be the last thing he would do—he had no confidence anything communicated dirtside would remain secure. He suspected it would be safer to publish his plans in the local media.

Steg continued, “I have a requirement for you—for the president, that is: we require comprehensive intelligence on the rebels, including their leader, members, numbers, organization structure, locations, sources of finance, and backers. Your undertaking to provide this intelligence was included in the contract. We cannot plan anything until we have this material. Please advise when you propose to send these details. I can refer to the sections of the contract if you require?”

The president’s aide looked away from the screen, apparently speaking to someone out of camera range. Steg assumed he was receiving instructions. He returned his attention to Steg. “The files will be sent tomorrow morning, yeah. Please acknowledge receipt. We’ll make contact tomorrow afternoon to hear your plans, yeah. President’s office out.” The screen went blank as the link was disconnected.

Dean had been listening to the conversation. “Arrogant little man, isn’t he?”

“Typical—their egos expand according to the height of their bureaucratic position, I think. Our plan is to take out the rebels. That’s all he’s going to hear.”

Chapter 32

“Skipper, do you think we should land some personnel? We’re not close enough to provide support if anything drastic happens.”

“Tac, you’ve developed a soft spot for de Coeur?” Captain Montrose raised his eyebrows.

Jessie Brent almost blushed under the skipper’s intense regard. “Uh—no, sir. I’m intrigued. I want to know how he’s going to carry out his contract. We’re too far away to see what’s happening at a detailed level.”

“A neatly planned escape. I see why you’re the Tac expert. We could send a drone to the station—one of the smaller ones? Or you could take a pinnace with a small team? I’m sure the local authorities would welcome you, as long as you spend money on their station.”

“Sir, you tempt me with the thought of some station time. However, I think the small k-drone might be suitable. It carries a number of spy bots we could distribute around the station.”

“How will you recompense Defender if we lose valuable equipment?”

“I’m sure the insight we gain—about the planet, their so-called rebels, and the mercenaries—will be recompense enough, sir.”

Defender’s bridge crew were listening with avid interest. Montrose liked to challenge his team, they claimed, to ensure they could stand up to officialdom without reaching into disrespect. Jessie was one of his favorites for this challenge; she tried to set an example for her team and for the bridge crew on watch. Sometimes, though, she felt she sailed close to the edge.

“Tac, you tempt me.” Montrose repeated Jessie’s phrasing. “Security, prepare a k-drone and guide it to the station. Include ten spy bots. We want to locate it as close to Wasp as possible. Give Tac control of the bots when you have the drone in position. We’ll see if we can gain these hypothetical insights.”

“Yes, sir. It’s already prepped. Dispatching now.”

Montrose looked around the bridge. “Was I just tricked?” he asked of no one in particular.

“Anticipated, sir, anticipated,” Tac said, sotto voce.

Steg rubbed his temples. He was meeting with Dean and Sergeant Riddell to determine how to allocate their force. He said, “We need to consider how we’ll deploy our marines when we dock and later, when we take on the rebels. First, I want guards in place, around the clock, fully armored, to protect Wasp. Armed inside the ship, and if we can, armed when outside. We’ll need to check local rules, I suppose.”

Dean nodded. “Agreed. I’ll arrange the guards. We need to consider risks outside the ship. We can schedule shore leave, with a maximum absence of two hours, groups of three or more, for safety. No one to be off the ship overnight. I’ll brief everyone.”

“We’ve—what— two hundred and fifty men available?”

Sergeant Riddell said, “Sir, we have two hundred and thirty active mercenaries. There are six in the sickbay who’ll be laid up for another week or so and then will be on light duties for a week or two. Nothing serious—mainly broken limbs from either fights or aggressive training. We have five on short term absences—broken fingernails or similar.” The man had no patience for mercenaries who succumbed to minor medical issues. At Steg’s expression, he added, “It’s the Fain, sir. They care too much for the men.”

Steg hid his smile. “Fain are good for morale, sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.” He seemed unconvinced. “What about Wasp’s own marines? Can we use them as guards?”

“I suspect the commander will want her people for internal security. If she requires assistance, we’ll provide it.”

Captain Dean said, “So we’ll have two hundred and thirty men, less guards, so net, say two twenty?”“

“Three shuttle loads, more or less,” Steg suggested.

“Four, sir. We should pack our heavy weapons; you never know when we might need them, and they take up room,” reminded Riddell.

Dean said, “Definitely.”

Steg said, “All right. Four shuttle loads. Wasp has five shuttles available, so we’re set for transport.”

“Sir, the men wonder if they’re going to be paid for action?”

“It’s always a major question.” The captain shrugged. “They are mercenaries, after all.”

Steg leaned forward, hands on the desk. He looked at Riddell and said, “All the mercs will get a share, standard combat rates and a possible bonus. That depends on how quickly we complete operations. Wasp will be reimbursed for support.”

Riddell seemed pleased Steg had confirmed the payments. “Good to know, sir. They’ll be pleased. They were envious of the Ebony Company getting a duty bonus for providing security for Djamu.”

Steg mentally shrugged; he still hadn’t developed an insight that would allow him to fully understand the mercenary priorities. “Riddell, you can initiate the shuttle checks. Hold off the heavy weapons until we have a better idea of what we might encounter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean said to Steg as Riddell left the conference room, “Our Intel team has been busy; they’ll have material for you by morning. More station gossip and lots of planet-sourced reports. They’ve been tapping into a number of sources. I’ve arranged a meeting—you, me, the Intel team. You’ll be impressed.”

After an early breakfast, Steg headed to the bridge. He had an hour to spare before meeting with Dean and his team and thought Commander Gillespie would be on watch. The commander maintained bridge discipline even though Wasp was docked.

“Commander Gillespie’s in a meeting, Captain,” said Aadan, looking up from her Helm workstation. “She’s with Stacia and Sara and one of the sergeants, Sergeant Menyll, I think.”

“Thanks. I’ll come back, later.” He was about to leave the bridge when the conference room door opened.

“Steg, I thought I heard your voice. Can you join us?” Gillespie asked.

“Certainly.”

The commander closed the door behind him. He nodded his greeting to the people seated around the conference table. He was intrigued at Gillespie’s serious expressions.

“Steg,” said the commander. “I’ll brief you quickly. We decided to sell the surplus water—about five thousand tons—from Monty’s habitat to the way station. They offered a good price and I negotiated a discount on the Eos Market Net charges. They agreed to it because the buyer is the station itself. The station sent a water barge yesterday evening, and we’ve been draining off about a thousand tons each load. As the team drained the water, they’ve been checking the exposed areas, section by section. About midnight, they made a somewhat gruesome discovery. They found what they suspected were human remains—two apparently carefully butchered upper legs. They were in a freezer, stored alongside fish and other food items we’d brought on board for Monty and his wives. I had Stacia run a DNA test—she has the results. Stacia?”

“Yes, ma’am. About two years ago one of the mercenaries—a sergeant—disappeared. We were in transit, and there seemed to be no way for him to get off Wasp. After a thorough search, Colonel Attwood concluded the sergeant had somehow managed to trick the ship’s security software. The colonel listed him as having jumped ship at our previous stop. Of course, Monty’s area wasn’t searched.” She paused.

“And?” Steg prompted.

“The DNA test from the remains in Monty’s habitat matches the record we have of the missing sergeant.”

Commander Gillespie added, “If my memory serves me, the man—Sergeant Teoq, he was from one of the more remote Rim-based Terran systems—was suspicious of Monty. He created something of a furor, much to Attwood’s annoyance. He was a new recruit, and when he discovered Monty was on board, he wanted to cancel his contract. He claimed the cephalopods were killers, and they had wiped out a human settlement on a neighboring system.”

“Yes, ma’am—that’s the man. The colonel wouldn’t agree to terminate his contract. He claimed the sergeant had received a sign-on payment and would have to repay it, but the sergeant had already remitted the money to his family. There was quite an argument. The sergeant was convincing, upset a lot of men.”

“So you think Monty somehow killed this man?” asked Steg.

Stacia nodded. “Yes, Captain. Killed, and even worse, we think the cephalopods have eaten the other parts of his body. The legs were carefully stored with other food items.”

“I am so relieved Monty and his wives are no longer on board my ship.” Gillespie shuddered.

“It was a sad ending for the sergeant,” said Steg. There was silent agreement, in both expressions and demeanor, from everyone.

He continued, “We should report this to the Alliance destroyer—the skipper will be interested to hear this information about these cephalopods.”

The commander said, “I’ll make an announcement to the crew and mercenaries, otherwise there’ll be a whole range of rumors. It’ll certainly remove any remaining sympathy people might hold for Monty.”

“We should arrange a service for Sergeant Teoq. We have records of his family; we can advise them of his death and send a payment to them?” The questioner was the sergeant who was leading the water disposal effort. He shook his head. “Shocked us all, I can tell you.”

“I agree with your suggestion, Sergeant. Talk to Captain Dean; he’ll see to that, I’m sure. Stacia, prepare a full report, document your test method and results, and we’ll add the details to our files. I’ll send a copy to the Alliance destroyer. Steg’s correct; they’ll be interested.”

Chapter 33

Steg hurried to Dean’s Intel meeting. He was almost late after spending time to review and approve the file Commander Gillespie planned to send to the Alliance warship. The meeting was located in one of the smaller conference rooms adjacent to the war room, which Steg had established for the Ebony Company. The Intel team was already in place, readying their presentation, when he entered.

Dean stood. “Sir, I’d like you to meet our Intel people. They’ve been working almost without sleep since we arrived. Let me make introductions. You know Tessa, of course.”

Steg nodded. “I didn’t know you were into intelligence, Tessa.”

“Fain have lots of intelligence, sir.” Her smile dimpled her cheeks.

“I believe you.” The other members of the team laughed at the exchange.

Dean continued, “Sergeant Ester Velez is the team leader.”

The sergeant, a heavyworlder, stood and said. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise, sergeant.”

“Sir, my team,” she said, taking over from the captain. She indicated each person in turn. “Howe and Beagle are our computer experts—they’re almost as good as you, sir. Texra is our sociologist. Blue is our media expert. She can find gossip on anyone, anywhere—we sometimes think she makes it up, but somehow she can verify all of it. Tessa adds another dimension to our analysis, mainly ensuring we’re not missing the obvious. She is good at questioning our assumptions. I do military assessments and bring it all together—after I’ve double checked everything.”

Steg acknowledged each member of the team and then sat down. He said, “I’m impressed, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir. Our function was replaced by Monty when he came on board. The colonel decided our team was unnecessary, so it’s a pleasure to be back, so to speak. I’ve prepared an overview and I’ll use the viewscreen.”

Ester signaled and after a moment the large screen across the end of the room displayed a live image of the main continent. She explained, “We’re tapping into some of the local geo-sats. Your anonymous files were helpful—if I may say so, the Alliance has good intelligence sources. In contrast, the material supplied by the bureaucrats is exceptionally poor. It contained about five names, some addresses, and not much more.”

“I didn’t expect we’d get real data from the president’s office.”

Ester smiled. “We’ve discovered a lot on our own. We’ve taken scandal media material—gossip, if you like—from the station’s unofficial social channels and added law enforcement records and media reports from the planet. The mix is revealing. As a result, we’ve collected far better information about the rebels and the people backing them. The leader is located here, a mile or so outside this town, New Dempsey.”

She clicked a pointer and the image changed to display the region. “Population of the town and surrounding areas is about forty thousand, and it’s five hundred klicks from Eos City. The leader’s name is Ser Oskar Bedwyr—he’s the planet’s primary producer of Joy, predominantly for export. He has a well-protected—in local terms—residence on a hundred acres. There’s about five hundred acres under cultivation, all J-trees. We get to astronomical numbers when we try to estimate his revenue. His security’s local, we’ve counted about twenty-five guards who focus on keeping competitors away and providing personal protection. He has another twenty general employees at his residence. We believe these buildings here, about a mile away”—she highlighted a nearby complex—“are his Joy processing and packing plants. Another thirty or more guards are there, plus a large number of workers, maybe a hundred. Local villages provide the labor.”

“Any exo-armor?” Dean asked.

“No, sir, none. We’ve searched everywhere we can. There’s nothing that looks like armor, anywhere on the planet—not privately and not with the military. We’ve checked the light frigates here on the station, and they have fifty or so marines on each starship, again, without armor. Not even the President’s Guard is armored.”

“Good. Keep checking in case they’ve managed to hide their equipment,” Steg said.

“Yes, sir, we plan to.” The sergeant looked back at the display and continued her presentation and highlighted other locations. “We’ve found similar, although smaller, installations for two other leaders who are secondary to Ser Bedwyr, as far as we can determine. About half the number of guards. They both have J-trees under cultivation with processing plants and residential buildings. Finally, we’ve located a quasi-military installation with about five hundred trainees. It’s in a remote region in the mountains, along here.” She indicated a visible mountain range. “This camp is about a thousand klicks from the capital. No heavy weapons, no missiles, no major transport available to move them out, and no fuel supplies of any significance—at least, as far as we can determine.”

“What degree of support do these people have from the locals?” Steg asked.

“Very poor. They rule their local fiefdoms with fear. They buy their support.”

“Any politicians involved with the rebels?”

“Yes, sir. About ten of the elected representatives, out of a hundred, that we could prove in court. Bought and paid for. We’ve been tracking cash transfers.”

“Well done, again. What about the President’s Office? Anyone there owned by the terrorists?”

“We commenced checking them this morning. We’ll resume our search when we finish this meeting.”

Steg was silent for a minute as he reflected on the details. He said, “Some more questions for you. Are there any s-t communication devices on the planet, military or private—and if so, are they used or accessible by the rebels? Are there any indications the Xesset are present—perhaps a shuttle housed at one of the rebel locations?”

“Sir, you ask good questions. We’ll add them to our research activities and let you know when we find answers.”

Tessa raised her hand to catch Sergeant Velez’s attention.

“Yes, Tessa?”

“What about here, on the station—if there’s a conduit to move Joy off-planet, wouldn’t there also be a rebel base, to provide protection?”

“Of course. Another item to add to our outstanding research.”

“I have a question,” Steg said.

Ester gave him a doubtful look. “Yes?”

“Think of this as a suggestion. Joy addiction provides an effective lever for control. If the rebels are more devious than we’re giving them credit for—maybe they have a frigate or even two—under their control. Can you investigate that possibility?”

“Yes, sir. We can check bar gossip as a start. We can find out where the officers drink, and make some friends. It sounds like a Fain task?” She looked at Tessa.

“Um—sure, we could do that. Three of us should be enough, I think.”

“Excellent.” She turned back to Steg. “Sir, do you have any more questions?”

Steg said, “No, Sergeant. Not right now.”

“Captain Dean?”

“No, Sergeant.” The captain shook his head.

Ester looked at her team. “We’d better resume our research, then. Meeting’s over.”

Steg said, “Sergeant, thank you and your team. Impressive work. Please send briefing notes to me, the captain, and Commander Gillespie. Include Sergeant Riddell. Dean, we have enough material to commence planning our action against these rebels. Sergeant, if you discover anything more, please let us know as soon as you can. If I hear anything, I’ll keep you informed.” He turned, and in a lower voice said to Dean, “I need five minutes. Just you.”

The captain nodded his acquiescence.

When the team exited, Steg double-checked no one could hear him, and reassured, he said, “Gillespie going to make a ship-wide broadcast in a few minutes. Monty and his wives were frekin’ cannibals. They ate most of the sergeant who went missing a couple of years ago—Sergeant Teoq. You were part of the Stingers, then?”

Dean, speechless for once, nodded his head.

Later, early evening ship time, Steg and Dean met with Commander Gillespie; Sergeant Velez and Tessa were also in attendance. The captain presented details from the Intel team’s reports and outlined the preliminary tactics, which he and Steg had agreed earlier.

“The Intelligence team counted twenty-five personal guards and another thirty at the Joy plant. If they’re correct, we’d have control of both in less than thirty minutes. If the intelligence is flawed—for example, if there are more or they have exo-armored guards—it could take perhaps half a day for us to take control. In the first scenario, no losses on either side unless someone does something stupid, and in the second one, losses would depend on the expertise of the opposition,” Dean said. He was relying on survival instincts of a poorly equipped security force when faced with exo-armored mercenaries for his timings. “Our experience in these situations is the weaker force—when disadvantaged to this degree—will quickly surrender.”

“What about the other locations?” asked Commander Gillespie.

“About half the number of guards at each of two other locations—we’ve marked them as locations B and C. We’re using the same elapsed times: thirty minutes to take control, unless they have exo-armor. The training camp—that’s a different story—there’s about five hundred rebels undergoing various levels of training. We’d have to come in heavy-handed. The result could be more casualties on their side.”

“So we’ll expect far more casualties at the training camp,” confirmed Steg. “Rebels, not ours. I don’t think we can make estimates of degree and number. If they’re fanatics, they and their trainers might think they can overwhelm us. Our tentative plan is first we take out the three leaders, and second, we use all our forces against the training camp. One shuttle for each of the production sites, and we’ll assemble all four shuttles to take the training camp. We’ll assign two hundred Stingers and leave the remainder on Wasp as a reserve.”

“I agree taking out the leaders makes sense. Unless they are figureheads? What if there is someone else pulling strings, who you haven’t identified?”

Sergeant Velez frowned. “Commander, you’re as bad as Captain de Coeur. He keeps asking questions, too.”

“Do you have answers?”

“Not yet, ma’am. We will, by end of the day, my team has promised. Well, except for the question about the frigates.”

“Frigates?” The commander frowned at Steg. “Why are you concerned about the frigates? You mean those docked on the station?”

“Tessa wondered if there was a rebel base, here, on the way station. She thought if it is being used for shipping out Joy, the rebels would have a number of guards on station to protect their product. I added a thought about the Eos frigates docked here. If they’re controlled by the rebels, we might have a naval force to deal with.”

“I see what you mean.” Commander Gillespie steepled her fingers. “I see why the colonel relied on Monty to do all his intelligence gathering. So, Sergeant, what are your conclusions?”

“We’ve identified twenty or so rebels—guards for the Joy shipments, rather—on station. We don’t yet know about the frigates,” said Sergeant Ester.

“I may be able to immobilize those.” Steg raised his hand. “No, I won’t disclose how.”

“I suspect possible system failures,” Gillespie suggested.

Steg shook his head. “Not another word.”

“Do I need to continue researching the frigates? If you can take them out of the picture, won’t my efforts be a waste?” Tessa’s voice had a slightly querulous tone.

Dean explained to the commander. “Given the amount of Joy moving around, it would be easy for the rebels to tempt one or two, perhaps officers, and then, given rapid addiction reaction to Joy, they’d be willing to do anything for continued access to the drug. We tasked Tessa with investigating whether the frigate crew or officers are under the control of the rebels.”

“Tess, yes, I think we need some counter-intelligence. If we identify who has been suborned, we can back-trace to find links to the rebels,” Steg said. Gillespie indicated her agreement.

“Hmm. Okay, I’ll take Sara and Tacia with me, and we’ll explore some of the bars. Tacia can bring her scalpel. We’ll claim expenses, too.”

Steg adopted a serious expression and asked, “Can we afford their level of expense?”

“Probably not. It will depend on the results,” Dean said.

“Take no risks, though, Tessa. It’s research, not action,” cautioned Steg. “Dean, arrange for three or four of the Stingers to be in hailing distance, in case our Fain team runs into trouble.”

“I understand. We’ll be careful,” assured Tessa.

“Riddell, you and I can discuss suitable backup, after this meeting,” Dean added.

“Yes, sir.”

“Commander, I want to discuss Wasp’s contribution. I plan to use four of the shuttles. We’ll time our drops so each shuttle is at its target at daybreak. If it’s acceptable to you, I’d prefer Wasp to be at least two hundred thousand klicks away from this station when we launch—we can hide our intentions that way. We’ll leave this station a day prior; perhaps our departure will help confuse anyone who has suspicions about us.”

“Agreed, both to using the shuttles and departing the station the day before you launch your attacks.”

“Good. Dean, we need one shuttle loaded for each of the primary locations. The fourth shuttle is to take up position at the training camp and prevent any major movement of rebels out of that area. As soon as we arrest the leaders, we’ll meet up with the fourth shuttle. Ideally the rebels and their trainers will realize their defeat is inevitable. I’d prefer them to surrender rather than fight. We might need to display some power first.”

“What do you plan to do about the rebels on the station?”

“It’s an open question, for the moment. Let’s see what the Fain can discover, and we’ll discuss how to respond. One possibility is we bring the shuttles back here and raid the quarters where the rebels are in control, after dropping our prisoners off for the local authorities. We could use Wasp to provide an additional force. Or we may not need to do anything. I’ll check the contract. It may require us to clear the planet of the rebels, in which case we ignore the rebels here. I don’t recall whether our scope or not includes the station or not. Besides, the people involved here probably are smugglers—criminals—not rebels.”

“We probably can say the same about most of the so-called rebels on the planet, too,” added Sergeant Ester. “They’re more involved in producing and exporting Joy than anything else.”

“It raises questions about the politicians—are they envious of the wealth generated by smuggling this drug, or are they serious about eliminating the drug activities as well as the rebel movement? In any case, we’ll destroy all the production facilities and labs. Not much we can do about the crops, though.”

Dean suggested, “The Alliance skipper might be interested in downstream names of dealers and traders, if we can find details.”

Chapter 34

“Sir, there’s something strange happening on the planet.” Jessie Brent was biting the end of her compad stylus, a sign she was deeply worried.

Captain Montrose looked up from his workstation display. “Strange, Tac? Define strange.”

Jessie put her stylus down. “I’ve been monitoring the planet—at least the major cities and industrial areas. About three hours ago, power began to be diverted from large areas. Factories ceased operation, transport systems failed, and lights were extinguished across some of the larger residential areas. The process is intensifying; lights are going out across all the night zones of the planet, and power available in day zones is being reduced. The power losses or diversions are substantial and increasing.”

“You’re right, that does fit the definition of strange. Replay your observations for me.” Montrose studied the data Tac had assembled. “Could a weapon be using this power?”

“No, sir. Nothing like that. There is one anomaly that I’ve noted: data centers are still operating, and standby processing units have been activated.”

“So Eos is experiencing a major power drain except for major, possibly core, computer systems?”

“Yes, sir. I suspect someone has diverted processing power. It wouldn’t be the government—too many civilians are likely to be affected. Their military isn’t strong enough, and I eliminated them. It’s unlikely the rebels have the know-how. It leaves our friend—could de Coeur be responsible?” She picked up her stylus and chewed the end again.

“How do you get to that conclusion? That’s a helluva intuitive leap, Tac, even for you.”

“Eliminate and focus on what remains. We’ve eliminated the government, the military, the rebels. There’s no one we know of who could have that ability—except perhaps de Coeur. We know he penetrated our electronics, something we considered impossible. He has a critical task to carry out, eliminating the rebels. He needs information. So maybe—” She spat out pieces of her stylus.

“He’s suborned almost all the local computer systems and is using them to gather data? Interesting thought. No proof. Still interesting. Keep monitoring. Alert me if anything changes.”

“Yes, sir.” Jessie reached for a new stylus.

It was approaching midnight, ship time, when Steg left the meeting and headed to his cabin for a well-earned rest. After his shower, he stretched out on his bunk and relaxed. He was asleep in seconds, oblivious to the Fain who quietly joined him. Later, the comlink buzzer roused him from a deep sleep. It took a moment or two for him to re-orient himself; he reached across and hit the accept button.

“Captain, can you spare some time—it’s Sergeant Velez. We’ve got problems.”

Steg looked at the clock on the comunit. “Sergeant, it’s after 4:00 a.m.”

“Yes, sir. I know. This is urgent. We’re in the small meeting area next to the Ebony war room.”

“I’ll be there in ten.” Steg stretched, accidentally bumping the Fain’s head. Still asleep, she said, “Shhh. It’s always so noisy in here.”

Steg reached the small meeting room in seven minutes. Sergeant Velez and her intelligence team were sitting around the table, a worried expression on each face.

“Tell me all,” Steg said as he sat on a chair at the end of the table.

“Sir, our first problem is our Fain. Tessa, Stacia and Sara met with some Eos officers at a bar—the Pink Geranium—and then boarded one of the Eos frigates—the Eos 5. That was at 1:00 a.m. The plan was that they would be absent for no more than an hour. They haven’t left the ship and it’s now approaching 5 a.m. The marines we tasked to protect them became concerned—Fain always keep to their schedules. They tried to enter the frigate. However, they can’t get anyone’s attention. Either they’re being ignored, or the officers haven’t set a watch.”

“Hmm. I’ll organize a squad and go visit. Now, you said problems?” He emphasized the plural.

Sergeant Velez looked across the table at two of her team members. She had introduced them in the first meeting as Howe and Beagle, her computer experts. “Report.” The command was snapped out and the two experts flinched.

“Yes, Sergeant,” said Beagle. She, like her sergeant, was also a heavyworlder, probably five feet or so tall, and Steg thought she was about thirty years old. She wore the standard Stinger uniform and her hair was cropped short. Howe kept his head down, focusing on his compad. He was from a standard world and appeared to be both taller and younger than his companion. He, too, wore the Stinger uniform and his head was shaved.

Beagle turned to Steg. “Sir, we accidentally set a virus loose on the Eos central banking computer system. It was supposed to track names and files. However, we—I loaded the incorrect program.”

“And—?”

Howe looked up from his compad. “Sir, it’s run amuck. Every major computer and data center on Eos has been infected—the virus has spread everywhere. It soaks up processing power and overloads storage units as it replicates. Unfortunately, it’s working as designed. I estimate 85 percent of the planet’s total computer workload now is running the virus. Its impact has increased at an alarming rate. Systems on Eos are shutting down almost all other processes while they apply more and more resources to running our virus. As a result, the planet is experiencing a major power shortage. We expect station computers will be infected—maybe in an hour or so. Wasp could be danger.”

Steg sat up straight, now fully awake. “Sergeant, call Captain Dean and Sergeant Riddell. Get them here, immediately. In the meantime, one of you get some coffee going.”

Five minutes later Dean arrived at the meeting room, closely followed by Riddell. Both were adjusting their uniforms as they finished dressing; Sergeant Velez must have been clear about the urgency of the meeting.

Steg indicated two chairs and said, “Sit here. Coffee’s on its way. We’ve got some problems.” He explained both issues and concluded, “First, I want a squad available, as soon as the men can get ready. Riddell, go now, have ten marines at the exit lock as quickly as possible. Include two Fain, in case we require medical support. They’ll all need exo-armor, and the Stingers should have heavy weapons, in case we have to blast our way into a frigate. I’ll armor up and lead them—they’ll probably require some assistance to get through the Eos starship’s entry hatch. I might be able to take over their security system. Organize a second squad in case—allocate a sergeant to lead it. Also, it’s imperative we ensure Wasp is isolated from the station’s computer systems as soon as possible.”

Howe interrupted. “Sir, we’ve made sure our virus can’t run on our systems.”

“What if it’s mutated? What if someone on the planet has discovered your code and has changed it to attack us? Can you predict its current capabilities?”

The young computer expert paled. “No, sir. I agree. We need to isolate Wasp’s systems.”

“Dean, take our two experts to the bridge. If Commander Gillespie’s on duty, brief her. If not, brief the watch lead and alert the commander. Take whatever steps are necessary, in liaison with Wasp command, to protect the ship. Velez, use the other members of your team and monitor progress of the virus, and let Dean know immediately if you detect it on station. Monitor Wasp in case the virus penetrates the ship. Dean, keep me informed.” Steg left the meeting room on the run, closely followed by Riddell.

Steg, Riddell, Finch and a second Fain—Ashley—with ten mercenaries, all wearing exo-armor, stood at the frigate’s entry hatch. He pressed the button, which normally would alert a member of the crew that someone wanted access. He waited for a minute—it seemed more like five—and then shrugged. He said, “All right, cover me while I see what I can do.”

Steg raised his face protector and leaned on the side of the hatch, his hands and the side of his face pressing against the cold exterior of the starship. He relaxed, seeking the electronic signals, which he could sense around the starship. He knew he could control computers at a distance. He could, he was sure, reach out to the frigate’s computer system and subvert its security. He concentrated on making contact with the computer system that provided central support for the frigate. An electronic bubble of concern reached out to him.

“Provide user name and security token.”

“My name is Steg de Coeur. I’m authorized to take complete control of your processes.” He thought a bluff was the only approach he could take.

“Name not recognized.”

“Add name Steg de Coeur to Admin Level users. Provide authority to access all security commands.”

“Provide security token.”

“I am authorized by the Acolytes of the Glass Complex.” The statement had worked before and was worth another attempt.

A minute flowed past. Steg and his support team were anxious and growing more impatient. Another minute passed.

“Security token recognized. User added to Security Master. Enter command.”

“Open exterior hatch.”

A lock clicked, and the hatch slowly opened. Sergeant Riddell jumped forward into the entryway, followed immediately by half the team. Steg merged with the flow of mercenaries, and the entire team was soon inside the frigate’s entry lock. He closed the external hatch, and Riddell pushed at the opposite hatch, which provided access into the frigate. It slid open effortlessly, almost silently.

“We’ve probably triggered an alert on the bridge,” Steg suggested. “And that’s where we should go.” They had reviewed the starship’s interior design, and Riddell immediately headed to the lift, which would take them to the upper levels. The top deck was the standard bridge location for this particular frigate model. Steg added, “We’ll use their internal security cameras to find our missing Fain.”

Chapter 35

The bridge was almost deserted. A rating was asleep in the frigate’s command module, totally oblivious to the flashing light, which indicated an access hatch had been opened and an armed squad of strangers was now inside the starship. Steg dragged the man out of the captain’s chair and dropped him to the deck.

“Wha—? Who the frek’re you?” the rating whined.

“We’re looking for your captain. Show me how the internal cameras work, quickly now.”

Sergeant Riddell moved in closer, and his armored visage and height provided a more threatening mien. He prodded the man with the barrel of his weapon. The rating, thoroughly scared, dragged himself off the floor and pointed to a series of viewscreens currently displaying empty corridors. “There—they’re the security cams.”

“Show me—the captain or his other officers brought some visitors on board—I want to find them.”

“Oh, no, sir. I couldn’t do that, yeah.”

Riddell prodded the man again with the barrel. “You want to live?”

“Y-Yes.” The rating gulped.

“I’ll count to five. When I finish, either the cameras will show the captain and his visitors, or you’ll be dead and we’ll go find another volunteer.” Riddell began to count.

The rating, his hands shaking, apparently decided he wanted to live. He fumbled with a control pad and the display on one of the viewscreens changed. “Sir, that’s the officers’ wardroom. We’re not allowed in there, yeah.”

The image slowly resolved to display the three Fain and a number of uniformed officers. Two Fain were restrained, their hand tied, and the third one, Stacia, was in a heap on the floor, unmoving. Steg felt his anger grow.

“Where is that—what level? Fore or aft?” He looked at the rating’s name tag. “Osbourne, show us where this wardroom is. Now”

“They’ll kill me, yeah.”

“Or we will, take your pick. By the time we’re finished with your officers, they won’t be in any condition to threaten anyone. Come on, let’s go.”

Riddell picked the man up by the collar with one hand and held him off the floor. “Your decision—slow death or you live.”

The rating was choking as his shipsuit collar tightened around his throat. He gestured, as he pointed out the door and tried to speak. Riddell released his grip, and the man dropped, almost stumbling, to the deck.

“Sir, I’ll show you.”

They followed the rating off the bridge. He led them down a level and along a series of corridors. Eventually he stopped at a door; the sign indicated it was the officers’ wardroom. Steg held up his hand.

“Osbourne, you can stay outside. Riddell, split the squad, half to guard the door, the others to follow me. Detain anyone who comes along the corridor. If they protest, kill them.” Steg didn’t wait for the sergeant’s acknowledgment and pushed open the door.

He headed for the officer who was threatening the two Fain. Three other officers, junior to the first, were standing back. They all reacted with shock as Steg, with five mercenaries and two Fain, all armored and with weapons ready, moved towards them.

The frigate captain was the first to find his voice. “Who in hell are you, and how did you get on board my ship?” He somewhat belatedly reached for his handgun. Steg struck him a savage blow, and the man staggered back, dropping the weapon.

“Finch, see to Stacia. I want to know her condition as soon as possible.” Steg signaled the closest mercenary. “Mohave, cut Tessa and Sara free. You”—he indicated the captain—“had better pray Stacia’s alive. All of you—you’re under arrest for kidnapping and torture. Try to attack us and you’re dead, all of you.”

The captain protested. “You have no right—”

“I have every right. You kidnapped three of our medical team.” He turned his head. “Try for your weapon and I’ll shoot you.” His warning was addressed to one of the junior officers. He returned his attention to the captain of the frigate. “If necessary, we’ll take you all with us and hold a Captain’s Mast. According to Imperial law, the sentence for kidnap and assault is death. I’d be pleased to pull the trigger so I suggest you keep quiet.” Steg directed his men. “Disarm them. Tie them up, same as they did to our Fain.”

He watched as his men, angry at the treatment of the Fain—their Fain—secured the officers; their actions were not gentle. When one of the junior officers protested, the mercenary restraining him raised the butt of his weapon and poised it ready to land a heavy blow. The officer shrugged and held out his hands. He said, “I’ve been on board all day and night. I had nothing to do with all this, yeah.”

“Did you attempt to stop this?” Steg asked.

“Why? They’re only Fain, yeah,” the man sneered and collapsed as Mohave dealt him a blow to his midriff. Mohave was a heavyworlder and his blow was unrestrained.

“You may have broken something,” said one of the other mercenaries, nudging the fallen officer with his toe.

Mohave checked his fist. “No, there’s nothing broken.” The other man laughed, and they both dragged the officer upright and finished tying his wrists.

Steg checked with Finch. “How’s Stacia?”

“I think she’ll have a sore jaw. It looks as though one of them punched her, possibly a couple of times and knocked her unconscious. There might be some concussion. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

Steg said to Tessa, “Tell me what happened.”

“We thought they were harmless—well, relatively speaking. We met them at one of the bars, and they invited us back to see their frigate, which we agreed to. We thought the more we could discover, the better. Once they got us in here, the skipper turned nasty. I’m not sure what he was thinking. He accused us of being pirates, and wanted to know what we’d done with Djamu. I told him we’d never heard of it.”

“I had second thoughts about letting you play spy. I should’ve stopped it.”

“Why Steg, you care.” Her smile took away any negative.

“I’m going to talk to the skipper, see if he’s capable of answering questions. You and Sara sit still, like good little girls.” He ignored the expression on Tessa’s face, as he turned away with a hidden smile.

The frigate’s skipper was not happy. “You’ve invaded my ship,” he accused. “How’d you do that? Who’d you bribe, yeah?”

“I have control of your frigate,” stated Steg with a shrug. “Your security system recognized me, and unlocked the entry hatch. More to the point, why did you attack our people?”

The frigate captain screwed up his face and almost spat. “People? They’re constructs, yeah. We know what they are, yeah.” The man leered at Tessa and her two temporary patients.

Steg restrained his anger. He wanted information; personal satisfaction could wait. He caught Tessa’s eye and winked. Then he said, “Riddell, I need you here.” He turned back to the skipper. “I don’t approve of your attitude. If you insult Fain, my reaction will be more than you want to know about. Now, again, why did you take my friends prisoner? What were you trying to achieve? Riddell, I need some answers. I don’t mind if the goods are damaged.”

Steg stood back while Riddell grasped the frigate skipper by the throat and squeezed hard. The skipper’s face turned red. Steg signaled, and Riddell released his grip. The skipper’s breathing rattled in his throat.

“I want answers. Were you instructed to take action against us?”

Riddell moved towards the man who stepped back, trying to avoid the promised choking.

“Yes, all right, we were told to find out what we could about Wasp, its mercenaries, and a freighter called Djamu, yeah.”

“Who gave the order—was it Ser Bedwyr?”

The skipper paled. He looked around at his junior officers; however, they had been moved to the back wall and were out of hearing range. “Who told you?” he asked in almost a whisper.

“He’s a major producer and smuggler of Joy, so it was a reasonable guess. Are you an addict?”

The man drew himself up straight. “Me? No, don’t be stupid. I’m an officer in the Eos Navy, yeah.”

“In that case, who’s addicted? Your wife? A family member?”

His shoulders dropped. “Yes. My sister. They are threatening to expose her, and to cut off her supply. She’s a teacher; exposure would end her career.”

“So you kidnapped three Fain and beat up one of them. Riddell, get ready to take these people to Wasp.”

“Skipper, a quick update. We’ve detected a brief and exceptionally fast starship transit. It jumped out, had a look around, and immediately returned into s-t.” Jessie was onto her fourth stylus for the day.

“Did you get a profile?” Montrose raised his head from reviewing the log for the previous watch.

“Yes, sir. It was Xesset, almost identical to the starship that Djamu fired at.”

Captain Montrose frowned. “Was it, indeed? Nav, plot a course to take us to a new position, one AU on the opposite side of Eos. Helm, get us there, fast. Tac, raise all shields. In case we need them, drop off two missile pods while we’re underway—work out the best locations—we may need to strike out at some alien warships. Bridge, prepare for enemy action. You’ve less than twenty minutes.”

“Sir?” queried the Tac commander.

“Prediction, Tac. That was a scout, tasked to check local space—who’s here, positions, etc. There’ll be a Xesset task force arriving imminently.”

“Should we inform our friends?”

“Their sensors are good. They probably detected the same details. I expect Wasp will move away from the station and re-position somewhere. She’ll be well hidden once their shields are up. Let’s see who gets underway first.”

Defender beat Wasp into action by forty seconds or so. The destroyer, shielded, was under way in a little over five minutes. It took Wasp six minutes to depart the station.

“Sir, our drone has reported.” Jessie was more relaxed now she had possible enemy action to focus on. “Wasp unloaded a shuttle and then unassed in a hurry and is underway, moving fast. She’s certainly got some acceleration. Aah, she’s raised her shields. We’ve lost her. They’ve crew still on-station.”

“Keep trying to track her, Tac.”

“Yes, sir. I believe de Coeur is still on the way station; that’s why Wasp left the shuttle behind. He’ll be at risk.”

Chapter 36

The comlink buzzed in Steg’s ear. “Steg, this is Dean. We’ve detected a Xesset scout. It stayed long enough to identify all the starships docked or near the station and then jumped out. Gillespie’s undocking. She wants to depart in a hurry. She’s anticipating the Xesset will send an attack force; it could arrive in minutes. She said Wasp can defend herself better, away from the station. She’s not waiting for you. Weapons said it would take you too long to extract and return. In case—well, you never know—we’re leaving a shuttle for you. It’s the big one, s-t capable, if it comes to that. We’ll drop a couple of remote sensors to help you see what’s happening.”

“I agree with her decision. Where’s the Alliance ship?”

“We think she’s underway—she’s raised shields—we’ve lost track of her. We’ll up shields, once we’re safely undocked. How’re the Fain?”

“We’ve recovered them. Stacia suffered a beating; the frigate captain was trying to get information. We know who ordered it.”

“Good. We’ll make contact when the Xesset leave.”

“Tell Gillespie we expect to see Wasp back here. However, if it all goes pear-shaped, we’ll head off in the shuttle and meet up with Djamu.”

“You could always take over one of those Eos frigates.”

“I think the shuttle is better.” The shuttle was the size of a large inter-system yacht and had accommodation for forty or more.

“Gillespie wants me. I need to go.”

“All right. Report when you can. We’ll head to the shuttle.”

Steg signaled Riddell. “We’ve an emergency. Let’s get out of here. Finch, is Stacia okay to walk?”

Finch was worried. “Captain, she’s still dizzy; she can’t stand properly. It’s concussion. If two of our marines can assist?”

“Riddell, take care of it. Mohave, gag this lot. Make sure they can’t call for help and can’t get out of here. The captain—gag him, too—he comes with us—drag him, if need be. Come on, we gotta move.”

Riddell opened the wardroom door and checked with his men in the outside corridor. He said to Steg, “We’re okay, sir. No one’s around.”

On the way back to where Wasp had been docked, Steg explained their circumstances to the sergeant and his squad. He included the armored Fain in the comlink; Finch would pass on details to her companions. “Wasp has undocked. A Xesset starship jumped in, had a look around, and jumped out. Gillespie thinks it was a scout and it will return with a larger force. She decided Wasp is safer away from the station. They left a shuttle for us, the big one; it has shields and plenty of power, although nothing much in the way of weapons. The Alliance destroyer has shielded and moved away. They may stay for a while, if only to see what happens.”

“Sir, do you expect the Xesset to attack the station?” Riddell asked. There were other comments in the background, which Steg ignored.

“Unknown.” Steg was setting a rapid pace along the walkway towards the shuttle. The usual transport was inoperative for some unknown reason. Steg wondered if the virus was starting to impact the way station. Two men, under Finch’s guidance, assisted Stacia; Sara and Tessa were able to walk and keep pace. The frigate captain was in front of Mohave, and the mercenary kept prodding him with the barrel of his weapon. Then, without warning, all the lights on the way station blacked out.

“What the hell?” It was Riddell.

The frigate captain stumbled, bumping into the sergeant, and Mohave pushed him back onto his feet. The exo-armor worn by the mercenaries provided them with visual augmentation, and two of the marines now guided Tessa and Sara, who were without armor, along the walkway. After five minutes or so, a handful of emergency lights switched on, throwing a palid illumination onto their path at knee height.

“I suspect the virus Howe and Beagle warned us about has attacked the station’s computers,” Steg observed to Riddell. “The station could even lose atmospheric control. Keep an eye on our Fain; without armor, they’ll be at risk. Mohave, protect your new friend if the station vents its atmosphere. The shuttle’s not far, now, anyway.” He increased his pace.

“Sir, we’re exposed to more than atmosphere loss,” reminded Riddell. “The station’s got no defenses, no weapons. The Xesset might want to capture it.”

“When we reach the shuttle, we’ll be able to plan. Step out.”

Steg settled the mercenaries with the four Fain and the prisoner in the shuttle’s general mess. There was room for thirty to sit and eat at any one time, although Steg only wanted to confer with his team and plan their next steps. To his surprise, Howe and Beagle were on board the shuttle. Apparently they had been tasked to protect the small starship from unauthorized boarders and from their virus, mutated or otherwise.

Steg looked at Beagle and said, “Later. Finch, take Stacia to the medical bay.”

Finch nodded her head. “Yes, sir. It’s on the mid deck. I’ll also check Tessa and Sara once we have Stacia settled.”

“Good. Let me know if there is anything major or if you need assistance.” He watched as Tessa and Sara, guided by Finch, assisted Stacia.

He turned his attention to Beagle and Howe. “Beagle, go ahead.”

“Yes, sir. Both Captain Dean and the commander were adamant, sir. They said we had to remain on the shuttle and wait for you. We have to compensate for our carelessness. One of the engineers, Jeremiah Azr, and Aadan, Wasp’s Helm, volunteered to stay on board, to assist us to get under way. Aadan said she’d enjoy helping you fly the shuttle.”

Steg suspected the presence of key personnel from Wasp was Gillespie’s way of informing him she was not planning to desert the small group of mercenaries. He linked to the shuttle’s bridge. “Aadan, we’re all on board. Prepare for departure. I’ll join you in two minutes.” He turned to Riddell and said, “We need to get out of here as quickly as possible. Send two of your marines to release docking links. Aadan is prepping for departure.”

“Yes, sir.” Riddell signaled to two of the team. “You heard the captain. Get us detached as quickly as you can.” Two marines headed for the door at a run.

Steg turned back to the two computer hackers and asked, “What’s the status of the virus?” He ignored the bewildered expression on the prisoner’s face while he questioned the two men.

“It’s devastating,” Howe said. “Everything on Eos has ground to a halt. Most of the data centers have shut down; they’ve been completely overwhelmed by the virus process.”

“There’s a high probability the banks might lose all their records if they were computerized. The Joy producers could be out of action, at least for months,” Beagle conjectured.

“The virus has started to hit starships on station, too, sir,” added Howe. “We’re blocking messages and comlinks from everyone except Wasp and the Alliance destroyer. We disconnected all electronic links from the station while we waited for you.”

“Can you receive news broadcasts without risking the systems on the shuttle?” Steg asked.

“If we use a standalone receiver, yes, sir.” Howe replied.

“Do it. Set it up on the bridge and relay it here and to engineering. I want to know what’s happening on the planet, progress of the virus on the station, and any news of the Xesset. Both of you, go.”

“Yes, sir,” the two replied in unison. They headed off to carry out Steg’s instructions.

The frigate captain struggled against his restraints, apparently trying to catch Steg’s attention.

Mohave said, “Do you want me to smack him one, sir?”

“No, Mohave. Remove his gag. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

The captain spat the gag out as Mohave loosened the ties. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re kidnapping me; that’s illegal, yeah. And what’s this Xesset stuff? What virus?”

Steg was unimpressed. “Once we undock from the station, you’re welcome to walk back. Vacuum is difficult to breath, though. The Xesset are aliens; they want to take over your planet. They sent a scout ship a while ago, and we expect a larger force will turn up shortly. The virus—I understand the planet’s computer systems have been overwhelmed by a virus and it’s starting to have an impact on the station. Some of the docked ships may also be at risk.”

“My frigate—I need to get back—”

“You’re going nowhere. You’re under arrest for kidnap and assault. Sit over there, out of the way. Mohave, you have my permission to gag him again if he tries to interfere.” Steg watched as Mohave pushed the prisoner to a chair along the far wall of the mess.

“Riddell, everyone should remain armored until we know we’re safe. Have Tessa and Sara get into their armor, too. Who do we have with bridge experience? Anyone who can back up Aadan on the helm? Someone to help with engineering? I want everyone with experience—any level—to assist with bridge or engineering duties. Howe and Beagle can cover coms and sensor stations. I’ll set up a course to jump us to the system’s limits. We have to get away from the station so we can shield. If we’re caught here, we’re dead.”

He looked around at the small group. “There’ll be tasks for all of you. Riddell, sort them out. Two with engineering experience to help Azr. Two or three to help on the bridge. Set up an emergency response team, just in case. Arrange for catering, here in the mess; we’ll need to eat. Fresh coffee would be good. Join me on the bridge when you’re organized. We’ll get under way as soon as we’re disconnected from the station.”

Chapter 37

Steg did not ask way station control for permission to undock. Once he received confirmation that the shuttle was untethered, he signaled Aadan. She nudged the power up a fraction and gently reversed away from the docking arm.

Wasp had messaged the Xesset scout’s entry-exit locations, and he assumed any Xesset force would arrive in approximately the same region. Of course, he could be wrong. Xesset, he had found, were not predictable; they had a far different set of decision values. He checked the shuttle’s distance from the station, and when he thought they were at a safe distance—he didn’t want any ships reversing into the stealthed shuttle—he diverted a large fraction of their power to the shields. The shuttle now would be invisible to most sensor systems.

Aadan swapped the shuttle’s nose to tail position and dropped the shuttle towards the planet, heading away from the way station. Their plan was to shelter temporarily below the station and gradually increase the separation distance between it and the shuttle. The maneuver was gradual. The shuttle looked small, and although it had few weapons, Monty had re-designed both its structure and its propulsion units. The result was a tough and fast starship. The only reason Attwood hadn’t taken this shuttle when he fled Wasp was simply because it had been too well guarded. It was responsive to Aadan’s gentle touches as Helm, although Steg was finding it difficult to hide his impatience; he wanted to open up the engines and accelerate away from the planet. He planned to make an s-t jump out to the far edge of the Eos system as soon as possible. He could then monitor from a distance and return to the way station when and if it seemed safe.

“Howe, Beagle. Your assessments?”

The two Intel team members were monitoring the news feeds from the station.

“Sir, there is little sensible data coming from the planet. I’ve some short flics to show you from the station, if you like,” Beagle said.

“Play away.”

“This first one is from the way station’s official news channel.” The bridge team watched the video viewscreen as Beagle played the flic file.

A newsreader looked down at his prepared notes. “Station management advise there is no need to be concerned about reports of what some are describing as a major computer systems disaster on Eos. Steps have been taken to protect station systems while we check with Eos authorities to determine the truth of reports. In the meantime, station crews are directed to continue their normal duties.”

“This next one is a snippet captured from an unofficial broadcast.” Beagle played the second file. The person speaking was shown in an unidentifiable silhouette. “Mercenary starship Wasp recently departed for points unknown. Could those mercs be responsible for the system crashes on-planet? Have they destroyed the Joy infrastructure or the entire Eos infrastructure? If the latter, Vox thinks that’s a bit extreme. Officials planet-side are in total disarray, if not in sheer panic. The station has been impacted, resulting in our earlier unexpected lights out. What’s the fix? Vox of Eos wants to know. If your comlinks are working, send me your comments—you know the address.”

“Sir, we tapped into an official station comlink for this one,” Howe said. “It seems to be an exchange between a senior station person, possibly the top manager, and the station’s computer manager.” He played the file.

“I don’t want to hear you say you can’t disconnect from Eos.”

“Sir, it’s not only that I don’t have authority. I don’t have access to the commands. That’s all done from the planet.”

“Then tell them to do it; it’s imperative.”

“We’ve lost communication with our central control. I can’t raise anyone there.”

“Well, get in a bloody spacesuit and get out there and disconnect the antennae—do something, damn it. We’ll lose control of the station if that virus, or whatever it is, infects our systems.”

“Sir, I think it’s already too late.”

“We’ve got more,” Howe said. “However, the pattern is the same. The station has been infected. We don’t know if the virus has reached a starship.”

Steg was intrigued. “If a starship infected with the virus departs this system, can it pass on the virus to another station or starship? Have you started a plague?”

His questions were met with complete silence.

“What do you think, Tac?” Richard Montrose frowned into the inner darkness of his thoughts.

His Tac commander said, “Sir, Wasp is likely to be still in-system, watching. She dropped off some passive sensors as well as leaving the shuttle at the way station. Their shields are extremely effective, as you know.”

“You mean you can’t find them?”

“Hmm. I have to admit, you’re correct, sir. Wasp’s maintaining silence. I’m surprised—she’s giving off no electronic leaks, at all.”

“Keep searching. What about de Coeur?”

“Our drone reported a small team of mercenaries boarded the shuttle that Wasp left behind. Based on the last comlink exchanges between de Coeur and Dean, de Coeur has now taken control of the shuttle. They’ve unassed and are using the shadow of the station to shelter their position. The shuttle dropped towards the planet. They’ve since disappeared—the shuttle has the same shielding as Wasp. We’re searching for it.”

“Do you have an update on the systems failures on-planet?”

“Yes, sir. Approximately 90 percent of Eos’s systems infrastructure is down. We can’t tell yet whether the damage is permanent or whether techs on the planet have skills necessary to bring their systems back online. The way station’s systems are failing, and we’re trying to determine whether any starships are infected. A number have already disconnected from the station’s electronic links.”

“Was it definitely set loose by the mercs? The beginning of a plague, do you think?”

Jessie dropped the chewed pieces of her stylus onto her desk. “I’m wondering about both those questions, sir. There’s a high probability someone on board Wasp did something stupid. I can’t imagine they intended to spread a computer virus across the planet. The point you raise is far more worrying. It’s an aggressive virus, one of the worst I’ve seen. If it’s infected a starship, it could be the beginning of an inter-system plague.”

“I’m tempted to quarantine the way station until we can confirm the virus has been defeated. Have your team consider whether we should, will you? And stop biting your stylus, We don’t have the budget to keep you supplied at your rate of consumption. Find some worry beads, instead.”

“Yes, sir.” Jessie carefully placed the new stylus on her desk and pushed it almost out of reach. She knew she’d have a struggle to keep her hands away.

Chapter 38

The shuttle dropped out of s-t on the edge of the Eos system. The jump had been short; far enough to move them away from the way station to where they could observe starship movements into and out of the Eos system—at least when near to the planet. Steg’s sensor team was trying to find either Wasp or the Alliance destroyer. They also were monitoring for possible Xesset intrusions, using links to the passive sensors Wasp had dropped as she headed toward her s-t jump.

‘Howe, take a break. Beagle, let me know what starships have undocked. Keep searching for any Xesset intrusion. Aadan, let’s stay in position here, for the moment. We need to be prepared to move on the instant. Imagine if the Xesset arrived next to us—I’d want to be away in seconds. Everyone, organize breaks with your watch relief team.” There was a temporary session of musical chairs as crew members moved around. Howe headed off, leaving Beagle on sensor duty.

Aadan looked at Steg. He replied to her unspoken question. “Yes, you should also take a break. I’ll stand in as Helm for a couple of hours or so. We’ll need you if the Xesset come sniffing around, and we have to shift.” Steg hoped the Xesset, when they arrived, would be far closer to the planet.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be back once I eat.”

Steg wanted to put his feet up on the command console and lean back, with his eyes closed. He stopped his movement. He needed coffee. Finch interrupted his thoughts as she placed a mug in front of him.

“Steg, your coffee. It’s hot, strong, and will keep you awake.”

He was tempted to add, “Just like a Fain.” The smile on Finch’s face indicated she had read his mind, and he chuckled.

“Thank you—a lifesaver. How’s your patient?”

“She has mild concussion. She’s conscious. We’ve had to stop her from heading off to thump the guy who hit her. He apparently thinks Fain are mechanical constructs, and she wanted to beat that nonsense out of him. I think she’s cooled down, now.”

“Good. I suspect we’ll have to return him to the way station, eventually. While I’m tempted to hand him over to the War Merchants for judgment, it’s a long way to take him.”

“Stacia will have some input to that decision, I’m sure.”

“So am I.” They both fell silent. Finch sat on the nearest seat, adding herself to the relief bridge crew. Steg took a mouthful of coffee, confirming Finch’s description of the drink.

“What do you think is going to happen?”

Steg sat up straighter in the shuttle’s command chair. “If the Xesset arrive in force?”

Finch nodded her head.

“Wasp is sheltering somewhere and is probably safe. The Alliance destroyer is near the planet, shielded. We’re shielded, and I think we’re okay here. The real problems are the way station and the planet. They’re exposed—Eos is exactly what the Xesset are looking for. It doesn’t have a real defense force, and the aliens could take over the planet without too much effort. If there was something I could do—” He frowned. Steg had strong feelings of guilt. The two members of their Intel team had let loose a virus, and the planet now was totally exposed to the aliens. Not his fault—but he knew he couldn’t convince himself that he was free of blame.

A shout from Beagle penetrated his introspection. Steg discerned a tinge of fear in her voice.

“Captain. The Xesset’re back. They’ve got the largest starship I’ve ever seen. It must displace ten million tons.”

Richard Montrose compared the Xesset starship against his destroyer. The new Xesset arrival was gigantic—larger than any of the Alliance Fleet’s dreadnoughts. He estimated Destroyer, at five hundred thousand tons, was a tenth the size of the alien ship, if that. The holo display showed the Xesset had exited s-t about fifteen thousand klicks from the way station, surprisingly close, in his mind. Tac had the main viewscreen displaying the alien ship with her team’s assessment of its size, crew, and armaments, and the station in separate panels.

Tac said, “Sir, she’s commenced firing. As we thought from their position, their target is the way station. It looks like they’re using old-style explosive military shells. They’re shredding the station. They’re not differentiating between docks, starships, or personnel areas. The station’s got no weapons, no defenses. It’s sheer, bloody-minded murder.”

The bridge crew watched in silence—apart from expressions of horror—as the way station was destroyed. Shells hit sections, one after the other, either enlarging damaged areas or punching new holes in the station’s structure. Debris and atmosphere sprayed out from gaping holes. Some of the debris may have included escape pods; however, Montrose expected few of the station crew and other inhabitants would have been able to reach emergency sections. Also, he doubted the Xesset would launch rescue teams to recover anyone still alive. Their attack was intended to kill and destroy.

Tac turned away from the viewscreen and stared at her captain. “Sir, they’ve killed—at least—a thousand people. What can we do?”

“Us? I’m not sure we can do anything. If Defender was a dreadnought instead of a destroyer, we’d have a chance of countering them. By ourselves, they’d chew us up and spit us out. And yes, I’m as angry and frustrated as you are.”

“Sir, they’re in range of our missile pods, though.”

“Granted.” Montrose nodded his head. “I’ve considered that. Tempted. However, we don’t know their shield capabilities. If we expose ourselves—we’d need to drop our stealth shields to transmit firing instructions—they’d have our location. If their shields bounce our missiles, we’d have to flee. The alternative—staying to fight them—is likely to be bad for all of us.”

“Do you think Wasp would help us?”

“I’m not confident two warships the size of Defender would prevail against that monster, and Wasp is somewhat smaller than us.” He indicated the Xesset ship on the viewscreen as he spoke. “We might have speed and maneuverability advantages—benefits of being smaller, I suppose. Work out how to contact Wasp without exposing us to the Xesset. Determine tactics. No promises.”

Jessie Brent was thoughtful when she turned back to her workstation. She reached for her stylus and then changed her mind.

Riddell joined Steg on the shuttle’s small bridge when he heard the Eos station was under attack. Their viewscreens were displaying images of the monstrous warship and the station in separate panels, and the bridge team watched in horror as the way station was rapidly destroyed.

“Hell and damnation, sir. Can’t we do anything?” Riddell asked. The question was rhetorical; he knew the shuttle didn’t have weapons.

“We’re unarmed.” Steg’s blunt reply reflected his own frustration. “That Xesset—what would you call it, a dreadnought?—dwarfs the Alliance destroyer, and Wasp is smaller again. We’d be a minor irritant. They’d swipe us away without thinking.”

“Sir, could we load their system with our virus?”

The question, almost naive, Steg thought, came from Beagle. He didn’t comment immediately. At first he was amused. Then he realized that the virus might provide them with a way to overcome the monstrous starship.

‘Do we have a copy of your virus on board?”

“Sir, it’s safe.” Beagle looked shamefaced and then worried. She said, “It is, I guarantee. I wouldn’t infect the shuttle’s systems. I keep all my software tools with me, on PDs.”

“Stop. We’ll discuss system issues later. You have it with you, here?”

“Yes, sir.” She looked sideways, at her compad. ‘It’s there.”

“You think the alien system will run your software?”

“Sir, when you were on Djamu, and the Xesset were trying to attack, I managed to connect to one of their computers. Its operating system was familiar—very old, though. I think they might have gained access to some Imperial systems and pirated them for their own use. I—I adapted a copy of my virus, just in case.”

“Well, your virus might be our weapon. Let me think on it. We’ll need a way to load it into their systems without being detected; otherwise they’ll back trace and destroy us. Copy the Xesset version to another PD for me.” Once Beagle loaded a copy of the virus onto a small portable drive, Steg would look for ways to transfer it to the Xesset dreadnought without exposing their shuttle.

Chapter 39

Steg found a spare compad and took it with him to his cabin. The separate accommodation space was small and was the only privilege of rank on the shuttle. He climbed out of his exo-armor and showered, taking a small risk of being caught out in an emergency for the next few hours. He plugged the PD into the standalone compad, first ensuring the small computing device was not connected to the shuttle’s systems. He set the device beside his bunk and lay down, bracing himself to make contact with the Xesset dreadnought.

He could, he thought, communicate with the Xesset and while connected, transfer the virus undetected to their huge starship. He would be able to hide his and the shuttle’s location; his major concern was the evil he knew he would encounter when he connected to the Xesset system. He relaxed, breathing deeply, building his intention to link to the alien starship. He closed his eyes.

Steg focused on his task. He reached past everything except the dreadnought. He detected Wasp; it was holding position adjacent to a large asteroid. He felt the whisper of Defender, well-shielded and passive. He pushed past the final shrieks of the occupants of the way station—there was nothing he could do to alleviate their pain. His duty was to deal death to the aliens, and he could not divert from his objective in order to conduct rites of passage for their victims. His probe reached the initially faint, almost muted, presence of the Xesset. He strengthened his probe. The entangled system linkages slowly resolved into separate recognizable entities. He sought the largest system, the computer structure with the strongest sense of evil. There was an unexpected familiar foundation and he realized Beagle’s analysis was correct: there was a contrasting taste of Imperial processing underlying the alien structure. Repeating a step he had taken once before, far in his future, he merged with the Xesset system, certain somehow it would not detect his presence.

He brought with him a small and passive presence—the coded virus. He treated it as though it was a flame, which he needed to shelter against the drafts created by the rapid processes of the target, the main Xesset computer. He coaxed the tiny flame, adding minuscule amounts of fuel to its fire until at last it replaced his care with its own awareness. It was as though the small set of code recognized the huge environment in which it could roam and romp, adding its own fiery touch to the core and root processes and then it could inflame the total set of system activities. Moreover, there were other systems, unprotected, available to satisfy its hunger. The virus flared, almost scorching its protector as it dived into the streaming processes. Steg monitored the burgeoning code, and when it split explosively amoeba-like into hundreds of identical shards, he withdrew.

Steg lay for a while in the bunk gathering energy enough to move. As he was about to stand, he realized he needed to alert Wasp and Defender to his actions. Wasp, first, he thought, and delivered a simple message. It advised Commander Gillespie to monitor the alien starship and to expect to see indications of a system failure in a matter of an hour or so. He did not open a channel for a reply. He did not want Wasp to generate electronic whispers, which could reveal its presence despite its shields.

“Sir, I have a message appearing on my viewscreen.” Jessie Kent’s voice tenor bordered on alarm.

“Captain de Coeur, again?” Montrose asked.

“Sir—how did you know?”

“I could tell by your reaction. What’s the message?”

“Sir, he said to boot up an isolated compad. He’ll be able to exchange messages with you.”

“Tell him yes. Someone—give me a compad that’s not connected to any part of Defender’s systems.” It took only a moment for a technical rating to hand over a compad, and Montrose booted it up. He checked its isolation from his ship’s system, not sure they could prevent de Coeur from contaminating it, if he so decided.

“Tell de Coeur—no, he’s found it.” The skipper watched as text formed on the isolated screen. Julie watched and read with undisguised awe.

“Good evening, Captain Montrose.”

“Captain de Coeur, I presume?”

“Yes, sir. A quick update for you. The Xesset apparently based their computer systems on an old Imperial design. While they have built a powerful starship system from that foundation, they failed to recognize the need for anti-virus protocols.”

“Indeed. I can almost guess the next step.”

“Yes, I’m sure you can. Thirty minutes ago, I—we—delivered a copy of a virus, similar to the one impacting systems on Eos, to their dreadnought. It was like holding a match to extremely dry wood. As a result, there soon should be an excellent conflagration. I don’t know how long the virus will take to negate their offensive capabilities. Not long, I’m sure.”

“An hour? Longer?”

“Possible less, sir.”

“What do you expect their reaction to be? I ask, only because you appear to have prior experience of these aliens. We overheard your conversation, apparently in the Xesset language.”

“Yes, I am—much to their surprise—fluent in High Xesset, which is used by their ruling and upper classes and by their priests.”

“And your expectations?”

“Xesset are truly alien. They are a hive-like species and have no redeeming features from our perspective. They are so different from humans, indeed from most aliens we’ve encountered, it’s impossible to guess their current reactions. They may flee. They may panic and self-destruct. I’ll try to communicate with their captain—actually, I think his rank is admiral—and see if I can gauge their likely response.”

“I’d be interested to participate.”

“Sir, you would need to be fluent in High Xesset. It will take me up to twenty minutes before I can make contact. It’s an exhausting process and I need to have a meal first. I’ll report back to you after I speak with their admiral.”

“I’ll look forward to your report. Montrose out.”

The Alliance skipper looked around at his the bridge crew. “That is the most startling conversation I’ve ever had. Tac, was there any indication of penetration of our electronic defenses?”

“No, sir. I’ve asked our Systems team to conduct a thorough anti-virus sweep, in case we’re contaminated.”

“Prudent.” He addressed his wider audience, knowing Jessie had read the conversation typed on the compad. “He somehow has inserted a virus into the alien dreadnought’s system. I have no idea how he or his team could achieve that. We should see a degradation of its offensive capabilities within an hour. As we suspected, de Coeur is fluent in Xesset—what he called High Xesset. He’s going to make contact with the admiral of the dreadnought, to try to assess their reaction when they realize a virus is eating their computers. It should be an interesting conversation. I only wish we could listen in and understand the content of their conversation.”

“Sir, you could ask de Coeur for language lessons?”

“My sense is that de Coeur finds his contacts with Xesset to be mentally exhausting, so I’m not sure I want to add learning their language to my task list, Tac. Perhaps you—?”

“No, sir. But thank you.”

“Tac, I want to take advantage of whatever the impact is of this virus. Get some tactics set up for discussion and implementation.”

“Yes, sir.” Jessie noted the captain left the compad open. He did not move it from his command station.

Steg spent some time with Riddell, Beagle, and Howe while they ate their evening meal. He explained what he had managed to do, without answering Beagle’s unasked question of how.

“Thank you Beagle; well, thanks to both of you. Your virus should shortly be making itself felt. The dreadnought’s computer systems were totally unprotected.”

“Sir, do you have any idea of how they’ll react?” Riddell asked.

“Not yet. I’m going to try to find out. The Alliance skipper asked the same question. I won’t try to guess which of their options they’ll go with.”

“Sir, what are their options?” Howe was curious.

“Self-destruct, return to their base, abandon ship, attack the planet, fix their computers, try to find and attack us—including Wasp and Defender—or some combination of these. So, all is possible. I suppose they could send for help—which would be a tremendous loss of face. As their systems progressively degrade, some of those options disappear, of course.”

“Any likely option?” Riddell asked.

“No, Sergeant. I’m planning to discover more. Keep an eye on the bridge for me, while I head to my cabin. I’ve some work to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter 40

Steg was stressed. He imagined everyone else on board the shuttle was in a similar status, except, perhaps, his dealing with the Xesset added another level. At least, in his opinion. He decided to stop feeling sorry for himself and lay on his bunk, preparing to communicate with the Xesset admiral. Just as he had done before when he contacted the Xesset starship trying to attack Djamu, he rehearsed the language structure he should use when addressing the admiral. He had identified the names of the ship and the admiral when he released the virus. Now he needed to link to the admiral.

“I am calling Admiral Trelonth of Hammer of Gods. I have an urgent message for him. Put me through to the admiral, immediately.”

The Xesset at the dreadnought’s master comunit ignored his request. Steg widened the communication to include every comunit on the alien dreadnought’s bridge and repeated his message.

“I am calling Admiral Trelonth of Hammer of Gods. I have an urgent message for him. Put me through to the admiral immediately.”

“This is Under-Admiral Mabast. Who are you to dare call Admiral Trelonth?”

“Put me through to the admiral or I’ll override every comunit on Hammer of Gods with my next message.”

“Evil drach, remove yourself from our ship or suffer the wrath of the gods.”

Steg linked to every operative comunit on the dreadnought.

“I have an urgent message for Admiral Trelonth. I am in control of your computer systems, which will continue to degrade until your puny ship collapses under its own weight. By the god K’Harnat, I promise this.”

“This is Thabot, the Admiral’s Champion. You have been sentenced to death, drach. Surrender yourself immediately, so the altar of K’Harnat can run with your blood.”

Steg smiled to himself, his determination building. He adjusted every Xesset comunit, except those on the Xesset bridge, to transmit a continuously varying high-pitched sine wave, which would block all internal transmissions; the ship crew would be unable to communicate beyond their immediate fellows. He sent his next message.

“Admiral Trelonth. Hammer of Gods is doomed. Leave this system now and you may have a small chance of survival. Remain and your ship will be destroyed. You have no other alternative—depart now or die.”

Three or four Xesset attempted to reply, simultaneously, each overriding the other, so that all Steg heard was a jumble of words. A stentorian roar cut through the confusion.

“Silence. I am Admiral Trelonth. Release our communication systems immediately and report to the bridge.”

“Admiral, I am not on board your ship. Your ship is doomed, a suitable end for those who assist pirates. The same fate will befall any Xesset ship that penetrates Eos space. Go now, while your drive commands still work.”

While the Xesset admiral was digesting his message, Steg reached for the comunit he’d used to communicate with Captain Montrose. He typed in a short message.

“Captain, we saw you dropped off a missile pod. I suggest you fire a couple of those missiles at the Xesset dreadnought. It’s called Hammer of Gods, by the way. I know, they may be able to find you—highly unlikely, given the current degraded state of their systems.”

The Xesset admiral spoke. “Who are you? What gives you the right to threaten me and my ship?”

“What right did you have to destroy the way station and kill thousands of people, without reason?”

“Pah—we have the right to destroy whatever we want; the gods are on our side.” The admiral retained his conviction of invincibility.

“You have failed your gods. They have deserted you. Your ship is stalled, your weapons useless. You can be destroyed now by our smallest warships. Depart while you still have enough control to achieve an s-t jump.”

The alien screamed his reply. The words he used were beyond the extent of Steg’s High Xesset language ability. He thought he’d been introduced to a fine example of Xesset swearing, probably describable as Low Xesset. Steg was curious how the crew on board the dreadnought were communicating while he was running the signal-generating sine wave. He tried to visualize the undoubtedly thorough search that was under way as the alien crew tried to find him. Their search would conflict with the attempts to combat the virus and recover from the system failures, which he expected were spreading with hurricane force through the huge starship. He read the “missiles away” message from Montrose.

“Admiral, we have launched missiles targeting your control center. If you cannot detect them, I give my assurance, we only launched two. That is all we need to destroy your ship. Go, leave this system.”

Steg used his knowledge of the layout of the Xesset starship and refined the course of the two Alliance missiles now accelerating towards the dreadnought. They should, he estimated, be able to penetrate the now unshielded location of the Admiral’s command and control center.

“Captain Montrose, our missiles altered course.” The Tac team was monitoring everything that moved in their vicinity. The tension on Defender’s bridge was extremely high.

“Still targeting the dreadnought?”

“Yes, sir. It must have been a refinement. I assume de Coeur has a target in mind.”

“Tac, remind me at some stage in the future, assuming we survive this experience, to never wage war against de Coeur. I wonder where he’s from?”

“Sir?”

“Well, imagine a whole shipload of de Coeurs.”

“I like that idea, sir.” Julie’s eyes sparkled.

Montrose put on a gloomy expression. “I thought you might.”

“Sir, the missiles have impacted the dreadnought. Their shields must have been down. We should attack now?”

The skipper held up his hand. “Wait. Give me a damage report. I assume de Coeur targeted the bridge or a command deck. The loss of command plus the loss of systems should trigger a major reaction.”

“Sir, there’s quite a breach. The missiles chewed into Hammer of Gods like she was made of butter. I think one missile hit a munitions store. The explosion was far more powerful than we’d expect from our missile warheads. We’ve detected a substantial loss of atmosphere and a significant stream of debris. Too far away to assess casualties.”

“I suspect their options are down to self-destruction or they’ll head out and make an s-t jump.”

“Sir?”

“Well, they don’t have many options left. We’ve demonstrated we can stand off and blow them to tiny pieces.”

“We have, sir?”

“All right, I stand corrected—Captain de Coeur has demonstrated. With our missiles, I’d like to point out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steg used his links to the dreadnought’s bridge systems and copied the exchange of messages between him and Hammer of Gods into a file for transmission. He included a recording taken from the Xesset bridge of their failed defense against the two Alliance missiles. He accessed a dreadnought-based s-t communication unit—barely functioning—and sent the combined files to the Xesset High Command. It was a warning the Xesset should understand, he thought. He withdrew his link to the Xesset ship and returned his focus to the shuttle. While he waited for the Xesset ship to depart or self-destruct, he needed to plan their next steps. He headed to the bridge.

“Captain, quickly!” He could almost feel the excitement from Sergeant Riddell, Aadan, and others on watch. They were focused intently on the main shuttle viewscreen. “The Xesset dreadnought—it’s started to move.”

He looked at the screen, which displayed a constructed image of the huge starship. It was a hundred thousand or more klicks away, and the shuttle’s sensors were not strong enough to provide the detail that Steg would have preferred.

“Sir, it started from here,” Aadan said, indicating a position on the screen. “It moved almost erratically along this course.” She drew a jagged line. “It’s now reversing direction.”

“They must be experiencing system difficulties,” Riddell suggested.

“If the missiles killed their admiral, they may have a conflict of command,” Steg said as he watched. “I have no idea how they’d resolve that. They have someone called the Admiral’s Champion, and the admiral’s successor may have to do battle with him. Or perhaps the Champion is also dead.” He shook his head. “It’s all guesswork.”

Suddenly an adjacent viewscreen lit up with a larger image, far more detailed. “It’s from Destroyer, sir, a live stream. Their skipper thought you might be interested. He said it’s from passive drones they launched when the Xesset scout ship came and went.” The speaker was Beagle; she was on bridge duty.

“Send a thank you message.” Steg was entranced with the detail of the relayed image. The Alliance destroyer had impressive equipment.

Hammer of Gods was leaking atmosphere and debris. One of the missile impact areas glowed red where the warhead apparently had set off secondary explosions, and fires were still burning. As he watched, the dreadnought stilled its movement. Red streaks, which he realized were fracture lines in the alien starship’s hull, were spreading across its surface, creating numerous zigzags that slowly opened to space. Atmosphere sprayed out with a flare of flames, which reduced to red glows as oxygen was consumed or dissipated into space. Finally, Hammer of Gods broke into numerous fragments as its entire body fell apart, with lumps of starship heading in all directions.

“They self-destructed,” Steg pronounced. “There’ll be no survivors.” They stood for minutes, silent, watching the spreading debris that had been the largest warship they had ever seen.

Steg said, “I’m glad that’s over. Aadan, set course for the way station. We need to check if there are any survivors; they’ll need help. Let’s go. Beagle, get me the commander. Also, send a message to Captain Montrose. Let him know.”

“The commander is on comlink, sir,” said Beagle.

Steg connected his headset to the shuttle’s communication link with Wasp. “Commander.”

“Steg, did you see the Xesset ship break apart?”

“Yes, Commander. I suspect they hit the self-destruct button. It seems to be a Xesset tradition.”

“You caused their problem?”

“I wanted to persuade them to leave.”

“The Alliance people helped you? We detected two missiles.”

“I borrowed those. Fortunately I don’t have to return them. The Xesset shields were down, and I thought a display of missile power would persuade them to leave. I think one impacted their admiral’s control center and presumably killed him and perhaps other senior officers. As a result their command structure, controls, and computer systems probably had degraded too much to get them to a jump point. The second missile hit a munitions store, I think.”

“It was well done.”

“Thank you. We’re heading to the way station to see if we can help with survivors.”

“We’ll join you. They’ll also need assistance with rebuilding.”

“Good. I’ll try to contact the Eos president. Howe and Beagle are going to help restore the planet’s data centers. They set the virus loose, they can clear the systems.”

Chapter 41

The shuttle crew found a section of a docking arm that appeared to have escaped the Xesset warship’s firing program. Aadan nosed the shuttle up to an airlock, and Steg and Riddell volunteered to check the condition of the section of the way station. They wore exo-armor in case the area was not as safe as it seemed. Before exiting the shuttle, Steg had directed the two computer experts to make contact with systems on Eos to check the status of the virus and to commence cleaning the data centers. He had not been able to contact the president; the computer virus apparently had disrupted dirtside communications.

Riddell led the way through the airlock into an empty portion of the docking arm. One end of the wide transit tube was sealed off by a heavy emergency bulkhead. The other end led towards the center of the station and appeared to be blocked by debris. Steg assumed a heavy bulkhead was behind the broken structure and had sealed that end. There was no lighting although there was atmosphere of breathable quality.

“We can run power leads out when Wasp docks,” said Riddell. “That will give us lights.”

“Get your men; they can start to explore a way through to the station center. When Wasp arrives, Dean can set up search and rescue teams. If there are survivors on the station, they’ll need air and food and medical treatment.” Steg watched as Riddell pushed aside a section of a side wall to check the underlying structure. He continued, “The station should have repair bots. If Beagle’s virus killed the station systems, the bots will be inoperative.”

“At least we know this part seems solid. Okay, I’ll talk to Dean, see what we can commence with.”

They returned through the airlock back to the shuttle. Riddell headed off to talk to Dean on board Wasp while Steg went to the bridge.

“Beagle, leave Howe to carry out the system assessment, dirtside. I want you to clean the computers on the station. We need to get repair bots running and station utilities back on line,” Steg instructed.

“Yes, sir. We’ve set up our compads as remote terminals, and we’re connected to the main data centers. We made sure to bypass the shuttle’s systems. We’ll soon be able to start booting up some of the major centers. It looks as though the Eos systems operators haven’t worked out how to counter the virus. I can leave Howe to carry on while I work on cleaning the station units.”

“Howe, as you help re-start the banking data centers, I want you to freeze accounts that belong to the rebel leaders—you know, the Joy growers. Create a hidden account with the Eos Central Bank and transfer the balances there. Make sure there are no trails revealing where the funds went.” Steg wanted to isolate the rebel leaders and wiping out their funds would go a long way towards removing their power.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good—just make sure the shuttle’s system doesn’t get infected. Aadan, where is Defender, do you know?”

“Defender is close. They’re sending a shuttle to dock next to us while Defender stands off; it’ll be here in five. Montrose is cautious. He’s invited you to a meeting on board the destroyer. Apparently he’s anxious to organize a search and rescue program and will coordinate with Wasp and our Stingers.”

“Please tell Commander Gillespie I’ve gone visiting. Beagle and Howe, you can update Captain Dean with progress. The repair bots are critical. Get them working.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a chorus of acknowledgments.

Steg boarded the small Alliance craft from another egress point along the docking arm, only thirty or so meters away from their shuttle. The crew welcomed him and departed with a roar of power.

“The skipper wants you on board as quickly as possible, sir,” a rating explained.

There was a small welcoming group of officers inside the destroyer’s lock. Steg recognized one, the security lead who had inspected Wasp, and greeted him. “My turn to inspect,” he commented.

“I think you’ve already managed that, sir,” the young officer replied. “My name’s Roscoe. We had to disconnect and remove the damned AV device that you activated.”

“It was an intriguing anomaly,” Steg said with a grin as he followed his escort.

Roscoe returned his grin. “The Captain’s in his conference room; it’s not far.”

The lieutenant waited at the door for Steg to enter the conference room. About fifteen of the destroyer’s officers were in attendance, and as one, they stood and saluted him. Captain Montrose held out his hand and grasped Steg’s firmly.

“Well done, Captain de Coeur. Please accept our thanks. I was not unhappy to miss going up against that monster.”

“Sir, please call me Steg. I did what was needed for us to survive. I wanted the Xesset to return to their base; they chose self-destruction, instead.”

“Sit, and let me introduce my people. My Tac is ever so eager to meet you. I think she’s a fan. Mind you, she’s not the only one, based on what I’ve heard. Commander Jessie Brent, Captain de Coeur.”

The Tac commander stood and made a small bow to Steg, and he matched her gesture. “Please to meet you, Commander.”

“Jessie, please.”

Montrose took over and called out the names of his officers around the table. “I’m sure you won’t recall all the names, well, apart from Jessie’s, I suppose. They all have name tags, though. Now Steg, what debriefing can you provide?”

“Sir—”

“Richard, please. We can be informal, here.” At the skipper’s signal, a rating proceeded to pour coffee and distribute finger food, first to Steg and then to Defender’s officers.

“Thank you. Richard, I can give you some details. You may or may not find them credible, however.”

“I’ve seen the results.”

“Well, yes. I was impressed with your team’s ability to detect my involvement.”

“So was I. Now, tell us about the Xesset.”

“I learned Xesset—High Xesset—when I was—seconded—to a Special Forces team. They—the Xesset—had taken over a planet and were treating the inhabitants as slaves. I was a friend of the planet’s diplomatic representative to the Empire, and I wanted to help. We—the surviving military force on the planet and our Special Forces—forced the Xesset off the planet. Our team chased and boarded one of the fleeing ships. We had a battle on our hands. We managed to prevent them self-destructing and captured a lot of material.”

Steg went on to describe their hive-like culture and their inability to even consider other intelligent species, human or other, as possible peers. He mentioned the impressions of evil he had encountered without elaboration. The security lieutenant was taking notes, and Steg was sure he was being recorded.

“Do you know the location of their home system or even a base?” Lieutenant Roscoe asked.

Steg shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I suspect they move from system to system, like a swarm. Although they must have some industrial facilities—or enslaved planets—to help them build their starships. That dreadnought, for example, would require a substantial industrial infrastructure for its construction.” There was silence for a moment, and Steg waited for the next question.

“Do you have any details of their power systems? Their ships seemed incredibly fast.” The officer’s name tag read Eliza Jones. “I’m Engineering.”

“Eliza, again no, unfortunately. Yes, they are fast. An Imperial destroyer could not match the pace of one of their smaller ships—the one we managed to board, which then fled. The destroyer only caught up when we disabled the Xesset starship’s drives.”

The Engineering commander sat back, her expression worried. “That is scary.”

Steg smiled. “I agree. It was extremely so, at the time.”

“I have a question—it’s the key for me,” Julie said.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Julie, please. As the skipper said, we’re informal, here.”

Steg surrendered. “Yes, Julie?”

“How the hell do you communicate with starship systems? Is our starship safe?”

“Firstly, yes, you are safe. At least from anything I could achieve.” He didn’t say that status would prevail as long as the Alliance starship did not treat him as an enemy. “We do have some skilled computer people on board and they—by error—let loose a virus, which affected data centers on Eos. It also contaminated the way station. Some of the starships docked at the way station may have been affected. You weren’t docked, so you’re safe. We’ll check and clean systems as part of our search and rescue activities. The same virus was loaded into the Xesset dreadnought’s systems; it totally degraded both their defensive and offensive capabilities. Apart from that, I’m not able to provide further details.”

“You realize Julie will spend the remainder of her career—likely to be decades—trying to get the answer you omitted?”

Steg smiled at the Alliance skipper and shrugged. “The answer—you would find unbelievable. Julie, please do not try to explore this; if you did discover the answer and publicized it, your credibility would be in absolute doubt. In other words, no one would believe you, no matter how much evidence you revealed.” He made eye contact with Defender’s Tac and shook his head. “At times, I don’t even understand or believe it myself.”

“I’ll try to restrain my curiosity.”

Steg somehow doubted the restraint would be effective. “Thank you.” He turned back to Montrose. “A couple of topics. The most critical item, we should get search and rescue underway. Could your marine officers liaise with our Captain Dean? He’s in operational command of our mercenaries and is probably now setting up his search and rescue teams.”

Montrose signaled to one of the officers seated at the conference table. “Major Tonyn Carter. Please work with Captain Dean. We’ll excuse you; go organize your marines.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll place a hundred of my men on the station to work with Wasp’s team.” The major rose and edged away from the table.

“That’s welcome news, Major,” said Steg. “We have over two hundred marines available, so altogether that’ll be a good-sized force.”

“I agree,” the officer said. “Captain de Coeur, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, and I look forward to working with your Captain Dean.”

As Carter left the room, Montrose said, “He means it; he’ll ensure his marines fit in with your people.”

“That’s good to hear. As soon as the station’s computer system is running properly, we’ll have access to utilities and repair bots. The bots will re-construct and repair; they’ll also ensure the station has atmosphere,” Steg said.

“I think we all hope there’ll be survivors. That was a devastating barrage.”

“The Xesset don’t make distinctions between civilians and military forces.”

“So we saw.”

“Richard, I have a suggestion, which might seem odd, but which I think will help the planet and its people recover and stabilize. I’m going to recommend Wasp remains in local space to manage rebuilding the Eos way station and to provide security, at least until the local officials are back in control. This will take months, perhaps a year.” He shrugged. “It’s difficult to estimate. If we don’t help, the planet will be exposed to attack by opportunistic pirates and by the Xesset, if they decide to return. Of course, I wouldn’t expect Defender to remain here. However, five or six missile pods and a missile control system would certainly provide additional teeth to Wasp’s weapons. Is there any possibility—?”

“An excellent idea, Steg. Yes, we’ve been enjoying your escapades for far too long, and Defender needs to return to base. I’m not sure what my Admiralty will say when they receive our reports. Missile pods—I can see the advantages. Lay out some passive sensor arrays, with pods distributed to protect the way station and Wasp to oversee. Yes, I can support you. Once Wasp confirms the contract, I’ll transfer two pods each with twenty missiles and arrange for delivery of another four, so you’ll have some spares. Eos will have to cope with Alliance inspections every six months or so, which will add to their security profile. We’ll end the inspections when Eos decide they no longer need our missiles.”

“Thank you. I need to convince both Wasp and Eos authorities.”

“I’m prepared to add weight, if you encounter difficulties with either party.”

“Good, we may need it for the Eos side, at least. Is there anything else I can address?”

“No—well, apart from Julie’s outstanding question.”

“I’ve heard disappointment is character building,” Julie said, “However, I think my character is already built. Steg, if you decide you can tell me—any time in the future—I’ll give you my contact details.”

Her fellow officers laughed, and Julie’s face turned pink. “It’s to find out how he did it,” she protested.

“Hmm. Steg, our shuttle’s waiting to return you to the station. I’ll keep that isolated compad open for you, in case you have any requests or problems. Let me know.”

Steg stood and said, “Thank you. Everyone, if I can help in future—” There was a chorus of responses. Steg could feel the intensity of the Tac commander’s curiosity, and he added, “Well, except for Julie’s question, of course.”

Chapter 42

Steg thanked the shuttle crew when they returned him to the way station, and he then headed to Wasp. Once on board he made his way to the bridge. As soon as he stepped through the hatch, the bridge crew stood and applauded.

Commander Gillespie smiled at his discomfit and said, “We all appreciate the defeat of the Xesset dreadnought even if we don’t know how you managed it. You protected Wasp. I know, we could have headed away from Eos and avoided any conflict; however, you and some of our people would have been left behind, so we used our shields to hide and watch, in case we could assist. We appreciate the results of your actions.”

“Thanks, Commander. It was stressful, I’ll admit. I’m hopeful the Xesset won’t return. The cost to them has been exceptionally high, and I think we can assume they won’t keep sending forces against us or Eos.”

“How was your meeting with the Alliance skipper and his officers?”

“Very good. They also were thankful they didn’t have to fight the dreadnought. The CO of their marines should be meeting with Dean; they’re adding a hundred marines to our search and rescue operation.”

“Dean said they were meeting. We’re all hoping we find people still alive.”

“Me, too. I want to discuss an idea with you. Can we use the small conference room?”

Steg looked across the table at Gillespie when he concluded his suggestion. “I think we can establish stability here. Otherwise, if Wasp doesn’t take up this role, the planet will be in total chaos within months.”

“I’m interested, of course. We still have an outstanding contract item to complete, too.”

“The rebels have lost their munitions shipment, they’ve been spared the support of the Xesset, and we’re taking over all their funds. Once search and rescue is done here, we’ll complete the contract.”

“They’ve lost their funds?”

“I trust our two computer experts are making sure of that while they tidy up the mess made by their virus.”

“We’ve some responsibility for the mess; the Intel team is ours.”

“I know. That’s one of the reasons why I’m suggesting Wasp takes on the role of providing reconstruction assistance in addition to mounting a security operation.”

“The Eos government will contract with us?”

“I’m going to talk with the president. We’ve got support from Montrose; he was willing to provide the missile pods, which is a good start.”

“Very well. I’ll schedule a contract meeting with the senior officers. As soon as you have the president’s reactions, let me know.”

“I will. We can use the funds we’ve taken from the Joy producers—after we’ve paid the Stingers and Wasp’s crew—to help with expenses. I think the balance will be substantial. If necessary, I’ll suggest that to the Eos authorities.”

“What are you going to do about the frigate captain who you’ve locked up? The one who assaulted Stacia?”

“I’d like to push him out of a lock. However, I may be able to use him as a bargaining lever with Eos. He’s been transferred to Wasp?”

“Yes. Riddell was adamant he needed to be locked up and guarded.”

“Good. Let me check progress with Howe and Beagle, and I’ll make a call to Eos after that. We need Dean to give us regular status reports, too.”

“You know, if Wasp remains here, you’ll have to amend the arrangements with Djamu? We can’t meet them at Sicca if we’re on duty here.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. They’re probably on approach now. Rose and Kirby are senior and reliable. We can authorize them to sell Djamu—and the weapons, of course—and buy a small ship. Perhaps a corvette? Something large enough to comfortably accommodate Ebony Company on the journey here?”

Gillespie reflected for a moment. “Y-y-yes, that would work. Do you want me to draft a message?”

“Please. Draft and send—I’ll leave the details to you. Specify a top of the line corvette, something like an Imperial Swan class—a craft about fifty thousand tons, which will be large enough. It should be fast and maneuverable. We can install weapons, shields, and so forth, when they return here.”

“Rose will love you. She enjoys the challenge of purchasing warships and equipment. We don’t do it often, though. She should register you as owner, of course?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good. I’ll send the message.”

Captain Dean and Major Carter had established an operations center on the docking arm adjacent to Wasp. Search and rescue teams were beginning to explore the seven levels of the core of the way station, identifying breaches in the station hull, and quantifying the degree of damage. Their priority was to find and rescuer survivors. A smaller group was responsible for retrieving wounded personnel—employees or civilians—and bring them to the operations center for treatment by the Fain.

Steg listened to exchanges of communications and realized a number of Fain had ventured out with the search teams to provide medical assistance in situ, for cases where injuries were too severe for the person to be moved or where someone was trapped under wreckage. He made his presence known to the two officers.

“Captain, Major. What’s your progress?”

“Sir,” replied the major, addressing Steg as his senior officer. “We’re working well. We set up a second retrieval area for uninjured survivors—well, most are in shock and need food and water. Your Fain are marvelous, truly marvelous.”

“They’ll be pleased to hear your opinion, Major. Dean?”

“I agree with the major, sir. I’ve always had that opinion about our Fain. The station’s data center is back on line, and we have atmosphere and electricity in our work areas. We don’t want utilities activated in other areas unless we’ve confirmed they’re airtight. We have a team—led by Beagle—she’s doing an excellent job—setting up the bots. They expect to have the first twenty or so exterior repair bots active in about an hour.”

“Body count?”

“As we expected, sir,” said Dean. “We’ve recovered a hundred uninjured, sixty with various survivable injuries, some serious, and twenty or more alive but unlikely to survive. Also, three hundred bodies. We think a lot more will be classed as missing—lost when the Xesset shells blew out exterior bulwarks. It’s unlikely we’ll ever recover those bodies.”

“We’re making progress towards the center where we expect to find more survivors than bodies; people there should have been sheltered by the structure of the station,” Major Carter added.

“Good. Can you set up a repeater station on the bridge so we can see progress, something to give the crew an idea of how you’re doing? As long as the effort doesn’t detract from recovery efforts?”

“We were planning to do that for both Defender and Wasp. Montrose also has requested status updates. It’s straightforward; we’ll get it done in the next thirty minutes.”

“I’ll leave you to it. I need to talk to the Eos president.”

On his way back to Wasp, he stopped to talk to Stacia and Finch. “How is your concussion?” he asked Stacia.

“Gone, thank you.” She hugged him. “I hear you’ve been destroying aliens?”

“Me? Whatever gave you that idea?” He turned to Finch. “Is she well enough to help you?”

“Yes. Truly. We wouldn’t let her come to harm. We need all the resources we can get.”

“Could you use help from Defender?”

“Definitely.”

“Well, maybe if you talk kindly to Major Carter—he’s the officer with Dean—he’ll contact the Alliance ship for you. I’m confident they’ll assist with medical support. If not, let me know.”

Steg went to the bridge looking for Howe. He wanted to check if he had found and transferred the rebel funds. He wasn’t on the bridge, and Steg headed to the mess, where he found his target and freshly made coffee. He joined Howe at the small table where he was finishing his meal.

“Progress?” Steg asked.

“Very good, sir. I’ve shown the dirtside operators how to clean the virus, and they’ve been appreciative. With our combined efforts, so far we’ve managed to get about 20 percent of the data centers operating the way they should.”

“Did you work on the Joy accounts?”

“Yes, sir. I contacted Sergeant Velez and got some help from the other members of our team. They had lots of details, which helped me identify the accounts. The rebels were certainly making money; the account in the Central Bank now has a balance of almost half a billion standard credits, and I think I’ve found another three accounts. Once they’re confirmed, the transfers will take the balance to well over a half billion. We’ve also discovered details of accounts in other star systems, some Alliance and some Imperial. These people must have been smuggling tremendous quantities of the drug. I’m pleased we’ve stopped them, sir.”

“I think those other systems will be pleased, too. When you have a moment, ask Sergeant Velez if she can spare me a minute. I’ll be in the Ebony war room.”

“Yes, sir. I think she’s helping with the search and recovery now.”

“When you see her. Only if she has a spare minute. Keep me updated with the data center progress. Also with the drug account balance.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steg knew he couldn’t stall any longer. He needed to make contact with the Eos authorities, as much as he didn’t like his previous encounters with the president’s aide. He sat at his workstation in the war room and keyed the comunit. A minute or more passed as the unit repeatedly attempted to link to the dirtside communications network. At last someone answered; the link was voice only.

“President’s office.”

“Steg de Coeur. President Morway, please.”

“He’s not—who did you say you are?”

“Steg de Coeur. I need to speak with the president.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“Wasp. We’re docked at the way station.”

“We’ve been trying to contact station management—can you tell me what’s happening there? We haven’t heard from them for days, yeah.”

“I should report to Morway, don’t you think?”

“That old soak—he’s not available and that means he’s had too much to drink again, yeah. You can report to me.”

“I thought he sounded strange when we spoke. I’ll give you a brief report. An alien dreadnought attacked your way station. The dreadnought was Xesset. They are the same aliens who were escorting Djamu, and who were planning to take control of your planet. We fought them off. They damaged your station, and there are casualties, most of them fatal. We’ve mounted a search and rescue operation, to recover survivors and treat them for injuries, depressurization or starvation. We’re being assisted by an Alliance destroyer—they’ve landed a hundred marines, and we’ve got over two hundred of our people on the station. We’re working our way from the docking arm through to the station core. So far, we’ve rescued two hundred plus and have recovered over five hundred bodies. We expect to find more survivors in the center. We’ve re-started the repair bots.”

“Damnation. We had no idea of what had happened. The station went dead, yeah. No communications. We’ve had turmoil on the planet; all our data centers were corrupted by some kind of virus.”

Steg didn’t think it would be constructive to mention the Intel team had been responsible for releasing the software that had caused the system failures. “We’re assisting there, also. We’ve been training your operators, showing them how to clean their systems.”

“I heard that, yeah. Now can you keep me informed of the progress of your search and rescue operation? I’d like to hear from station management or from our naval people, yeah.”

“We’ll keep you informed. Someone will update you twice a day, with progress on-station. As for your frigates—I’ve got one of your captains under arrest. He kidnapped three of our crew and tortured one of them. I haven’t yet had reports on whether your frigates survived the alien attack.”

“You arrested one of our frigate captains? By what right—?”

“We had to raid your frigate to recover our people. Your captain was being blackmailed by Ser Bedwyr to find out what we were doing. I don’t know his name. I’ve been too busy fighting aliens to worry about him. I authorized his arrest, and if necessary, I’ll push him out an airlock and he can breathe vacuum.”

“What? No, don’t do that. One of those captains is my cousin; I don’t want to report to my family that you executed him, yeah.”

“He said his sister is addicted; that’s how Bedwyr got leverage.”

“I think you have the other one. My cousin doesn’t have a sister. Let me know details. If possible, I’d like to speak to the man you arrested, yeah.”

“We have more important issues. We’re helping you recover your way station. We’ll raise an invoice for services rendered.”

“I suppose we can—”

“Search and rescue is free. Except for our ship’s supplies. No, I’ve got a proposal for you. I’ll arrange for the Alliance skipper to send a copy of his operational report to your president. He’ll confirm we destroyed an alien dreadnought, which was attacking your way station. They made quite a mess of it; the station will be inoperative for three, four months, or longer, depending how you handle repairs and the rebuild. I suspect your frigates are damaged or destroyed. Currently, your way station is unprotected. We’ll manage its repair. You provide the workers, bots, and materials. We’ll provide security against pirates and other possible attackers. Wasp will run the way station, handle inbound starships, provide security, support you as required. You need this stability to help you recover. The Alliance skipper has agreed to lend us missile pods, which Wasp can use to defend both the station and Eos against possible attacks. There’ll be rules for their help. What do you say?”

“I recognize the needs, yeah. I’m worried about the costs.”

“We’ll make sure costs aren’t excessive. Do we have a basis for negotiation?”

“I’ll need to talk with people, yeah. Get me that action report as quickly as you can. Keep me updated with search and rescue activities. I’ll do my best to set up negotiations. Contact me in twenty-four hours, yeah.”

“Very well. Expect the Alliance files in the next hour. They’ll provide details of the attack on the way station and our destruction of the dreadnought. We’ll identify as best we can the survivors and bodies as we continue with our searches. I’ll find out the status of your frigates and other Eos ships docked at the way station and let you know.”

“Deal, yeah. Talk tomorrow. President’s office out.”

Chapter 43

It was a week later and Steg was still waiting for an answer from the president or his aide. Media reports were not helpful; news of the attack on the way station by the Xesset had caused a range of violent dirtside reactions, and the politicians were in turmoil. As a result, communications were sparse and noncommittal. In the meantime, search and rescue operations on the way station were discovering more and more survivors, some close to death from injury or lack of atmosphere. The body count was increasing to alarming numbers. The marines from Defender together with Wasp’s mercenaries were working all hours and were close to exhaustion. At last Steg decided the silence from Eos was unacceptable. He arranged to meet with Dean and the marine major to share his worries.

“We’ve got issues, dirtside,” Steg said.

“Thought as much,” Dean said. “We need medical supplies, fresh food, and there are survivors who need urgent treatment and care beyond what we can do here.”

“I’ve been monitoring the medical issues. The Fain are overwhelmed,” Steg confirmed. “How much longer will Montrose keep Defender in the Eos system?” he asked Carter.

“He wants us to continue with this S and R. He won’t head away if we’re still finding survivors.”

“Good to know. What’s your estimate for clearing the rest of the core layers?”

Both men sighed. Dean said, “Every time we make an estimate, we uncover issues. This station was not well constructed.”

Carter said, “We’ve been reassessing our focus. We’ve concluded it’s too late for anyone in the upper levels; the Xesset destroyed that area. We’ve sent teams in, and they’ve found gaping holes, collapsed bulkheads, fallen beams, and few survivors. None, the last couple of days. Even the repair bots are struggling to find a way through. The body count is high.”

“We thought we should focus now on the lower core levels. We think we can do good there. We estimate it will take another week to check them all.”

“There’s still some freighters to inspect?”

“Just about done. Your Intel guys have been cleaning all the ship systems. Most have crew and officers on board, and they have supplies, water, atmosphere, and power. There’s a lot of repairs needed before they can travel, though.”

“The two frigates were destroyed?”

“Yes, the Xesset focused on them. Shot them to pieces. No survivors,” confirmed Dean.

“Are any of the surface transport ships ready to move survivors to dirtside for treatment? Should we use one of our shuttles? Or a Defender shuttle?”

“One of yours and one of ours, I suggest. Only one of the tugs is usable, we could use it to pull up fresh supplies.”

“The patients need to be transferred as soon as possible. I’d take an armed team—some of our mercenaries. We’ve no idea of the dirtside situation,” Steg said.

“That will move people off S and R, though. I know, we need to do it,” Dean said.

“Major, can you discuss this with Montrose, see if he’ll provide a shuttle and crew? We can configure one of our shuttles as a hospital ship by tomorrow morning, and I assume Defender can do something similar? In any event, it’ll be a rough ride; we don’t have proper ambulance shuttles. Tell him I plan to fly our light shuttle dirtside first, with fifteen of our marines, in case there’s unrest in the capital city. Maybe you should add five of your marines, or more if you want, to my flight. I’ll take over the central hospital and other facilities, if necessary.”

Dean said, “My concern is the more serious cases. Perhaps we can hold them here rather than subjecting them to that trip? Maybe you could bring some Eos medicos back with you?”

“I’ll ask Stacia for a head count. She’ll know who we can move. Her team can list what medical supplies they need, and the number of doctors and nurses they could use.”

Steg tried again to contact the president’s office. The call went unanswered. He left a voice message advising he planned to deliver four shuttle loads of injured way station personnel to Eos City for hospital treatment. It was, he thought, extremely odd that the politicians did not appear to be interested in their way station nor in the condition of survivors. He identified the senior surgeon at the central city hospital and called him. He spoke with an assistant who immediately disconnected the call when Steg said he needed emergency assistance for wounded survivors from the way station. Subsequent calls went to a recording, which stated no one was available to speak with him. He decided he would, if necessary, take over the hospital in order to ensure the survivors received proper treatment.

When he informed Stacia of the lack of response from dirtside, she was immediately angry on behalf of her patients.

“I’ll come with you,” she said. “I agree you should take over the central hospital. I‘ll see everything is done properly. Finch will list the patients we should transport; she can come with us. Two shuttles—that should give us room for sixty patients in each. We’ve well over four hundred who need hospital care.”

“We’ll do multiple runs. First trip, though, I’m taking a squad and you and Finch in the smaller shuttle. We’ll use a larger shuttle for patient runs. It will need some conversion work so that it can carry patients. You’ll need to allocate two Fain, and we’ll have fifteen marines, ours or Alliance, to accompany patients on each flight. The flights dirtside will be quick. The teams won’t be able to do much for people while they’re in transit.”

Commander Gillespie supported his plan and arranged a team of Wasp engineers to convert her largest shuttle, as far as possible, to provide suitable accommodation. The passengers would be patients who needed more intense treatment or surgery beyond the scope of the Fain and Wasp’s equipment.

Steg made further attempts to contact the president and the senior surgeon, and again there were no responses.

That evening Steg held a briefing meeting with Stacia, Finch, Captain Dean, and Major Carter. He said, “No replies from dirtside, so far. According to our Intel team—Major, I sent you maps and flight plans about five minutes ago—the central hospital is adjacent to a large park area. They’re both near the center of the city. The hospital’s not far from the president’s office. We’ll use the park as a temporary base; it has enough room for three shuttles and more.”

The Alliance major replied, “Good. As I messaged you, Montrose agreed we should move injured people off the station. He’s impressed that your Fain have managed to maintain such a high treatment standard under these conditions. We’re authorized to fly as many trips as necessary.”

“I’ll fly our small shuttle in first, secure the area, and move out any civilians. The shuttle’s armed with light weapons, although I don’t expect to use them. We’ll drop an hour ahead of the first load of patients. I’m taking Riddell and some of our most experienced mercs, half of whom are heavyworlders, so we’ll have extra muscle.”

“It might add to your authority if you have an Alliance presence so I’ve arranged for some of my marines to accompany you. Of course, we’ll disown you if you kill anyone. Well, at least take care to minimize casualties. I’ve allocated five to fly down with you, and five to ride with Wasp’s medical shuttle. Ten marines will be in our shuttle. I don’t want to remove any more of my marines—we need to continue with our S and R mission.”

“Agreed. Per the flight plans, ETA for the first hospital shuttle is 7:00 a.m. local, an hour after sunrise. Major, your shuttle is scheduled to depart an hour later, unless we encounter difficulties. We won’t overwhelm the locals—well, not too much—if we do this in stages. We can achieve two flights each, today. We’ll follow up with more tomorrow—we may need to find another hospital, though. I’m not sure how they’ll cope, dirtside.”

“Will anyone be in danger, do you think?” asked Stacia. “I don’t want my patients to suffer any more.”

“We’ll convince local law authorities we’re legitimate. The hospital symbols on our shuttles with the patients will help. I can’t imagine anyone is going to shoot at them. If necessary I can defend them. The small shuttle flies like a fighter.”

“I’m bringing my armor, anyway,” said Finch. “And my Gauss. I don’t want anyone attacking my patients.”

Major Carter looked surprised. He was about to comment and decided otherwise.

Dean understood the major’s unasked question and said, “Finch is one of our best shots, even if the weapon is as big as she is.”

Carter stepped back and bowed to the Fain. “Finch, I did not intend any disparagement.”

Finch blinked her lashes at the major and giggled. She said, “None taken, Major. Now you know you shouldn’t get in my way when I’m shooting.”

Chapter 44

Steg departed on schedule and dropped the small shuttle towards the planet. He ignored comments from his passengers as he increased power and pace. Stacia’s face was pale, whether from his shuttle piloting or from anger at the silence of the Eos authorities, he was unsure. Finch held determinedly to her weapon as the shuttle bounced. The ride was going to be a record breaker. He wanted to be visible yet too fast for anyone to catch—unless they had missiles, of course. If the shuttle’s sensors detected a missile lock, he’d activate all shields and take evasive maneuvers, flying the small craft out of the planet’s gravity well and back into deep space. He planned then to make a return flight, find a remote location, and approach the capital city more circumspectly. This trip, he was making a statement.

The flight was uneventful, without missile locks. He crossed over the city at a low altitude, breaking the sound barrier as he approached and then as he departed. His return to the city center was slower, with less noise. He located their intended destination and checked for pedestrians. There were none near his planned landing spot, and he settled the shuttle down. To everyone’s relief, it almost floated to a stop. His squad quickly exited and took up defensive positions, weapons ready. The small team of Alliance Marines followed his mercenaries.

One of the mercenaries bent over and tapped the grass with her hand. “So that’s what it’s like,” she muttered.

“What’s up, Sergeant?” asked one of her companions. “Forgotten what a planet’s like?”

“Just reminding myself,” replied Sergeant Velez. “It’s been a while.”

“Velez, you’re coming with me—select two to support you. Stacia, you and Finch, too. Corporal, would you and your marines guard the shuttle?”

The corporal acknowledged the request and placed his men around the shuttle. Steg continued, “Riddell, be prepared to protect our way out. In the meantime, mark out the areas where we want to land the other shuttles. Use the spray paint to indicate the boundaries. If you see any locals, let them know this park is now a hot landing zone—and restricted. Use force, not deadly, and only if necessary. We want to keep some friends.”

Steg headed towards the hospital with his escort of three heavyworlders who were carrying enough weapons to start a war on their own. Stacia wore light armor, although she had decided not to carry a weapon. Steg had brought a spare rifle in case she changed her mind. Finch was armored and carried her Gauss with intent. He ignored the handful or so of staring locals; they were apparently amazed at the presence of the shuttle and armored soldiers in the middle of their city.

There was a security guard inside the hospital lobby, seated inside a glass cage beside a barrier he operated to ensure visitors could enter only one at a time. Steg didn’t stop as he crashed through the flimsy construction. The guard looked appalled.

“I don’t have a pass and yes, I’m entering the hospital. Don’t try to use your weapon, it won’t do any good against our armor and would only upset us. Which floor do I need for the head surgeon? What’s his name—Dr. Dalrymple?”

“Th-th-third floor, s-sir,” the guard stuttered. “He’s not in, yet.”

“Then call him, tell him I’ve taken over his hospital.” Steg, frustrated with the doctor’s refusal to take his comlink, had messaged him the previous afternoon, announcing his arrival time and his intention to move hundreds of patients into the hospital. “When he arrives, tell him we’re in the emergency intake section.” The guard nodded, apparently too nervous to risk his stutter.

Steg checked the directional signs and determined if he followed a solid red line, he’d arrive at the right location.

“Velez, place a marine here—your corporal. No one is to enter the hospital unless they’re a doctor or a nurse, understand?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Follow the red line,” he called back over his shoulder. Stacia and Finch ran to catch up. He knew Velez would follow with the other heavyworlder.

At two hundred yards or so along the red line, he reached the beginning of what appeared to be the outskirts of a series of hospital wards instead of offices. There were beds in side rooms and the antiseptic odor reminded him of the Fains’ medical area on Wasp. He stopped a nurse and asked, “Is this the emergency section?”

The nurse did not conceal her nervousness. “Yes, sir.” Steg assumed his armored presence, including obviously high-powered weapons, was the likely cause of her reaction.

“Where’s your doctor in charge?”

“He’s not in yet, sir. He won’t arrive for another four—or maybe five hours.”

“Who’s in charge in the meantime?”

“The senior nurse, Nursing Manager Bollard, sir.”

“She’s in, I assume?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Nurses are always on time.”

“Lead me to her.”

“Oh—but—very well, sir.” Sergeant Velez had stepped forward as the nurse was about to refuse. The presence of the large offworlder seemed to change her mind.

“It’s this way, sir.”

Steg, the two Fain, and his mercenary escort followed the young nurse for another fifty yards or so, intruding further into the wards. Most of the beds, he noted, were empty. Their guide stopped outside a small office.

“Nursing Manager Bollard, sir—this is her office.”

“Thank you for your assistance.”

The young woman scurried away, an expression of relief on her face.

“You frighten everyone, sir,” murmured Velez.

“Only if they don’t realize how soft I am,” Steg murmured back. He indicated the desk and the anxious receptionist. “Sergeant, take over this desk—we don’t want the nursing manager to be diverted from her critical tasks, today.”

“Yes, sir.” Velez looked at the receptionist. “Miss,” she said, “I’m sure you’d like to have a coffee—or even a sip of something stronger perhaps, to restore your nerves.” The sergeant used one hand to lift the receptionist out of her chair. She pointed her away from the office. “Go!” she commanded. The receptionist ran. Velez indicated her slightly smaller fellow marine should sit at the desk. The armor created long deep scratches in the desktop as the private sat down. The chair creaked. Exo-armor was not light.

A voice called from inside the office. “What’s going on out there? You don’t have time for—”

Steg’s appearance in the middle of her doorway silenced the remainder of her sentence.

“Nursing Manager Bollard?”

“Y—yes. Who are you?”

“I’m Captain Steg de Coeur. In approximately forty minutes, you will receive sixty injured patients, survivors from the way station. An hour after that, you will receive another sixty. Later, another sixty, and so on. We have two hundred and forty patients scheduled to reach you today. I tried a number of times to contact your Dr. Dalrymple; apparently he decided to ignore my communications.”

“I can’t—you cannot—this is impossible—you don’t have authority to tell me what to do.” The woman pressed her lips together. She was in her mid-fifties; her hair was tied back, and she had what Steg assumed was a chronic frown on her face. He wondered what she’d eaten to cause the sour expression. Her white uniform was crisp and clean.

“Ma’am, you either work with me to admit and treat these patients or you lose your job, immediately. One of my associates will take over.” He indicated Stacia and Finch. Finch held her weapon at the ready and, in armor, looked a most unlikely candidate to run an emergency ward.

“Impossible—” began the nursing manager.

“Sergeant Velez, restrain this woman.” The sergeant stepped forward with plastic ties in her hand. Steg continued, “Bollard, if you co-operate, today is going to be one of the most exciting you’ll experience in your lifetime, If you don’t cooperate—” Steg shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

Velez said, “Turn around, hands behind your back.”

“No, wait, what is this all about?”

“I told you. We have hundreds of patients requiring emergency care. I tried to contact Dalrymple to make arrangements. There was an alien attack on your way station, and we’ve been conducting search and rescue operations. The people we’re bringing here are seriously injured and need your care. Will you help?”

The nursing manager stared at Steg for almost a minute. At last, she wet her lips and said, “Very well. Who—what—”

“Stacia has the patient details. She is our lead surgeon. The other lady—Finch—is equally well qualified, notwithstanding the armor. However, before we start—understand, we’ll be landing shuttles in the park next door to the hospital. Can your people help move the patients from the shuttles into your emergency department?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Nicoll can handle that. My receptionist will contact—”

“Um—I think you’ve lost her—she’s gone for a coffee, or something stronger. Give Private Thornton his number; she’ll contact him.”

Bollard provided the man’s number and returned her attention to Steg. “You said—you have patient details?”

Stacia stepped forward. “Nursing Manager, my name is Stacia. My associate is Finch. We have a list of the patients on our compads, with details of their injuries and our treatment so far. Here, you can see these details. Perhaps I can transfer the file to your compad?”

The nursing manager started to read the details on Stacia’s screen. “Oh, my—yes, transfer it now. We need to call out some of our emergency staff—indeed, yes.”

Steg shook his head and turned and left the office. He signaled Velez and said, “Sergeant, only interfere if someone causes difficulties for Stacia or Finch. Then call me. I’m going to look for Dalrymple.”

The sergeant looked back at the three heads bent over their compads, smiled, and said, “Yes, sir.”

As Steg left, two men—doctors, he assumed, given their uniforms—rushed towards him and into the nursing manager’s office. Another man was running towards the same office, carrying a compad. Steg smiled to himself and followed the red line back to the front desk.

Chapter 45

The main lobby was full of blue-uniformed police and gray-uniformed security personnel. The corporal deployed by Sergeant Velez stood at the end of the lobby, weapon leveled, his threatening posture preventing anyone entering further into the hospital. Steg nodded his approval at the mercenary and stepped forward. He used the amplifier in his exo-armor.

“Who’s in charge?” The volume was higher than Steg expected, and it took a moment or two for people to respond while their hearing recovered from the blast of sound. He turned the volume down.

“I’m the senior officer, yeah. Who are you?” The speaker was a neatly dressed police officer, his uniform spotless. He was about five feet tall and portly, although there was muscle underlying the overweight build.

“Captain Steg de Coeur. Now get your men out of here. We’ve an emergency in the park area—that’s where they’re needed. A shuttle is due to land in five minutes with sixty injured way station personnel. Clear any pedestrians and traffic away and organize your men to help move the patients to the hospital’s emergency intake.” He sent a signal to Riddell on his comlink. “Send me three of the Alliance Marines. I’ve some convincing to do.”

“You—you can’t give me orders.” The officer was red in the face; apparently he was unaccustomed to strangers telling him what to do.

Steg turned the volume of his speaker system up to its previous level. He leveled his Gauss weapon at the crowd of police officers. “I’ve given my orders. Complain to your superiors. Get out there and help. That is not a suggestion.” As he finished speaking, three Alliance Marines pushed their way through the crowd at the foyer entrance.

“Captain, do you need assistance?” the largest marine inquired. He and his two companions were heavyworlders, the largest men Steg had ever encountered. They also were armed and armored. The circular Alliance flag was embossed on the front of each man’s armor.

“Thank you, Sergeant. Please escort these police officers to the park. They’re going to provide crowd control.”

The marines stood to one side, and Steg held his weapon pointing in the general direction of the senior police officer. The message was unmistakable. The twelve or so policemen gradually increased the pace of their exit from the hospital building. The roar of a shuttle overhead added urgency. The shuttle flew past and then returned, slowly descending. The policemen ran to take up positions, followed by the Alliance Marines. The local officers quickly commenced helping Riddell and his team move pedestrians away from the landing zone. A row of gurneys was lined up, adjacent to the expected landing position of the shuttle, ready to move patients.

Steg was about to head to the park when a bald, red-faced man, dressed in a three-piece suit, stormed into the foyer from the street.

“What’s going on? Who are you?” he demanded of Steg.

They all make demands, thought Steg, with no apparent strength behind their words. He looked the man up and down. “And who the frek are you?”

“This is my hospital.” He puffed up his chest. “I’m Dr. Dalrymple, Head Surgeon.”

Steg could almost hear the capitalization of the man’s title.

“Doctor, come with me.” He grabbed the doctor by the shoulder and pulled him to the top of the stairs leading down to the street. He suspected the armor-powered grip would leave bruises.

Steg pointed towards the park. “See that shuttle? There’s sixty people on board, all in need of extensive medical care. I called you a number of times, and you were too arrogant to take my call. I messaged you yesterday requesting assistance. You did nothing.” He shook the man, the way a terrier might shake a rat.

“What—?” The man’s teeth rattled. “I’m not taking notice of some captain. I’m in charge, here.”

The doctor was displaying a surprising amount of bravado, Steg thought.

“You were—you’ve now lost the position. I retired you. One of my people is acting senior surgeon. You’re not fit to be her assistant. We’ll send on your personal belongings; leave your address with security.”

The doctor appeared to be on the verge of a fit. A stranger was holding him halfway off the ground, his shoulder felt as though it was severely damaged, and he was being insulted.

“I’ll see you hung for this, you impudent pup. Let me go.” He tried to turn towards the security guards further back in the foyer. “Help me,” he moaned. No one moved.

Steg released his grip, and the doctor collapsed halfway to the floor. Steg raised his Gauss weapon.

“See that building there? The one with the fancy decoration on top of the curved roof?” Steg couldn’t determine whether the carving was of a large ugly bird or of some mythical monster. He aimed and fired. The shock wave almost pushed the doctor all the way to the ground. The decorative marble carving on top of the building exploded into tiny shards of stone.

“If you’re not out of my sight within one minute, I’ll use this weapon on you. Do not return to this building, understand?”

The doctor paled and said, “You can’t do—”

Steg pointed the weapon at the doctor’s midriff.

“You saw what it did to that ugly carving. Get out of here. Go!” He turned away as the doctor stumbled down the stairs onto the street. Steg hoped it was the last he saw of the man. He instructed the waiting corporal. “Stark, if you see him again, tie him up. Do not let him enter this hospital. Keep watch. Call if you need help. I’m going to check the progress of the patient transfers.”

The hospital staff, at least those involved in processing the way station survivors, were moving patients into the emergency section as rapidly as they were being disembarked from the shuttle. Police were standing guard on either side of the moving lines of gurneys; one line contained empty gurneys, and the other line with gurneys and patients, and each patient was attended by a nurse. Onlookers crowded up to the police guards. Marines and mercenaries protected the two shuttles. Steg relaxed; at least the hospital was accepting the intake.

Steg keyed a comlink to Finch. “All going well?” he asked as he surveyed the park.

“Yes, boss man. I hear you manhandled the so-called senior surgeon. The nurses here were cheering when they heard. He ranked as the most disliked man on the planet, so they tell me.”

“Ask your new friend if I can contact the hospital board—I want to explore how we obtain medical supplies and whether they have medical staff who’ll volunteer to ship up to the way station to help us.”

“Let me check.” Finch was silent for a minute. “It seems they’re on their way to the hospital. Word has spread. Five board members plan to be here in about twenty minutes. Will you meet with them?”

“Yes, I’ll do that. Twenty minutes? I don’t want to wait for them in the lobby. Can Nursing Manager Bollard—someone—arrange a conference room and an introduction?”

“Her receptionist came back and seems to have recovered. I think she’d be able to help.” Finch was silent for another minute. “Yes, if you come here, to the office, the receptionist will arrange all. She and Sergeant Velez are now good friends.”

“Life is full of surprises. I’ll be there in ten.”

Steg found Sergeant Riddell amidst the turmoil of the park and told him he’d be with the hospital board, all going well, for an hour or so.

“Rather you than me, sir,” the sergeant said.

“You’re as bad as Kirby.”

“We come from the same planet, sir. It’s a pessimistic place.”

Steg shook his head. He hid his smile. “We’ve a guard in the lobby; if you want to recall her, I think that’d be okay. I dismissed the hospital’s senior surgeon. He’s the only person I want to prevent entering the hospital.”

“I heard, sir. One of the police officers described it—said it was deserved. Did you actually shoot up the President’s Palace?”

“The what? Oh. I thought it might wake them up. It was a bloody ugly statue, anyway. Call me if anything happens.”

“Yes, sir. Good luck.”

Steg was ambushed in the lobby by a local media camera crew. A female reporter and a cameraman rushed him, while a larger person, some kind of guard, flexed muscles at him.

“Sir. Captain. Captain. What do you have to say about blowing up the President’s Palace?”

Steg did not raise his face visor. He also did not reduce the volume of his speakers. “What do you have to say about the unwillingness of people in this capital to help injured victims on the way station? Why isn’t there a line of volunteers applying to assist with search and rescue? Why have your authorities ignored the needs of hundreds of injured and dying people? Where are medical supplies to replace what our starship and the Alliance destroyer have used on treating survivors? Answer me those.”

The reporter flinched and brushed a curl of blond hair back from her face. “Who are you? Who gave you authority to take over here and destroy property?”

Steg laughed. “Find answers to my questions, broadcast them, show me the tape, and then I’ll talk to you. I’m busy.” He brushed past the trio. He heard the reporter add a line to her report about how rude he was. He stopped and spoke to Corporal Stark.

“I thought I might be able to release you back to Riddell. I’m not sure now. Don’t let these media people into the hospital. Let the sergeant know if you need support. You should soon have visitors—a group of five people—they’re the hospital board. They’ll want access. Let them through.”

“Yes, sir.”

Finch, Stacia, Managing Nurse Bollard and Sergeant Velez had acquired a larger office and the receptionist, whom Velez had frightened away earlier, led Steg to their new location. The four were now the center of a major flow of activity. Finch looked up as Steg made his presence known.

“Oh, good, you’re here. Bolls, this is our boss—well, he think he is. He really is a nice man. Shall I introduce you both properly? Steg, lift your face visor—it’s difficult talking to a reflection.”

Steg did as he was instructed. He held out his hand to the woman Finch referred to as Bolls.

He said, “Ma’am, I’m pleased to meet you. Please accept my apologies for my brusque attitude earlier.”

“My dear man. Call me Bolls. I don’t blame you at all. We didn’t realize—we didn’t know—no one had released details of deaths,. We only knew there had been an alien attack on the way station. So sad, that there’s been so many people killed. We’re doing everything we can to settle patients and arrange treatment. Stacia and Finch—and the rest of your medical team—are angels.”

“Thank you. I agree with your assessment. Well, sometimes they’re angels.”

Stacia ignored his comment; she was in an intense discussion with a young doctor about suitable treatment of one of the patients. Finch smiled and silently promised revenge.

They were interrupted by the young receptionist. “Excuse me, sir. Bolls, they’re here. In Emergency. I put them in the big conference room. They’d like to meet with you and the captain, they said.”

“Stacia, Finch, can you spare me for five minutes? I’ll be back as quickly as possible.”

Both Fains nodded, and Bolls said to Steg, “Follow me.” She set a demanding pace—the woman did not stand around.

Chapter 46

Five people were already seated in the conference room when Steg and Managing Nurse Bollard entered. Three were men—one was young and two were of middle age or more—and two were elderly women. All five wore suits and appeared business-like.

The eldest of the men raised a question before introductions and before Steg or Bollard sat at the oval table. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice was sharp, his expression arrogant.

“Saving lives. You?” Steg snapped back. Bollard reached for his arm.

“We’re admitting survivors from an alien attack on the way station,” said the managing nurse.

“Who authorized you to do that?” asked the elder of the two ladies. She wore a red hat, the color jarring with her yellow business suit.

Steg was finding it difficult to hide his exasperation. Bollard released his arm; possibly she, too, was experiencing some annoyance.

He said, “First, courtesy would at least commence with an introduction, involving an exchange of names or at least a greeting. Second, I think you should allow Managing Nurse Bollard to take a seat—she’s been working hard this morning. Thirdly, I think you all should stop and ask yourselves a fundamental question: what is the purpose of a hospital? You, sir,” Steg looked at the man who had first spoken. “Is not the purpose of a hospital to care for sick and injured? You, madam, I ask you the same question.”

He waited for an answer. He turned back to the apparent spokesman for the group. “Sir? Your answer?”

The silence continued. Two of the attendees fidgeted; one was the younger man. Steg looked at him. “Yes?”

He replied, “Sir, I believe you are correct, and I apologize, if not on behalf of the board, at least personally.”

“Thank you.”

The second man said, “I agree and also apologize.”

“Thank you, too. The rest of you—you can leave now. I don’t think you should have anything to do with managing a hospital.” He used his comlink to call Riddell. “I need two Alliance Marines and two of our mercs, in the conference room near the emergency area. Velez will know where. They need to remove unwanted hospital board members.”

In the meantime, there was an eruption of protests and arguments across the conference table. He turned up his speaker volume, thumped his rifle on the table, and said, “Silence!”

The depth of the resulting silence was impressive. Steg said, “I gave you an instruction. I’ve requested an escort of four marines to assist me.” He pointed at three board members. “You will leave. You will no longer have anything to do with this hospital.”

“Sir,” protested the first speaker. “All right, we were abrupt. I’ll go so far as to say we might have been discourteous, yeah. I’ll remind you we were appointed by the president. Only he can remove us.”

“I understand he is unlikely to be sober enough to know what day it is.” He ignored the shocked expressions and intakes of breath. “We’ve been conducting search and rescue efforts on your way station. We’ve recovered hundreds of bodies. Understand, I mean dead bodies. We’ve two hundred and forty patients arriving here through the day for emergency treatment. There will be more, lots more. Your reaction was to ask who authorized the hospital to provide care. I have nothing further to say to you. Leave now, or be escorted out under restraint.”

“You wouldn’t dare—”

“Lady, I’ve killed people for less. I have no patience left.” He raised his rifle. The move was accompanied by shrieks of alarm. Steg turned to his companion. “Bolls, will you show these two gentlemen what you and our people are working on? Let them know what resources you need, and work out an action plan. I’ll wait here until the marines arrive—I want to make sure these three leave and don’t return.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bolls. She turned to the two younger men. “Ser Rodney, Ser Thripp. If you would like, I’ll introduce you to the medical people who’ve been caring for the survivors of the way station attack, and we can go on from there?”

The two men stood. One said, “Certainly, Managing Nurse Bollard. It will be a pleasure.” He turned to Steg. “A pleasure to meet you, sir, even if we have not been formally introduced. You did a good job when you got rid of that hopeless surgeon. I think you’ve done another good job, here.”

Bolls led the two men out of the conference room. The other three people sat still, staring at Steg with mixed expressions of fear and consternation.

“The president is going to hear about this.” The woman in the red hat spat her words out.

Steg shrugged. “I hope so—I’ve been trying to speak with him for over a week.”

She wriggled in her chair. “You don’t realize who—”

“Madam, I’d advise you to sit there and keep quiet.” Steg turned away from the group when an Alliance marine announced his presence at the doorway.

“Sir, you requested assistance?”

“Yes, sergeant. These people are leaving. If they refuse to go with you, restrain them, carry them out, and dump them on the street. Try not to hurt them too much. If you see any media people, you can report they’ve resigned from the hospital board.”

“Yes, sir.” The marine turned to the three ex-board members. “Please come with us. Don’t resist. It would be totally futile, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

There was a soft conversation between the three people at the conference table. The man raised his head and said to the marine, “Very well. We’ll come with you,” He turned to Steg. “You certainly haven’t heard the last of this, whoever you are.”

Steg watched as the small group left the conference room. He didn’t seem to be making many friends, he thought. That reminded him, he should try to contact the president or his aide. On reflection, he decided, dealing with civilians was more frustrating than he expected it to be.

Neither person responded to his comlinks. Steg headed to the hospital lobby—he might be able to utilize the media presence. At least, he thought, it was worth exploring.

Now there were two media groups at the entrance to the lobby, their entry further into the hospital building still restrained by the efforts of Corporal Stark. Steg thought the hospital security guards were assisting the mercenary. He walked towards the top of the stairs that led to the street. The blond reporter recognized him and leapt into action; the second reporter was quick to follow.

“Sir. Captain. You are the captain, aren’t you?” She held a microphone close to his face. Steg had dropped his visor back down.

“I am a captain. I command a small force of mercenaries.”

“Captain, can you lift your visor? Our viewers would like to see your face.”

Steg did not move. He said, “We need armor for protection.”

“Protection? Why do you need protection?”

“A week or more ago the Eos Way Station was attacked by aliens. We don’t yet know how many people have perished. The death toll may be closer to three thousand or more. We’ll never have an accurate number because so many station personnel have been lost to space. Our search and rescue efforts have recovered about six hundred people with light injuries and another five hundred or so requiring hospital treatment. That’s why we’re at the hospital—some of the injuries suffered by the survivors are serious, requiring care beyond that which we could provide.” He shrugged. “Who’s to say we won’t be attacked here?”

“Sir, where are you getting these details? Our government has not confirmed any of this.”

“As I said, we’re carrying out S and R—search and rescue—operations. You need to ask your government why they’re not involved. I have no other answer for you.”

“We’ve tried to contact our way station—there’s no answer. Have you cut off communications?” The interviewer’s voice was accusatory.

“The attack by the aliens destroyed a lot of infrastructure. We’ve made sure the repair bots are working. We’re still hopeful we’ll find some of the station employees. We have not touched station communications.”

“What about our Space Navy? Are they leading these—S and R—efforts?”

“Two Eos frigates were destroyed in the alien attack. As I said, no one—no one—from your various government departments is helping us. We don’t know why this is so—surely you should be asking your government for answers?”

“Captain, who is ‘us’. Exactly who are you?”

“When I say ‘us’ or ‘we’, I’m referring to an Alliance destroyer and a licensed mercenary starship and the crew of both.”

“You’ve landed here in shuttles with a force of marines—to what purpose?”

“I think if you check, and as I’ve said, you’ll discover we’ve brought injured station personnel to the hospital for urgent treatment. Our marines are for the safety of the patients and of course, to guard our shuttles.” He turned his face towards the camera lens. “Earlier, I gave you four questions, the answers of which would help you understand why we are here. Have you asked anyone those questions?”

“No.”

“Why not? I thought you said you’re a reporter?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Yet you haven’t done your research? Go and ask those questions. Interview government officials. Be professional.”

The reporter made cutting signals to her cameraman who was cheerfully ignoring her. The second reporter and cameraman had ensured they captured the questions posed by the first reporter, and everything Steg had said in response.

Steg concluded, “That’s all. You can leave the hospital, now.”

“Captain, I haven’t asked all my questions—why did you dismiss the hospital board—why did you—?”

Steg looked at each of the two reporters before making his next comment. “Do your research. I’ll give my next interview—far more detailed—to whoever of you has asked the questions I raised and who has broadcast the answers. Thank you.”

Steg stepped back into the interior of the hospital. He hoped he had stirred enough to get the attention of the president’s office or whoever held power on Eos. It was, he thought, an odd situation. He was about to follow the red line when a man stepped out of the shadows and spoke to him.

“My name’s Bedwyr, Oskar Bedwyr. Two weeks ago I shipped twenty tons of Joy to the way station—what the frek have you done with it?”

There was a struggle in the background that distracted Steg from the stranger and his question. Two men were holding Stacia, and she was attempting to free herself. One of the men raised his fist and struck her face. Almost immediately, two shots rang out and both men fell to the ground. Steg assumed they were dead. He heard Finch swearing in most unFainlike language.

“Sorry, Stace,” she said. She dropped her weapon and rushed to support her friend. They hugged each other, both trying not to weep.

Steg had immediately pointed his weapon at the man standing in front of him. After he assured himself there was no other threat, and Stacia was apparently unharmed, he said, “Bedwyr, you’re under arrest. Try to escape and I’ll have no compunctions about shooting you, understand?”

Bedwyr was stunned by the sudden and deadly attack on his two men and by the loss of his leverage. He raised his arms. “I’m not resisting arrest, yeah. I challenge your authority to do this.”

“Let me be clear—I have all the authority I need.” He tapped his weapon. “Your men were assaulting one of my team. Your employees, I daresay.”

The man shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I had no idea they were holding your associate.”

“I know an Alliance skipper who’d like to have a talk with you. I think you’ll be visiting the way station with us. We’ll also find out more about this missing shipment you mentioned.”

Bedwyr paled. “No—no, let’s talk like sensible people. I can pay you whatever you want.”

Steg struggled to keep his expression bland. “Finch, Stacia. Ser Bedwyr wants to bribe me. What do you think?”

“Stand back, and I’ll shoot him for you,” suggested Finch, recovering her weapon.

Steg raised his hand. “No, too easy. Stacia, do you have a scalpel handy?”

Stacia smiled. She said. “Oh, I think we can do better than that. I heard you mention handing him over to the Alliance people—that has my vote.”

Finch said, “Yes, it’s the only way to go.”

Steg comlinked Riddell. “Sergeant, I have one more task for you.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve shot up another building?”

“No, it was Finch who did the shooting, this time. A couple of local thugs grabbed Stacia, to use her as leverage. There’s two bodies that need to be moved to the hospital morgue. Can you let the local police know?”

“Yes, sir. Tell Finch well done, sir.”

“I will. I need some Alliance Marines, too. I’ve arrested one of the rebel leaders, Oskar Bedwyr, and I’m sure Captain Montrose will want to talk to him.”

“Men on the way, sir.”

Chapter 47

Steg authorized the first hospital shuttle, with Oskar Bedwyr on board, to return for more patients, and it departed three or four minutes before the second shuttle arrived. Major Carter led the marines off and headed towards Steg who was waiting at the side of the park. Hospital staff were ready with gurneys and began to offload patients. They had developed an efficient process and soon had a stream of loaded gurneys rapidly moving into the hospital.

“I hear you’ve been destroying major buildings,” Carter commented.

“Only ugly statues,” Steg refuted. “You can let Riddell and your marines look after the unloading. I’m spending most of my time in the lobby—interesting things happen there.” He led the way towards the hospital entrance as he spoke. “I arrested Bedwyr and he’s on his way to the way station—will you let Montrose know? He can arrange to collect him.”

“Sure. He’ll be interested. What happened?”

“Two of his men grabbed Stacia to use as protection. One of them tried to hit her. Finch didn’t waste any pity—she shot both thugs. Fortunately, she left Bedwyr alive. Apparently, he thinks I’ve got my hands on a shipment of twenty tons of his Joy product. Or at least he lost track of it after he shipped it up to the station.”

Carter whistled. “They’re not small time, huh? That’s what—a street value of twenty million credits, at least?”

“More, if it’s pure.”

“So we need to search for this shipment, too?”

Steg shook his head. “We’ll never know if it’s been destroyed, blasted out to space, or hidden in someone’s warehouse—or, by now, it’s on one of the freighters undergoing repairs.”

“Montrose will go berserk until we find it.”

“I can imagine. I can guess what your focus will be.”

“No, not until we complete this S and R.”

A link from Sergeant Riddell interrupted the conversation. “Sir, there’s a line of vehicles, military, heading your way. We counted three command vehicles, twenty troop carriers, and a dozen or so supply vehicles. Estimate fifteen or so troops per carrier. The convoy has reached the park area. They’re ignoring us. Infantry, basic weapons, no armor. They’re the local President’s Guard, I understand. Do you want me to send some men?”

“No, stand by, I’ll let you know if I need anyone.” Steg surmised a dozen or so mercenaries would not prevail against a force of three or four hundred local soldiers.

Apparently Carter had received a similar message from his marines. He said, “Have you upset the locals some more?”

“Hmm. Only here, in the hospital. Well, I did shoot that damned ugly statue off the top of the President’s Palace.” He shrugged. “Let’s see what they want.”

Steg and the Alliance major watched as the vehicles parked in rows along the road in front of the hospital building. Three men alighted from the second command vehicle—two were in uniforms while the third man was in civilian dress—and headed to the hospital entrance. The civilian was a step ahead.

The three men stopped at the top of the stairs, and the civilian examined both Steg and Major Carter. He said, “You’re both offworlders, and while you have an Alliance flag, you,” he addressed Steg, “are likely to be Captain de Coeur. Am I correct?”

Steg lifted his visor. He noted Carter copied him. “Yes, I’m de Coeur. What can we do for you?”

“We’ve spoken. I’m the president’s aide. Well, the ex-president, yeah. I don’t think I formally introduced myself—I’m Robert Murray. I’d like you to meet General David Colyer and Colonel Evan Fortier, of the President’s Guard.”

Steg returned the courtesy. “I’m Steg de Coeur, mercenary captain. This is Major Tonyn Carter, Alliance Marines.”

“Sirs, is there a meeting room we can use?” General Colyer asked.

“Certainly. There’s a conference room, I think I can find it again. Follow me.” Steg led the way into the hospital building.

Fortunately the conference room was unoccupied, and they were settled in minutes. On the way, Steg had comlinked to Sergeant Velez and said, “Sergeant, I’m heading to the conference room we used with the hospital board. I’m with Major Carter and three Eos officials, two of them military. Any chance of coffee, perhaps something to eat? Do you think your receptionist person could help us?”

“I’ll send her with coffee, and she’ll be able to organize food, I’m sure,” Velez replied. “Eos military? Maybe they didn’t like you shooting down the President’s Palace?”

“You’re as bad as Finch.”

He turned his attention to the men seated around the table. “Coffee is on the way. Now, General, what can we do for you?”

“It might be the other way, Captain.” The general checked silently with Murray, who nodded. He continued, “There’s been some changes in our political structure. The president—er—has resigned. Ser Murray is acting president pro tempore until we can hold elections. We planned to contact you earlier but wanted to wipe out a nest of rebels—you knew of them, yeah. We eliminated that problem yesterday. We’ve the satisfaction of achieving a victory there, as small as it might be. We have two items to discuss with you. One is your search and rescue—we want to help, and my men are available to ship up to the way station today, if you can arrange transport. The second is the arrangement you discussed with Ser Murray, of Wasp providing Eos system and station security. Do you have time for these discussions?”

Steg’s reply was interrupted by the arrival of coffee. Once refreshments had been served and food orders taken, Steg said, “General, that’s welcome news. We were concerned and couldn’t understand why no one from Eos was involved in S and R activities. So yes, we can arrange transport. We’ll have to discuss operational matters, equipment, and medical supplies. Now, what do you want to say about Wasp?”

“Aah—perhaps I can cover that part?” Murray said.

The general nodded, and Steg said, “Of course.”

“We—myself, General Colyer, advisors such as Colonel Fortier, some politicians and business men, not including, of course, the Joy producers—have discussed your suggestion. I’m pleased to say, it’s acceptable and likely to safeguard Eos until we resolve political matters, repair the way station, and re-establish our small navy. With whom should I discuss a contract, fees, and so forth?”

“I’ll arrange for Commander Gillespie to contact you. She heads up our mercenary operations. Major Carter, can you discuss this with Captain Montrose to wrap up the Alliance aspects with Ser Murray? Your skipper promised some missile pods and, in return, requires undertakings from Eos and from Wasp.”

“Certainly. I’ll contact him as soon as we finish here,” Carter said. “He’ll be pleased to hear Eos will accept the arrangement with Wasp. We’ve seen what the starship and its mercenaries can do.”

“That’s excellent, Major, Captain,” said General Colyer. “As to operational matters, in particular, S and R efforts—we’d like to take ownership. That’s not to say we’re not satisfied with what you’ve achieved; rather, it’s a matter of standing up and taking responsibility. Oh, I realize we’ll require lots of assistance—we don’t have shuttles to move my men to the station, yeah. We—the President’s Guard—have been far too restricted by politicians and other vested interests, and that’s no longer the case. It’s why we took action against the rebels, and why we destroyed the Joy plantations. Oh, we got some political pushback, and we incurred some casualties.” He shrugged. “It’s what we must do, yeah.”

Steg reached across the table and shook the general’s hand. “Well done, sir. We’ll do everything we can, to help you. Carter, I’m sure your skipper will agree?”

“I can assure Eos of Alliance support. To have a friendly planet and way station here, cleansed of smugglers and drug producers, will please Montrose and the Alliance Admiralty, without doubt.”

“Good to hear,” said Colonel Fortier. “I do have some ancillary questions.” The arrival of the food order interrupted the conversation for a few minutes as dishes were arranged.

Steg was intrigued as to the colonel’s likely questions and as they were finishing the meal, he said, “Colonel, you had some questions?”

“Indeed, I do. What are you going to do with Ser Bedwyr?”

“He should be on his way to the Alliance destroyer by now. He’s wanted for producing and smuggling Joy into Alliance territories. Besides, his thugs assaulted one of our people.”

“We heard. Your—what is her name—Finch—must be an excellent shot, and I hear she’s an experienced surgeon.”

“I can vouch for her medical skills,” said Carter. “I’ve seen her deal with some horrific injuries on the way station.”

“We’ve heard that. I’m trying to work out how we can recruit her. My next question, Captain. What about our frigate captain? You’ve detained him?”

“Yes, for kidnap and assault. We arrested him for torturing one of our people.”

“Would you let us deal with him?”

“Could you give your assurance he’d be prosecuted without favor?”

Ser Murray said, “We’ll guarantee due process, although we don’t have capital punishment on Eos. If found guilty, he’d serve a number of years in one of our penal colonies, yeah. Not nice places, I’ve been informed.”

“With that undertaking, we’ll agree to release him to you,” Steg said.

“I have one more question, Captain,” said Colonel Fortier. He paused for a moment, waiting.

“Yes?” Steg filled the silence.

“How much did you plunder from the bank accounts of Ser Bedwyr and his associates?”

Carter roared with laughter. Steg looked nonplussed, almost innocent. Ser Murray smiled.

“I think that’s privileged information,” Steg said, at last.

“We’ll look the other way, Captain, as payment for destroying that damned statue,” Ser Murray said.

Chapter 48

He was asleep and then he was awake. Two bodies had slipped into the bed, one on either side. Finch said, “Shh. We came back in the last shuttle. I need you to hold me—I’ve never killed anyone before, but he hit Stacia.”

Steg wrapped his arm around Finch, drawing her close. Stacia—at least he assumed the other warm body was hers—reached across his chest and took Finch’s hand. Steg fell back to sleep, to rejoin his dreams. He did not stir when Tessa climbed into the bed beside Finch, and her arm wrapped around her friend.

Steg felt an almost electric shock and his body shivered. Something was coming for him, something evil, something with a desire for victory and revenge. It reminded him of the Xesset dreadnought, although far more intense. There seemed to be hundreds of sources of evil, reaching out, lashing at stars and planets. He shuddered, tightened his hold on his companions, and sought shelter, some place where he could survive while he protected his friends. His mind surged back, back to the Djiis system, back to his friend Tziksis, the alien who had helped him escape his brief incarceration by ImpSec. Now, Tziksis was threatened and was again at risk from the evil that Steg could sense.

He woke on board a strange starship. It was cold, and he and his Fain companions shivered. Their clothing was sparse, the temperature was low—possibly below freezing—and the lack of heat was threatening their existence. He looked around, seeking warmth, to no avail. He closed his eyes and reached his arms around the three Fain. He focused on Wasp, on the warmth and security of that modest starship. He felt himself drift away and forced his concentration to return to the starship. He drifted off to sleep, secure in the cabin on board Wasp.

When he woke the following morning, Finch regarded him warily.

“Where did you take us, last night?” she asked.

Steg could remember only snippets of his nightmare. “I thought it was only my dream,” he said.

Stacia said, “No, we were there with you. Bloody freezing, if you ask me.”

“If you’re going to do that again, let us know; we’ll dress for the cold,” chided Tessa.

“I’d prefer a tropical island, next time,” suggested Finch.

“I’d prefer to not have dreams like that, at all,” said Steg.

The Tac commander raised her head, her face pale, and stared at Captain Montrose. He caught her unvoiced concern.

“Problems, Tac?”

“Sir—” her voice caught. “Sir, I don’t know. There may be something wrong with our sensors. However, Wasp is changing her position, so they’re probably seeing the same thing. They were further out, a lot closer to—well, you’ll see.”

“Put it on the display.”

“Yes, sir.” She transferred the image to the large viewscreen.

It took a moment for the image to form.

“What the hell is that?” whispered Montrose.

The bridge was deathly quiet.

“My question, too, sir,” said Julie Brent.

“I thought the Xesset dreadnought was large. This one’s what—twice the size?”

“It’s possibly more than that, sir. Our sensors estimate its length is eight klicks and height is two klicks, sir. Width varies, between two and three klicks.” She reached for her stylus. It was bare of teeth marks. She bit down on the tip. “We don’t have an estimate of displacement, yet. Do you think it’s another Xesset warship?”

“No.” The Defender’s skipper’s reply was drawled out. “It has a different design feel to it. The Xesset dreadnought appeared to be half-finished, with lots of rough edges. This monster has a polished feel; it portrays a far more professional build. How far away is it?”

“About a million klicks. It’s slowly approaching the way station.”

“We should follow Wasp’s example and move out of its way. Helm, move us to a holding position at least two hundred thousand klicks away from this intruder’s projected course. Keep our speed below 100k/sec—this is not a panic reaction.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Shields, sir?”

“No, Tac. I don’t want to do anything that might be seen as a challenge.”

“Do we blame de Coeur for this visitor?”

“I’m not sure. We can’t hold him responsible for everything.”

The bridge crew watched the display, entranced.

“Sir, we’ve detected another footprint. It’s not as large—actually, it’s tiny, in comparison. It’s about one hundred thousand tons, a corvette or similar. It’s in the upper quadrant, at approximately five hundred thousand klicks. It’s on course to the way station.”

“Thanks, Tac. It’s getting busy.”

“Yes, sir.”

The bridge remained quiet.

“Sir, there’s a correction to the smaller ship’s course—it’s heading towards Wasp. They’re in communication—I’ll put them on speaker?”

“Yes, do that. I’m sure we’d all like to hear what they have to say—it might throw some light on this—this superdreadnought.”

“Yes, sir. Switching now.”

“Wasp to Red Desert. What can we do for you?”

“Red Desert to Wasp. First, you could welcome us back. Second, what is that monster? Third, what happened to the way station?”

There was silence for almost fifteen seconds, and when Wasp replied, the speaker had changed.

“Good morning, Rose. This is a surprise. We didn’t expect you for another two weeks, at least. Welcome back. We’ve no idea who the stranger is. As for the way station, it’s a long story.”

“Good morning, Joyce. We’re unexpectedly early—we’ll have difficulties explaining why and how. I suspect a certain captain might have an answer. Have you got room for us?”

“Rose, you can dock alongside shuttle bay four. We need to keep the other bays clear; we’re assisting with S and R on the way station.”

“It seems we have a lot to catch up. We’ll dock at shuttle bay four. Red Desert out.”

The signal terminated, and Julie ended the relay to the bridge speakers.

“That was Wasp’s commander and her Weapons commander, Rose Curtis, who took charge of Djamu,” she explained.

“Stranger and stranger,” said Captain Montrose.

“They must be Djamu’s temporary crew returning,” she suggested.

“Agreed. Did we ever find out where they were heading?”

“Sicca. They wanted to sell the freighter and its cargo as quickly as possible in an attempt to reduce Xesset interest in them. Not sure that part worked.”

Montrose barked a short laugh. “It certainly didn’t. Are we getting anything from the larger visitor?”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

As minutes passed and the superdreadnought continued quietly towards the way station, the tense atmosphere on Defender’s bridge began to ease. The strange starship was monitored, second by second; however, it was electronically silent.

“It’s not that they’re shielded, sir,” Jessie explained. “It’s more that their electronics are far more efficient than ours. We can’t find any leaks, at all.”

“Continue to monitor. If anything changes, inform me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty minutes later Julie switched the bridge speakers on again. “Sir, there’s a transmission from the new starship.”

“Say again, this is Wanderer calling Wasp. Come in, Wasp.”

There was silence for thirty seconds, presumably as Wasp’s bridge absorbed the message and decided on a response.

“Wasp to Wanderer. What can we do for you?”

“Wanderer to Wasp. Also to Alliance starship, Defender, listening to this transmission. Be assured Wanderer poses no threat. Please arrange for the following personnel to report to Wanderer as soon as possible: Captain Steg de Coeur. Captain Kirby. Fains Finch, Stacia and Tessa. Also Ebony Company. Wanderer out.

“Tac, can we get a bug in there?” Montrose indicated the strange starship; he knew he was grasping at straws.

“No, sir. Magic is beyond me, sir.”

“Hmm.”

The bridge was silent.

“Who—or what the hell is Wanderer?” asked Kirby when Steg told him of the message. He and Kirby, with Finch, Stacia, and Tessa were in the conference room adjacent to Ebony Company’s war room.

“I have no idea. Well, apart from the fact that it’s one of the largest starships I’ve ever seen.”

“I suppose you don’t know why—?”

“It wants us? No, not at all. Finch, are you three comfortable with this? I know, it’s extremely odd.”

The three Fain looked at each other and exchanged silent messages. Finch said, “We’ll come with you, boss.”

“Good. Kirby, we’ll take Red Desert. Instruct Ebony Company to board as quickly as possible—make sure they’re all volunteers. Leave behind anyone who isn’t willing to do this. Our marines should be armed and armored. However, I suggest you and I remain unarmored, as a sign of goodwill. It might be a sensible gesture.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll arrange for the company to move out. They were getting bored, anyway.”

Steg said, “Good. Let me talk with Finch—the three of you.” He held out his arm as Stacia and Tessa went to follow Kirby out of the conference room. “No, stay. Are you all certain you want to come?”

Three heads nodded their answer.

“I don’t think we’ll be in danger—I can’t imagine why this Wanderer would want to do harm to any of us. Well, to harm you three, anyway.”

“Steg, we agreed we’ll come with you,” Tessa confirmed.

“Me, too,” Stacia said.

“See, boss, we’re all coming. You know you need us to look after you,” said Finch.

Steg smiled. “Thank you.”

“Do you think it’s anything to do with the dream we all had, last night?”

“While I don’t see how, I suspect it does. If you’re all agreed, we’ll board Red Desert to depart at the half hour. In the meantime, I’ll meet with Commander Gillespie and confirm what we’re doing.” Steg headed out the door, followed by his Fain companions.

Minutes later he met with Wasp’s commander and tried to reply to her question.

“Commander, I have no idea, at all. It’s worrying, I’ll admit, when the largest starship I’ve ever seen sends me a message that it wants me to visit.”

“You’re comfortable with going?”

“I keep asking myself that same question. My answer includes—well, there’s no reason to be otherwise. I think I’ve convinced myself. Finch, Stacia, and Tessa are coming—they claim I need looking after—sometimes I think they’re right. I’ve instructed Kirby to board Ebony Company—we’re taking Red Desert. We’ll depart at the half hour.”

“Do you want any of our people to go with you? Rose? Dean? Any of the Stingers?”

“No, thank you all the same. Something tells me it would cause difficulties if I took crew from Wasp.”

“Well, good luck. We’ll keep our eyes on you.”

“Thank you.”

Steg headed to his cabin to shower and change into a clean uniform. Refreshed, he headed to the shuttle bay where Ebony Company was preparing to board Red Desert. He watched as Kirby organized the process. After a few minutes he was joined by the three Fain.

“We’ll go on board once the company is settled,” he said.

It didn’t take long for the boarding process to complete, and Kirby met Steg as he stepped on board Red Desert.

“Welcome to your starship, sir,” Kirby said.

“Thank you. I’m impressed with the details Curtis provided. Comfortable, fast, and in good condition—you were fortunate to find her for sale.”

“Sometimes, sir, I can be lucky,” Kirby tried to maintain a sad face and failed. Both he and Rose Curtis were pleased with the acquisition they’d made on behalf of Steg. “While Red Desert’s a lot smaller than Wasp, there’s plenty of room for the company, plus a small crew, and there’s an owner’s cabin, forward on A deck, close to the bridge. There are four guest cabins in the same area. The medical section is on level B.”

“For now, let’s go to the bridge and shove off. You can give us a tour while we’re in transit.”

Chapter 49

Aadan settled Red Desert gently on the landing pad indicated by landing lights. Steg had been surprised to see the Tacian on board, and Aadan had explained.

“When Rose told me about Red Desert, I couldn’t resist. Gillespie agreed to allow me to join you—she said you might need my helm skills.” She had looked anxious for a moment. “You don’t mind, sir?”

Steg had laughed and said, “I hope you don’t mind when we find out what this is all about.”

Now, with Red Desert, which was the same size as a naval corvette, locked inside the huge starship, Steg was starting to wonder. Kirby was organizing the company, setting guards in place to at least provide a token of security. Steg had told him he didn’t want an escort—it was enough that Ebony Company was on board.

“Come on,” he said to Finch and her two companions. “Kirby should be organized by now. We’ll meet him at the lock and transit into Wanderer and explore.”

After Kirby briefed Steg, they joined Finch, Stacia, and Tessa and exited Red Desert. The external superdreadnought doors had sealed, and the bay now contained a breathable atmosphere. Green lights along a walkway flashed a sequence leading to another lock some fifty yards away, which Steg assumed would allow them to enter the interior of the starship.

“Well, let’s go.” He led off along the path. The heavy door opened automatically, and Steg stepped through, followed closely by Kirby and three Fain.

“I wish you had allowed me to arrange a guard for you,” muttered Kirby as his steps faltered.

Steg was entranced. They had entered a small park area, with trees, shrubs, and flowers in colorful display. A bot was mowing grass, creating neat lines of trimmed lawn. Another bot was clipping a hedge. Overhead, some fifty feet above them, what appeared to be bot spiders climbed across the ceiling, and Steg thought they were carrying out some form of maintenance. As he and his companions stared, an electric vehicle, driverless, slowed and stopped beside them. It had three rows of seats, each with enough space for three passengers. While it lacked doors, it had a front windshield and a fabric roof.

A voice directed, “Please board and sit. The conference room is five minutes away.”

They sat as instructed, and the vehicle silently accelerated. Its tires hissed slightly on different sections of the roadway. No one spoke. The park extended along the roadway, providing a mix of greens and more exotic colors. Almost to the second, at five minutes, the vehicle slowed and turned off what appeared to be the main road. After winding around another two corners on a side road, it stopped.

The voice said. “Please exit. The conference room is through the first door on your right. Please enter.”

Steg exited the vehicle followed by his companions. He headed to the door as directed, and opened it. The room was well furnished with a central table and ten or so chairs. There was coffee and other refreshments on a sideboard. A viewscreen covered the end wall. Casual chairs and small tables were scattered around the room.

“Come on in,” Steg directed. He sat at the conference table, and Kirby followed his example. Finch walked over to the coffee equipment and started to pour coffee for everyone. Stacia and Tessa stood and stared.

“Are we still in a starship?” asked Tessa, her eyes wide.

“I think so,” Steg said. “Sit down, relax.”

Kirby shook his head. “Gardens inside a starship?” His voice faded.

There was a knock on the door and it opened. A man entered and looked around the conference room. He was dressed in a plain shipsuit without insignia. His hair was either blond or gray, cropped short. He looked at the two men.

“Steg de Coeur?” he asked.

“Me,” said Steg.

“Oh. My name’s Dekker. They sent me to talk to you. I’m a miner, an asteroid sled jockey. Oh, I’m from Homeworld.”

Steg stood, intrigued. “What did you say?”

Dekker backed away; he was nervous. “I—I’m from Homeworld.”

“What are you doing here, on board this gigantic starship?”

“It’s—it’s a long story. Oh, I need to tell you—Wanderer is heading for its first s-t jump.”

“What?” Steg moved away from the table, towards Dekker. Kirby stood. The three Fain looked startled, not sure what they were hearing.

“Y-yes, we’re underway.”

Steg stood in front of Dekker. He was restraining his anger—he did not like being hijacked. “Destination?”

“Jochum II.”

Steg, shocked, pale, turned and re-seated himself at the table. Kirby appeared bewildered and also sat back at the table.

“Why?” Steg asked.

“The Xesset are massing for an attack. They are assembling a major war fleet.”

“So why does Wanderer want me and—?” he indicated his companions.

“Oh, it wants more than you—it also wants the support of the Imperial Intelligence Agency and of the Imperial Navy.”

“Why?”

“Wanderer believes the first system they plan to assault is Djii. Ambassador Tziksis is extremely concerned.”

“But—that’s—”

“Yes, we’re jumping to 1800—”

“PD?’’

“Yes.”

Steg said, “Wanderer has to stop and allow my companions to return to Wasp. Likewise for the Ebony Company.”

“Sir, it’s too late—we’ve already made the first jump.”

Steg regarded his fellow Homeworlder and shook his head in disbelief. “I want to talk to whoever authorized this.” He turned to his companions. “I’m sorry. We’ve been hijacked. Or kidnapped. Wanderer is taking us on an extremely long journey—I don’t know if we’ll be able to return.”

“Where to, sir?” Kirby asked.

“It seems first we’re going to a planet called Jochum II, which is the base for the Imperial Intelligence Agency.”

“Why, sir—why you?” asked Tessa.

“I’m a captain in that agency. Also, Ambassador Tziksis is a close friend.”

“But sir, you told me ImpSec couldn’t find any trace of the IIS?” queried Kirby.

“Which gives us a major issue,” Steg said. “Wanderer is taking us to the IIS base. The major issue—the IIS was formed in 1800 PD—Post Diatonic.”

Finch, wide eyed, said, “But sir, that’s over a hundred and fifty years in the future.”

“My point, exactly. We’re being taken for a ride—Wanderer must be able to carry out time jumps.”

The rush of questions overwhelmed Steg. He held up his hand and his companions quietened. He said, “No, I’m not crazy. I didn’t know starships could make t jumps—I do know a number of Imperial starships have portals that individuals can use to do s-t jumps.”

A loud series of knocks on the conference room door interrupted the flow of questions. Steg nodded to Kirby who stepped over and opened the door. A young woman was about to knock again. She peered into the room.

“Can I come in?”

Steg jumped up before Kirby could answer. “Jessie—Jessie Brent. What are you doing here?”

“Captain de Coeur—you sent a shuttle for me?”

“No, not me.” Steg could not hide his shock. “What made you think that?”

“We received a message on the compad you used for communicating with the skipper—with Captain Montrose. It said something like—Have critical need for Tactician Commander Brent. Shuttle on the way—and Captain Montrose agreed I could be detached from duty for a year. He said he wants me back. It was a crazy rush to get here.”

“Julie, you are welcome. Come in, take a seat—we’re all learning what this is about. I’m not sure I’ll be able to return you to Defender within a year. Come on, sit here.” He indicated a seat next to Aadan. “Aadan’s our Helm—you’ve seen some of her work—she hid us in that asteroid belt.” He introduced the other people around the table, explaining their roles.

When he completed the introductions, Steg turned back to Dekker. “As I said, I want to meet with whoever authorized this venture. Are they on board?”

“Oh. Oh, not really.”

“What do you mean? Who authorized this?”

“Sir, it was Wanderer—that is, Wanderer’s AI.”

Steg collapsed back into his seat. “An AI arranged to come here, to this era, to find me, pick me up, and take me to back to my time?”

The Alliance tactician did not hide her astonishment at Steg’s question. “Sir, you’re going to make a real s-t jump?”

“I understand it’s already underway.” He held up his hand to halt an expected flow of questions. “I need Dekker’s answer—then I’ll try to explain. Dekker, answer, please.”

“Oh, well, yes, you’re almost correct. The Glass Complex on Homeworld helped, sir. The Acolytes tracked you down. We can’t go back to Eos, sir. We’re needed to help fight the Xesset.”

Steg looked at his companions seated around the table. They were wide-eyed, staring at him, and judging by their expressions, they had thousands of questions to ask him. He sighed. This was going to take a while.

oooOooo

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John writes science fiction and thrillers, sometimes with crossover. Well, he claims you need a thrill in your science fiction and an occasional touch of science in your thrillers. John originates from Australia, has lived in England (plus a number of other countries—it’s a long list), and now lives in the High Sierra region of California where he is writing full time. He could be hiking, kayaking, or skiing, when he's not writing.

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Also by John Hindmarsh

Science Fiction

Glass Complex Trilogy

Book 1: Broken Glass

Book 2: Fracture Lines

Book 3: Diamond Cut

Shen Ark: Departure

Contributor to Quantum Zoo (anthology); published by Orion's Comet

Thrillers

Mark One

Mark Two

Mark Three

Mark Four

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