BATTLE OF HERCULES

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 6

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #6: Battle of Hercules

Copyright © 2014 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: April 2014

Cover By Keith Draws

All characters and events portrayed within this ebook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/A9MdX

With Thanks To: Mark Berryman, Jon Clivaz and Peter Long

And With Thanks to Martha and Mary at Swiss House, where this book was completed.

The stars, a jolly company,

I envied, straying late and lonely;

And cried upon their revelry:

"O white companionship! You only

In love, in faith unbroken dwell,

Friends radiant and inseparable!"

Light-heart and glad they seemed to me

And merry comrades (even so

God out of heaven may laugh to see

the happy crowds; and never know

that in his lone obscure distress

each walketh in a wilderness).

But I, remembering, pitied well

And loved them, who, with lonely light,

In empty infinite spaces dwell,

Disconsolate. For, all the night,

I heard the thin gnat-voices cry,

Star to faint star, across the sky.

The Jolly Company, Robert Brooke

Chapter 1

 Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall gently played the landing thrusters of his shuttle, bringing it down beside the ruined starship that was the only landmark Alamo had been able to make out on the gray, dusty world it was orbiting. Debris filled the crater, likely the only one on the planet that was artificial in origin, making it hard to find a flat patch of ground; his eyes caught a flash of white, and he spotted a bare area just large enough to bring the craft down.

 “I’m bringing her in over there,” he said to Lieutenant Caine, his tactical officer and co-pilot, sitting next to him in the cramped cockpit.

 “Not much of a vacation spot,” she replied, flipping switches with one hand and typing in a series of commands with the other. “I’m not seeing any signs of life, but there is residual heat coming from that craft.”

 “That’s something, anyway.”

 “Just because they crashed the ship doesn’t mean your father isn’t alive, Danny.”

 “I know.” He paused, pursing his lips. “Let me concentrate, this isn’t going to be easy. I think I’ve got about an inch of clearance on either side.”

 His eyes focused on the landing sensors, while he tipped the ship from one side to the other – there was just enough atmosphere to be annoying, not enough to actually be useful – and watched as his landing jets kicked up a brief dust storm underneath. The landing legs grabbed the dirt, and with a sigh of relief, he switched the engines off.  

 “We’re down.”

 “God, Danny, look at that,” Caine said, pointing at the object that had attracted Marshall to the landing spot. The white was unmistakably a skeleton, showing through the tattered remnants of a spacesuit.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Let’s go out and take a look. The sooner we’re done with this the better.”

 He stood up, clambering over to the spacesuit locker, reaching for his helmet. Caine made to follow him, but lingered for a second over the external sensors, frowning. She started to tap buttons, her eyes narrowing at the result.

 “What is it?” Marshall asked.

 “Atmosphere readings are a bit different than we spotted from orbit. Trace elements of oxygen out there.”

 “Oxygen? I thought this place just had an argon-helium mix.”

 She pointed at the screen. “Well, here it has oxygen as well. I can’t think how.”

 “Perhaps something’s wrong with the sensor. It isn’t critical, anyway; we can’t breathe that thin a mix. Set it for auto-diagnostic and we can get out of here.” Tapping a button on the panel, he said, “Time to earn your pay, Second Squad. Deploy and set up a perimeter. Watch out for traps.”

 Clipping his helmet into place, he watched a series of green lights flash across his heads-up display, and then stepped into the pilot’s airlock, cycling the hatch to get his first real look at the outside. It was a desolate wasteland, bleak and gray, the occasional patch of black and brown to break up the monotony. The walls of the crater were rounded off at the top, already showing some signs of weathering, and shattered pieces of hull metal were scattered around.

 Behind him, a trio of spacesuited figures carrying plasma rifles emerged from the passenger airlock, moving into position to protect the shuttle from whatever phantoms might be present. He looked across at the ship, running his eyes along its battered, twisted lines. The aft section was a complete mess, the wreck’s back broken, but the forward compartments looked as if they might be intact. He couldn’t see any obvious hull breaches. Nor were there any signs of life; no footprints on the ground, no discarded equipment. Just the body.

 He made his way over to the figure, lying on the ground staring sightlessly up at the stars through its shattered faceplate, and knelt down beside it. Caine walked over to join him, placing her hand on his shoulder while he reached down to the suit.

 “I think there are some identity tags down there. At least we can tell his family what happened to him.” He pulled out a thin disc, held on a wire that was still clutched in the spacesuit’s hands. “First Lieutenant Kim Carter, United States Space Force.”

 “United States?”

 He passed her up the disc, “Read it for yourself.” He switched frequencies on his suit, “Marshall to Alamo, do you read?”

 The voice of his executive officer, Senior Lieutenant Zubinsky, replied, “Alamo here. Go ahead.”

 “We’ve found a body. Run a search for a First Lieutenant Kim Carter, United States Space Force, and yes, you heard me right.”

 “Will do. Alamo out.”

 Caine replaced the disc in the figure’s hand, shaking her head, “What a place to end up.”

 “We all have to die sometime, Deadeye. This isn’t that bad a place for a spaceman to be. At least he can see the stars.”

 “You’re a romantic, Danny.”

 With a thin smile, he replied, “Have you only just noticed?”

 A figure bounded over to him, rifle loose in her hands, “No sign of any activity, sir.” She pointed to the ridge, “There are a few helmets on the ground over there, disturbed earth. I’d guess someone made an impromptu cemetery.”

 “Maybe this one had time before she died.”

 The corporal glanced down at the body, “Orders, sir?”

 “Keep a fire team with the shuttle, the rest of them follow me.” He looked over at the unbroken forward section, “We’re going to try to board that ship.”

 “Sir, that’s our job.”

 Marshall shook his head, “I don’t think this is a hostile base, Corporal.”  

 “Famous last words, Danny,” Caine said.

 Turning to her, he replied, “We’re rescuers, not raiders.”

 A voice echoed in his helmet, “Alamo to Marshall.”

 “Go ahead.”  

 “I’ve got the information you wanted. Deep in the historical files; First Lieutenant Carter was Science Officer on the Discovery.”

  Caine whistled, “She’s been there for eighty years.” 

 “Are you sure, Lieutenant?” Marshall said.

 “Only officer of that name to serve in the USSF, sir. It has to be her.”

 He looked over at the ship, “So this isn’t Hercules.”

 “No, sir. There were some superficial similarities in hull design, especially in the forward section, but I’ve taken some readings on the hull fragments. Different alloy composition.”

 “Thanks for that, Alamo. At least we’ve solved one mystery. Marshall out.” He turned to Caine, “Eighty years ago this ship vanished on its maiden voyage. Eighty years – before any human settlements can possibly have made it out this far.”

 “I know what you are thinking, Danny.” She shook her head, “This is a dangerous business. Accidents happen, and those early expeditions were all blind shots into the dark. Discovery wasn’t the only lost ship out there.”

 “Hey, I’ve seen something!” a voice echoed from the side; Marshall and Caine bounded over to the private. He’d wandered off around the rear of the ship, and was pointing at the ground by the engine section; Marshall’s eyes widened as he saw the deep gouges torn out of the side of the ship.

 “That’s not crash damage, sir, is it?”

 Shaking his head at the smooth edges, he replied, “No it isn’t, Private. Take some pictures and get them up to Alamo – I want to find out what part of this ship has been taken. Looks like someone tried to salvage parts after all.”

 Caine tapped him on the shoulder, pointing up to a narrow strip on the side of the ship; an eerie green light was glowing from the viewports on the upper hull, underneath an overhang that would have prevented them spotting it while flying overhead.

 “What the hell is that, Danny?”

 He grinned, “The sign of life we’ve been looking for.”

 “After eighty years? The crew would be dead of old age, long ago.”

 “Maybe they had kids?” the private offered.

 Cautiously weaving around the wreckage, Marshall walked across to the side of the hull, towards the nearest airlock. A thin layer of dust coated it, but even at a glance he saw that there was a piece of equipment placed over the locking mechanism that was obviously out of place, jutting out to cover the controls. He pulled at it, trying to remove it, but whoever positioned it had intended it as a permanent feature.

 “Interesting. Someone really didn’t want anyone else to be able to get into this ship.”

 “I take it you aren’t going to assume they had a good reason.”

 “My father’s message said that they were here; what better prison.” He pulled his plasma pistol clear from his holster, turning the power all the way down as he steadied his aim on the mechanism. “Stand clear.”

 “You could breach the hull.”

 “The outer hull. That’s not a problem.”

 “I hope you’re right.”

 With the thinnest possible pull of the trigger, Marshall fired, and the mechanism disappeared in a flash of green light. The plasma gash ripped a hole across the hull, but not deep enough to do any serious damage. He poked at the charred remains with his hands, looking for the remnants of the entry mechanism.

 “I think you probably did a bit too much damage, Danny.”

 He cursed, then glanced up; he could see the remnants of an antenna complex, tattered and twisted, high up on the hull. Turning back to Caine, he grinned, and gestured up.

 “That’s got to be twenty feet up, and there aren’t any hand-holds.”

 Pulling a wire from around his belt, Marshall shook his head, “Not a problem.” It took four tries for him to hook his line around a nearby piece of equipment, and he gave it a hard experimental tug to test its weight. Grinning as it held, he took out his communicator, pulling out the data lead.

 “Alamo, this is Marshall. In a moment you’re going to get a data interlink into the spacecraft; have Orlova standing by with her spooks to hack the systems. Specifically I want the outer airlocks open, and ideally without warning anyone inside.”

 “Don’t you want them to know they are being rescued?” Caine said.

 “Just being careful.”

 She looked up at the side of the ship, then looked back, still shaking her head, “I think I was taught a different definition of that word in school. Be careful.”

 The climb was easy in the low gravity; he ascended the side of the ship in leaps and bounds, being careful not to put any more stress on the line than necessary. As he climbed, he drew close to one of the green viewports, and risked peering inside; the deck within contained nothing but thick vegetation, as if a hydroponic plant had run amok.

 He grabbed onto the communications array just as his line snapped, reaching with one hand to stop himself tumbling unceremoniously back down to the ground, watching his cable twist and turn its way to the dust. With his free hand, he slid his communicator into the data outlet, thanking the designers for the foresight to develop a universal socket, and activated it.

 “Alamo, you should have access now.”

 A different voice came on, “Orlova here, sir. One minute and you’ll be inside.”

 Twisting himself around, he tried to brace himself for a jump. Smiling, he turned on his suit jets; they were nowhere near enough for him to just fly down, but in gravity this low they would certainly arrest his fall. With a huge grin, he pushed away from the side of the ship, stabbing at his thrusters, kicking up a dust storm around both Caine and the troopers. As he dropped to the ground, almost on cue, the airlock opened.

 “You enjoyed that, Danny,” Caine said, mock-accusingly.

 “Every damn minute of it.” His pistol back in his hand, he stepped into the airlock; Caine managed to beat the Corporal to stand next to him. The mechanism was old, and not well maintained. He had to brush a thick layer of grime from the controls before he could read them, and all the telltales had either been smashed or removed, long ago. With a shrug, he tapped a button, and the outer door closed; the hissing noise that sounded through his suit fabric told him that at least something was happening.

 “Pressure rising, oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. Everything seems fine,” he said.

 “Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly…,” Caine replied.

 Experimentally, Marshall unlocked his helmet, and when no warning alerts sounded, he took his helmet off, taking a deep breath of the air; he couldn’t help but cough at the harsh bitter taste. The support systems had obviously not been properly maintained for years, all the impurities building up. Caine looked down at him, but he waved his arm.

 “I’m fine. Tastes like crap, though, and I mean that literally.”

 “I’m scared to ask how you know that,” she replied, pulling her own helmet cautiously off, and gagging herself at the air. “How could anyone live in this soup?”

 “You can get used to anything in time.” He pulled his gloves off and strapped them at his belt; with helmet in one hand and pistol in the other, he tapped the button to open the inner door. They emerged into a rusty, battered corridor, lights flickering on and off, some of them burned out altogether. A pair of brown-stained cups sat on a workbench by an open panel; peering inside, he saw cables dropped down from the guts of the mechanism. He could hear a tapping noise on the deck – footsteps, heading their way.

 A figure walked around a bend in the corridor, a man wearing a tattered engineer’s jumpsuit, a flask limply held in one hand. Stubble reached across his face, and his mouth opened wordlessly in surprise. Sergeant’s stripes were sown onto his sleeve, somehow brighter and cleaner than the rest of the uniform.

 Before Marshall could reach him, the figure had turned and was running away. Snapping his pistol back into his holster, he gave chase, Caine hard on his heels, the lock cycling behind him as the rest of the landing team made their way inside. He turned around a corridor to see the figure fumbling at a control panel; his efforts were rewarded as a siren sounded throughout the ship, echoing through the corridors.

 “Damn it, we’re here to rescue you!”

 “What?”

 Caine, panting by his side, said, “Who are you?”

 He looked at the two of them, eyes darting from one to another, “Roland. Sergeant Roland Wilson. I don’t believe it. This can’t be real, not after all this time.”

 “It’s real,” Marshall replied. “I’m Lieutenant-Captain Marshall, commander of Alamo.”

 Wilson’s eyes widened, “I’m dreaming. I must be.”

 More footsteps sounded, and a trio of figures ran forward, all of them carrying improvised weapons, pausing at the threshold of the room.

 “Roly? What the hell is going…,” the newcomer’s voice stopped dead in its tracks as Marshall turned. The voice was familiar, though it had been twelve years since he had heard it last. He looked at the leader of the trio, as if into a time-distorted mirror, and started to race forward.

 His face a mask of disbelief, Major William Marshall extended his arms, and embraced his son.

Chapter 2

 Cheers sounded across Alamo’s bridge as Weitzman relayed Caine’s report. Zebrova sat at the heart of the storm, shaking her head, while Orlova clapped the communications technician on the shoulder. She guessed that the whole crew would feel to same way; to an extent, Marshall’s search for his father had been adopted by all of them, and his decision to take Alamo out to Innes’ Star to find him had been one of the most popular orders he had ever given.

 Caine, heedless of the mayhem, continued to speak, “...forty-one persons, eight of them officers. You’ll need to set up living accommodations for them as soon as possible, and check out the supply situation. The shuttle is on its way back up now with the espatier squad; get a medical and engineering team down here as fast as possible.”

 Tapping a control on her chair, Zebrova replied, “Will do, Lieutenant. Pass on to the Captain that everyone up here is celebrating.”

 “Thanks, I will. I’d better get back to the fray. Discovery out.”

 Zebrova turned to Steele, the current duty officer, “Have all senior officers report to the briefing room on the double, and arrange for the landing team as directed by Lieutenant Caine. Keep it small, I don’t want anyone down on that planet who doesn’t need to be there.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” the young officer said, smiling, as she turned back to her work.

 “You have the bridge,” she continued, standing up and gesturing at Orlova. The two of them walked over to the elevator and stepped in, Orlova tapping for the lower decks, still smiling at the news.

 “Two mysteries solved for the price of one, Lieutenant,” she said. “Hard to believe after all these years.”

 “I find it very hard to believe, Sub-Lieutenant,” Zebrova said, still frowning.

 “You can’t still think this is a trap.”

 Turning at the young officer, she replied, “I can and I do. All of this is somehow coming far too easily for my liking. I’ll only be satisfied when Alamo is back at Mariner Station with the Hercules survivors ready for debriefing.” She paused, then continued, “Though naturally I’m pleased for the Captain.”

 The door slid open, and the two of them walked into the briefing room, taking their usual seats at the table; Marshall’s chair at its head was left vacant. Mulenga was already there, and he glanced up at them for a second before returning to the datapad he was studying. Zabek walked into the room, clapped Orlova on the shoulder, and sat next to her; she’d lost the battle to lead the landing team down to the wreck herself, but that didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Finally, just as Zebrova was reaching to page him, Quinn walked in, his uniform jacket smeared with some sort of black and red stain down his back.

 “Is it that difficult for you to wear a clean uniform, Lieutenant?” Zebrova said, sternly.  

 “The engineering decks are a messy place, ma’am.”

 Shaking her head, Zebrova said, “I suppose we can get started.”

 “We’re still missing Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter,” Orlova said.  

 “I think we can manage without the science department for the moment, Sub-Lieutenant. The problem we’re facing is very simple; we need to bring forty-one persons up from Discovery, as well as any possessions they wish to retain, and I would prefer to complete this task in the minimum possible time.”

 “With only one shuttle, that’s going to be tricky,” Zabek said. “Any chance of using the orbital transfer shuttles?”

 Quinn shook his head, “We wouldn’t save any time; it’ll take me the best part of a day to outfit them with the boosters they’d need. Not standard design.” He paused, “Not to mention that the shuttle will need a servicing every five runs. I’d recommend we do that when it next comes up; they’ll probably need a while to pack up everything. We can probably chance it while we're here after that.”

 “What is the urgency?” Mulenga said. “There is nothing in the system that we need to worry about, no sign of any other ships or installations. We cannot leave for another four days in any case.”

 “A ship could appear at the hendecaspace point in the next ten seconds, Lieutenant. The last thing I want to do is have to leave anyone behind. I don’t think they would simply leave a crew down on the surface by themselves, without anyone monitoring them.”

 Orlova frowned, “That’s a point, actually. If the Cabal is as a large as we are beginning to suspect, why dump them here, not deeper into their territory?” She punched up an astrographic map, highlighting Innes’ Star. “This has got to be a key point. If I was running their strategic defenses, I’d have a ship stationed here.”  

 “Perhaps we have over-estimated their potential,” Mulenga said. “There may be other factors of which we know nothing; remember, our mission here is to investigate.”

 Zebrova said, “While I also have concerns about this location, we need to focus on the task at hand. Sub-Lieutenant, I want you to head down to the surface with the next shuttle to serve as liaison. Presumably Captain Marshall and Lieutenant Caine will want to return to Alamo as soon as they can.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” Orlova replied. “I’ll work out an optimum flight schedule once I have some idea of what they want to bring back. Hopefully we can complete it in eight shuttle trips.”

 “Very good. Mr. Quinn, how are we going to house them?”

 “I’ve been thinking about that. The officers will need to double up, that should just about give us sufficient space. As for the crew, I’ve fabricated some hammocks and curtains. We can assemble them in some of the long corridors on the outer levels, turn them into quarters.”

 “That doesn’t sound very comfortable,” Zabek said. “Can’t the crew share as well?”

 “They’re already packed in pretty tightly, Ensign,” the engineer replied. “I agree, it isn’t perfect, but it’s only going to be necessary for a week. I presume when we get back to Spitfire Station, we can arrange for additional accommodations.”  

 “That’s an excellent point,” Zebrova replied. “Supplies and life-support?”

 “Alamo has a large enough margin on the life-support systems that we don’t have to worry about it; we off-loaded six people at Spitfire, remember, and that helps as well. I think we could accommodate them for a few months if we had to.”

 “Excellent.” She looked around the room. “Then I think the best course of action is to proceed immediately. Is there anything else?”

 The door slid open, and Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter walked in, saying, “Did I miss the meeting?”

 Zebrova looked up, eyes focused on the tardy officer like laser beams. “We are almost finished, Sub-Lieutenant, but I will speak to you in a moment about the importance of…”

 “I’ve found something else on the surface of the planet. I wanted to make sure of it before I told anyone.”

 Orlova looked at Mulenga, then back at Carpenter, “What have you found?”

 Dropping a datapad on the desk, she said, “Evidence of mine workings.”

 Her eyes widening, Zebrova said, “Mine workings?” She turned to Mulenga, “I thought we didn’t detect anything worth extracting down there?”

 “We didn’t,” he replied. “Lots of iron, of course, and aluminum, but nothing particularly worth exporting.”

 “This isn’t anything like that,” Carpenter said, excited. “You were all looking in the wrong place. I’ve found what can only be a quarry. A stone mine.”

 “Stones?” Zabek said, shaking her head. “Who extracts stones?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant, I really wish that you had…,” Zebrova began before being interrupted.

 “These aren’t just stones. The site has a lot of lazurite, and that was once used for decorative purposes, or in jewelry.”

 The executive officer nodded, replying, “So though it has no industrial value, it might still be of some interest. Even if just incidentally. Good work, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “I want to take a team down to check it out.”

 She shook her head, “We can’t spare the resources. All of our efforts have to be focused on getting the crew of Hercules back on board Alamo. If there is time, we might take a look.” She glanced down at the datapad, “Though to be honest, I don’t think there is anything there to find.”

 Orlova frowned, “Respectfully, I disagree, ma’am. We’re out here to look for anomalies, after all, and there might be something left down there.”

 Zabek, sensing a potential opportunity, said, “If it turns out it was Cornucopia personnel that conducted the extraction, that’s just one more charge to add to the list – there’s no way they wouldn’t have known about the stranded personnel in Discovery.”  

 Sighing, Zebrova replied, “One shuttle flight, then.”

 “I want to lead the team,” Carpenter said.

 “Sub-Lieutenant, your experience hardly suggests itself to such an expedition.”

 “I’m Alamo’s science officer, ma’am. And I did make the find.”

 At the far end of the table, Mulenga smiled, “She does have a point.”

 Zabek said, “An experienced officer should lead the team, ma’am.”

 Pausing for a long second, Zebrova finally replied, “I can’t spare one. Carpenter, take one shuttle pilot – we have a surplus of those at the moment in any case – and a fire team from Second Squad. They’re already set for the landing in any case. You can drop off Orlova on the way, I want to keep the trips to a minimum.”

 “Thank you, ma’am,” Carpenter said, beaming.

 Her face fixed, Zebrova replied, “You will be on the surface for no more than three hours, and there will be no opportunity for an extension unless you find something that in my opinion justifies risking the ship. Is that understood.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 “Then I think the meeting is over. Dismissed.”

 The assembled officers stood to attention and began to file out of the room, Mulenga walking over to Carpenter to quietly compliment her on her find, while Orlova lingered at the door, watching as the others passed her.

 “Thanks for the help, Maggie,” Carpenter said when she finally emerged. “I think you turned the tide.”

 “Not a problem. It’s about time you got a chance to stretch your legs, anyway.”

 “At least it feels like I’m actually getting to do something this time. Though three hours isn’t much time for a full dig.” She looked from side to side, then said, quietly, “There are some really odd things about that site. I found a couple of areas that could be scorch marks, from shuttle landings, but no evidence of heavy equipment. It’s almost as if it was dug with bare hands.”

 “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, surely.” Orlova smiled. “Probably some survey team spotted it and thought it might be worth a few credits. I don’t expect you are going to find anything amazing down there.”

 “Maybe.” Carpenter walked next to her towards the elevator. “Though I can hope, can’t I? I mean, someone must have had some reason for assigning a paleontologist to this ship. Maybe they know something we don’t?”

 Nodding, Orlova cast her mind back to Desdemona, to the Neanderthal skeleton they had discovered in the middle of an abandoned alien base that was still the biggest secret of the nascent Triplanetary Fleet, and one that Carpenter had yet to be cleared for.

 “I’ve done a lot of these expeditions, Susan, and the one thing I will tell you is that nothing is ever exactly what it seems. You’ll have four scary espatiers with you – let them take the risks. That’s their job.”

 “Relax, Maggie. This isn’t the first time I’ve used a spacesuit, you know. I even did a dig out on Mars once.”

 “What?” Orlova said, sharply.

 Smiling, Carpenter replied, “A few years ago. A xenoarchaeological team wanted to practice some techniques. We only found a few fake bits and pieces they planted to test their equipment.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “A fake dig?”

 “Great experience. The point I’m trying to make is that I know what I’m doing, Maggie. Hell, if you won’t trust me, what hope do I have to convince Zebrova, or the Captain?”

 Still remembering Desdemona, Orlova said, “Just be careful, Susan. I mean it.”  

Chapter 3

 Discovery’s bridge belonged in a museum, not stranded on a forgotten world spinning around a dying sun. Marshall was sitting in the guidance controller’s couch, his father – naturally enough – in the captain’s chair, Caine sitting next to him. Before the shuttle had left, he’d had the emergency rations unloaded, and the marooned Hercules crew had gratefully shared them around as they hastened to prepare for their departure from this world.

 “I still can’t believe it. Jack Tramiel gave you your own ship at thirty-three, and in peacetime,” his father said, shaking his head.

 “There were special circumstances. No-one wanted to take the risk of joining the new fleet,” he replied, Caine shooting him a look.

 “Don’t add qualifications to it, Danny, you’re doing a damn fine job.”

 “I’m certain of that,” the Major said, taking a sip of his coffee. He looked to his side, and said, “I heard you talking to a Sub-Lieutenant Orlova earlier. By any chance…”

 With a wide grin, Marshall replied, “There’s every chance. She’s my Security Officer.”  

 Taking a deep breath, he said, “Her father…”

 “When I saw him last, he was briefing the brass on Mars about our operations on Jefferson.”

 The Major’s eyes widened, and he dropped the mug of coffee onto the control panel with a clatter, sending the brown liquid spilling out onto the long-dead controls.

 “You’re joking.”

 “No, sir. Alamo broke the blockade at Jefferson five months ago, and liberated the planet from Cabal control.”

 Rubbing his hand across his eyes, his father choked, “Never leave a man behind, that’s what I thought. When his shuttle went down…” He looked up, “Three times we went back with some crazy plan to extract him.”

 “He knew you tried. He saw you each time,” Caine said.

 “But you did it, boy. You did what I couldn’t.”

 “I have a good crew, and a good ship,” Marshall said.

 “That much is obvious.”

 A man walked in, vaguely familiar to Marshall, Captain’s bars on his shoulder, stumbling with a slight limp. His uniform seemed neater than the others he had seen.

 “Ah, you remember my Exec, Captain Diego.”

 Recognition flashed across Marshall’s face, “Of course.” He reached up to shake his hand; Diego had a firm grip.

 “I just wanted to tell you gentlemen that Operation Exodus is in full swing. We’ll have everything packed up and ready to move in twelve hours.”

 “Great, Esteban,” Marshall’s father said, turning back to his son. “We’ve had that planned since the day we landed. We never knew whether our extraction would be under combat conditions or not.”

 “I think we’ll all be glad to get away from here,” Diego said. “The sooner I’m back in space, the better.”

 Marshall nodded, replying, “I couldn’t agree with you more. My people think we can manage it in eight shuttle loads. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be in orbit. By the way, my Science Officer has found something interesting down in the southern hemisphere, what looks like some sort of mining operation.”

 “Aside from the annual visit of the guardship, we haven’t had any visitors.”

  Caine said, “The first analysis suggests that the operation wasn’t extensive. It’s possible they did it, if they thought they might be something worth stealing.”

 “I’ll send you a copy of my team’s report,” Marshall added.

 “Your team?” Diego said.

 Nodding, Marshall replied, “Yes, I’ve got a survey party down there now checking it out.”

 “That’s a waste of time.”

 “Part of our mission is to find out whatever we can about the Cabal,” Caine said.

 Diego looked at the Major, who nodded; he left the room, the door closing behind him, and the Major looked back at his son, an earnest look in his eye.

 “We can tell you a lot, Danny, and I suspect we’re going to have a long and tedious debriefing when we get back…”

 Marshall turned to Caine, “You want to take a look around?”

 Her eyebrow raised, she nodded, “Sure.” She stood up, looked back for a second, then walked out of the room. The two men looked at each other, and it was Marshall who spoke first.

 “Why, Dad? Why did you fly off?”

 He smiled, “I knew that question was coming. I suppose I’ve spent twelve years preparing the answer.”

 “I hope it's a good one, then.”

 “I guess you know our mission profile up to Procyon.”

 Nodding, he said, “I was the investigating officer on Hercules’ disappearance. The Commodore figured I was the best choice for the job.”

 “Then you know that we were both hitting convoys and doing deep recon. The Combined Chiefs were always talking about launching larger raids, if we could find some decent targets. Admiral Frankowski had the idea that UN forces had established deep supply bases, way into unexplored space.”

 He paused, shaking his head, “A year we spent on that wild goose chase. That took us out to AD Leonis, and we got into a fight with a trio of UN scoutships. We won, but got badly beaten up, enough that we had to spend three weeks making repairs. The sensors hadn’t been damaged, and most of my crew had time on their hands…”

 “One of your people discovered Jefferson.”

 “Damn it, Danny, you must have felt the same way I did. A habitable planet? We had to investigate.”

 “I know exactly how you feel. When we discovered it, I had to break my sailing orders to go. I didn’t even think twice.”

 “Of course not! Most important bit of real estate we’ve found yet. Anyway, we arrived, found the satellites, and lost Captain Orlov.” He sighed, and reached down for his drink. “More time spent there trying to crack it, but Captain Esteban had the idea that we might find more clues if we went further out.”

 “You found the Cabal.”

 “At first, we just found evidence that there was something out there. Abandoned prospecting sites, a drifting spacecraft we couldn’t identify. We were able to refuel at Jefferson. Then we found an actual outpost, at Xi Bootis. They claimed to be refugees from the Third World War.”

 Eagerly, Marshall nodded, “We found a colony at Lalande 21185. Exactly the same story.”

 “What I didn’t know was…,” he shook his head. “This is humiliating. Half the crew mutinied.”

 “What?”

 “Hell, you fought in the war. Our recruiting standards turned into mush by the end of it. No-one bothered with background or personality checks, and frankly, it showed. My sensor operator, and a lot of the others, were sold on the idea that we would get rewarded, they were promised land grants on inhabitable worlds, millions of credits.” He hacked a laugh, “They wanted my damn ship. And they got it. Can you imagine what it feels like to have half your crew turn against you?”

 His eyes widening, Marshall replied, “All too damned well.” He leaned forward, “The same thing happened to me at Ragnarok – Lalande.” Shaking his head, he continued, “They claimed to be Callistan separatists.”

 “Damn it, Danny, they’re still at the same tricks!”

 “We know that the Cabal have infiltrated the Confederation. Last month we exposed a front company out at Spitfire.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been wanting to ask this question and get a straight answer since I first heard about them. What is the damn Cabal?”

 “An empire sprawling across a couple of dozen stars at least. A lot of colonies were thrown out from Earth, and other settlements since – and they rule the lot. They control interstellar travel and all the military. And they’ve had as much time to build as we have out at the Confederation.”

 “That doesn’t sound particularly promising.”

 “I also know they’ve got alien tech, but I don’t know where they got it from. After the mutiny, we were put off on one of their resource worlds. It’s only three jumps from here, they called the world Ghawar. Petrochemical mining.” He smiled, “Naturally, we started to plan an escape. Took three years, but we grabbed one of their tankers, tried to make a break for it.”

 “You didn’t make it.”

 He sat back in his couch, “They got us before we could even break orbit. For that, they decided we were too dangerous to keep with the general population, and we were exiled here three months later.” Looking around the room, he said, “Oh, they helped outfit the ship, made it habitable, gave us what we needed. But a prison is still a prison. That they decided to transport us here on Hercules...that just made it worse. That was a message.” Grinning, he replied, “Though it also gave me the chance to send one.”

 “Wow.”

 “Yeah.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Well, in a week from now we’ll all be getting drunk together out at Spitfire Station, and in three weeks you’ll be home; I’ll arrange for a transport to take you back from there.”

 Shaking his head, his father replied, “No, Danny. In three weeks I’m going to be standing on the bridge of Hercules, and you’re going to get me there. I’ll be damned if I crawl home without my ship.”

 “What are you talking about?”

 With a crooked smile, he replied, “You don’t think sending that message was all I did, do you? I know where they’re basing Hercules, and I was able to put a little trap door into the primary control systems. I can render that ship inert with a single encoded voice command.”

 Marshall paused for a long minute. “I know you want your ship back…”

 “You’re damned right I do!”

 “But...where is it?”

 Grinning, his father said, “They’ve got one of their refueling bases out at Gliese 480.1. Inspiring name for a star, isn’t it! Hercules is the local capital ship, patrols this whole region for them.” Pulling out a datapad, Marshall began to look it up, but his father stopped him with a hand on his arm. “It’s two jumps from here.”

 “That’s beyond the point of no return. Alamo only has fuel for four jumps.”

 “Hell, Hercules only carries fuel for three. It’s a refueling station! We can top up there for the way home.”

 “It’s a hell of a risk. And if Hercules isn’t there, for nothing.”

 “Danny...it really isn’t your decision to make.” He glanced at his insignia. “I know we’re the same rank now, but I’ve got at least fifteen years’ seniority.”

 “You aren’t a Triplanetary officer.”

 “Eh?”

 “You’re in the Martian Space Service. That still exists...and under the act that created the Triplanetary Fleet, all Triplanetary officers have seniority beyond Sol System.” He crossed his arms, “This is my call, not yours.”

 “That’s a lot of…”

 “Dad, we’re talking about risking a hundred and fifty lives! Don’t you want to go home?”

 “Of course I do, but...look, your mission was to obtain information about the Cabal, right?”

 “Yes.”

 “My crew and I can give you something, but our knowledge only goes so far. You want real intelligence, details on territory, military projections, the works – you’ll get that on Hercules. Even the station will have some useful intel – this isn’t like Jefferson, this is an active, operational facility.”

 Marshall rubbed his hand across his chin, “That...is an excellent point.”  

 “I’m sure the Fleet would be glad to get another battlecruiser back, as well. Damn it, the Cabal is gearing up for an attack on the Confederation and we both know it. We need all the information we can get if we’re going to win – and speaking purely personally, I want to win that war.” He slammed his fist on the arm of the couch, “And yes, damn it, I want to take Hercules back to Mariner Station in style. She deserves better than to be a traitor ship, and my crew have earned the right to go get her.”

 “We could return with a task force. I’m sure…”

 “The guardship is due here in three weeks. They’ll undoubtedly put the whole area on alert once they find out we’ve gone missing. Right now there is a window of opportunity, and we’ve got to take it. We’ve got to!”

 Frowning, Marshall replied, “I’ll have to think about it.”

 “There’s no time to think.”

 “There’s plenty of time. It will take at least a day to evacuate your crew, and more time before Alamo can jump.” He paused. “Work out a mission plan. I’ve got to go up on the next shuttle – my executive officer’s getting a bit nervous – and I will think about it.”

 “Think about it?”

 Standing up, Marshall replied, “Yes, think about it.” He turned to leave, then paused at the door, looking back at his father with a roguish smile, “It would be a hell of a coup, though.”

Chapter 4

 The shuttle gently ascended to Alamo’s hangar deck, and the relieved espatiers climbed out of their couches, grabbing their gear under the supervision of Corporal Caldwell.

 “Hey, Zappo,” Private Gabriel Cooper said to the man sitting next to him. “Think we’ll ever get to do any actual fighting?”

 Sighing, Private Zapolski replied, “Are you that anxious to meet your maker, Gabe?”

 “Come on, first that ‘boarding action’ out at Spitfire, now this gentle walk in the dust. I thought Alamo was a warship!”

 “Knock it off,” Private Knight said from across the shuttle, while he tugged at his recalcitrant spacesuit. “Did you see the casualty figures from Alamo’s first three missions? If we’ve drawn a nice, quiet cruise, I’m not going to complain.”

 The door slid open, but before anyone could step out onto the deck, Ensign Zabek walked in, Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter standing by her side. For a young officer, Cooper had to admit that she had mastered the art of the ‘sit down and shut up’ stare fairly well; she’d obviously had some good teachers.

 “Listen up. Lance-Corporal Roberts, and Privates Cooper, Zapolski and Knight are to remain on board. We’re sending you back down to the surface.”

 “We only just got back,” Cooper said. “Something go wrong down there?”

 “You aren’t going back to Discovery, trooper. Sub-Lieutenant?”

 Carpenter stepped forward, looking somewhat nervously at the assembled troopers, “We’ve found an anomaly on the southern hemisphere of the planet. It appears to be an old mining operation, and we’re going to check it out. There could be some critical information down there, but we don’t expect it to be especially hazardous.”

 Zabek flashed a look at Carpenter, then back to the troopers, “Nevertheless, there could be anything down there, so be careful. No stupid risks – I’m looking at you, Cooper. The rest of you can report to the mess and get something to eat.” She smiled, “We’ll be sure to save something for the rest of you.”

 The four lucky troopers began to file out of the shuttle, loaded with gear, flashing sympathetic looks at those remaining; Knight had only just pulled his spacesuit out of the locker, and tossed it carelessly on the seat rather than stowing it away.

 “Flight protocol, Knight,” Roberts said.

 “Come on, Bertie,” he replied. “I’m going to have to get it out again in fifteen minutes.”

 “Stow it, Private.”  

 Muttering under his breath, Roberts compiled; the door opened again, and another officer stepped on board – Sub-Lieutenant Orlova. The troopers looked at each other as she sat down at the front of the cabin, casting an annoyed look at the door to the cockpit before strapping herself in.

 Zapolski coughed, twice, and she turned, “What is it, Private?”

 “Are you leading this operation, ma’am?”

 She shook her head, “That’s Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter’s job, she’s riding out front. I’m just getting a lift with you guys.” At Zapolski’s audible sigh of relief, she continued, “Something wrong?”

 The three privates looked at each other while the lance-corporal attempted to ignore the situation; finally it was Cooper who broke cover.

 “We heard some of the stories at Mariner Station, ma’am, when the last platoon was, er, briefing us.”

 “When you were trading tall tales in the bar, right?” she said with a smile. “I assure you, Private, that not only are they all true, but that Ensign Zabek is even more ferocious than I am.”

 “We’re just hoping to get a good mission, ma’am,” he said.

 She shook her head, “Here I was hoping for a nice quiet patrol for once. Don’t worry, Private. I haven't seen a boring mission on Alamo yet.” Turning back, she pulled out a datapad and ostentatiously began to read, ending the conversation.

 “That mouth of yours is going to get you into real trouble someday, Gabe,” Zapolski whispered.

 He grinned in reply, taking a swig of water from his canteen, and strapping himself in for the flight. At least with only a half-load, he was guaranteed a window seat, though the rest of his fellows opted to sit in the isle and chatter through the landing. The shuttle raced over the terrain, swerving from side to side over a high mountain range – evidently the pilot was enjoying himself at least.

 As soon as the shuttle descended on the far side of the mountain, the terrain began to change, and as they spiraled down, he could clearly make out the site of the mining operation – it was as if someone had gouged out a chunk of earth, leaving spoil mounds scattered on all sides. The shuttle settled down on the ground, and he still looked out of the window, lost in thought.

 “You with us, Cooper?” Roberts said.

 “Yeah. Sorry.” He stood up, and started to pull on his spacesuit, checking the charge on his plasma rifle. This might appear to be nothing but a lifeless world, but that potentially just meant anything lurking here would be all too human. He cautiously checked the spare battery pack at his belt, hooking it up to the butt of his gun before donning his gloves.

 “God, Gabe, you planning to start a war?” Zapolski said.

 “I don’t believe there is such a thing as too much ammunition.”

 “Yeah, those rocks out there can be vicious,” Knight said with a snigger.

 A voice echoed through the overhead speaker. “Carpenter here. Espatiers to disembark and form a defensive perimeter around the site.”

 Roberts looked around, “Come on, you know the drill. Cooper, Zapolski, you take point in the airlock.”

 “Right, Corp,” he replied, clunking his way across the deck. Orlova looked up from her datapad, still smiling.

 “Give ‘em hell, Private,” she said.

 “Yes, ma’am,” he replied with mock seriousness, winning him a brief chuckle as the door slid shut behind him. He checked his suit systems one more time, synchronizing his rifle’s systems to his heads-up display, and the outer door opened, revealing the same cold, gray landscape he had seen less than an hour before.

 “Come on, let’s get on with it,” he said to Zapolski, bounding out onto the surface. Aside from the mining site, just ahead of the shuttle, the highest points were the mounds of spoil, and he made for the nearest, testing it with his foot to make sure it would support his weight. Scrambling to the top, his boots sinking a little into the sand, he looked around the plain, from the mountains to the west across to the darkening mare to the east. No trace of color broke up the view, no sign of anything man-made.

 “There’s nothing out here, Corp. No sign of anything other than the mine.”

 The other two troopers had now emerged, and were standing by the side of the shuttle; another figure was making its way from the cockpit airlock, presumably Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter. The three of them moved clear of the side of the shuttle.

 “The shuttle will be back to pick you up in three hours,” Orlova’s voice said over the communicators. “Have fun out there.”

 Watching the shuttle leave without them was an unnerving experience, and Cooper’s eyes followed it as it gained height, climbing over the mountains. All too soon, the only evidence that it had ever been there were a series of strange impressions in the dust. Instinctively, he looked at his system monitors; he had sufficient life-support for four days, but they would be extremely uncomfortable in the cramped suit.

 Carpenter walked over to the mine, pulling out a scanner and directing it at the ground. She wordlessly worked while the rest waited, and as the minutes began to pass, Cooper started looking around again, soaking up the landscape. It looked like the Moon must have, before the Republic started throwing domed cities everywhere; barren and bleak, and he almost hoped that it was destined to stay that way.

 “Is there anything we can do, Sub-Lieutenant?” Roberts asked over the general frequency.

 “This is fascinating, Lance-Corporal. There’s a network of tunnels over here, all of them small. If this is a mining operation, it’s an extremely strange one. Wait here.”

 Carpenter began to climb into the mouth of the mine; Roberts said, “Ma’am, you can’t go alone.”

 “Why not? I’ll be back in time for the shuttle.”

 Cooper swore under his breath; another dud mission. “Request permission to accompany you, ma’am. You might need some help.”

 “That might be a good idea, actually, Private. Come along.”

 Over the private frequency, Knight said, “Damn it, Gabe.”

 “Enjoy the view, Rook,” he replied, making his way towards the mine, turning his helmet lights on with the flick of a switch. Carpenter held the scanner in one hand and a sample bag in the other; she was already at the bottom of the opening. There was a shaft sloping down into the ground, propped up with supports; the surface was jagged and rough.

 “This is strange, ma’am. I’ve seen asteroid mines, and they always have smooth corridors.”

 “I think this was dug by hand.”

 Cooper flashed his light down the tunnel, the darkness swallowing the beam, “All of this, by hand? Why not use machines?”

 “That’s what we’re here to find out, Private.”

 The tunnel twisted around, and almost before he realized it, Cooper had lost sight of the entrance. Carpenter continued to walk through the maze for what seemed like miles, her eyes darting from the scanner to the wall. Occasionally, they stepped over fragments of shattered stone on the floor; he stopped by a large deposit, taking a piece and holding it up to his helmet to see it in the light. It reflected blue and green, shining with an unusual sheen. With a smile, he tucked it into his pocket, chasing after the disappearing officer.

 “Come and look at this!” she yelled, and he hurried forward. In front of her was a pile of broken stone, littering the ground; she snatched one, raising it like a trophy. As far as Cooper could see, it was simply a piece of rock, shattered down the side, not the mineral he had found earlier.

 “Do you know what this is?”

 He shook his head, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it just looks like a piece of rock to me.”

 “Look at the edge! It’s worked!”

 “Worked?”

 She ran her finger along the side of the rock, “This isn’t just a piece of stone, it’s been worked as a tool of some sort.” Shaking her head, she replied, “It’s just extraordinary.”

 He picked up her discarded scanner, running it over the rock, “Ma’am, if I’m reading this right, the rock isn’t native to this area.” He frowned, “Or, according to this, even the world.”

 “Let me see.” She snatched at the scanner, and beamed, “Private, we’ve found what we came for!”

 “With all due respect, ma’am, are you trying to tell me that we’ve found a mine being worked in a vacuum with stone tools?”

 “It’s just like others found on Earth, dated tens of thousands of years ago.”

 “Did they wear spacesuits as well? Ma’am, this doesn’t make sense.”

 She looked up at him, smiling, “It doesn’t make sense yet. It will, though, once I’ve got a bigger survey team down here. When we get back to Mariner, I can use this to push for a proper expedition.”

 His flicking up to the clock on his suit, Cooper replied, “Do you want to take some samples back? We need to start thinking about returning to the surface.”

 “Oh, yes, of course. I want to take a proper look at those spoil heaps as well, there may be more discarded tools down there.”

 “Yes, ma’am.” Cooper turned to leave, leading the way out. He was beginning to feel confined in the tight space, and the narrow tunnels would be a terrible place to be caught in an ambush; something in the back of his head was warning him of danger.

 In the distance, down a twist in the path that they had ignored on the way in, he caught sight of something white, reflecting from the beam of his light. He stopped abruptly, Carpenter careening into him, almost sending him tumbling to the ground.

 “What’s up?” she said.

 “Something. Down there,” he replied, trying to see it again. He played his helmet beam around, and was rewarded with a reflection after a moment’s searching. Cautiously, holding his rifle tightly, he worked his way down the corridor, hugging the wall. Carpenter followed, silently, her helmet light spilling around as she tried to look past him.

 He stood over the object, kneeling down; most of it seemed to be buried in some sort of roof collapse, but he could make out a curved white shape in the ground. Carefully, he knelt, running his hands around it.

 “Wait a moment, Private,” Carpenter said. “This needs to be properly documented.”

 His fingers continued to work, and as he worked his way down, his finger ran into a hole, and his eyes widened as he realized that he was running his hands over a skull. There was something wrong about it, though; the shape didn’t feel right. Pushing the dirt away to the side, he came to a harder surface, a spacesuit.

 Just a few hours ago, he’d looked at a human body in a spacesuit, but this looked different. The suit was ancient, what he could see of the helmet totally unfamiliar. He turned to Carpenter, who was looking back in awe at his discovery.

 “What do you think?”

 “We’ve got to get a proper team down here,” she said.

 He shook his head, replying, “It’s your decision, ma’am, but I don’t know if the Captain will authorize that. Why don’t we call the rest of the squad down and get him out, back up to Alamo.”

 She frowned, but finally nodded, “Go up to easy communication range and bring them down. We’re not leaving without this body, and the shuttle can wait a bit if that’s what it takes.” She looked around the room, smiling, “This might be the xenoarchaeological discovery of the century.”

Chapter 5

 Orlova walked down the unfamiliar corridors, datapad in hand, trying to work out where she was. A man walked up to her, lieutenant’s bars on his shoulders, frowning as he looked her over.

 “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m trying to find the officer’s mess.”  

 Shaking his head, the man replied, “They putting children in uniform these days?”

 Sighing, she said, “If you aren’t going to help, kindly let me by. The Captain’s in a hurry to get you out of here, if you hadn’t noticed.”

 “Two decks up, you walked past the ladder access about a minute ago. On the left.”

 “Thank you.”

 He didn’t reply, walking on down the corridor as Orlova followed him to the shaft; the door had been closed and locked shut, and it took an effort to pull it open. It was in the less-used areas that she really got a feel for how old this ship was; the stranded crew had evidently done everything they could to keep it in good order, but Discovery wasn’t really fit for long-term human habitation. She still couldn’t get used to the smell.

 There was no sign that this shaft was particularly well-used; she almost stuck her hand into a discarded food wrapper, the contents long abandoned, and there was a green mold growing along the wall underneath a dripping pipe, illuminated by a dull yellow light that cast strange shadows around the room. Finally, she reached the top of the shaft, and using her shoulder, she managed to get the hatch open.

 Brushing the dust off her uniform, she emerged at the end of another corridor, but this time she could hear signs of activity ahead of her, an argument appeared to be in progress. Frowning, she hastened towards the mess, pushing her way through the doors; there was a crowd of about three dozen people, most of the survivors. Those nearest the door turned to look at her as she entered, but the ones nearest the front simply continued their argument.

 “Damn it all, Sandy, can’t we just go home?” a woman wearing battered overalls said, plaintively. “My kids will be in college now, but they’ll at least remember me when I get back. Not all of us are like you.”

 A tall, aristocratic-looking woman wearing a flight jacket replied, “Sergeant, that is not for either of us to say. Major Marshall’s calling the shots, and we’re going to get Hercules. We’re getting our ship back.”

 “Let the Cabal have it,” a man grunted from the front. “They’ve had it for nine years.”

 “Excuse me,” Orlova said, pushing her way through the crowd, “But I can tell you now that no decision on whether to retrieve Hercules has yet been reached by Lieutenant-Captain Marshall.” She took great care to stress the rank.

 The man, a dark-skinned figure with a twisted scar running down the side of his face, replied, “You trying to tell us that he won’t do what Daddy wants?”

 An unknown voice said, “How’d he make Captain anyway. He’s just a kid.”

 “Captain Marshall will do what he thinks is best for the ship, the crew, and the Confederation. That has always been my experience of him. And whatever decision is taken will not be made here.”

 The jacketed woman replied, “Don’t you think we’ve earned a say?”

 “Maybe we should have a vote!” another voice yelled.

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I’m hear to co-ordinate your evacuation to Alamo, not to engage in a pointless argument.” Glancing over at the wall clock, she continued, “We have something like twenty-four hours to get you all away from here if we’re going to meet the deadlines of our mutual commanding officers. Who’s in charge here?”

 The woman looked around, and nodded. “I am. Captain Claudia Lane, Systems Officer.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, Alamo’s Security Officer. I was told that you already had an evacuation plan.”  

 “We do. Everything’s in hand, Sub-Lieutenant, so you can go back up to that ship of yours and let us handle it.”

 Taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself, she replied, “Unless you’re planning to fly up there with wings, you’re going to need a shuttle schedule – and that’s what I’m here to get. Personnel aren’t a problem, but I understand you have some other material that needs transporting?”

 “Personal items, some equipment that might be useful.” Lane turned to the two crewmen who had been arguing with her earlier, “Mathis, Ballard, why don’t you show her around.” She looked around the room, seeming to see past Orlova. “Don’t make any mistake, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to get our ship back, and fly her back to Mariner Station with pride.”

 Orlova, shaking her head, walked out of the room, the two crewmen following her into the corridor. She began to make her way to the ladder, but the man’s arm stopped her.

 “Why are you going down there? No-one uses that shaft, we got the elevators working years ago.”

 “An officer I met told me that was the best way to go.”

 The two crewmen looked at each other, then back at Orlova, “Frank Nelyubov. Ignore him; he’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of Olympus Mons.”

 “Come on, Win,” the woman replied, “It’s not his fault.” She turned to Orlova, “He was up for a promotion when we got back. Always went on about it. Poor bastard’s been stuck at Second Lieutenant for nine years.”

 “I see.”

 “Look, we’re not all crazies down here. I’m Clara Ballard, and this is Win Mathis.”

 The man paused for a second, then extended his hand, “It is good to see a new face. I’m looking forward to seeing a lot more of them when we get back and I can take what remains of this uniform off.”

 Ballard chuckled, “In public, Win?” She hugged Mathis with an extended hand, and Orlova smiled.

 “I guess after nine years…”

 “Longer than that, Sub-Lieutenant. Major Marshall had us hunting for his mysterious empire for a year before we went missing. We were already overdue when the Cabal grabbed us,” Mathis said.

 “Say, you’re Orlov’s daughter, aren’t you,” said Ballard with a flash of recognition. “I heard you managed to rescue him.”

 “We did, about six months ago. Last I saw, he was fine and well. Married again.”

 “That’s fantastic.”

 Mathis shook his head, “I think he got the better end of the deal. At least he could breathe the air and go for a walk whenever he wanted. We’ve been stuck in these walls for six years. Couldn’t even go outside; you’d be surprised how small this ship is.”

 They stepped into the elevator, and Mathis tapped for the lowest intact level of the ship. Reluctantly, the elevator started to descend, slowly grinding its way down the decks. Abruptly, it jerked to a stop, and the doors opened to admit the surly lieutenant from before; Mathis and Ballard snapped reluctant salutes.

 “I see you found the elevator, then,” he replied.

 Biting back an acerbic reply, Orlova said, “In the end. You must be Second Lieutenant Nelyubov.”

 He reddened slightly saying, “That’s right. Though I hope that will change when we get back.”

 “I’m sure those wishing to stay in the service – or transfer to the Triplanetary Fleet – will have the opportunity to do so.”

  Ballard said, “You don’t think it will be mandatory, do you?”

 “Your term of required service must have run out years ago,” Orlova replied. “I’m sure you’ll be given an honorable discharge when we get back to Mariner.”

 Nelyubov replied, “I don’t think you can be quite as confident of that. The Cabal’s a clear and present danger…”

 “No state of war exists, Lieutenant. Until and unless such a situation develops, the service can’t hold you.”

 “That’s a relief,” she replied, looking up at Mathis; Orlova noted a scowl running across Nelyubov’s face. “We want to go traveling, see a few different places.”

 “Maybe spend a few weeks at High Vegas,” Mathis said, grinning. “We must have a hell of a lot of back pay due. I think we can afford to waste some of it.”

 “After we see my kids, of course,” Ballard said.

 “How old are they?”

 “Jack will be nineteen, and Susan seventeen. He wanted to go into the fleet; I wonder if he ever did,” she said, wistfully.

 Mathis gave her a little squeeze, “He was nine, Clar. Kids grow out of it.”  

 “It won't be hard to check,” Orlova said, pulling out her communicator. “Alamo, this is Orlova. Can I get a check on a Jack Ballard? Look in the military admissions file.”

 There was a brief pause, and Weitzman replied, “Got him. Spaceman Second Class, joined at the formation of the fleet two years ago. Looks like he’s serving at Shakespeare, shuttle tech. I’ll send his file down to your datapad; there’s a recent picture attached.”

 Ballard’s eyes lit up, and Orlova replied, “Thank you, Otto. I owe you a drink. Alamo out.”

 “Don’t your bridge crew have better things to do than run personnel searches, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 Orlova looked at Ballard, who seemed on the verge of breaking into tears as she passed her datapad over to her, an image of a copper-haired man with a thin attempt at a mustache filling the screen. She hugged it with both hands.

 Mathis, shaking his head, said, “Officer or no, Frank, you really are a world-class bastard.”  

 “I’ll have you on report for that,” he replied.

 “What are they going to do, throw me out of the fleet?”

 “That’s enough,” Orlova said. “I think Ballard probably needs some time alone – feel free to keep the datapad for the moment, I’ve got a spare. Sergeant Mathis, would you show me to the cargo bays?”

 He started up at the red-faced Nelyubov, “Yes, ma’am.”

  The elevator came to a stop, and Ballard and Nelyubov walked out, immediately going in separate directions; with an effort, Mathis managed to start it up again, and they continued on their way down to the lower decks.

 “How would the crew feel about going after Hercules?” she asked.

 He looked at her, frowning. “Some of them are gung-ho to do it. The officers, some of the unmarried hands. Hell, there’s a part of me that would love it. But there’s a bigger part of me that just wants to go home, and the risk involved is too rich for my blood.”

 “Will there be trouble?”

 “You think your Captain will go for it?”

 “He might.” She shook her head, “Hell, I’m pretty sure he will. And not because his father wants it, but because it would be a hell of a thing to pull off.”

 Nodding, Mathis replied, “No-one’s going to mutiny, that’s for sure. Major Marshall’s far too well-liked for that; he’s kept us going these last six years. It was easier on Ghawar, there we were working towards an escape, we could think about going home, about what we might do. Here...well, I think we were beginning to believe we were going to die here.” He paused. “That skeleton. We knew it was there, of course, sitting outside. I think they left it there on purpose. They meant us to think that that would happen to us, that maybe we’d be found like that one day.”

 Placing her hand on his shoulder, she said, “You’re going home, Sergeant. One way or another. Captain Marshall’s pulled off tougher missions.”

 “So has the Major. I just hope he isn’t out of practice.”

 The doors slid open, and the two of them walked out onto a huge, open deck, half-empty crates and boxes scattered around, a couple of people in the far corner sorting their contents into piles that looked on the verge of toppling. Before she proceeded further, Mathis turned.

 “Tell me one thing, Sub-Lieutenant. Would you go for it?”

 “Fly out beyond fuel range? Gamble on being able to refuel after fighting a battle against unknown opposition to try to get that ship of yours home?” She smiled, “Hell, yeah.”

Chapter 6

 Marshall looked around the briefing room at his assembled officers, all of them waiting for him to speak. Every datapad in the room had the same report displayed on it – his father’s plan for the recapture of Hercules and its return to Triplanetary space. He’d spent the last four hours going over it, and though it was vague on some of the details, it sounded plausible enough, though the looks on some of the faces at the table suggested that his viewpoint was not universally shared.

 “There is really only one topic for discussion here today,” he said. “You’ve all had a chance to look at Major Marshall’s plan, you’ve all had an opportunity to think it over. Let’s start with ways and means. Mr. Quinn, is Alamo up to this?”  

 The engineer smiled, “Alamo’s up for anything you care to ask of her, sir. All systems are in good order, and we can even cope with the over-strain on the life support systems for at least three months. Aside from the obvious problem, we’re as ready as it is possible to be.”

 “Mr. Mulenga, the course projection?”

 The astrogator nodded, working the table controls as a projected starscape appeared, a series of red lines dashing from star to star, indicating the projected course of Alamo on its leap into the unknown.

 “The first jump will be to Hipparchus 54298; the system has a single planet in close orbit according to observations, but it has never actually been visited – at least, not by anyone who has been willing to tell us what they found. Then the big one, to Gliese 480.1.”

 “Point One?” Orlova said, shaking her head.

 “Blame the discoverer,” Mulenga replied with a smile. “This one has three planets, and according to the report, the one we’re interested in is the innermost, a sub-jovian with two large moons. The station is close into the gas giant, presumably for scooping.”

 “Not more aerostats,” Caine said.

 “I hope not.”

 “Everything seems to match the report, Captain, and Alamo is in good condition for the jumps required if we pursue this option.”

 Placing his hands on the table, Marshall said, “Now we need to talk about the elephant in the room. To execute this mission, Alamo will have to make five jumps, and we only have fuel for three. According to the information we have, there is a fueling station similar to that we encountered at Jefferson. We would need that fuel to get home.” He looked around the table. “Comments and opinions are invited.”

 Zebrova, sitting at his left, spoke first. “It’s tempting, I won’t deny it, but I think it is far too risky.” She turned to Marshall, “I am aware of the time constraints and the imminent arrival of the guardship, but we should return to Spitfire Station. Even a single tanker would make this mission practical.”

 “What about ambushing the guardship when it arrives?” Orlova said. “That might buy us some more time. We know it’s base is two jumps away, so they won’t be expecting it back for a fortnight.”

 “Too risky; we don’t want to start this mission with a battle,” Caine replied. “If we do this, we need to be at maximum preparedness for the mission. We’re heading up against another battlecruiser, remember.”  

 “What about the fail-safe?” Marshall said.

 “What guarantee have we that they haven’t taken it out?”

 Quinn shook his head, “They might, but I doubt it. I've gone over its specifications, and it was placed really deep in the system. To the point that they’d need to replace the operating system – but the Major said that they destroyed the backup files before capture. They’d have to write a whole new one.”

 “Or obtain it by other means,” Mulenga said.

 Orlova’s eyes widened, “That would be a security breach to beat them all; the details of military operating systems are some of our best-guarded secrets.”

 “Nevertheless, given some of the other things the Cabal have pulled off, I would be wary of underestimating them.”

 “It’s just as bad if we overestimate them,” Orlova snapped.

 Carpenter, sitting at the back of the room, said, “There are other factors as well, remember. This planet has an archaeological site of the greatest importance.”  

 “How’s your analysis coming?” Marshall asked.

 “I don’t want to report it yet, sir.”

 Frowning, he replied, “Why not?”

 She looked from side to side. “Because I don’t believe the results.”

 Leaning forward, he said, “Try me.”

 Sighing, she switched files on her datapad, “The suit reads as being at least ten thousand years old; it’s a design that is, well, totally alien – yet the occupant of the suit is human. Well, nearly.”

 “Neanderthal.”

 She leapt to her feet, staring Marshall in the face, “How the hell did you know that?”

 “When we’re finished here, come up to my office. I need to show you some files relating to our mission to Desdemona last year, files that you don’t have the security clearance to access. Since I suspect you are about to significantly enhance the information within, I want you to take a look.”

 “Captain, I need all the information I can…”

 “You’ll get it. Sit down, Sub-Lieutenant.” Reluctantly, she resumed her seat, “There is something to what you say – getting an investigation team out here to conduct a thorough excavation has to be a priority.”

 “Don’t the people we rescued want to go home?” Mulenga said.

 “Actually, most of them are eager to take their ship back. The rest will go along with it,” Orlova said. “That’s a higher priority for most of them than returning to Mars.”

 “I can understand that,” Zebrova said. “It must have hurt, being stranded there for all those years, and this is a chance for, well, constructive revenge.” She turned to Marshall, “We can’t let that color our judgment, though, sir.”

 “Caine?”

 She picked up the datapad, scanning it for a second, “If it was only a jump away, I’d be all in favor. If we could refuel here, again, I’d want to go for it. As it stands...it’s a big risk.”

 “We’ve got the Hercules crew,” Mulenga said. “Isn’t that sufficient?”

 Marshall nodded, saying, “Orlova?”

 Turning to face him, the young officer smiled, “We should go for it. The intelligence pay-off alone makes it worth the risk.”

 Leaning back in his chair, Marshall reached for a glass of water, taking a quick swig. The consensus of the room had been about what he had expected. With one last glance at his father’s mission plan, he dropped it down to the deck.

 “I’m in command, so the decision is mine. I could give the order to do this, but this one time, I won’t, because all of you are quite right. The risk involved here is beyond anything we’ve ever attempted before, beyond anything that I have any right to demand of the crew. But Sub-Lieutenant Orlova is also correct. This might be the riskiest mission we have ever undertaken, a leap out into the dark with no guarantee of success, or even survival, but the potential payoff is just as great.”

 “I don’t think that any of you around this table doubt that at some point in the near future, we’re likely to be in a war with the Cabal. The information in Hercules' databanks could make the difference between victory and defeat, the intelligence coup of the century. Right now, all we have is a blank space of map labeled ‘Cabal’. We need to fill in that map.”

 Gesturing to his left, he continued, “Back there, back home, there are seventy million people waiting for us. Seventy million people counting on us. We all signed up for this life, to put ourselves on the line to keep them safe for one more day. We take the risks so that they can sleep safe; that’s why we’re out here, why we wear this uniform, why this ship even exists.”

 Pausing for a moment, he looked around the room, “If any of you still think it isn’t worth it, speak up now, and we’ll go home. I won’t hold it against you – in fact, I’ll probably question the sanity of anyone who doesn’t,” he finished with a smile.

 The others looked around the room, each of them waiting to see who would speak first. Orlova had a broad smile running across her face, and Quinn was slowly nodding. He knew that Zebrova was the key here, and her face was an expressionless mask. Finally, it was Mulenga who spoke.

 “You know me, Captain. Always wanting to see new places.” He looked up at the slowly rotating starmap. “This promises to be extremely interesting.”

 “Anyone else?” Marshall said, looking at Zebrova. She caught his eyes, stared into him for a long, cold minute, and then curtly nodded. He smiled, then turned back to the table. “Then the mission is go. We’ll break orbit as soon as the Hercules survivors are on board, and prepare for the hendecaspace jump. I want battle stations and combat drills randomly scheduled for the next two weeks.”

 “We should integrate the Hercules crew into our own, at least until we recapture their ship,” Zebrova said, consulting a datapad.

 “Agreed. Orlova, liaise with Major Marshall and the relevant department heads; you might as well continue as our liaison with the Hercules crew.”

 “Yes, sir. I’ll be going back down as soon as this briefing is completed.”

 “Everything and everyone on this ship is going to have to be at their best if this mission is to succeed. We can’t afford any system to be at anything other than absolute peak efficiency.”

 “I’ll have the engines singing for you, sir,” Quinn replied with such deadpan sincerity that it sent a chuckle going around the table.

 Marshall replied, “They can perform at the victory party. Anything else?” Silence met his words, and he continued, “Dismissed, then.”

 The officers stood up, and began to file out of the room, Zebrova wordlessly leading the way, Orlova and Quinn eagerly chatting about the operation while Mulenga had his head bowed over his datapad, scanning astrographic charts. Caine lingered at the door, and as it closed, turned and sat back down at the table.

 “This is the big one, Danny,” she said.

 “I know.”

 Looking at the course projection, she continued, “I don’t know if I’d have had the guts to order this mission. Almost anyone else would have taken the safe option, headed straight home.”

 “I know the risks.”

 “Zebrova disagrees, you know. She just wasn’t willing to call you on it in front of the rest of the crew. You put her on the spot, rather.”

 Looking down at the desk, Marshall replied, “If she’d had an objection…”

 “She did. We all did, except Orlova, and she’s too damn inexperienced to know any better. We’ve had twenty months of you taking one risk or another, and we – you – were lucky each time.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “And now we have the big one. To hell with the seventy million people back there, what about the hundred and forty people you have here. They are your responsibility…”

 “Don’t you think I know that?”

 Her tone softened, and she relaxed in her chair, “I know. And I agree with your reasoning. Orlova would take the ship into a black hole if you asked her. The rest of us are willing to take the bet that you know what you are doing this time. Don’t abuse that trust.”

 “Deadeye…”

 “If this looks as if it is going bad, if it looks as if everything is going wrong, I want you to promise me that you won’t push this too far. Cut and run. Even if it means leaving someone behind.”

 He sat back, nodding, “I give you my word. Damn it, Deadeye, think what could be on that ship. Besides…”

 “What?”

 “I’m tired of just reacting to whatever the Cabal does. We’ve danced to their tune long enough; it’s time to start making them dance to ours. They won’t be expecting this, and it might encourage them to back off for a bit. Buy us some time.”

 “As I said, I don’t disagree with you. I just...maybe I’m worrying about nothing.”

 “Keep doing it. That’s why I asked you to come out here, remember?”

 She smiled, replying, “I know. See you at the mess later?”  

 “I’ll try to get down in a bit.”

 Caine stood up, and walked out of the room; Marshall looked after her, running the decision he had taken in his mind. Dismissing those thoughts, he tapped the communication panel, and the face of the duty officer appeared on a screen.

 “Sir?” Kibaki said.  

 “Get me a secure communications link with Major Marshall on the surface. Top priority.”

 “We’re going then, sir,” he said, a wry grin on his face.

 “Have you got this place bugged, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 He shook his head, “With you in command, sir, would we have done anything else? You have your channel.”

 “Thanks, Joe.” He threw a switch, and his father’s voice replied.

 “Well?”

 “I’ve made my decision.”

 “And?”

 “We’re going to get your ship back, Dad. Or at least have a damn good try.”

Chapter 7

 Cooper looked around the briefing room, stretching out his legs under the chair in front of him. All two-and-a-half squads of Alamo’s Espatier contingent were waiting for the arrival of Ensign Zabek; Sergeant Forrest sat at the front of the room, his stare alone sufficient to keep the noise level low. Knight sat at his right, playing chess on his datapad; Cooper nudged him with his elbow.

 “Any idea how long this is going to go on for? I’m seeing Barbara for dinner.”

 “That shuttle pilot of yours,” he whispered in reply. “This is, what, the fourth time? You’re getting serious about this one.”

 “Well, she’s different.”

 “Funny. I seem to remember you saying that about April, and Samara, and…”

 He raised a hand, “Fine, fine, already.”

 “No, I don’t have any idea. Just because I got here first…”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “At least we got here on time.”

 As he spoke, the door slid open. Ensign Zabek walked in, followed by Captain Marshall, and the room rose to attention, salutes snapping as one. Marshall took his place at the lectern, Zabek standing by his side. He tapped a series of controls, and an image of a battlecruiser snapped into view, the name ‘Hercules’ visible on its side.

 A cheer rose up from the room as they realized what Marshall was about to tell them; Cooper couldn’t help it, he joined in. This sort of mission was everything he had joined the Espatiers for in the first place. Marshall waited a moment for the cheers to subside, then gestured for them to quieten down.

 “Be seated, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I see that I have your approval for this operation.” That produced a chuckle, and he continued, “Yes, we’re going for it. Our primary objective is now the recapture of Hercules. We know where it is, we know its condition, we have a plan to get past its defenses. The real job is going to be yours.”

 He tapped another button, and the hull of Hercules seemed to peel off, revealing a network of decks, corridors and walkways beneath. Another button highlighted a series of red entry points, airlocks where the boarding shuttles could latch on.

 “No-one has done an operation like this since the war – the capture of an enemy vessel by boarding. You’ve all studied operations like this, you all know that the casualty rate is generally high. I want this operation to be the exception. It’s got to go by the book, resulting in the minimum possible damage to Hercules. We’re taking her back to the Confederation, and I want her gleaming for her return to Mariner Station.”

 Clicking another button, the image of Hercules winked out, replaced by a slowly rotating asteroid, also with a series of tunnels and corridors, and a hollowed-out space large enough to fit a dozen battlecruisers in. Cooper was sure he had seen it somewhere before, and then he remembered – the spaceport Alamo had found at Jefferson.  

  “Our secondary objective is to secure this fueling station. The Cabal have converted asteroids to serve as repair stations and refueling facilities; given that this mission is going to take us beyond the radius of Alamo’s fuel capacity,” he paused for the gasp from some of the troopers, “securing the asteroid is an essential part of our mission. Sergeant Forrest?”

 Marshall gestured to Forrest, who nodded and assumed the Captain’s position at the lectern, tapping another button; now the display showed the interior of the asteroid’s tunnels, a helmet-cam viewpoint of a trooper pushing around the corners, down the shafts.

 “This is where we will ultimately be going. The facility we found at Jefferson had office and habitation levels that resembled the decks of a gravity-less station, but it also had a network of tunnels carved into the rock. They twist and turn unexpectedly, there are few areas for cover, and they are ideal for ambushes. You’ve got to stay focused every second.”

 Zabek took the lectern, looking out across her platoon. “We’ve got just under three weeks to get ready for this mission, and you are going to need every minute of it. Each of you have holographic tours of both Hercules and the asteroid complex we found out at Jefferson on your personal terminals, and you will study both thoroughly. I want you to be able to find your way around both in the dark with your eyes closed.”

 “Sergeant Forrest will lead a series of training drills; we’ve cleared some space in the lower levels for you to practice, and we will undertake simulated boarding actions once we reach Hipparchus 54298, halfway to our destination. There were a few members of the Martian Marine Corps on the planet below; each squad will have one assigned to them as a guide. You will pay attention to what they have to say. Our first battle simulation is at 0600 tomorrow, so Cooper still gets to go on his date with Spaceman Bradley tonight.”

 The room erupted in laughter as Cooper’s face reddened; it took an effort for him to join in, but he managed to force a few embarrassed chuckles.

 Nodding, Marshall returned to the head of the room, “This is the big one. The information we expect to extract from Hercules – if we manage to take it intact – could provide us with the advantage we desperately need against the Cabal. You’ve trained for this type of mission, and now you get to put that training into practice. I know I can count on each and every one of you to do his best.” He looked at Zabek, who nodded, “That’s all. Briefing dismissed.”

 The room rose and saluted as one; Marshall returned the salute, and walked out of the room, followed by Zabek. The troopers were silent for a moment, then the room erupted in a babble of conversation, and this time Forrest allowed them to be as loud as they wanted.

 “I’ll be damned, we’re doing it,” Goldschmidt said, shaking her head. “I didn’t quite believe we’d take the risk.”

 “Come on, Goldie, this is Alamo we’re talking about here,” Knight said. “You’ve heard the stories the last platoon told us.”

 “At least we won’t be trekking through the mud,” Zapolski said, smiling, “We’re going to be fighting in space, like God intended.”  

 Cooper was about to reply when he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned to see Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter standing behind him; she didn’t share the euphoria of the rest of the room, her expression locked into a frown.  

 “Wha...sorry, ma’am. Can I help you?”

 “You haven’t filed your report on the discovery of the skeleton yet. I need it before we break orbit.” She looked after the departing Marshall, shaking her head. “Tonight, if possible.”

 “Tonight, ma’am?”

 “Is something wrong with that, Private?”

 He sighed, replying, “No, ma’am. I didn’t know it was that urgent.”

 “I’m hoping to convince the Captain to let me stay behind with a few of you.” She shook her head, “That site is in need of a thorough investigation, and I’m sure Alamo can spare a half squad.”

 Cooper’s eyes widened, and he replied, “May I speak freely, ma’am?”

 “Sure.”

 “Alamo needs twice as many troopers as we’ve got to pull off what the Captain has in mind. He might let you stay behind, but there’s no way he can afford to let any of us stay.”

 “That’s your opinion, Private. I want that report. I don’t mind Alamo going off on this mission – in fact I’m in favor of it, but I’m sure the Captain will allow a small garrison to remain.” She looked around the room, said, “That’s all, Private,” and walked out, half a dozen pairs of eyes following her out of the room.

 “What the hell is her problem?” Knight said,

  Cooper shrugged, “She’s just made the discovery of her career, and she’s having to leave it behind. I can’t blame her for being upset.” He sighed again, “That damn report’s going to take me all night. I was going to do it during the transition.”

 “You don’t think the Ensign – or the Captain – will agree, do you?”

  “Not in a million years. We’ve barely got enough people to pull this off as it is,” Roberts said. “Don’t worry, Gabe, you aren’t going to miss the party.”

 “That wasn’t the party I was worried about missing, Corp.”

 “Want me to take your place, Gabe?” Orlowski said with a cheeky grin.

 “I think I might not take you up on your generous offer,” he replied, heading for the door. “Maybe I can still sneak dinner in.”

 Roberts frowned, “Don’t forget we’ve got the training runs at 0600.”

 “I know, I know, Corp,” he said, running out into the corridor. He passed a couple of technicians chatting in the corridor, running checks on the emergency equipment, and dived into the elevator, looking up to realize that he was sharing the car with the Captain.  

 “In a hurry, Private?” he said.

 “Er, yes, sir, I mean, no, sir.”

 “Interesting answer. Have you considered work in the Diplomatic Corps?”

 “Sir?”

 “A little joke, Private, that’s all.”

 Mercifully, the elevator only climbed two levels to the quarters deck, and Cooper stabbed for the hangar bay, breathing a sigh of relief as the doors closed behind him. Tapping his foot on the deck, he waited as the car moved between the decks, down to the far end of the ship, pausing twice to fill up with others making the same journey. The talk was all on Hercules; that was inevitable enough. He stepped out as the doors opened, right into a full-blow argument in progress.

 “Fine, put me on report! But you’ll have to say why, and I don’t think disciplining me for refusing to contravene safety regulations is going to work, is it?” Barbara was building up a full head of steam against Petty Officer Nakamura, the grizzled old deck chief.

 “Captain wants, Captain gets, Spaceman. You ought to know that by now.”

 “You aren’t the one going down there, damn it. It’s not just me, we’re taking a full passenger load each trip. This isn’t that urgent.”

 Nakamura shook his head, then looked over at Cooper, “What the hell do you want?”

 “I’m refereeing,” he replied, with a smile.

 Turning back to Barbara, he continued, “If you want, I’ll pull you from the flight roster, but it will be permanent. I will not accept pilots who question orders.”

 She looked back at him, “I’ll fly the mission. But I want it in writing. If this goes wrong, I’m not having ten deaths blamed on me – or my corpse.”

 Nakamura shook his head and walked off, leaving her to look over at Cooper with a scowl, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

 “I thought you were going off shift, I figured I’d meet you.”

 “And…”

 He sighed, replying, “And Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter has decided that the report on that skeleton I found on the surface needs to be filed tonight for some crazy reason. What was all that about?”

 “Naki told the flight crews that we were skipping the five-flight maintenance on the shuttle to complete the evacuation more quickly. It’s stupid – we can’t leave the system for four days anyway, so what’s the rush?”

 “I guess they want to be out of their prison as fast as they can. I can understand how they feel.”

 “How will dying in a crash help? There’s a reason we run those checks.”

 Cooper shook his head, “Is it really wise to wind up the deck chief, though?”

 “Hell, lover, I’m the best damn shuttle pilot they’ve got, and they know it – and he can hardly throw me in hack for refusing to disobey orders. He’s just blowing off steam, I doubt he’s any happier about this crap than I am.” She glanced down at her watch. “How much time have we got, anyway?”  

 “We can grab dinner, I reckon. Depends how long it takes to put that report together. I don’t know what the hell she wants me to say, anyway. We found a skeleton in a tunnel. End of.”

 “Creepy, though. I bought the thing up. It’s lying in the science lab right now while she hacks chunks out of it, or whatever she does.” She smiled, grabbing his arm, “Tell you what. My roommate’s going to be spending the next six hours down on the surface; why don’t we pick up something from the mess, go back to my place, and get your homework done between us. Then, if there’s time, I’ll give you an extra credit assignment.”

 “Sounds good, teach,” he said with a smile, as they headed to the elevator.

Chapter 8

 Holding a switch down on the primary control panel, Major Marshall paused as he looked around the control room of Discovery. Orlova sat in the pilot’s couch, looking at the old, antiquated equipment, running her fingers over the keys as she tried to imagine what it must have been like to take this ship out into uncharted space, being one of the first humans to leave Sol System and see what lay beyond. The crew of this ship were the real pioneers; they were just following in their footsteps.

 Standing at the rear of the room were the two members of the Major’s senior staff – the fierce Captain Lane, her sparring partner from her first meeting with the crew, and the quiet Captain Diego, Marshall’s executive officer. Both stood at parade rest while their commander paused, lost in thought, glancing around the room.

 Abruptly, he said, “I now conclude my final log entry as acting commander of this vessel, upon my relief by the T.S.S. Alamo, commanded by my son. We have done our best to care for this stranded ship and uphold the memory of her crew, and I charge anyone who follows us to similarly maintain the dignity of this vessel and those who once served on her. Data uplink to Alamo mainframe, all log entries made by Major William Marshall, and re-set command codes to default settings. I hereby yield command.”

 “After everything we went through to get access to those damn codes,” Lane said, shaking her head.

 “We might as well give the next people here an easier time of it,” the Major replied. “Though I rather hope that she is left just the way she is, a memorial to those who died here.”

 “Did you ever find out what happened to the crew?” Orlova said.

 Shaking his head, the Major replied, “We found a few bodies when we first moved in, and there was the one you found outside, but the last few weeks of log entries were erased. Everything after the ship assumed orbit of this planet.”

 “We really should have named it,” said Lane.

 “Call it Discovery,” Diego said. “Seems to fit.”

 “It does indeed. We’ll register it when we get home.”

 Lane and Diego looked at each other, and she said, “We should head for the shuttle. There’s no-one else left down here now.”

 “Are we sure that we have everything we wanted?”

 Orlova pulled a datapad out of her pocket, flipping down the list with her finger. “Everything on the manifest has been loaded aboard, all the equipment indicated by your staff, and a few things Alamo hands noticed. All the data in Discovery has been uploaded to Alamo.”

 “Sir, we’re finished here now,” Lane said.

 Nodding, he replied, “I know.” Looking around for one last time, he tapped the captain’s chair. “Strange. I’ve been here for years, desperate to get home, and when the time comes to leave, a part of me wants to stay.” Turning to the others, he nodded, saying, “What’s done is done. Let’s get up to Alamo.”

 As Lane and Diego left, he turned to leave, paused for a second, and turned the control room lights off, looking out over the view of the planet through the primary viewport until it as well went dark. Orlova could almost see the ghosts of the original crew working their stations, a part of them still here, before she turned out of the room to follow the others.

 The elevator was waiting for them, the lights in the corridor going out as they stepped in. With the evacuation of Discovery, the ship was conserving power for the day when it might once again be occupied. Everything seemed quiet, and she realized that the life support systems had been turned off, the constant low hum of the circulators dead. There would be more than enough air to keep them going until they left the ship in a few moments, and after that, no-one was going to need it.

 At the airlock, a few crewmen were waiting by Alamo’s shuttle, split into small groups, their chattering voices swallowed up by the silence. All stood to attention as the Major approached; he smiled, saluted, and gestured them towards the airlock.

 “Captain’s always the last to leave,” he said, as Orlova hesitated. “Go ahead and start your pre-flight checks; I’ll be up to the cockpit in a minute.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 Orlova turned to see him standing in the corridor, taking one last look as he made his way to a maintenance panel, throwing switches one after another to manually deactivate the last of the systems. She stepped through the airlock, past the silent evacuees, and settled down in the cockpit, burying herself in the familiarity of the shuttle systems. After a moment, the Major settled into the co-pilot’s seat next to her.

 “Mind if I ride up here, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “Not at all, sir,” she replied, tapping a button, “Alamo, this is Shuttle One. We’re about to take-off.”

 “Roger, Shuttle,” Zebrova’s voice replied. “Have a good flight.”

 “Thank you, Alamo.” With a loud thunk, the airlock door sealed shut, and she gently tapped at the lateral thrusters to kick them away from the ground, then activated the main engines to send them flying up into orbit, gently pushing herself back into her couch with the brief acceleration. She turned to the Major.  

 “We’ll be docking in about ten minutes, sir.”

 Smiling, he replied, “You always do manual takeoffs?”

 “I think it’s a good idea to keep in practice.”  

 Nodding, he continued, “I’m twelve years out of date, Sub-Lieutenant. Feel like helping an old man catch up a little?”

 She ran a quick eye over the systems, then said, “What do you want to know?”

 “How well do you know my son?”

 Orlova’s eyes widened. “I’ve served under him for almost two years, if that helps.”

 “What sort of commander is he?”

 “That isn’t what you really want to know, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

 His eyebrow rose. “Oh?”

 She pushed the control column away, turning to face the Major; once again she was startled by how closely father resembled son.

 “He’s never spoken of you with anything other than pride, sir. Whenever we got a clue about the location of Hercules, he followed it up – even if he had to stretch his orders to the limit to do it. He never stopped thinking that you were alive, and I know for a fact that the last holoimage he has of you is one of his most prized possessions.”

 The Major sat back in his chair, his cheeks reddening. “I see.”

 “I have a different perspective on this, sir. When we found my father, it took me weeks before I could work out how I felt about it. Both of us had moved on, there was that gap, but it was one of the greatest moments of my life. When I gave the Captain your message…”

 “You're the one who found it?”

 She nodded, “After we engaged a ship back at Luhman 16. The look on his face said everything you could ever want to know.” Putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. And to answer your original question, he’s an exceptional commander.”

 “Thank you for that.” He paused for a moment as the curve of the planet slowly appeared, the shuttle inexorably gaining speed as it reached for its rendezvous with Alamo up ahead. “What about you?”

 “Me?”

 “How did you get into the service?”

 “You can blame your son for that, sir.”

 “I think in private you can call me Bill. I don’t tend to keep a very formal ship.”

 “Thanks, s...Bill. I was a freelance shuttle pilot, and after I did a favor for the Captain, he offered me a uniform as a place to hide.” She chuckled. “Almost the first thing he did when he took command was dispatch a team of Espatiers out to steal some supplies. Steal back some supplies,” she added. “The previous captain had been rather lax at the end of his tenure, and hadn’t been watching what his deck officer was doing.”

 “He gave you a commission for that?”

 Shaking her head, she continued, “No, that came a few weeks later, down on Ragnarok, at the end of their short little civil war.”

 “A field commission? In peacetime?”

 “The Triplanetary Fleet was about a month old at that point, and it was touch and go whether it would last at all; I don’t think it would happen today. The bureaucrats are moving in.”

 “Hmm. I was wondering whether I should try to switch over to the unified fleet. I suppose that’s where the action is now.”  

 Taking another quick look at the controls to make sure everything was in good order, she replied, “I would. You’re staying in, then?”

 “I’m not that old. I still have another twenty years or so before I hit retirement age. Maybe they’ll even let me keep Hercules after we bring it home.”

 Orlova furrowed her brow, “That computer virus…”

 “Of course, you’re Security Officer, aren’t you. It was my spook’s idea; he created a Borgia virus. Half of it is already in the system, buried in the system scheduling software. It looks completely innocuous, but when I add the second half of the code – which I have – then all of a sudden everything goes onto lockdown, and the ship reverts to demanding my command codes. They’ll barely be able to flush the damn toilets without my say-so.”

 “Clever,” she replied. “I’d like to have a word with whoever programmed that.”

 The Major’s face dropped, “That won’t be possible. He died on Ghawar. Colin never even knew that we got a chance to use the damn program.”

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

 “We lost half a dozen people on that hell-hole. They didn’t have much consideration for their workers. Shaved money on the maintenance costs, made us repair our own spacesuits without giving us proper tools or spares.”

 “How many people were there?”

 “More than a thousand. We were all kept segregated for the most part, but I rather got the impression that they were using the place as a dumping ground for dissidents. The graveyard was not a small one.”

 “Damn.”

 He turned to look at the stars, a faint smile on his face. “Space again. After all these years. I know it’s just trading one ship for another, but it’s not the same at all. To be on the move, and to strike a blow against those bastards – that’s something I intend to relish.” Glancing at her, he continued, “They need to be stopped.”

 “I know,” she replied. “I’ve lost men in battles with them as well.”

 “When?”

 “Leading troops on the ground, down on Jefferson.”

 “I thought you were Security Officer?”

 With a wry grin, she said, “I think the Captain has a somewhat loose definition of that term at times; I was moonlighting as second in command of our ground forces at the time.” Her smile changed to a frown as she remembered. “I lost a lot of men during the final battle. Not something I want to repeat.” Turning back to him, she said, “I know they need to be stopped, Bill. You won’t get an argument from me on that score, and I doubt you’ll find anyone up on Alamo who feels differently.”

 “And my son?”

 “Commodore Tramiel hand-picked him to head up the hunt for the Cabal.”

 “I see.”

 A light flashed up on her console, and she glanced up to see the shape of Alamo ahead. Turning off the automatic systems, she started to play the thrusters around again, and looked back over at the Major.  

 “Sorry, I need to concentrate on this.”

 “By all means. May I?” he gestured at the communicator, and at her smile, he pressed a button and said, “This is Shuttle One, requesting docking clearance.”

 This time Zebrova’s voice was somehow warmer, “Clearance on request, Shuttle One, and welcome to Alamo, Major Marshall.”

 Gently, Orlova eased the shuttle into the elevator airlock, nodding as the clamps locked down and the doors slid shut, air hissing into the surrounding space. As the upper doors opened and the shuttle rose up to its place in the bay, she saw a crowd of people gathered around – all of those that had been rescued from the ship below. She looked across at the Major, who smiled.

 “You’d think after all this time they’d realize I was no good at making speeches,” he said, throwing off the seat restraints with a flourish and making for the cockpit airlock. Orlova stood up, standing in the doorway as he clambered out onto the deck. A spontaneous round of applause echoed around the cavernous bay, and he shook his head.

 “I don’t know what you are all cheering me for,” he said. “We owe our salvation to the crew of this ship. It’s taken nine years, but we’re all standing on the deck of a Triplanetary battlecruiser once again.” Another cheer rose up. “Nice as this ship is, though, I know it’s not the one we wanted. Well, we’re going to fix that. In a few days now Alamo is breaking orbit to get back our Hercules. We’re going home in style, ladies and gentlemen, back on our own ship again!”

 He spoke through the applause, “I know you’re all tired, and I know it has occurred to all of you that we could just go home now. I know it has to me; I want to get back to safety, see Mars again. But I want to put our flag back on Hercules’ hull, and I want that ship to be serving in its own fleet once more. She deserves a damn sight better than to be commanded by a bunch of mutineers and pirates. One more mission, then we can all go home. What do you say?”

 This time, the cheering didn’t stop for a long time.

Chapter 9

 Scrolling down the datapad, Marshall nodded as he approved the list of temporary crew assignments. Zebrova sat on the far side of his desk, her eyes wandering to the slowly shrinking planet behind them.

 “This looks good,” he said.

 “I didn’t see much point in giving any of our temporary crewmen critical functions; having them shadow some of the Alamo crew will give them an opportunity to sharpen themselves up ready for the transfer to Hercules.” She paused. “There is another file there you should take a look at.”

 Frowning, he switched across. This was a very different list, and mostly consisted of Alamo officers – several of them rated with brevet ranks. A few Hercules crewmen were listed, but none of them in key roles; it took him a second to realize that this was her proposed crew list for Hercules after the recapture of that vessel.

 Anticipating him, she said, “I am aware that this will not be what they were hoping for, but it’s been nine years since they crewed a starship, and I must question their current competence to do so. Two weeks is woefully insufficient time to conclude refresher training.”

 “At least you’ve left my father in the captain’s chair.”

 “There is no reason to believe that he cannot command a crew for the flight home; however, I feel that Lieutenant Caine would be far superior choice to support him as Executive Officer. Likewise Sub-Lieutenant Orlova to handle tactical duties, Sub-Lieutenant Steele…”

 “Stop,” he said, raising his hand. “I’m guessing you’ve only shown this to me.”

 “As senior officer, the decisions will be yours in any event.”

 “Haven’t they earned the right to fly their ship home, Lieutenant?”

 She looked up at the picture of his father on the wall, then said, “I don’t know if the Cabal will agree with that sentiment. In the event of a serious confrontation, their skills will be lacking, sir. It isn’t a question of what they have earned or their abilities as officers, simply a lack of recent practice.”

 Sighing, he paused for a moment. “Lieutenant, maybe this is just weakness on my part, but I can’t do it to them. Besides, there’s a factor you haven’t considered – Hercules is an older ship, and presumably has not received any of the upgrades Alamo has received over the years. They know their ship better than we do.”

 “That is certainly a factor, and I do think that Hercules personnel should be on board – but Alamo crewmen will be required, sir. Effectively, we’re going behind enemy lines, and are going past the point of no return for fuel. That situation requires the crew to be at their best.”

 Marshall looked down at the datapad again, scanning the list. Implementing it would leave Alamo without a lot of key people, that was unquestionable, and he’d have some concerns about stripping the ship that far in the event of a battle.

 “Lieutenant, we probably need to talk about the mission itself.”

 “As your Executive Officer, I completely support your decision, sir.”

 “Would you be doing it differently?” He paused, then said, “Speak freely.”

 “I don’t think I’d have risked it, sir. That doesn’t mean that the decision is wrong, nor does that mean that I disagree with your reasoning, it just means that our thresholds of acceptable risk are different. I do not believe that – given the time constraints – there is any other way of undertaking the mission than to follow Major Marshall’s plan.”

 “But you’d be going home.”

 “Probably.” She smiled, saying, “I’m not a battlecruiser commander, though. It doesn’t really matter what I think, for all you said in the briefing room.” Leaning forward, she continued, “If I can speak freely, I suspect that you are the one with a problem about this decision.”

 His eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

 “You have sought reassurance from both Lieutenant Caine and myself. We are both serving officers; we will obey your orders. The reason you are talking to me in this manner is that you are uncertain whether this decision is the correct one.”

 “Even I know that a Captain can never be indecisive…”

 “In public, sir,” she interrupted.

 “Or in private. Normally I don’t second-guess decisions.” He shook his head, “The potential rewards are so great this time, the databank of a ship that has been inside the Cabal – and no way for the enemy to delete their files.”

 “The coup of the century. You are correct about that. If it was just a matter of getting your father’s ship back…”

 “Then I’d be heading home. Keep a few of the Hercules crew on board as advisors, and make sure to send them back in such a way that Alamo could head back out again to continue its mission.”

 Nodding, she replied, “That would have been my suggestion.”

 “I see I’m learning,” he said with a smile.

 Pausing, she said, “Sir, for whatever it is worth, I believe that this plan has every chance of success.”

 “I certainly hope so. I’m betting both crews on it. I want you preparing contingency plans every step of the way, Lieutenant. Be alert to anything that comes up.”

 “I will, Captain, I assure you of that.”

 Passing the datapad back to her, he said, “As to the original discussion, go back and write up another version of the Hercules crew list. We’ll act on the assumption that Alamo will be doing all the heavy lifting for this operation – given that we have no idea what condition Hercules is in, that seems like the most sensible option.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “However, I agree that some Alamo crew should go over to support. No-one we can’t manage without, but I think some junior officers and crewmen. Keep it to what they actually need. Liaise with Major Marshall, see what he wants.”

 “I will, Captain,” she replied, frowning. “I think I have some ideas.”

 A voice echoed over the speaker, “Matsumoto, sir. Two minutes to jump.”

 “Right, on my way,” he said, turning to Zebrova, “How’s she working out as a shift commander?”

 “Satisfactorily, sir, as expected. I suspect she finds it easier than managing your paperwork.”

 Grinning, he said, “I really should start on that at some point.” He stood up, walking around his desk out of the room and onto the bridge. With careful poise, Matsumoto rose from his chair, nodded, and returned to her station, glancing across at Midshipman McGuire at the helm.

 “All systems go, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “Everything is nominal, Captain, she replied. All stations report ready for the hendecaspace transfer.”

 The doors behind him opened, and his father stepped out, flanked by Diego and Lane, looking beyond him through to the viewscreen. He took three paces to stand behind his son, resting his hand on the back of the command chair.

 “Do you mind if we watch?”

 “Not at all, Major,” Marshall replied, as he relaxed in his chair. “Take Tactical if you want.” He gestured towards the currently vacant station, noting Zebrova tensing slightly, but his father eagerly stepped forward, looking over the controls and nodding.

 “I think I remember what most of these buttons do.”

 Smiling, Marshall relaxed, looking at the course projection playing on the viewscreen. They seemed almost to be flying towards the dull red star at the heart of the system, the planet just visible at the bottom of the image.

 “Six years,” Lane muttered.

 McGuire looked up, “Do you want to see the planet, ma’am?”

 “Please.”

 A flick of a switch, and the planet appeared full in the screen, now a receding sphere. Soon it would be a distant memory, just another empty world used as an occasional transit point for starships heading out this way. Hopefully, Alamo would be one of them in about a month’s time, though he doubted that anyone was going to seek shore leave on the planet below.

 Just over a minute to go, and they would be shrouded in hendecaspace once again, the first leg on their journey. He started to glance at his datapad, looking at the long list of reports he had still to complete – the system was flagging that apparently he had to complete twelve years of annual assessments for the Hercules crew, and he rejected the ‘suggestion’, with a stab of a finger, before being distracted by Bryant at the sensor station.

 Stepping over to her station, he looked down at the readings, then at her raised face; they looked worryingly familiar to him, and she confirmed her suspicions with two words that chilled him.

 “Dimensional instability.”

 “Damn,” he replied.

 “That’s impossible,” Lane said. “The guardship isn’t due in for weeks!”

 “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Marshall said. “For all we know it’s someone out from the Confederation.” Turning back to the sensor operator, he continued, “Where?”

 “The far hendecaspace point.”

 “Hmm.” He turned to his father, “As a precaution, take us to standby alert.”

 “Right.” He looked down at the panel, and tapped a button, “Tactical to all hands. Standby alert. All hands to standby alert. Report status to bridge.” Glancing across at his son, he continued, “Did I get it right?”

 “Spot on.”

 “Ship emerging,” Bryant said. “Not that big, about half our size, and not listed in the warbook.”

 “Try to raise them, Ivanov,” Marshall said to the communications technician. Walking over to his father, he said, “Well?”

 “It’s the guardship.”

 “Three weeks early,” Lane said, shaking her head.

 “Anything, Spaceman?”

 Ivanov, glancing at his console, replied, “Nothing, Captain. Complete communications silence.”

 Rushing over to Tactical, Lane peered at the monitors, “Recommend we engage the guardship, Major.”

 “Not my call,” he replied turning to the Captain.

 Looking up at the strategic display, Marshall shook his head, “Proceed with the jump as planned, Midshipman.”

 “Damn it, we’ve got a chance to nail them now!”

 “All we have is a chance to dance around the system with them,” Marshall snapped. “I know you are anxious to strike the enemy, but this is neither the time nor place to do it. Time until jump?”

 “Twenty-two seconds, sir.”

 “Enemy ship is on the move, Captain,” Bryant said. “Heading towards the planet; I reckon they’re making for orbit.”

 “Fifteen seconds.”

 “We can’t just leave them here,” Lane said.

 “We haven’t got the time to waste in engaging them, either,” Marshall replied.”

 “Major?” she said, turning to his father.

 “Captain Marshall is in command. What he says goes.”

 Only slightly reassured, Marshall returned to his seat, scrutinizing the status board. At the very least, this was an opportunity to gather some information about their impending foes. Lane was still fuming at the front of the bridge, and it was a relief when the clock finally counted down to zero, and McGuire worked the controls. A brief blue flash, and the viewscreen winked out.

 “Transition successful, sir,” she said.

 “Very good, Midshipman. Major, Captain,” he turned to Zebrova, “Lieutenant, my office, now. Matsumoto, you have the deck.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 He rose from his chair, looking around the room; Diego was still standing at the rear, apparently unperturbed that he had not been invited to the meeting. Walking into his office, he stood behind his desk as the others filed in, staring at them as they approached.

 “Captain Lane, your behavior on the bridge was totally unacceptable.”

 Her eyes narrowing, she replied, “Cowardice in the face of the enemy…”

 “Captain!” he shouted. “I am aware that you are on active duty for the first time in nine years, and that you have been through a lot, and as a result I will overlook this incident.”

 She glanced across at the Major, who shook his head, then turned back to Marshall. “I apologize, Captain.”  

 Rarely had Marshall heard such an insincere reply, but he simply said, “Accepted. Dismissed.” As she left his office, he sat down in his chair, gesturing for the remaining officers to remain.

 “Well, Lieutenant,” he said to Zebrova, “What do you think?”

 “I think our window to accomplish this mission has been significantly reduced.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Agreed. Doubtless their first course of action will be to report our presence and the escape of their prisoners, and I suspect that means alerting Hercules.”

 “This is a first,” his father said. “They’ve always appeared like clockwork in the past; I’d assumed they were running on a standard schedule.”

 “That schedule appears to have changed,” Zebrova said.

 “Possibly it is as simple as that; a change to an established schedule.”

 Marshall shook his head, “Too big a coincidence for me.”

 “The word exists for a reason, son.”

 “So do patrol ships.”

 “There’s no way they can have known we’d be here, though,” Zebrova said, frowning. “There just hasn’t been time for a ship to get from Sol to anywhere they might be able to report.”

 Rubbing his hand across his chin, Marshall replied, “You realize that you are implying that they are expecting us for some other reason.”

 “I know that.”

 “How?” his father said. “There’s no way that they could have received any warning.”

 “Perhaps. I don’t like having enemy forces in my rear, though.”

 There was a long pause before his father leaned forward, saying, “Are you thinking of aborting the mission?”

 His father’s eyes had a thin measure of desperation in them, his hands gripping the table and bleeding his knuckles white. Finally, Marshall shook his head, and his father breathed a deep sigh.

 “No. Not just for this. If I had some evidence other than circumstantial, I might have a different opinion, but as it stands, we continue the mission as planned – but Lieutenant, I want every atom of Hipparchus analyzed. If there is the slightest sign of Cabal activity, we’re running for home. Is that clear?”

 “Perfectly, Captain,” she said.

 “Fine. Dismissed.”

 His father remained as Zebrova walked out of the room, turning in his chair to watch her depart before looking up at his picture on the wall, smiling with recognition.

 “I still remember when that was taken.”

 “I always took it with me, whenever I changed assignments. Dad…”

 He nodded, “You have to think of the ship first, son. I know that much. If it looks like you are going to put Alamo at undue risk, turn around and go home.” Smiling, he continued, “And I know that you hardly need my blessing to do that.”

 “I’m glad to have it, anyway.”

 “I don’t know what came over Claudia…”

 “Frustration. As long as she remembers who is in charge, the rest doesn’t matter – at least, not for the moment. She’ll be your problem again before long.”

 “I hope so.” He looked up at the picture again. “Maybe we should get a new picture taken for your wall. It’s about time you had a new one.”

Chapter 10

 The viewscreen in the Observation Lounge had been set with the maximum possible filter, and still the huge red sun burned brighter than Sol ever had, filling the entire screen and bathing the room with an eerie light. Orlova had never been anything like this close to a star before, less than half a million miles, and though she knew it was simply subconscious, sweat beaded up on her forehead.

 “I swear I feel as though I’m getting a suntan,” Carpenter said, shaking her head.

 “If there’d been another egress point in this lousy system, we’d have used it.” She looked over at her friend, continuing, “I guess you had no luck with the Captain, then.”

 “I’m supposed to be the damn Science Officer, aren’t I? The first time I give him any sort of recommendation, and he just ignores it. Not to mention that some brain-dead bureaucrat back home decided that the only paleontologist in the fleet didn’t have a ‘need to know’ about the discovery of a Neanderthal Man on one of the moons of Uranus.”

 “It is being researched…,” Orlova began.

 Pacing to the far side of the room, Carpenter interrupted, “By astroarchaeologists! That’s even worse! I should be back there, running a dig, not out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  With a wry smile, she replied, “Don’t you think this is important enough to merit your attention, Susan?”

 “That’s the whole point! I’m no use here, Maggie. You need an expert in computer systems, a tactician, another espatier, hell, a low-grade food technician would be more use than me! I’ll be spending battle stations hanging around in sickbay again, putting my four-day first-aid course to use.”

 “Medics are useful.”

 “More so if they have medical training.” Shaking her head, she flopped down on one of the chairs, “I’m ranting, and I’m sorry.”

 “Feel free,” Orlova replied, taking another chair. “Get it out of your system.”

 “The discovery of a lifetime, Maggie. Of a hundred lifetimes. Justification for everything I’ve ever done.”

 “You’ve got the body, haven’t you?”

 She nodded, smiling, “I’m getting to the limits of what I can do with the equipment I’ve got here, but I've got material for a dozen papers. It’s at least ten thousand years old, maybe more, and the suit...well…”

 “Go on.”

 “Any of us could wear it. The design is fundamentally different, but it does exactly the same thing. Less rugged than our designs, but a lot more mobility. I don’t think they were expecting a battle.”

 “Or whoever was employing them wanted them to die easily if needed.”

 Carpenter fixed Orlova with a stare, “You aren’t serious.”

 “Totally serious. You’re assuming that they were there of their own volition.”

 “Yes, actually.”

 “Why?”

 “Because of what they were doing. Look, an interstellar-capable culture has far better ways to extract underground ore than sending people to smash rocks into the ground. The only explanation is cultural – some sort of religious act, or something like that. Their equivalent of a pilgrimage, perhaps.”

 “Your point?”

 “They’d have to be given the freedom to do it.”

 Nodding, Orlova replied, “I see your point. Slavers wouldn’t go that far out of their way to allow their captives to complete a religious ritual. Unless they were based there?”

 “No evidence of that. The mine is the only sign I saw, and believe me, I went over the whole planet. That’s what is so strange, though the stones look nice, there isn’t anything special about them.”

 “You could be over-thinking this.”

 With a smile, Carpenter said, “If I was working on it properly…” She glanced down at Orlova’s datapad. “That’s a priority message you’re getting.”

  “Damn. Sound on this unit’s on the fritz, I need to draw a new one.” She pulled it out of her pocket, looked at the message, tossed the datapad onto the deck with a rattle, and started to swear in three languages.

 “Something wrong?”

 “I’m being transferred. To Hercules.”

 “What?”

 “That was the message. Apparently my services are no longer required here. Damn it, I know what’s going to happen.”

 “What?”

 Sighing, she said, “The Captain’s going to send Hercules home, with yours truly stuck running Tactical on a ship that won’t be fighting any battles, and then go out again. Leaving me behind, and destined for a desk job.”

 “Come on, now you’re over-thinking things.”

 “Hercules already has someone to ride that station, Susan. I met him once, and that was enough. They don’t need me over there.”

 Carpenter picked up the datapad, scanning the message, “This is a class-one, a mandatory transfer, just like the one I got. No option.”

 “To hell with that,” she replied. “I’m going to see the Captain. If I’ve done anything wrong, I’ll grovel.”

 “Have you?”

 “Not that I know of. Must be damn serious though. See you later.”

 Clutching the datapad, she stormed into the elevator, a finger jabbing the controls to send it to the bridge. She read the message four more times on her way up, the cold text of the automatically-generated order ringing through her head. Perhaps it was just some sort of mistake, an error.

 The door opened, and she walked out onto the bridge; Nelyubov, the man she had just been assigned to replace, was hovering over Caine at tactical. He looked up, flashing her a dirty look – evidently he had received the same message that she had, and she couldn’t blame him for being angry. Pacing over to the Captain’s office, she tapped for entry, rapping her fingers on the door while she waited for it to open.

 “Come in, Sub-Lieutenant,” Marshall said, and she stormed in, placing the datapad on the desk.

 “Sir, why I am I being transferred?”

 “Direct as ever. Have a seat.”

 “I’d rather stand, sir.”

 “Don’t mistake an order for a request.” She sat down, and he continued, “The order is correct, and there has been no mistake, and I’m not going to change my mind.”

 “Did I do something wrong, sir?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Quite the reverse, Sub-Lieutenant. You are an excellent officer, and fully qualified to handle the tactical station. My father and I have reviewed the record of Lieutenant Nelyubov, and to be honest, we both feel that you are a better choice for the job.”

 “I’m sure he’d do a fine job…”

 “He rode that station for two months before Hercules was captured, following the death of his predecessor, and never even went to Tactical School. You’ve got the edge on him.” He paused, leaning back on his chair. “Look, if this goes according to plan, neither Hercules or Alamo are going to see any sort of combat, nothing to speak of, in any case. But if things go wrong, they’ll need an excellent officer at that station.”

 “I would prefer to remain on Alamo, Captain.”

 “Whilst I am happy to know that you like it here, that isn’t how the service works. You go where you are sent, where you are needed, and right now, that is on Hercules, not Alamo. We can do without our Security Officer for a while.”

 “For a while? This isn’t permanent?”

 Marshall paused before replying, “I honestly don’t know. That’s going to depend strictly on what happens after we take Hercules. I will try to get you back, though – assuming the Major is willing to let you go.”

 “And Nelyubov?”

 “I understand he is to revert to his old job commanding, ah, Gamma Watch,” he said, glancing at a list on a screen. “Try not to let him give you any trouble – and feel free to provide him with some training if you have ideas about replacing yourself.”

 “I will, sir,” she replied.

 “This is nothing personal, Sub-Lieutenant. I’m sending you over there because of my regard for your abilities, and because you are needed there.”

 “I understand, sir.”

 “Better start arranging to hand your duties over to Quinn for a while. I’ll make sure there is still a Security department for you to come home to. Dismissed.”

 Saluting, she turned and left the room, now deflated, walking out across the bridge without really being aware of her surroundings; it took a shake on the shoulder from Zebrova to jerk her back into reality again.  

 “Are you with us, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “Sorry, ma’am.”

 “Indeed. I need to speak to you, anyway.” She turned to the duty officer, “Kibaki, you have the deck.”

 “I have the deck, ma’am,” he replied, and Zebrova led Orlova into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind them. Instead of punching for a destination, she locked them in, freezing it in position.

 “Major Marshall has borrowed my office for the moment, so we might as well use this. No-one’s going to hear us, in any case.”

 “Why should anyone want to?”

 “I can guess what your little meeting with the Captain was about; if it makes you feel any better, sending you over to Hercules was my idea.”

 “What?”

 She smiled, “I suppose I can retroactively give you permission to speak freely. Has it occurred to you how...convenient, all of this has been?”

 “Ma’am, I found the original message, and it was a very clever piece of work…”

 “Even so,” Zebrova interrupted. “I still don’t like the chain of coincidences. Nevertheless, Hercules is valuable enough to take the risk.”

 “What has that to do with my transfer?”

 “I don’t trust the crew.” She paused, raising a hand, “Their abilities, primarily. They’re rusty, Sub-Lieutenant, and in a crisis situation, that could be extremely dangerous. I need someone over there who can react quickly, and who has recent combat experience. You are the best choice for that job.”

 Frowning, she replied, “Thank you, ma’am.”  

 “That...and I want someone over there I can trust. I want you to keep an eye on….”

 Lines formed on Orlova’s forehead, “I will not spy on any crew I am a part of.”

 “And I wouldn’t ask you to. I do ask that you keep an eye on anything going on around you, and that you be ready to act if the situation calls for it. We had an outburst on the bridge, Captain Lane wanting to take on that patrol craft. Suppose she had the bridge of Hercules and a similar situation took place.”

 “What are you saying?”

 “That the commander of both ships, the overall operational commander, is Captain Marshall, not Major Marshall. Both of them are the same equivalent rank, but our Marshall has the seniority. Most of the Hercules crew will not think that way, understandably. I need you to remind them who is in command.”

 “The Major wouldn’t do anything.”

 Shaking her head, Zebrova replied, “I’m inclined to agree. I’m not so sure about Captain Lane, Lieutenant Nelyubov, or any of the others.”

 “You’re putting me in a very difficult position, Lieutenant.”

 “I’m aware of that. Think of this as the penalty you pay for being an excellent officer. You’ve reacted quickly in a crisis before, and in such situations, you have performed well. I need a known quantity in a senior position, and what more senior than the one in charge of the weapons and defenses.”

 “Does the Captain know about this talk?”

 “I think it better to keep him out of the loop.”

 “I see.”

 Folding her arms, Zebrova said, “All that I am asking you to do is to keep your eyes and ears open, and respect the chain of command. That shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

 “It isn’t, ma’am.”

 “Then I think we can both go about our business. The best of luck to you in your new posting.” She unlocked the doors, and walked back out onto the bridge.

 Calling after her, Orlova said, “Thank you, ma’am, I think I’m going to need it,” then closed the doors before she could react. Her finger hovered over the button for the Engineering deck, but she decided to switch over to her quarters instead. It was going to take her a long time to put everything into storage on the cargo decks. She’d be damned if she’d take everything over to Hercules. Not when she had every intention of coming back as soon as possible.

Chapter 11

 Datapads were strewn across Marshall’s desk, but none of them were capturing his attention; his gaze was totally focused on the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until emergence. He’d hoped to distract himself with the paperwork backlog, but it had been a hopeless exercise. A cup of cold coffee sat moldering on his desk, next to a half-eaten sandwich; relics of his three-hour vigil. Finally, he stood up, took a last glance down, and stepped out onto the bridge.

 Without a word, Zebrova stood up from his command chair, moving to the standby crewman position at the rear of the bridge while he slid in, smiling. That position was meant for a midshipman, waiting in case someone fell in a critical moment, not the executive officer. His father was hovering over the sensor station at the rear, breathing down the duty technician’s neck; Spinelli was looking up at his controls, hands poised, ready for action.

 The elevator doors slid open and Caine walked out, making for her station, rubbing her hands down the side of her trousers. Less than a minute to go, but bitter experience taught him that it would be yet another of the longest minutes of his life. His father moved over to stand beside him.

 “Nervous, son?” he whispered.

 “I’d be crazy not to be,” he replied. “Steele, what’s the story?”

 “All systems at stand-by readiness, all stations are ready for normal space.”

 “Midshipman, you have the call.”

 “Aye, sir,” Tyler acknowledged.

 Taking a deep breath, he turned to Caine, “Lieutenant, bring the ship to battle stations, if you please.”

 “Yes, sir,” she replied, leaning over a microphone, “Tactical to crew. Battle stations, battle stations. This is no drill.” A series of lights began to wink from green to red on her status panel, and after just ten seconds, she turned to Marshall. “New record.”

 “They’ve been on standby for long enough.”

 “Three weeks,” his father muttered. “That’s long enough, all right.”

 The strategic holoprojection popped up on Marshall’s left, and he started to examine it once again, occupying himself through the last seconds. All they had on the system was based on the testimony of the Hercules crew and a few long-range observations, Alamo had targeted the innermost planet of the system, a battered brown ball with two large moons, close in – a nice, tight emergence point. The station was in orbit over the planet, as low as the Cabal dared. Most of the markings were provisional, the details they needed sorely lacking. At least they’d come out of this with some decent observations.

 “Five seconds, Captain,” Tyler said from the helm. “Four.”

 “Let’s go get ‘em,” his father said.

 The lights flickered for a second, and the stars reappeared on the viewscreen, all slightly changed from their last positions. The moon was instantly dominant, a series of browns with a pair of gleaming ice caps, a gash ripped down the equator as if someone had hacked at it with a sword in the primordial past. The view wasn’t his first thought, though.

 “Spinelli?”

 The sensor operator turned with a predatory grin, “Just as advertised, skipper.”

  If anything, the station was larger than that of Jefferson, gleaming with solar arrays around the outside – and flying out of it, the familiar lines of Hercules. The pilot glided into open space and swung around towards Alamo with evident practiced skill; intercept lines leapt forward between the two.

 “Return the favor, Mr. Tyler,” he said.

 “Aye, sir.”

 “Time to intercept?”

 “Thirty-five minutes, sir,” Spinelli said.

 Nodding, he turned to Weitzman. “Let’s observe the formalities. Hail them. We need a handshake into their systems anyway.”

 “Aye, sir.” Tapping a button, he continued, “Channel open.”

 “This is the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo, Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall commanding. On behalf of my government I order you to stand down and return the Hercules to Triplanetary control. I will guarantee safe passage for those members of the current crew who were not involved in the original act of piracy that stole her.”

 His father stood next to him, implacable. Neither of them expected for a second that they would actually surrender, but it would at least serve to camouflage their actual battle plans for a few moments longer. The screen lit up and a sneering man wearing the same uniform as the Commandant back on Jefferson; all white, with silver flashes of rank on the shoulders.

 “This is Commander Osborne of the Hercules. How about this? If you turn over the Alamo to me I will give you safe passage back to the Confederation.”

 “Commander?” said his father. “Senior Corporal’s nearer the mark, Dick, and that was temporary.”

 “A lot has changed while you’ve been rotting away on that old hulk.”

 “Nothing important.”

 Osborne leaned forward in his chair, shaking his head, “I know you are trapped here, and so do you. I’ll make a better offer. I’ll trade you fuel for your father.”

 Turning to Weitzman, Marshall said, “Turn that bastard off.” The technician hastily complied, and Marshall was kicked back in his chair as Tyler began the burn towards Hercules.

 “Your report, Spinelli? Does he have anything to be smug about?”

 “I’m not picking up any other activity in space, sir. Some signals from the surface of the moon ahead and the atmosphere of the gas giant, mining operations I think. No sign of anything else coming after us, and nothing from the station except Hercules.” He paused, shaking his head. “Correction. Energy spikes from the far side of the station, fighter squadron launching. Ten, no, twelve, all on an intercept vector. Burning pretty fast, sir; they’ll be on us in fifteen minutes. Four minutes before Hercules now that we’re on the move.”

 “Caine?”

 “Nothing in the warbook, Captain. I’d say we’re getting our first look at domestic Cabal fighters at work.”

 “I could have waited for the experience. Threat assessment?”

 “Missile carriers. I’m not picking up any signs of particle beams, and they’re too small to be hiding them.” She turned with a smile, “We can take them.”

 “Hercules has gone weapons-live, sir,” Spinelli reported. “No apparent modifications to original Martian specifications.”

 “Which gives us the edge in any case,” Marshall said, nodding. “With all due respects,” he continued, looking up at his father.

 “A part of me wants to see that battle, but I think I can live without it for another day.” His father walked over the communications station, “If I may, Mr. Weitzman?”

 “By all means, Major,” the technician replied, yielding his console to the older man; he started to enter a sequence of commands, pulling a battered datapad out of a pocket and connecting it up to Alamo’s systems.

 “Damn,” he said.

 Marshall’s eyes widened, “Something wrong?”  

 “They’ve upgraded their firewalls. I should have expected this.” Tapping a button, he continued, “Major Marshall to Security.”

 “Orlova here.”

 “We need the Hercules firewall breached.”

 “Working on it.”

 “Work fast, Sub-Lieutenant,” Marshall added. Turning to Caine, he continued, “We might have to fight this battle after all.”  

 “Fighters splitting into three attack wings, sir,” Spinelli said. “Looks like they’re going for a three-wave attack. Classic Martian battle tactics.”

 “Interesting. They’ve done that a bit early,” Caine said.

 “Close all blast doors, lock down the ship,” Marshall said to the flight engineer. A series of slams echoed around the ship as each compartment was isolated from the next, a precaution in the event the ship’s hull was breached. His father continued to furiously work at the communications station, working with Orlova and her crew to get the second half of his virus into position. At a signal, Quinn took the spin off the ship, and Marshall felt the familiar queasiness in his stomach as he adjusted to the reduced gravity, strapping himself into his chair.

 Seconds ticked into minutes as the two ships closed on each other, scanners probing for weakness, slight shifts in acceleration to fool the other’s tactical teams, occasional minute adjustments to course to get every possible advantage, any edge that could make the difference in the battle to come. The fighters swept forward, recklessly spending fuel; they were on a one-way mission, dependent on someone to come and rescue their drifting ships once the battle was over.

 “Come on, come on,” he muttered, looking over at the communication station. The fighters were now less than a minute away from firing range.

 “We’re almost there,” his father replied.

 “Work quickly.” Turning his chair forward, he watched the fighters heading towards them, now just about visible to the naked eye as small points of light, their engines burning white-hot.

 “Energy spike from the first wave!” Spinelli said, and four lines appeared on the screen, missile course projections.

 “They know their stuff, sir! All of those are aimed at key systems,” Caine said. “Countermeasures working.”

 “Random walk, Mr. Tyler. Let’s confuse them.”

 “Missile salvo ready, sir,” Caine continued, breaking in.

 “Fire at will, Lieutenant.”

 Alamo rocked as six missiles raced away, the first of their retaliatory shots. Caine furiously worked at her controls to guide the missiles into their targets, whilst supervising the defensive systems as they pounded at the incoming missiles. Three of them started to twist off onto different tracks, but the fourth was still bearing right down on them.  

 “Second salvo launched!” Caine said, “First missile impact in six seconds.”

 “All hands, brace for impact,” Marshall said as the ship rocked, the missile tearing into the hull plating. Prentis started to work his engineering board, sending damage control teams running to the site of the impact. Four new stars joined the sky as Caine’s salvo hit home, and the incoming missiles started to deviate from their course, now absent their control computers.

 “Second fighter wave in eight seconds.”

 “Picking up three suits drifting near the wreckage of the fighters,” Spinelli said. “Looks like they managed to get away.” He smiled, “Hercules just launched a shuttle on their track, best guess a search-and-rescue craft.”

 “Damage report, sir,” Prentis said. “Outer hull breach, inner hull secure, secondary sensor array is out. Repairs in progress.”

 “Watch that section, Tyler,” Marshall said. “Keep that part of the ship away from the missiles. Spread the impacts.” He continued, smiling, “Though avoiding them would be better.”

 “Launching salvo,” Caine said, sending her next wave of missiles into the air. She looked at Marshall, grimacing in frustration. This was classic fleet tactics; send the fighters in to poke at the approaching ship and wear it down, forcing it to spend its ammunition. Wasteful on fighter pilots if they couldn’t evacuate in time.

 “Missiles incoming, eight of them this time!” Spinelli said.

 “They’re using them while they’ve got them.”

 All he could do was watch as the missiles ranged in; one by one, Alamo’s defense systems swatted them out of the sky, but three of them were still closing on his ship, too close to stop them. Projected impact sites began to flash in red, and Marshall held his breath, hearing the all-too-familiar tearing sound from the hull as they smashed into his ship. At least Caine’s missiles had knocked out the fighters, only four living through the assault.  

 “Prentis?”

 “Nothing serious, sir,” he said, surprised. “Outer hull damage in three areas, refueling systems disabled and we’ve lost some of the emergency airlocks.”

 “That’s all?”

 “Yes, sir. No casualties reported, no battle-critical systems affected.”

 “Last wave of fighters is slowing, sir,” Spinelli said. “Looks like they’re going for a co-ordinated strike with Hercules – which will be in range in ninety seconds now, sir.”

 “Dad…,” he said, forgetting decorum. “Where’s that code!”

 “Coming, coming, we’re almost through the firewall.”

 “Caine, stand by on laser array. If that code doesn’t work, I want that ship disabled.”

 “If you damage it too much...” his father started.

 “If they damage us too much none of us get back,” Marshall snapped in reply. “Laser for Hercules, missiles for the fighters, Deadeye.”

 “You took the words right out of my mouth, skipper,” she replied, eyes locked on her screen.

 “Sixty seconds to firing range,” Spinelli said.

 Tyler turned to Marshall, “I can slow the ship, buy more seconds…”

 “And we’re in firing range for twice as long. Maintain course and speed, Midshipman.”

 “Forty-five seconds. Hercules missile bay doors open, fighters moving to flanking position.”

 “Targeting Hercules bridge,” Caine said. “Maybe I can beat them to the draw with the laser.”

 The seconds counted down, Marshall’s father furiously working his controls in a desperate attempt to save his ship, to save both of them. Finally, with a triumphant grin on his face, he turned to his son.

 “We’re in! Code deployed!”

 “Energy spike from Hercules,” Spinelli said. “Four missiles, ranging.”

 “Hold fire, Deadeye,” Marshall said. “How long should it take to work?” he asked his father.

 “Seconds, I hope.”

 All eyes were on the approaching battlecruiser, the missiles dueling with Alamo’s countermeasures as the fighters began to surge forwards, ready to unleash their own deadly payloads. Then, slowly, Hercules began to drift off course, and her engines faded out.

 Spinelli waved a fist in the air, “Hercules power systems are down, sir!”

 “I’m getting a lot of communications traffic, weak as a kitten,” Weitzman added.

 “Missiles are deflecting, I guess they got a dose of the virus as well,” Caine said.

 Marshall relaxed, sighing with relief. “Try hailing Osborne again. Maybe he’ll be in more of a mood to talk after this. Though the only safe passage I’ll offer him now is to the brig.”

 The fighters curved off, spending the last of their fuel to put them safely out of range of Alamo. Now that the battlecruiser could concentrate on them, the chances of their sacrifice doing anything useful were almost non-existent, and the pilots didn’t want to throw their lives away.

 “Search and rescue shuttle in firing range, sir,” Spinelli said.

 “Let them do their job,” he replied. “Anything from Hercules, Weitzman?”

 “Nothing, sir. I’m not even sure they can respond, though.”

 His father poked at the console, “I’ve got almost total system access now. The virus is pretty much everywhere – all they have are a few manual backups.”

 Tapping a button on his chair, Marshall said, “Hercules neutralized, return to stand-by alert. Repeat, return to stand-by alert.”

 Almost as if the fates had heard him, Spinelli yelled, “Energy spike from Hercules, aft.”

 “Missiles?”

 “No, sir, shuttles. Four, five, seven, eight...I’d say they’re abandoning ship, Captain.”  

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Heading for the station, I presume.”

 “Mostly. Two of them seem to be trying for the surface of the moon.”

 Weitzman added, “There’s some message traffic, but it’s in a code I can’t decipher. Computers are working on it now.”

 “Looks like we managed to pull this one off after all,” Caine said.  

 “I never had a doubt.”

 Marshall stood up, turning to his father, “There it is, Major.”

 Tears were welling up in his father’s eyes, and he shook his head in a vain attempt to dismiss them. “Nine years. I’d almost given up hope of ever seeing her again.”

 Turning to the front of the bridge, Marshall said, “Steele, are the transfer shuttles ready?”

 “Ready to go, sir.”

 “I don’t think we need the espatier boarding teams now, Captain,” Caine said. “She’s tumbling, drifting dead in space. I suspect they were able to evacuate the entire crew.”

 “Agreed. Have the espatiers stand down for the moment, and prepare to assault the fueling station.” He looked around the bridge, “We haven’t won this one until our fuel tanks are full and we’re on our way home, people. Let’s make the magic happen. Mr. Tyler, plot a course for the station and execute at best speed.” He turned to his father, “Major Marshall, if you would assume the bridge of the Hercules?”

 “It would be a pleasure, Captain,” he replied, sprinting to the elevator as though afraid the shuttles would leave without him. Marshall smiled, then returned to his chair, Zebrova moving to his side, swaying slightly in the lower gravity.

 “Well, we pulled it off, sir.”

 “Half-off, Lieutenant.”

 “I just hope the other half goes as smoothly, Captain.”

 “You and me both.”

Chapter 12

 Orlova watched as Hercules grew closer and closer, gently playing her shuttle’s thrusters to provide Major Marshall the best possible view of his old ship as she approached. She looked very much like a smaller version of Alamo, sleeker fuel tanks in the central core, and lacking the complicated latticework of the central laser, but still recognizably of the same family of ships.

 Lights were blazing from all the docking ports as the ship tumbled end over end, the occasional random twist from a misfiring maneuvering jet giving Orlova real problems as she lined up for docking, easing ever nearer. She was aiming for a spot on the top-side, forward; a small emergency airlock behind the bridge used for emergency evacuation, with a half-sized docking bay just large enough for her to settle the shuttle down.

 “Enjoying the ride, sir?” she asked.

 “The view’s just beautiful, Sub-Lieutenant. Just beautiful.”

 She glanced up from her controls for a second to see him staring at the lines of his ship, his face rapt, fixed forward, his eyes glowing brighter as they approached, lips curled in a wide smile. She could swear there was a trace of moisture running down his cheek, but decided not to notice it; Captains never cried, at least not in public. Even when there was more than sufficient cause.

 “Hang on, everyone,” she called back to the rear compartment. “When we dock, it might be a little rough.”

 The computer track resembled a tight spiral, weaving gently in, but she decided to push for an immediate lock; it had not escaped her that Alamo was getting further away with every second, and that they were going to need their shuttles back if they were to launch their espatier assault on schedule. She grimaced; under other circumstances, she’d probably be leading that raid. Glancing up, she saw the white-hot tail of Alamo in the distance, pulling ahead, then focused back on the task at hand.

 “Closing for docking. Ten seconds.”

 The faintest tap on a thruster, and the shuttle settled into its position, and with a longer burst, slid down onto the latches. She waited for something to go wrong, then heard the clang-and-rattle of the clamps engaging, the extendable airlock coming out to connect the two ships together. The lights on her board were green, and she turned to the Major.

 “Docking complete, sir.” She began to stand, but he placed a hand on her shoulder.

 “What are you doing?”

 She looked across at him, “I should go on board first, sir. In case the mutineers left some surprises for us.”

 “I’ll take that chance. You finish your post-flight.”

 “Sir…”

 Snapping her with a stare, he said, “Your concern for my well-being is appreciated, but following orders would be more so. Clear?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 Nodding, he stood up, pulled a pistol out of the overhead locker and snapped it into a holster, and walked over to the door, while Orlova hurriedly switched the on-board controls over to remote operation from Alamo. While one hand worked, the other was reaching for her own sidearm; while she wasn’t going to disobey an order, neither was she going to let her new commander walk along into what could easily be a trap.

 The door slid open, and the Major walked out into the corridor, his hand hovering over the door control. Orlova scrambled out of her seat after him, one last look at the control panel, a trio of crewmen behind her.

 “Strange,” he muttered. “After all this time…” He turned, saying, “That was a hell of a quick systems check, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Didn’t want to miss anything, sir.”

 He smiled, nodded, and tapped the button, the door sliding smoothly open onto Hercules’ flight deck. His eyes wide, he stepped out onto the bridge, Orlova following with her hand resting on the butt of her gun, ready for anything. It looked completely different to Alamo’s bridge; a single chair at the heart of the control room, monitors on the ceiling flashing systems status and tactical information.

 Four stations were arranged around the chair, a large viewscreen ahead; flight engineering, guidance, tactical, and a combined sensor/communication station. All the equipment was old, and worn from more than a decade of use; a large coffee stain spread across the carpet by the captain’s chair, one of the lights in a corner of the bridge taped over for some long-forgotten reason. The occasional replacement panel stood out from its companions, gleaming white amid gunmetal gray.

 The Major walked forward, resting a hand on his chair, and said, “Old friend, it’s been far too long.” Turning it to face him, he sat down, running his hands down the chair’s arms, relaxing into the cushions, then turned to face the four others standing on the bridge; Orlova and the current watch crew – Mathis and Ballard, as well as the duty officer.

 “Lieutenant Curry,” he said to the dark-skinned officer standing next to Orlova, “Enter in the ship’s log, this time and date, that I, Major Marshall, have assumed command of this vessel.” Turning to Mathis, who was still in the corridor as though afraid to return to his post, he said, “Try to get the communications systems working. I want to make contact with Alamo at the earliest opportunity.”

 “Aye, sir,” he said, finally walking over to his console. Curry walked to the forward station, easing into the helm position with a beaming smile, running her hands over the barely-remembered controls. Orlova heard a loud rattle from the airlock, turning with a start; the shuttle had disengaged, and begun its long journey back to Alamo – without her.

 “Don’t worry, ma’am,” Ballard said. “I brought your kit out with mine.” She gestured towards a small pile of holdalls in the corner, then walked over to her engineering station, throwing switches. The Major was tapping a series of commands into the panel on his right armrest, nodding with each green light.

 “It’s accepting my command codes. We’ve got complete access.” Glancing up, he said, “Take Tactical, Orlova. Full weapons systems status, please.”

 “Yes, sir,” she replied, walking over to her station, looking over the unfamiliar panel. She’d studied the systems in her room back on Alamo, even looked at holographic representations, but that wasn’t like looking at the real thing. Calling up a quick status report, she began the laborious process of arranging the panels to suit her needs.

 “Hercules responding to flight controls now,” Curry reported. “Computing a course to the station.”

 “Weapons systems show ready, sir,” Orlova said. “There’s a salvo of missiles already in the racks, magazines otherwise full. Countermeasures systems are out, but I should be able to get them back fairly quickly. Combat fabricators aren’t working at the moment, so we’re limited to twenty-four missiles until engineering can get them back on-line.”

 “Prioritize those countermeasures, Orlova. Alamo can provide the heavy support, but I want to be in a position where we can at least look after ourselves.”

 “Aye, sir. I’m working on the ship’s logs and records as well. As soon as we have external communications we should copy the whole lot to Alamo.”

 “Good idea, Sub-Lieutenant. Work on that.”

 She started to get to work, still trying to get used to the systems; everything seemed to take longer than it did on Alamo, and though it was only a matter of milliseconds, it was still somehow noticeable. A lot of the systems were simpler, missing the developments and improvements of the last decade; some of the shortcuts she was accustomed to weren’t in place.

 “Captain Lane to Bridge,” a voice echoed around the room; that was good news, at least internal communications were working again.

 “Bridge, aye,” the Major replied.

 “Engineering and life support secured, all looks good down here.”

 “Good. See if you can get someone to the combat fabricators; they’re showing up here as non-functional. Have you found any sabotage?”

 “Nothing serious. Lots of things turned off, a few cut cables, that sort of thing. They were probably in too much of a hurry to get out to do too much damage.”

 “Diego here,” a voice broke in. “I’m at the armory, and it’s been stripped bare. All the racks are empty. I’m going to start a search of the ship, make sure no-one was left behind.”

 “Focus on essential areas only, and close the blast doors on anywhere you can’t get to. We need to get this ship ready for action as quickly as we can.” He turned to face Tactical, “How are my countermeasures, Orlova?”

 A green light winked on as he spoke, and she replied, “The electronic shields are back up again – we’re the ones who smashed those down, to get the virus in – and the decoy and flare controls are ready as soon as the fabricators come back on-line.”

 “Good.”

 “Ready to initiate course change,” Curry said. “I hope.”

 “Let’s see if she still works. Punch it.”

 The ship rotated on its axis, the stars sliding past the viewscreen as it turned to face the planet ahead, then Orlova felt herself being pushed back into her chair by the acceleration as the engines fired. A series of amber lights flashed onto the flight engineering station, but Ballard quickly switched them back to green with some quick manipulations of the controls.

 “On course, Major,” Curry said. “We should arrive at the station about fifty-three minutes after Alamo.”

 “Excellent. See if you can shave some time off that, Lieutenant.”

 “I’ll do my best, Major.”

 Having prepared the ship for combat, Orlova began to dig into the files of the ship, starting with the Captain’s log. A long list of files ran down the screen, and she selected the most recent, jumping slightly when the voice of Major Marshall spoke from a hidden speaker.

 “1340 hours, March 9th, 2157. This is likely to be my last entry. The mutineers have secured life support and the shuttle decks, rendering my hope of abandoning ship moot. They threaten to cut off all systems to decks they do not control, and having no reason to assume that they will not follow through with this threat, I have opted to surrender. If anyone else reads this log, please get it to the Martian Central Command. Major William Marshall,” there was a pause here, “signing out.”

 The Major was staring at her station; she turned, saying, “Sorry, sir. I’m still getting used to the new control interface.”

 “Ghosts from the past, Sub-Lieutenant. Probably best left buried, at least as soon as we bring the bastards to justice.” He frowned, continuing, “I take it you are working on the data archives.”

 “Yes, sir. I thought I was running the last log entry.”

 She leaned back over the console, running search programs she’d brought over with her, shaking her head. Her eyes widened as gibberish began to fill the screen, a random tangle of numbers and letters washing over the monitors at her station.

 “Problems?”

 “Nothing I didn’t expect, sir. Encryption algorithms. I should be able to crack them with the decoders I brought over from Alamo.”

 She started to work, leaning over her station as the babble of routine conversations washed over her, attacking the database with program after program, then shaking her head as she started to look at the raw code. Her eyes widened as it washed over her, and she began to cross-reference with the library database, hardly believing what she had seen.

 “Sub-Lieutenant?” the Major said.

 Looking up, she saw him standing over her shoulder, “Sir?”

 “I hope you don’t get that unresponsive during a battle. I’ve been calling you.”

 “I’m sorry, Major. This is just...incredible.”

 “What?”

 Tapping the screen, she said, “All the data from before the takeover is intact and accessible, no problems there. Since then, though, that’s a different story. It looks as though they fed all new information into a separate encrypted partition in the database, and threw over it the tightest encryption code I’ve ever seen.”

 “So how long is this going to take?”

 She pointed at one of the monitors, “Sir, according to our top thinkers, the encryption they are using is impossible to decode.”

 “I don’t know that word, Sub-Lieutenant. Work on it.”

 “With the equipment we have on board, I can’t.”

 Frowning, he replied, “Liaise with Alamo, then, if they have something we lack.”

 “Sir, we need to get the top minds at Mutch Tech and Syrtis U. on this one. And the big quantum supercomputer out at Deimos, probably. This is way out of our league.”

 “So we’ve got nothing, then.”

 Shaking her said, she said, “Anything classified is out of bounds, sir. That still leaves us with a lot of soft data, though – all the crew’s personal files are available, for a start, and the literature database is a lot larger.”  

 “Are you trying to tell me that after all of this, we only have some diaries and holiday holographs to show for it?”

 “No, sir.” She looked back at her console. “The data is here, all of it, but we just can’t read it. Yet.”

 “Sir,” Mathis said from his station, “We’ve just got exterior communications back. I have Lieutenant-Captain Marshall for you.”

 “Very good, I’ll take it.” He turned back to Orlova, “Keep working on this, Sub-Lieutenant. This has to be your absolute top priority. I want that code cracked.”

 “I’ll do what I can, sir.”

 Nodding, he walked away from his station; Orlova saw that the smile he had worn since he stepped back on board had vanished as he returned to his chair.

Chapter 13

 Second Squad sat in their shuttle, spacesuits already on, rifles in their arms and ready for action. Reluctantly, their plasma rifles had been left stowed in the overhead locker; their goal was to take and hold the facility, and blowing it to pieces was not something that their superiors could countenance; low velocity rifles only were the order of the day, and precision shots of paramount importance.

 Cooper ran down a check of his pockets, making sure everything he needed was present; suit patches, spare ammo, smoke grenades, lucky coin. All of the privates’ pockets were slim, tight to their side, but Corporal Caldwell’s were bulging with all manner of bits and pieces, paraphernalia that her experience had taught her might be necessary.

 He glanced out of the viewport at the approaching asteroid; for all the images he had studied of Alamo’s encounter with a similar facility at Jefferson, it still seemed impossible that this could actually be an operational facility. The pilot – Barbara, naturally – was flying them cautiously into the long tunnel that led to the interior chamber, and Cooper couldn’t help but feel an attack of claustrophobia as they soared into the confined space.

 “What’s this dump called, anyway?” Knight said, trying to talk over his nerves.

 “Does it matter?” Caldwell replied.

 “Call it Hades,” Goldschmidt replied. “God of the underworld.”

 “Fine, fine, whatever,” the corporal said, shaking her head. “Let’s get an equipment check done. We’ll be docking in two minutes.”

 The squad stood up, running through the practiced suit check on their buddy. They’d already done this twice, and Cooper knew exactly what the corporal was doing – make-work to keep their minds off the impending battle. He certainly had no objection, and he adjusted Orlowski’s suit hoses, giving them an experimental tug to test the connection.

 “Pilot to boarding party,” Barbara’s voice echoed over the speakers. “I’m closing on target now. Green light in one minute.”

 Caldwell made her way to the airlock, preparing for the crossing; she would lead the way, Goldschmidt standing by her side, with Cooper and Orlowski in the second wave. They waited in silence, staring up at the light over the airlock, hands tight on the ceiling holds to keep them from drifting about. Cooper ran a last check on his suit thrusters, making sure they were in sync with his rifle; if they were off, he could be sent flying off all over the place, an easy target.

 “Isn’t it taking a bit long?” Knight said. “My watch says ninety seconds.”  

 “Let the pilot do her job,” Cooper replied.  

 “You would say that,” Knight said, shaking her head, before Caldwell interrupted the burgeoning argument by making her way over to the communicator.

 “Caldwell to Pilot. What’s the hold-up?”

 “I can’t get a good seal with the airlock. Damn.”

 “What?”

 “They’ve rigged something up to block it. We won’t get a seal.”

 “Try another?”

 “No point. If they did it to one they’ll have done it to all. Someone’s going to have to go out and clear it. You’ll need some volunteers.”

 Caldwell looked out across the untested troopers, “Anyone interested?”

 No-one’s hand went up; Cooper looked around, seeing his friends waver, then nodded. “I’ll go.” He poked Orlowski in the back, who turned to him with a start.

 “What?” Grimacing, he continued, “What the hell, I didn’t have plans for tonight anyway.”

 “Right. Go out and clear the obstruction. Take plasma pistols with you.”

 Nodding, Cooper reached up to the overhead locker and pulled out a pair of sidearms, flicking on the charge cycle then passing one to his friend, who was retrieving a toolkit. Drifting past the corporal, they slid into the airlock, closing the inner door behind them; Orlowski held his hand over the release for the outer door.  

  “Ready?”

 “You do the work, I’ll cover you,” Cooper replied. “Let’s get this over with.”

 With a tap, the door opened; they deliberately hadn’t cycled out the atmosphere, using it to hurl them away from the shuttle and towards the towering gray wall of the asteroid. Suit jets fired to slow them down, kicking them towards the waiting airlock. The two of them slammed into the wall, pushing back out towards the shuttle, but they managed to get their lines secured while they were still in reach.

 Orlowski climbed hand-over-hand towards the airlock, shaking his head as he saw the tangle of girders that had been hastily welded on in a spiderweb of metal. Reaching into the toolkit, he began the process of dismantling the work, Cooper hovering behind him, pistol at the ready.

 A voice crackled over his intercom, “Two targets heading your way, from up above.”

 Pivoting on the line, Cooper turned to look up, and saw a pair of shapes drifting down towards him, rifles at the ready. He twisted off as he fired, two shots in quick succession, but he was not quite quick enough. One of the targets vanished in green fire, the other pushed off to the right. Alarms began to go off in his helmet, a decompression alarm, but he had to ignore it for the present, swinging loose of the line and towards his target.

 He fired another shot, this time just behind the outcrop his target was hding behind, and grinned as the resulting shrapnel did his work for him, the body drifting away. Now he could look down at his suit, an angry tear ripped down the side of his leg, far too big for a suit patch to cover it. His backpack should be able to support him for days; with his suit in this condition, he had only a couple of minutes. Burning his suit jets for all they were worth, he dived for the airlock, where Orlowski had almost finished pulling off the last of the metal.

 “What the hell, Gabe?”

 Shaking his head, Cooper slammed a hand on what he hoped was the emergency entry button, and the door slid open. He dived in, grabbing onto a handhold, but before he could close the door Orlowski ducked in behind him.

 “No way I’m letting you do a last stand by yourself,” he said, closing the door. The pressure began to equalize, the warning alarms fading away in Cooper’s suit as the environment outside returned to normal – though he was now going to be stranded unless he could find another suit; the lockers in the airlock were empty.

 “What’s going on over there?” Caldwell’s voice called.

 “My suit was holed, Corp. Had to get in out of the cold,” Cooper replied.

 “Hold on. We’ll be docking in ninety seconds.”

 Regardless of Caldwell’s hopes, the inner door slid open, a trio of bullets smashing into the order door. Kicking off, Cooper and Orlowski dived forward in search over cover, but the area had been well prepared as a killing zone – the walls were smooth, no turns or corners, no place to hide. With a cry, Orlowski tumbled to the side, blood spilling out into the air; Cooper couldn’t spare the seconds to think of his friend, instead raising his rifle and firing wildly, blindly, desperately attempting to lay down suppressing fire as he dived down the corridor towards his hidden assailants.

 Finally the gunfire stopped as he drifted down to the end of the corridor, and he managed a pair of shots at some retreating backs. The doors behind him opened, the rest of the squad spilling out; Roberts pulled out a medical kit and started to treat Orlowski, gently ferrying him back to the shuttle, while Caldwell pulled up beside Cooper.  

 “Report.”

 “At least two, heading that way,” he pointed down a side corridor.

 “Right.” She turned to the rest of the troops, “Kelly, Knight, Goldschmidt, with me. The rest take the other corridor.” Clapping Cooper on the shoulder, she said, “Good work, trooper,” as she dived after the fleeing enemies.

 Taking a few seconds to catch his breath, Cooper yelled, “Looks like you get a nice rest, Orlok!”

 Grunting in reply, his friend said, “I’ll save a nurse for you,” as Roberts pushed him back through the airlock.

 “Cut the chatter, Cooper,” the lance-corporal said. “Let’s get moving. Third Squad will be coming in with the Ensign soon, we’ve got to push out the perimeter.”

 Slamming a fresh clip into his rifle, Cooper followed her down the corridor, gun at the ready. A face poked out from around a corner, and withdrew a bloody ruin; Zapolski had reacted before he had even had a chance to raise his weapon, and with a whoop, dived forward, swinging around with one hand. His body was thrown back by an explosion, slamming into the wall with the sound of multiple bones cracking, dead before he knew what hit him.

 Reaching into his pocket, Cooper pulled out a smoke grenade, bouncing it off the wall and waiting for the thick green smoke to billow forth before chancing a dash out; Roberts reached out to stop him but was just a second too late; he dived across the entrance, firing blind into what seemed to be a control room, a pair of screams suggesting that his random shots had hit home.

 Coughing on the smoke, he dived forward into the room; two bodies were drifting at his heart, and two of his bullets had smashed into a console, but otherwise everything appeared intact. Roberts drifted to his side, speaking into her communicator.

 “Roberts to Alamo. We’ve taken what seems to be a control center. I see pumping control systems.”

 “Good. Third Squad is on the way. Hold out.”

 “Roger.” She turned to Cooper, “You take the left, I’ll take the right.”

 He drifted into position beside the door, peering around the side as the smoke began to disperse. All too soon, the sound of suits hitting rock echoed down the corridor, and a hand appeared around the side, clutching a cylinder; Cooper shot the wielder’s wrist with a snap shot before he could throw it, and the object dropped limp, flashing a bright light that would have blinded him had his helmet filters not kicked in; even then, a blinding afterimage blurred his vision.

 Roberts started to fire, trying to pin down the opposition, but Cooper held his shots, waiting for a target. Quickly, four of them appeared, figures in armor that looked...strange, to his eyes. He could make out their faces through their helmets, and they did not appear human, their foreheads oddly ridged. A scream to his right jerked him back to reality, and he fired a pair of shots, taking two of them down; glancing across, he saw Roberts drifting back towards the wall, red blood staining the sleeve of her suit.

 One of the figures at the back flew to the side, and he heard a familiar voice shouting – Ensign Zabek, leading Third Squad; the relief force had taken just a few seconds to get to him. Reaching for Roberts med-kit, he started to treat her wounds as the other trooper drifted in, one fire team moving further down the corridor to secure their flank.

 “Good work, Private,” Zabek said. “Roberts, you all right?”

 “Fine, ma’am.”

 Shaking her head, the Ensign replied, “I think you earned yourself a flight back to Alamo, anyway. Cooper, take her back to the shuttle.”

 “Where’s the rest of Second?”

 “First Squad will be arriving in a few moments with the Hercules Marines; they’ll head down that way.”

 “Any word, ma’am?”

 Zabek’s eyes fixed on his, “Head back to the shuttle, Private, and get your wounded home. You’ve had your battle.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” he said, with as much sincerity as he could manage, gently pushing Roberts out into the corridor. The walls were pock-marked with bullet holes, and a trio of body bags hung in the corridor, held in position with hastily attached cords; Zapolski and two of his adversaries waiting for their last rest.

 They covered the ground that they had won so expensively in a surprisingly short amount of time, and soon reached the primary airlock. He paused, hanging for a moment, and Roberts looked up at him with a thin smile.

 “Don’t keep me hanging here forever, Private. Grab my medikit and get out of here. I can manage.” She grimaced, “Go have your fun.”

 “Thanks, Corp.”

 Snatching the pack from her belt and stuffing it half-into a pocket, Cooper sped down the corridor, gun at the ready once again, twisting down to follow the second half of his squad. A trace of residual smoke suggested a battle, and he peered down a side tunnel to see a pair of floating bodies – both of them wearing the uniform of the enemy, he noted with relief.

 The tunnel twisted into a long corridor, filled with alcoves. Quickly looking into the nearest, he saw a hammock and a pair of locked cupboards, and a screen on the wall – just sleeping quarters. There was no sign of his comrades, and he started to head down to the distant end of the corridor when he saw a gleam on the floor – a hatch. The briefing had specified that they remained on the entrance level, but if an opportunity had presented itself, Caldwell might have opted to take it.

 He slammed open the hatch, gun at the ready, and immediately heard a firefight in progress below. Without a second thought, he dived down, pushing off for a piece of control apparatus that represented the only cover in reach. Up ahead, he saw four figures in similar cover, firing the occasional shot against a loose pack of enemy troopers at the far end. They were outnumbered at least four to one, and from the looks of it, pinned down. One of the figures turned to him.

 “Cooper? What are you doing here?” Caldwell said.

 “Didn’t want you to have all the fun, Corporal,” he replied. “Cover me.”

 Not questioning her subordinate, Caldwell turned and began to fire, ducking out of cover for a brief second to unleash three shots. Taking a deep breath, Cooper kicked off from the rear wall with all his might, diving head-first for the enemy. Before they could react, he started setting off smoke grenades, enveloping him in an expanding green cloud like a comet flying through the heavens – though this comet was firing bullets.

 Shots cracked around him, and he heard cries from the rear; then he slammed into an unseen wall, knocking the wind out of him. Looking up, he saw a face, and though it was shrouded in shadow, he was certain that it wasn’t human. Something about the eyes, the forehead, the mouth – though the gun that was being raised at him shook him out of his complacency. Cooper fired first, by an instant, and the bullet that would have killed him thudded into the wall by his ear.

 A dozen hulking shapes were pulling back to another firing position; they’d be here for days working them back a piece at a time if something wasn’t done, and they didn’t have the manpower for that sort of attritional campaign. Turning to the dazed fire team, he saw a body floating back towards the entrance.

 “Caldwell,” Goldschmidt said, quietly.

 “We’ll all be joining her if we don’t move. Come on, Second Squad, we need this corridor!”

 Not hesitating to see if any of them were following, he headed after the figures, firing single shots from his rifle, catching one of them in the back and sending him tumbling. They turned, but without cover, they were vulnerable; two more fell to well-placed shots, but Cooper was just as exposed as they were.

 At the last second, two more shots fired from his side – Knight getting another one, sending them withdrawing in disarray once again. With a whoop, Cooper pressed their advantage, pushing hard around a corner into some sort of storage room, another hatch on the floor. He fired again, twice, but both shots missed as the door slammed shut; he quickly raced forward, catching himself on the ceiling and pointing his rifle down at the ground.  

 “Keep the hatch covered, Rook,” he said to the approaching trooper. “Goldie, with me,” he said, gesturing down the corridor. Alert for any sign of attack, he carefully made his way along the long corridor, finally coming to an open space – a huge one, hundreds of meters across, filled with gray tanks and pipes.

 “Alamo, this is Cooper.”

 “Cooper?” Marshall’s voice sounded. “Go ahead.”

 “We’re on the second level. I think I’ve found the tanks, sir.”  

 “Good work, Private. First Squad is on its way to you now. Hold until relieved.”

 He looked around the massive room, shaking his head at the size of it. Goldschmidt was standing by a monitoring station, which seemed to show the tanks at almost full capacity – enough fuel for Alamo to roam across half the galaxy. After a moment, First Squad dived into the room, Sergeant Forrest at their head; he made a gesture to his men who spread out to cover the massive cavern, searching for traps or ambushes.

 In their wake, Ensign Zabek drifted, “Do you usually disobey orders, Private?” She raised a hand, “And don’t give me any rubbish about my only ordering you to drop Roberts off at the shuttle. You know what I meant.”

 “Sorry, ma’am.”

 She looked around the chamber, then smiled, “If you are going to hit paydirt like this, Private, you can disobey orders a bit more often.”

 “What about Corporal Caldwell, ma’am?”

 Zabek’s face dropped, “I doubt she knew what hit her. With Zapolski and Newark, that’s three dead today.”

 “They’d have thought it was worth it, ma’am.”

 Nodding, she replied, “They’d have been right.” Looking at him up and down, she continued, “Roberts wasn’t badly wounded, she should be back on duty tomorrow; I’m making her Acting Corporal. Fancy being Acting Lance-Corporal?”

 “Ma’am?”

 “I heard you on the tac-net. You gave orders like one; let’s see how you handle the stripe.”

 Cooper managed a salute, bobbing up away from the corridor until Zabek grabbed his leg and pulled him down.

 “Sorry, ma’am.”

 “Happens to the best of us. Now get your squad up to the top level; the wounded back the Alamo, the rest of you can start sweeping through the living quarters. Then file an after-action report. Unless you want to wander off again?”

 “No, ma’am,” he replied, grinning. He smiled as he headed back to his squad; then he caught sight of Goldschmidt tucking Caldwell’s corpse into a body bag, and the smile collapsed from his face as he looked at the floor, his hands shaking as he balled them into fists.

Chapter 14

 Marshall walked around the lower levels of the ship, lost in thought. He passed a pair of technicians examining the hull, checking over the repairs to one of the areas damaged in the recent battle, and returned their salute automatically, carrying on past them. It was late, well past midnight ship’s time, but sleep had thus far successfully eluded him. One of the maintenance hatches was open, and he decided to climb down, letting circumstance take him on walkabout; he didn’t really have a destination in mind, rather hoping to quiet down a restless mind.

 The hatch at the bottom opened on the second attempt, and he made a mental note to report that to Quinn; he really needed an assistant to take care of the routine maintenance, he briefly mused before realizing that the engineer would likely view that as an intrusion into his little kingdom on Alamo. The look on his face when he told him that he would temporarily be taking back responsibility for security said everything he needed to know about that.

 He emerged in one of the lower levels, down by the sensor decks, and shook his head at the clutter; they were still trying to eat their way through the extra supplies they’d taken on board at Mariner before setting out on this mission. Some of it really should be transferred over to Hercules to ease the load. Something to deal with in the morning.

 The door to the astrogation suite was open, and the interior was lit; someone else working late, evidently, and he could take an easy guess as to who. He walked quietly down the corridor, stepping into the room, and then his eyes opened in wonder at what he saw; a huge three-dimensional map of uncharted space, about a dozen of the stars lit up in an eerie green glow that crossed interstellar space to link them.

 Mulenga was standing at the control panel, Tyler next to him staring down at a series of monitors flashing images of starscapes. Finally, Marshall coughed, and the two of them turned, Mulenga simply smiling while the midshipman jerked around with a start, snapping a salute.

 “Sorry, sir. I didn’t hear you come in.”

 “That’s fine, Midshipman, I didn’t make any effort to alert you.” He looked up at the display again. “What is this?”

 The smile on Mulenga’s face grew, and he replied, “This, Captain, is the Cabal.”

 “How the hell did you manage that? We still haven’t managed to crack the database on Hercules, and from everything Orlova’s been saying in her reports, there isn’t much prospect of any progress on that front until we get home.”

 “Ah, but a lot of information wasn’t in the restricted section, sir. All of the personal files of the crew, for example, and we are fortunate indeed that a few of them have taken up photography as a hobby.” He glanced down at a monitor, “Some of these are really rather artistic, actually.”

 “What we did, sir,” Tyler said, “was to run a search for any images with starscapes, and match them up using the computer. We’ve established sixteen locations in uncharted space across twelve stars so far, and we still have a quarter of the database to go.

 Mulenga placed a hand on the young officer’s shoulder, “This was all Mr. Tyler’s idea, by the way. He came to me with it earlier this evening, and I think we have rather lost track of time.”  

 “We were going to present this to you at the staff meeting in the morning, Captain,” Tyler added.

 Shaking his head, Marshall stepped forward, saying, “This is just outstanding work, gentlemen. Exactly the sort of information we were looking for. I’m going to put you up for a commendation for this, Mr. Tyler; keep this up and you’ve got a good future here on Alamo.”

 “Thank you, sir.”

 “What about the locations themselves?”

 “Mostly planets, and there isn’t a lot we can tell from the photographs other than the obvious. Once we’ve got the star locations sorted out I’ll see what I can do. Hopefully I can put together at least a visual directory of Cabal-controlled space – at least, those worlds that Hercules visited.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “I see that Jefferson is off by itself at the top.”  

 Rubbing his hand across his chin, Mulenga replied, “My supposition is that Hercules was assigned to a certain patrol area, and that it had no reason to venture beyond it. It’s crew might have had the opportunity to travel a certain distance on leave, but as former Martian officers they would likely be kept on a fairly short leash.” He looked up at the map again, “That necessarily limits this map, at least in some ways.”

 “This is a tremendous achievement, Lieutenant, and it’s going to be extremely useful.”

 “There are other ways we can use the data, sir. Potential ship names, for example, or names of other Cabal citizens.”

 Raising his eyebrows, Marshall said, “Are you angling for an appointment as Intelligence Officer, Mr. Tyler?”

 The young man blushed, and he looked to his side, “No, sir.”

 “Well, you’ve got it. I want you to take charge of analyzing the Cabal data; liaise with Sub-Lieutenant Steele to give you some time off as needed.”

 “Thank you, sir!”

 “Don’t get too excited, son. I’m not commissioning you or anything; this is likely just going to be a lot of extra work for little reward.”

 “That’s fine, sir. I enjoy this sort of thing.”

 “Good,” Marshall replied. “Now head back to your quarters and get some sleep. You’re at least formally on watch in six hours.”

 Looking reluctantly at the data-stream like a child being told he couldn’t watch the late-night holovid, he nodded, saluted again, and made for the door.

 “Good night, Captain.”

 “You too.”

 After Tyler left the room, Mulenga turned to him, “Good kid, that one.”

 “I wonder if I was as...driven as that when I was his age.”

 “When we were his age, we were at war.”

 Marshall walked over to stand beside the astrogator, saying, “My friend, we just finished fighting a battle to capture a ship, and launched an espatier assault on a fueling station. If this isn’t war, it’s a damn close imitation.”

 A frown crept across Mulenga’s face, “I don’t like the implications of that. Do you consider that we are at war?”

 “They captured one of our ships, imprisoned its crew and suborned the rest. They’ve launched pirate attacks on our shipping, and wide-ranging intelligence operations in our territory – all before we knew they even existed! Hell, as little as six months ago all we knew of the Cabal was the name. The war might be undeclared, but it’s real enough.”

 “Then you think war – actual war – inevitable?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “That depends on them, but I would say not. My reading of the Cabal is that they like to have all their preparations made before they jump. Everything ready, ships mobilized, all the pieces in position. Right now, they have a massive advantage on us in terms of intelligence.”

 Sweeping his hand to encompass the starchart, he continued, “This – and the information on Hercules – will completely neutralize it. Our biggest weapon in this little war is knowledge. If they think they’ve lost the advantage, I don’t think they’ll risk striking. Meanwhile, we can build up our fleets and outposts. Ten, hell, five years from now we’ll be strong enough that they won’t risk it.”

 Mulenga nodded, “You should have said that at the briefing.”

 “It’s only now, talking to you, that I’ve put it into words. I just hope I’m not underestimating them – and that I haven’t underestimated the risk we’re running.”  

 “If you are correct, it could be a risk well worth taking.” He paused, then said, “That isn’t why you are awake at this hour of the morning, is it, Captain?”

 He looked at his astrogator with a thin smile, then said, “No, it isn’t. It’s all taking too long. We docked three days ago, and we should be able to be on our way out tomorrow.”

 “The damage to the refueling system?”

 Nodding, Marshall continued, “And now Hercules is reporting problems as well. I had a briefing from Captain Lane earlier. If we left on time, we wouldn’t have the fuel to get home.” He glanced up at the map again, “As soon as the two ships have the fuel to make Spitfire, I’m blazing a trail in the sky.”

 The door behind them slid open, and Carpenter ran in, panting, “Sir?”

 “Calm down, Carpenter,” Marshall said.

 “Sorry, sir,” she said. “Have you read the after-action reports for the assault on the base yet, Captain?”

 “Just Zabek’s and Forrest’s; I’m way behind on my paperwork.”

 “What else is new?” Mulenga interrupted with a grin.

 “I was reading Private Cooper’s, sir – I mean, Lance-Corporal Cooper.”

 “Lance-Corporal?” Mulenga said.

 “Yes,” Marshall replied. “Ensign Zabek promoted him. I haven’t decided whether to sign off on it, but her judgment's pretty good.”

 “Sir,” Carpenter interrupted. “This might be urgent.”

 “Very well, Sub-Lieutenant,” Marshall said. “What is it?”

 “The reports indicate that he came close to some of the enemy forces, sir. Closer than anyone else in the assault force; he was face-to-face with one of them at one point…”

 “That usually means something’s gone badly wrong.”

 “The face wasn’t human.”

 Marshall and Mulenga looked at each other, then the captain replied, “Excuse me?”

 “He reports there being something wrong with the face – a bulging forehead, something with the eyes and the nose.” She paused, then said, “He does acknowledge that it was dark.”

 “Cooper was with you when you found the skeleton, wasn’t he?” Mulenga said. “This could just be a case of a trooper with an overactive imagination.”

 “I don’t think so, sir. It’s too big a coincidence.” She took a deep breath, then continued, “I want permission to go over to the asteroid to see for myself.”

 Raising his hands, Marshall said, “Wait a moment. We did find some bodies, three of them, did we not?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “And all human. Hell, one of them was a former Hercules crewman.”

 She nodded, “Yes, sir.”

 “If you have some idea that I’m going to authorize an expedition into the lower levels,” Marshall shook his head, “Hell, we only hold the top two levels, and Zabek’s worried enough about holding those with the few troops we’ve got. I can’t spare any for anything other than the most critical mission.”

 “This might be, sir.”

 “Carpenter, I agree that it is extremely interesting…”

 “Interesting!” she exclaimed.

 “...but I can’t send you over to an unsecured area.”

 She stood to attention, “I’m willing to take the risk, Captain.”  

 “You might be, but I’m not.” He paused. “Tell you what. Go over to Hercules, and have a look there. That ship was operating in Cabal space for nine years, and I suspect that most – if not all – of the people we are fighting on the asteroid came from there. There might be some evidence there, and you won’t need an escort I can’t spare to get it. And I will ask the espatiers on the asteroid to look around themselves if they get a chance. Put together a briefing for them.””

 “Sir…that just isn’t good enough.”

 “Oh?” he replied, his eyebrow arching.

 “I’m your Science Officer, Captain, and as such I must tell you that simply telling a few troopers what to look for isn’t going to be enough. They might miss something; I’ve spent six years studying the primitive human species of Earth, learning from the best in the Solar System, and to imply that I can summarize all of that experience in a short briefing is…”

 “Is what, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “Frankly insulting, sir. I’m wearing the uniform, and am willing to take the risks that go with it.”

 “Indeed.” Sighing, Marshall replied, “Carpenter, it isn’t that I don’t think what you have found is important. It’s that I don’t think I can risk you – more so, if your theory is correct. You’re the only one we have who has any chance of understanding them, potentially communicating with them.”

 “I...hadn’t thought of that, sir.”

 “That’s what I’m here for, Sub-Lieutenant. My problem is that you are just too valuable to risk. Go over to Hercules and see what you can find there; if you strike a blank, then I might consider sending you over to the asteroid. Contact Ensign Zabek, if you want, and have a word with her – but we’ve got too many people swarming over that place now for my liking, and I don’t want to add any more.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Fine. Dismissed, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Saluting, she turned and sullenly left the room; Marshall and Mulenga watched as the door slid shut behind her, and the astrogator turned to Marshall, a frown on his face.

 “Are you trying to get rid of her?” Mulenga asked.

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “No. She might be right; I think it more likely that your theory about Cooper’s sighting is correct, but it would explain a few things we’ve found, wouldn’t it. Did you know that we’ve been having problems with radar imaging that asteroid?”

 “Oh?”

 “Caine was pulling her hair out over it on the bridge. Our working theory is…”

 “The reflective paint you found at Desdemona.”

 Nodding, he said. “Yep. Now – that isn’t conclusive, we’ve got teams working on duplicating it now, and they might just have stumbled into the discovery…”

 “But as you say, Captain, it would explain a lot. One more piece of the puzzle.”

 The communicator on Mulenga’s console buzzed urgently, “Captain? Captain Marshall?”

 “What’s up, Ortega?”  

 “We just intercepted a signal, Captain! From Hercules down to the moon, tight-beam. If a shuttle hadn’t been in the right place at the right time, we’d never have known about it.”

 “From Hercules?” he yelled. “Are you sure?”

 “Double-checked, sir. The message was encrypted using the same coding as the Hercules database.”

 Marshall glanced at Mulenga, “Get me Major Marshall, right now.”

 The prospects of getting any sleep tonight had dropped from slim to none.

Chapter 15

 Orlova looked around the Major’s office, feeling out of place. Everyone else in the room had known each other for more than a decade; they’d been through hell together. All of them could pick up on each other’s mannerisms, almost read each other’s thoughts. She was the stranger here, the interloper; she wasn’t even wearing the same uniform as they were, still in her Triplanetary black while the rest were garbed in Martian red, the loose jumpsuits of the Space Service.

 Hercules lacked a lot of the luxuries of Alamo – including a briefing room, which to Orlova was a mixed blessing. She suspected that it would lead to shorter meetings, but she missed the chairs, missed having a table where she could rest her hands; she didn’t have any idea what to do with them, letting them hang loosely by their sides. The Major was sitting behind a desk, Captain Diego next to him; Captain Lane was leaning on a wall, with Lieutenant Nelyubov by her side. She caught Lane glancing at her, as if wondering why she was here. The door opened, and Lieutenant Bailey – the other off-watch duty officer -  walked in.

 “I think we’re all here now,” the Major began, throwing her a stare. “I see some things never change, Lieutenant.”

 “Sorry, sir,” Bailey replied.

 Waving a datapad in the air, the Major said, “Let’s get the elephant in the room out of the way first. Last night a signal was sent by this ship to the planet below. Orlova, what the hell is going on?”

 Her eyes widened, “What signal?”

 “Last night,” he said, his voice darkening, “Alamo picked up an encrypted signal sent from here. Security is your responsibility; how could this happen?”

 “Sir, if I had known about this message, I would have investigated.”

 Frowning, he said, “What do you mean, if you had known?”

 “I mean that this is the first I’ve heard of it. Could I see the report?”

 He tossed her the datapad, and she began to read it while he turned to Diego, “I thought you’d updated the messaging programs?”

 “I did. Sub-Lieutenant, are you sure you didn’t...miss it?”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “No, sir. I’d say we have problems larger than the message; someone is playing games with the priority messaging system.”

 Bailey said, “I don’t like what that implies. We depend on that system for damage control.”

 “Claudia?” the Major turned to the engineer, who looked across at Orlova.

 “Sub-Lieutenant, the software is working. I tested it myself.”

 “I didn’t get the message, Captain.”

 “Why don’t I…”

 “Enough!” the Major shouted. “Break it up. Orlova, I want to know where that message came from, and I want to know immediately.”

 “I’ll get right on it after the meeting, sir.”  

 He shook his head, “I meant now. Dismissed.”

 She stood there for a second, then saluted, replied, “Aye, sir,” and walked out of the room, the door sliding shut behind her, cutting off a remark from Lane. She walked out onto the bridge, and Lieutenant Curry walked over to her.

 “He does that,” she said. “Why do you think I don’t get to play with the other children any more?”

 Glaring back at the closed door, Orlova said, “It’s a lousy way to run a ship.”

 “It’s his way, and it worked for him before,” she replied, before returning to her station.

 Inwardly fuming, she walked over to her console, and started to run a check of her message queue. Right at the top, a message was present informing her of the encrypted message, a time index indicating that it was sent late last night. She sat down at her station in disbelief; she knew that she had not seen the message, and she hadn’t actually slept much – not enough that she would have missed an alarm.

 Pulling a datakey out of her cluttered pocket, she slid it into her station and started running a series of decryption programs, hacking into the messaging database. After a few moments, she started to make progress, and began to smile, only to be interrupted by a tap on the shoulder; she looked over, and saw Major Marshall, his eyes locked on the screen.  

 “So you did get it,” he started, but she interrupted.

 “No sir, I didn’t. That message was actually sent just after the meeting started.” Tapping a series of buttons, the time index jumped, “See, sir? Someone rigged it to appear as if it had been sent nine hours earlier than it was.”

 “Why would anyone do that?”

 “To delay investigation of the message transmission, and perhaps throw suspicion off their trail?”  

 “My office. Now.”

 He stormed across the bridge, Orlova in his wake; a few moments ago she had wanted to remain for the meeting, now she wanted to get on with her work, but she followed him from the door and stood at attention opposite him.

 “What exactly are you implying?”

 “That someone on this ship with security access was responsible for the message and the problems with the scheduling software.”

 Nodding, he said, “Someone left behind when they evacuated the ship. I was afraid of that.”

 Pausing, Orlova replied, “That isn’t the only possibility, sir.”

 “None of my crew is a traitor, Sub-Lieutenant,” the Major growled. “Take it from me.”

 “With all due respect, Major, getting access to the scheduling software is not exactly easy. You need current command code authorization…”

 “I managed to put a loophole in the security systems, and someone else could have managed the same trick, couldn’t they?”

 “I suppose it’s possible, sir…”

 He nodded. “Then that’s the theory I’m working with. I want you to search the unoccupied areas of the ship. We haven’t got any marines on board at the moment, and I don’t think we can risk pulling any out of the asteroid.”

 “I agree, sir,” Orlova replied, “Why don’t I use Ballard and Mathis? Shift rotation’s due in a few minutes anyway.”

 “Fine, fine. Get it done, Sub-Lieutenant.”  

 She saluted, “Yes, sir.”

 “One more thing. Keep your theories to yourself for the moment. They won’t win you many friends on this ship.”

 “Yes, Major.”

 “Dismissed.”

 She walked out of the office, shaking her head, and glanced around the cramped bridge for a moment. Lane was loitering around by the flight engineering station, muttering something to Ballard; the fuel transfer system was showing on the monitors, as well as a collection of worrying amber lights. She wandered over to Curry, tapping her on the shoulder.

 “Problem?”

 “I’ve got to search the ship.”

 Looking sharply up at her, Curry said, “All of it?”

 “All of it. Especially the areas we couldn’t get to during the takeover.”

 “That could take days.”

 “Probably. The Major thinks there is a saboteur on board.”

 “And…”

 “And I need to borrow Ballard and Mathis for the search.”

 Shaking her head, Curry replied, “What the hell, you might as well borrow me as well. The afternoon watch will be coming up in a minute.” She chuckled, “I’ve been stuck pounding five decks for long enough that going for a long walk will do me good.”

 “Thanks; I still don’t know my way around Hercules.”

 Nodding, Curry said, “That’s probably the Major’s secret plan. Give you a good idea of the layout.” The elevator door opened, and Nelyubov strode out onto the bridge, a pair of other crewmen behind him.

 “Anything to report, Curry?” he said, striding over to the helm.

 “No, Frank. We’re still docked at the fueling station, and there is still nothing going on.”

 “Then I relieve you, Lieutenant.”

 “It’s all yours,” she replied, walking over to the exit. “Clara, Winston, you’re with us. We’re going for a walk.”

 Lane put her hand on Ballard’s shoulder, “I’m not finished here yet.”

 “Major’s orders,” Orlova replied. “Come on, Corporal.”

 The four of them stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed on the bridge, Lane’s glare seeming to burn through the metal doors. Curry tapped a button and they began to descend; she glanced over to Orlova.

 “Lower cargo bay; engineering spares section.”  

 “Why hasn’t that been secured?” Orlova replied, frowning.

 Curry shrugged, saying, “No idea. That’s Lane’s territory.”

 “What are we doing?” Ballard said.

 “Searching the ship, Corporal. Major Marshall believes that we have a saboteur on board, and we need to find him before he can do any more damage.”

 The two of them looked at each other, “Wouldn’t an extra person on board show on the consumables usage reports?” Mathis suggested.

 “Not if this person had managed to get control of the computers. He could easily hide his presence.”

 Ballard nodded, saying, “Besides, that’s never quite as cut and dried as that. A ship this big, there’s always some leakage into space. We’d work it out after a while, but we haven’t got the baseline on ship status at the moment.”

 “I suppose internal sensors could be overridden as well?” Mathis said. “We’re going to be pounding the decks, aren’t we.”

 “Probably, Sergeant,” Orlova said. “If we can find any evidence, any sign that someone is down there, I’ll get the whole crew to tear that section to pieces. It’s really just a matter of narrowing down the possibilities.”

 Ballard nodded, saying, “Sub-Lieutenant, it really isn’t going to take four of us to search the lower cargo section. Why don’t you leave it to the two of us, and you and Curry try somewhere else.”

 Orlova pulled out a datapad, calling up a deckplan. “Fine, Corporal. What about the shuttle maintenance bay?”

 “Still locked down; Captain Marshall’s keeping most of the shuttles at the asteroid in case the espatiers need a quick evac,” Curry said.

 “That’s ours, then.” The doors opened out on a wide, cavernous deck, littered with sparse piles of components, crates and boxes thrown roughly into corners, a fabricator in the corner, its telltales dark. Mathis and Ballard stepped out, and Orlova punched for her next destination, shaking her head.

 “I think those two just want some quiet time,” she said. “I can’t say I blame them, as long as they get the job done.”

 “I think you’re right, Sub-Lieutenant,” Curry replied.

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “My name’s Maggie. Just using the ranks is going to get old quickly when it’s just the two of us.”

 “Caroline.”

 As the elevator continued on its way, Orlova said, “Why don’t you go to staff meetings any more?”  

 “I opted out.” She chuckled. “Back when we were first stranded on Discovery, Captain Lane started to hold ‘escape committee’ meetings. Major Marshall thought it was a good idea. I didn’t have any problem with looking over possibilities, but every week we’d spend a whole day going over the same points again and again. I had a shouting match with him about it, said it was a waste of time, and finally he said I never had to attend another staff meeting.”

 “Ouch.”

 Curry shrugged, “It didn’t matter. Still doesn’t; after all, we’ve only got to go home, then we all get to make the big decision.”

 “Whether or not to stay in.”

 “I’m thirty-two, Maggie, and I’ve spent nine years as a prisoner, stuck in a penal colony or a grounded hulk. I wanted to make the military my career, but...I don’t know. I’d like to take a long bit of leave, think about it properly. Though if the Major gives me a bad evaluation...”

 “I doubt you have much to worry about. We’re starved for officers right now with the mobilization; they’ll let you stay in if you want, I reckon.”

 The door opened, and the two of them stepped out into a darkened room, this one full of carefully stacked supply containers, a few opened on the floor, and a decaying food wrapper perched next to a cup of old coffee by the floor.

 “Exhibit A?” Curry said.

 “More likely one of the mutineers was working here before the evacuation.”

 “Why do I get the feeling you don’t buy the Major’s theory?”

 Orlova glanced over at her, and sighed. “You aren’t going to like it.”

 Chuckling, Curry said, “You think it’s one of us?”

 “It does seem more likely.” Orlova braced herself for an argument, but Curry nodded.

 “You’re quite right.”

 “You agree?”

 She paused, then said, “You have a different perspective; you’re coming in from the outside. From my point of view, it seems impossible that any of these people could act against us, but you certainly have a point. I take it you shared this theory with the Major?”

 “He pretty much exploded.”

 “I’m not surprised.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “Nor was I, really.”

 Stepping out into the room, she looked around the crates, not really certain what she was looking for. Curry called up an inventory from the ship’s database, quickly scanning it for anything of interest. Something caught her peripheral vision, a blinking light, and she raced over to find an open crate, and an assembled shuttle communications system.

 “Got it.”

 Kneeling by the unit, Curry nodded, “Connected to ship’s power, but with its own antenna array. We’re close enough to the outer hull that it would have no problem getting through it.”

 “See if there are any data logs. Anything we can use.”

 “Like a decryption key?” she said. “I’m on it.”

 Orlova pulled out her communicator to call the bridge, then noticed something else on the wall, a small box with a rapidly blinking green light. Her eyes widened as she realized what it was – what it must be – and she turned to Curry.

 “This place is booby-trapped! Run!”

 The two of them sprinted to the elevator, but it was closed, sealed, and no amount of pounding on the button or the door could open it; Orlova’s communicator was dead, and she tossed it aside in frustration, quickly scanning the room for anything they could use. There was an access route directly down to the shuttle bay, the only other way out, and she dived for it, working the emergency release.

 “Internal communications are out!” Curry shouted, trying to operate the manual override on the elevator doors.  

 “This is sealed as well,” Orlova said. Looking over at the communicator on the floor, she raced over, picking up the microphone. During her days as a shuttle pilot, she’d spent years building this equipment; now her skill would be put to the test.

 “Orlova to anyone. Do you read me.”

 “What about the encryption?” Curry asked.

 “Hopefully that isn’t built in.”

 “Alamo to Orlova, Steele here. What’s going on? How are you…”

 “Never mind that. Get in touch with Hercules, have them open all the doors in the shuttle maintenance section. Curry and I are stuck in here with a bomb.”

 “On it. Wait one.”

 “Make it quick.” Orlova looked up at Curry, “Why the hell didn’t Nelyubov hear us?”

 “Good question.” She walked over to the box, shaking her head as she examined it. “Self-contained unit, nothing I can get at without setting it off. It won’t take much of a charge to breach the hull…”

 “So if the explosion doesn’t kill us, the decompression will,” Orlova finished. “Well planned.”

 The two of them walked over to the lower hatch, looking over it again. Someone had obviously disabled it deliberately; this was no systems error. The lights on the wall started to blink, harder and harder, and Curry looked over at Orlova.

 “You’re handling this very calmly.”

 “Would you rather I panicked?”

 “No.”

 Walking back over to the communicator, Orlova started to poke at the terminal, sliding a data stick into the feed, running a series of search-and-grab algorithms. Curry, still standing at the hatch, frowned, but said nothing as Orlova continued to work. With a rasp, the hatch popped open, and Curry started to climb down.  

 “Come on, Maggie,” she said.

 “Still working. Clear the hatch, I think I might be able to get something.”

 “And if you get blown up?”

 “Send someone out in a suit to retrieve the key.”

 Shaking her head, Curry climbed down out of sight, and Orlova continued to monitor the feed. There was definitely something downloading, but she couldn’t guess what it might be – nor did she have time to do anything but adjust the program to go for areas that seemed the most fruitful. Glancing back up at the wall, she saw the light switching to red, and guessing that she didn’t have much time left, snatched at the key and scrambled over to the hatch.

 She’d been right. An explosion tore through the hull, throwing her down to the floor, and a screaming hiss filled the air. A pair of hands grabbed at her, and with her last strength she tumbled through the open hatch, the door slamming shut behind; as she collapsed onto the deck, dazed and bloody, she stared up at the face of Lane, the last thing she saw before losing consciousness.

Chapter 16

 Marshall sat back, trying not to fidget as the shuttle slowly drifted into the heart of the asteroid; apparently the troops had started calling it Hades, and it seemed an appropriate name. Aside from being half again as big, this asteroid was a carbon copy of the one they had found at Jefferson, the long tunnel reaching in to the massive central chamber at the core, illuminated with spotlights, docking ports for starships, airlock scattered about in an apparently random formation.

 Another shuttle flew past them, dragging a dozen huge spheres on tightly attached cables; another fuel transfer, bound for Alamo or Hercules. Had Alamo’s pumps been working, this wouldn’t have been as bad, but Quinn was having serious problems repairing their one piece of battle damage, and Hercules wasn’t even equipped for fuel transfer in that manner. Given time, they could improvise something, but Marshall was rather hoping that they would be on their way home before that.

 He felt like a bit of a hypocrite coming here at all, after preventing Carpenter; she had a goal to accomplish here, whereas he just felt that he had to visit a spot where people under his command had fallen, see what they had died for with his own eyes at least once. Captain’s prerogative. The shuttle slowed almost to a stop, floating slowly towards the airlock. A spacesuited figure was drifting around, doing some work on the upper mechanism; turning, it waved at the shuttle as it approached, and it took an effort for Marshall not to reply.

 With a loud clang, the docking clamps engaged, the pressure began to equalize, and the airlock started to cycle. Marshall unclipped his restraints, drifting free, and pushed himself to the exit; the hatch from the pilot’s cabin opened, and the shuttle pilot – a blonde he vaguely recognized as one of the crew they’d taken aboard at Mariner, floated through.

 “All secure, sir,” she said.

 “Good flying, Spaceman.”

 “I’m here for the shift, sir, so you’ll need to take Shuttle Three back. Airlock down the corridor.”

 “Thanks.”

 “Just part of the service, Captain.”

 With a nod, Marshall pushed into the station proper, drifting down the long tunnel to the central corridor. He shook his head at the bullet holes in the walls, the thin trace of blood that had remained, a relic of a wound or a fatality sustained here. Ensign Zabek swung around the far end of the corridor, pushing towards him with a speed that suggested the possibility of an imminent collision.

 “Welcome aboard, sir,” she said, saluting. “I’m sorry no-one was here to meet you.”

 Returning the sharp salute, he replied, “Relax, Ensign. I didn’t expect to be piped on board, or I'd have warned you I was coming.”

 “Is there something wrong, Captain?”

 Shaking his head, he said, “This isn’t a surprise inspection or anything ghastly like that; I just wanted to see the place for myself. Can you spare some time for a quick tour?”

 “Certainly, sir,” she replied with a smile. “If you would follow me?”

 “By all means, Ensign.”

 The two of them pushed down the corridor, and Zabek guided them left, nimbly cruising over a pair of technicians working at securing data cabling to the floor. Marshall raised a hand, pausing and looking down at them, then up at Zabek.

 “We’re only here for a few days, Ensign.”

 “I don’t trust the station computers, sir. Mr. Quinn agreed with me; we’re setting up to run the station from whichever shuttle is docked. Our part of the station, anyway. Just enough to keep the fuel pumps working and the life support systems operating.”

 “Good work.”

 The lights flickered, and Zabek smiled, “See what I mean, sir? That keeps happening. They’re playing around with non-essential systems, trying to counter us. We had some sort of music playing on the lower level earlier through the speakers. No-one down there could hear themselves think until we disabled them.”

 “Did you record it?”

 “Record it?” she said, frowning. “I don’t think so, sir. I can ask around…”

 “Pity. Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter would have been interested.”

 Zabek closed her eyes, shaking her head, “I have had some long conversations with her, sir.”

 “Oh?”

 “Can I speak…”

 “Freely. Of course.”

 Nodding, she raised a hand to stop herself, then continued, “Frankly, sir, my people and I have too much to do now, without spending hours listening to lectures on long-extinct human species.”

 “Cooper?”

 “A good man, and has some leadership potential, but he’s green boots, skipper. He found that skeleton, and he has cavemen on the brain. All it takes are a few shadows and a bit of an imagination, and you might see anything in the heat of battle.”

 Inwardly, Marshall grinned; Zabek herself had been a rookie only a few months ago, yet to face her first battle; he reminded himself that in the intervening period she’d seen more ground battles than most troopers had seen during the War.

 “I’ll have a word with her, Ensign,” he replied. “Nevertheless, keep an eye out. On the off-chance that Cooper actually has something, it could be of critical importance.”

 “I understand that, sir,” she said. “But…,” she paused, sighing, then gestured down the corridor. “Control room’s down here, sir.”

 The two of them pushed on down the corridor, floating past the sight of another battle; this time there were hundreds of bullet marks, sprayed all around the room, and a pair of body bags were slung onto the ceiling.

 “Enemy casualties, sir,” Zabek said, noting his glance. “We’ve got them sealed and refrigerated. They’ll keep a while.”  

 “Shouldn’t they be buried? We could easily arrange a ceremony.”

 Shaking her head, Zabek replied, “That didn’t seem appropriate, sir. A few days from now their people will have control of this facility again. They can bury them in space themselves, and with friends rather than combatants at the funeral.”

 “Quite right, Ensign, I should have thought of that.”

 They sailed into the control center, where a pair of technicians were operating the consoles, Quinn looking over their shoulder. The engineer turned and smiled as Marshall approached, his face lighting up like a kid being given a new toy.

 “Having fun, Lieutenant?”

 “Absolutely, sir. I get to break and fix stuff I’ve never seen before.”

 Frowning, Marshall replied, “How different is this to Jefferson?”

 “These controls are a lot more sophisticated. Pity we can’t use them; I managed to shunt in some new software, the ones we use for fuel transfer stations back home.”

 “What were you doing with that on file?”

 “You’d be surprised what I’ve got stashed deep in Alamo’s databanks, sir.”

 “I see.” He looked around the room, “There wasn’t much damage here, by the looks of it.”

 “No, sir,” Zabek said. “My people took it nice and clean.”

 Looking back at the engineer, he said, “I trust that you are taking steps to ensure that this is not returned in the same mint condition?”

 Gesturing up at a box on the ceiling, Quinn replied, “Absolutely, sir! I'm leaving lots of fun surprises for the owners when they get back.

 The lights flickered again, then winked out completely; a series of emergency flashlights came on as one of the technicians began to swear. Quinn leaned over her shoulder, poking at a few controls.

 “What is it, Lieutenant?”

 “Another hacking attempt, sir.”  

 Looking around the gloomy room, Marshall said, “Looks like a bit more than an attempt.”

 “Got it!” the technician said, and the lights came back on. “They won’t sneak in that way again.”

 Quinn turned, saying, “We’ll have our own data network up and running in less than an hour.”

 “Can’t you pull the connectors?”

 “Buried in the rock. We’d have to tear the asteroid apart to do it.”

 “What? What about maintenance…”

 Shaking his head, the engineer replied, “I don’t think they expected the system to need any. This network is old, sir. It matches no design I’ve ever seen.”

 “But the consoles…”

 “The consoles have been designed to interface with them. It’s not one complete system, these systems are bolted on, almost as an afterthought. I’ve got some samples heading back to Alamo for study when we get home.”

 “Keep me informed, Mr. Quinn.” He looked around again, then continued, “And get back to the ship as soon as you can. I want to start stripping this place down.”

 “Do you think we might need to make a fast exit, sir?”

 “I want Alamo on the move as soon as we have enough fuel to make Spitfire Station, Lieutenant. We’re not staying here one second longer than we must.” He turned to Zabek, “Let’s take a look at the lower levels.”

 “Aye, sir,” she replied, pushing back down the corridor. He followed, twisting down after her, almost crashing into a pair of espatiers on the ground, fixing metal plates into position. The two of them saluted as he flew overhead.

 “What are you doing? Repairs?”

 “No, sir,” one of the troopers said. “Building some cover.”

 Zabek added, “We’ve got the squads putting fire positions on both the levels we hold. If we get attacked – when we get attacked in my opinion – I want to be able to fall back in some sort of order.”

 “Will that stop a plasma round?”

 “If they start throwing plasma bolts around in here, sir, we’ve got all sorts of problems to worry about. Besides, you can’t shoot what you can’t see. The hatch is here, sir.”

 Gesturing to a panel on the wall, she pulled a lever and swung in as the door swung open, dipping out of view into the shaft. Marshall peered after her, then pushed himself down into the darkness, a few hand torches barely providing enough light to see by. Shadows crept across the walls as he and Zabek slid down the long tunnel to the lower level; she paused at the end, and this time he did manage to crash into her, sending them both tumbling back up the corridor.

 “Sorry, Ensign.”

 “That’s fine, sir, I should have warned you I was stopping here.” She knocked on the panel, four times in quick succession, and it slid open, a trooper on the other side offering an arm to pull them out. Marshall drifted out into the corridor – which looked like a copy of the one above, right down to the construction of a metal barricade – and shook his head.

 “Isn’t that a little primitive?”

 “Sometimes it’s best to keep things simple, I think.”

 She pushed off down the corridor, bobbing down under the working troopers, and drifted across to another door, tapping it open with the push of a button. Marshall drifted after her, and into a huge chamber, hundreds of feet across, filled with a dozen gargantuan tanks connected by pipework and cables; a dozen technicians were scattered across the room, reading instruments or making measurements. He craned his neck back in a doomed bid to absorb the scope of it all.

 “I know, sir,” Zabek said. “I felt the same way.”

 “This has to be three, four times as large as the depot at Jefferson.”

 “I checked. This is the largest single fuel depot in space – at least, that we know about.”

 He turned his head sharply towards the espatier, “That wasn’t in your reports.”

 “It wasn’t germane, I thought, sir.”  

 “There’s enough fuel here to supply a fleet of starships.” He frowned, “The design…”

 “The technicians are working on that now, sir. The metal is an alloy we’re unfamiliar with, and the fuel stored at pressures a lot greater than anything we can manage. We’re liable to be bringing some very interesting information home with us.”

 A frown crossed Marshall’s face, and he reached down for a communicator, “Marshall to Alamo.”

 “Steele here, sir.”

 “Any sign of any activity in the system? Anything at all?”

 “Not as of our last check, sir.”

 He paused, then said, “Check again.”

 “Yes, sir,” she replied, hesitantly.

 “What is it, Captain?” Zabek asked.

 Marshall looked around at the swarms of people working in the room, then turned back to the Ensign, replying, “How many people are over here now?”

 “Forty-three, sir.”

 He shook his head, “That’s too many.” The communicator chirped, “Marshall here.”

 “Nothing in space, sir. Some movements on the moon below, I think some atmospheric transports. We’re keeping an eye on it, but it looks like routine traffic.”

 “Watch it like a hawk, Steele. I’ll be back shortly.” He turned back to Zabek, “I want the numbers down, right now. There are only two shuttle docks; I want only twenty personnel on the station at any time.”

 “I can’t, sir.”

 He turned to her with his harshest glare, “Why not, Ensign?”

 “I need that many to keep watch on all the hatches, as well as the support systems. That doesn’t count for the fueling process and everything else.”  

 “I see.” He glanced up again, “Anyone who isn’t involved in any operations over here that are critical to the defense of this little toehold or the refueling process goes home now. And no-one else comes over here without my express permission.”

 “Yes, sir.” She managed a half-smile, “Does that include you, sir?”

 His frown broke into a grin, and he nodded, “It does indeed, Ensign. Fill up my transit shuttle, and if anyone complains, tell them to take it to me. I hadn’t realized how much mission creep had taken place over here.”

 “Sorry, sir.”

 Raising a hand, he replied, “Not your fault, Ensign. Carry on.”

 “Yes, sir,” she replied, kicking up to give the technicians their marching orders. Marshall turned back to the corridor, and started to drift back to his shuttle. He paused to inspect some of the crude barricades that the troopers had welded on, giving one an experimental tug, then returned to the tunnel, shaking his head.

Chapter 17

 “Done,” Doctor Duquesne said to Orlova. “All twelve fragments, extricated and sealed. You should be grateful I make house calls.”

 “Thanks, doc,” Orlova replied, reaching over for a datapad, trying to disentangle her arm from the backless surgical gown.”

 “That’s it? I finish surgery and you start work after a rest period of perhaps ten seconds?”

 She looked up at the doctor with a smile on her face, saying, “I feel fine, doc. Besides, this is top priority.”

 “Can’t someone else do it?”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “We’ve got a spy on board. I’m convinced of it. I can’t let anyone else see this until I can present it to the captain.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant – you just got caught in an explosion that knocked you cold. If you hadn’t landed on Lane and Curry, it would have been a hell of a lot worse. Hell, for Lane it was.”

 “How's her arm?”

 “She’s not going to be playing squash for a bit, but she’ll be fine. I’m getting too damn good at this sort of thing. My point is that you need to at least acknowledge some sort of limits.”

 “Doctor, am I fit for duty or not?”

 Sighing, Duquesne replied, “Yes, you are fit for duty.”

 “Then I need to get back to work.”

 Closing her medical kit with a slam, she said, “Why don’t I ever get any easy patients? I’m heading back to Alamo, so if you blow yourself up again, please give me some sort of advance warning. This ship doesn’t even have a medical officer, and I have better things to do than hop back and forth patching people up.”

 “Got it!” Orlova yelled.

 “Got what?”

 “What I was looking for.” She reached over to a communicator on the counter beside her, but before she could reach it Major Marshall walked in, frowning at her current attire, a small box in one hand and a bag in the other; he placed the bag down on the floor.

 “Should I come back later?”

 “No, sir, I was just about to call you.”

 Duquesne broke in, “She’s clear for duty, Major.”

 “Thanks, Doctor, I appreciate you coming over here as quickly as you did.”

 Glancing back at Orlova, she replied, “You were damn lucky, Sub-Lieutenant, and I don’t think you appreciate just how lucky you were. That’s not something to rely on.”

 “I know, and thank you.”

 With a grunt, Duquesne nodded, then turned back to the Major, “I suspect you have things to talk about that are well above my clearance level, so I’ll let you have some privacy. I’ll have a word with your sick-bay attendant before I go, make sure you have everything you need over here.”

 “Thank you, Doctor. Dismissed.”

 As the door closed, the Major passed the box over to Orlova.

 “I managed to coax some grapes out of the fabricator. Well, they look like grapes. Sort of. I tried one and it tasted more like a fig, but at least it is vaguely fruit.”

 Orlova chuckled, replying, “Thanks for the thought, Major.” She waved the datapad in the air. “I got what I was looking for, sir.”

 He leaned forward, saying, “The encryption key?”

 “No, sir, I didn’t think there was a chance that any trace of it would have been left unattended. That’s probably sitting in someone’s pocket right now, or ejected from one of the trash airlocks. I wanted to find out where the message was sent.”

 “The asteroid, surely?”

 “Exactly where. Down to the meter.”

 “Why?”

 “Because whilst we might not know where the encryption key is here…”

 His face lit up, and he interrupted, “We can find it over on the station, and if they’ve got some sort of communications installation, they can’t simply put that in someone’s pocket!” Racing over to the wall, he tapped a button and the battered face of Curry appeared.

 “Sir?”

 “Get me a tight-beam, secure transmission with Captain Marshall and Ensign, ah…”

 “Zabek,” Orlova said.

 “Zabek. Immediately. Top priority.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Good work, Sub-Lieutenant, damned good work!” He started to pace across the room, nodding, “With that information we can launch a full-scale assault, get the data we want, and really hit those bastards where it counts!”

 A monitor lit up, and Captain Marshall’s face appeared on it, sipping a drink of water. A few seconds later, Ensign Zabek appeared on another monitor, floating in the middle of an empty room.

 “Sub-Lieutenant Orlova?” the Major said.

 Belatedly realizing what she was wearing, she gathered a sheet around her and plugged the datapad into a wall socket, transferring the information she had carefully tweaked out of the data to the others.

 “I’ve found the precise location where the signals from Hercules transmitted, down to the last meter. As far as I can determine, it’s about three levels down from the currently occupied area.”

 The Major broke in, “This is the break we’ve been waiting for. The location of a communications facility that will undoubtedly have the encryption key we need to crack open Hercules’ vault.”  

 Nodding, his son said, “Excellent work, Sub-Lieutenant, especially given what you went through to get it. Ensign?”

 With a deep sigh, Zabek said, “Sir, I don’t see that we can make any real use of this information.”

 “We can launch a full-scale assault, immediately!” the Major said. “Prepare a mission plan.”

 “Major, if I am ordered to plan and launch such an operation, I will obey orders – but I will tell everyone who goes to have their wills updated first, because in my opinion, it would fail.”

 “We have better men…,” the Major began, but Zabek cut in again.

 “I lost three people taking the two levels we had, and that was as much luck as judgment. It could easily have been a lot worse than it was. Now you want an assault on a prepared enemy, an attack on a fully-defended and aware installation. It just isn’t realistic.”

 Captain Marshall nodded, “I have to agree.”

 Snatching the datapad, the Major said, “Hercules' crew can support your operations, Ensign, if it is simply numbers you are lacking.”

 “I wouldn’t try it with twice the men we’ve got, sir.”

 “There must be something we can do.”

 “There is,” Orlova broke in. “Ensign, didn’t we capture some of the enemy spacesuits?”

 “They’d pick up a space assault instantly; just pushing into one of their airlocks isn’t going to work.”

 “Did we?”  

 “Three of them. The occupants didn’t need them any more.”

 “Are they damaged?”

 “Not seriously. Why?”

 “That’s the answer, then,” Orlova replied. “A full-scale assault is out of the question, but an infiltration might work. Three men, using the enemy spacesuits, head down into the levels and sneak in.”

 Over on Alamo, Marshall shook his head, his eyes widening, “That would be a hell of a mission, Sub-Lieutenant. A hell of a risk.”

 “I know that, sir, but it offers a better possibility of success. The rest of the espatiers can launch a diversion, make it appear as if they are trying an attack from another avenue, draw away the enemy defenses.”

 Zabek started to cautiously nod, “It might work. They’ve probably been waiting for us to try something, and certainly they’ve been poking at us enough.”

 “Can you spare three men?”

 “I think so. I presume this operation is to be launched at once?”

 “It is. If it fails, we’ll need time to think of something else.”

 The Captain leaned forward, “I want this to be volunteer-only, Ensign. I want that perfectly clear.”

 “If you can wait until I get over there,” Orlova began, but he cut her off.

 “You aren’t going, Sub-Lieutenant, and Ensign, neither are you. Nor is Sergeant Forrest.”

 “Sir…,” Zabek began.

 “I mean it, Ensign. No-one critical to the defense of the two levels we have is to go.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Get a mission plan to me in, say, half an hour. Operation to begin in an hour. Major?”

 “Captain?”

 “I think it would be an extremely sensible precaution for both of our ships to be at standby alert while the mission is under way.”

 “Agreed. I’ll make the arrangements over here.”

 “Good. Alamo out.”

 “Hades out,” Zabek said, and the two monitors cleared, leaving the Major alone with Orlova once more. She reached down to the box, picking up a grape; it didn’t even feel right, cold and hard, but she popped one in anyway, and even managed to show a diplomatic smile.

 “Tastes good, sir,” she said.

 “No need to be diplomatic, Sub-Lieutenant. I already ate one, remember.”

 She smiled, “I’ll pass around the box on the bridge.”

 “That I will look forward to.” He perched himself on the foot of the bed, then continued, “I take it you still believe that there is a traitor among my crew?”

 “I’m afraid I do, sir.”

 He nodded, “I think I may reluctantly be forced to agree with you. Your attempts to call the bridge were blocked, and I haven’t been able to trace it.” Shaking his head, he continued, “To think that people I have served with for a decade, that anyone…” Looking back up at Orlova, he said, “I’m man enough to admit when I’ve been wrong. I’m admitting that now.”

 “I thought Captains didn’t do that?”

 “Not in public. I’ve tightened all security restrictions, and posted guards where I can, but we’re so short-staffed at the moment that the coverage is about as far from complete as you could want – nevertheless, it should help.”

 “I agree, sir.”

 “Good. If you are fit for duty, I’m going to want you on the bridge right away to get the crew fired up; I’d like to squeeze in a couple of combat drills before the alert if we can manage it.”

 She looked down at her gown, then up at the Major, “Do you mind if I get changed first, sir?”

 “I positively insist.” He picked up the bag on the floor, and tossed it to her. She reached inside, pulling out a red jumpsuit.

 “Sir?”

 “I know it’s not as smart as that Triplanetary garb you’ve been used to, but I had the fabricators prepare you a real uniform – though I managed to fix the computer to give you the right insignia.”

 She picked up the material, running it through her fingers, and smiled, replying, “This will do fine, sir. I’m honored.”

 “That’s fine, Sub-Lieutenant. I’m glad to have you on Hercules.”

 Nodding, she replied, “It’s a pleasure to be here, sir,” and much to her own surprise, she meant it.

 “I’ll let you get changed, and see you on the bridge shortly.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 He stepped out of the room, and Orlova pulled the jumpsuit from the bag; she had to admit that it was rather more sensible than the uniforms the Triplanetary Fleet issued – or those the Martian forces were wearing now, if it came to it. Simple, wartime utilitarianism, a suit that would work well in zero-gravity, festooned with pockets, her name and rank emblazoned on a patch over her right breast. A glistening silver pin on her shoulder, the mark of her rank in Triplanetary service, was the only echo of her now-ruined Triplanetary uniform.

 She easily climbed into it, smiling; this was actually comfortable, and she wasn’t feeling the urge to itch anywhere. Looking at herself in the middle, she nodded, but there was something missing, something different about it. Finally, she noticed the assignment patch on her arm; she’d been wearing an Alamo patch for so long that she had almost considered it a standard feature of the uniform, but this had the Hercules logo boldly showing in its stead.

 Stretching carefully, not wanting to undo any of the doctor’s work, she walked out of the sick bay, switching off the lights behind her, and walked down the corridor to the elevator. A technician from Alamo, still wearing his usual uniform, did a double-take when he saw her, snapping a salute at the last minute as she stepped through the door, tapping a button for the bridge.

 The elevator stopped and the door opened, Carpenter walking in. Orlova waved her arm down her side, showing off her uniform, and her friend shook her head.

  “You’ve gone native, Maggie.”

 “Major’s idea, and a good one if I’m going to be here for a while. What are you doing here?”

 “Heading up to report that I haven’t found any evidence of Neanderthal crewmen.”

 Orlova blinked hard, then replied, “I’m sorry, I must be having some aftereffects from the explosion. I could have sworn…”

 “You heard me right. All the details are in Lance-Corporal Cooper’s after-action report.”

 “That sounds like interesting reading.”

 “I’m hoping to get a ride back over to Alamo; I just missed the doctor’s shuttle.”

 “That was fast work,” Orlova said, shaking her head. “You’re probably stuck here for a while, we’ll be going to alert stations soon. We can certainly use the extra hands, though.”

 “For what?”

 “Guard duty.” At Carpenter’s expression, she continued, “I’m quite serious. We need someone to keep an eye out for sabotage, and I’m going to be too busy to do it myself. I’ll have a word with the Major, but for now, head down to engineering and keep an eye on things.”

 The doors opened, and she stepped out onto the bridge. Nelyubov was sitting at Tactical, and she walked over to her station, placing her hand on the back of the chair.

 “I’ll take over now.”

 Nelyubov looked up, frowned when he saw the uniform, then looked over at the Major, who nodded.  

 “Very well,” he said, standing up, the chair pushed back. “It’s all yours.”

 She took her place on the bridge, the displays and panels shifting around as her presence was registered, and started to run the now-familiar series of systems checks. Major Marshall stood up, walking over to her station.

 “What say we see what this crew can do, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “Aye, sir.” She spoke into a panel, “Tactical to crew. Stand by for simulated battle drill in one minute. Report to your battle stations.”

 Curry leaned over from her station at the helm and smiled; returning the gesture, Orlova turned back to her console and started to load a drill program. A trio of enemy frigates should be a nice challenge for them...

Chapter 18

 Cooper carefully positioned himself against the wall, the dart held high in his hand as he peered at the magnetic board. Knight was doing her best to distract him, pulling faces; her last shot had been woeful, and it was looking likely that she’d end up pulling the midnight watch at this rate.

 With a careful flick, he tossed the dart, putting a slight spin on it as it glided smoothly across the room. There was a genuine art to throwing a dart in zero-gravity; the slightest movement of air could have a serious effect on its trajectory, sending it spinning far away from the board, but Cooper thought that he had worked out the pattern of the air circulators.

 Orlowski urged it on, flying close by the dart as it dived for the board, then turned with a thumbs’ up sign as it hammered into the bulls-eye, well above Knight’s previous shot. The best shot so far, but Knight had one last chance to retaliate. Before she could have her throw, Ensign Zabek drifted into the compartment, looking across at the board.

 “God, Knight, are you ever going to let him stop hustling you?”

 “I’ll get him this time, ma’am.”

 “No you won’t,” she said, shaking her head. “All off-duty troops report to the control room at once.” The officer drifted off down the corridor, leaving the rest of them looking at each other.

 “Think we’re being pulled out?” Kelly said.

 “We haven’t finished transferring fuel yet,” Orlowski replied. “If we were under attack, I don't think the Ensign would be inviting us in for a chat.”

 Turning for the door, Cooper said, “Only one way to find out,” and pushed off down the corridor. The others followed, five shapes drifting over the defenses they had laboriously constructed, kicking against walls to correct their drift. A gaggle of conversation was taking place up ahead; Forrest and the recently-promoted Roberts were corralling Third Squad down from the other direction.

 Zabek stood in the middle of the babble, holding a datapad. Cooper caught a look in her eyes that he had never seen before, a look of resignation. She cast her gaze down to the floor before turning up to look at the men, suspended from the ceiling with an outstretched hand.

 “Right, listen up. We’ve got a new job, and this is a big one. I need three volunteers for a high-risk mission behind enemy lines.”

 “Is it important?” a wag from Third asked with a smirk.

 “It comes right from the Captain,” Forrest said. “That important enough for you, private?”

 Cooper pushed forward, nodding, and raised his hand. “I’ve not got any plans for tonight I can’t break.”

 With a sigh, Orlowski followed his friend, shaking his head, and said, “If this clown’s going, I’ll have to go with him.”

 The rest of the troopers looked around, all of them wondering who the third unfortunate would be, whether someone would select themselves or be selected. Finally, with a hesitant air, Kelly drifted forward from the crowd behind Cooper.

 “I guess if no-one else is going, I might as well.”

 Forrest gave Third Squad a withering look, then said, “Anyone not volunteering, clear out of here and start full weapons check. Don’t think you aren’t going to go to a party today.”

 He and Zabek remained as the rest filed out; Roberts tossed a smile at Cooper as she took the rest of Second Squad out of the room, heading for the improvised armory; evidently she had some idea what was coming up. They stood facing the three of them, and she took a deep breath.

 “What I’m about to tell you must be considered highly secret, whatever happens here today. You all know that we came out here principally to obtain the database from Hercules, information that will be critical to the survival of the Confederation in the wake of a Cabal attack. What you do not know is that whilst we have the data, we did not obtain the encryption key that will be required to read it.”

 The trio looked at each other, and she continued, “Half an hour ago, we obtained the co-ordinates of what we believe to be a communications facility, three levels below us in mutineer-occupied territory. We need that information, and the three of you are going to go and get it for us. Sergeant?”

 Forrest, nodding, continued, “During our assault, we obtained three functioning enemy spacesuits, and I think you apes will fit them well enough. You will infiltrate the facility, proceed to the communications center, and obtain the information we need.”

 “Do we have a layout?” Cooper asked.

 “No. We haven’t been able to put one together for you, so we have only a vague idea of the tunnels – but we do have the exact location of the facility you are aiming for. The priority is to transmit the data back to Alamo, then get out by any means necessary.”

 Orlowski sighed again. “In that order, I presume, Sergeant.”

 “This is a risky mission,” Zabek said. “I’m not going to hide that from you, and if you want to back out now, you can. It won’t be logged, it won’t go on your records, and neither Sergeant Forrest nor I will hold it against you.”

 The look Forrest gave suggested that he might.

 With a smile, Cooper said, “I think we can handle it.”

 “The rest of you?” Zabek asked. At their silence, she nodded, saying, “Third Squad and the rest of Second are going to launch a diversionary attack down by the fuel tanks. You’ll infiltrate just up this corridor. We’re going to make as much noise as we possibly can, and I recommend you make as little as you can.”

 “Will do, ma’am. When do we start?”

 “Five minutes from now.” The three of them looked at each other, and she said, “The sooner we move, the sooner it’s done and we can get out of here. Good luck.”

 She drifted out of the room, followed by Forrest; the gruff old soldier paused at the door, turned, and saluted them before going after her.

 “What the hell have you got us into this time, Cooper?” Orlowski said, sighing.

 “Beats waiting around up here for them to attack us, Orlok. Come on, let’s go get suited up.”

 The three of them drifted across to the armory, a pair of sleeping compartments that had been secured by the expedient of stationing a guard in front of them; most of the weapons had been checked out by the time they got there, but Roberts was still standing guard over the remainder, as well as the three suits.

 “Do we know how these work?” Kelly asked, and the corporal shrugged.

 “I tried one on. Everything comes on automatically, life support and the like, but as to what any of the buttons do, your guess is as good as mine.”

 “It doesn’t matter,” Cooper said. “Unless things go really wrong, we’re not going to be wearing them in space. We can’t come to much harm drifting down a corridor.”

 “The glare filters are on, fortunately,” Roberts said. “If you keep the visors down, they won’t see you. Just remember that you don’t have any compensators, so if you fire a weapon, keep your back to the wall.” She started passing around pistols, and Orlowski looked up, surprised.

 “Don’t we get our rifles?”

 “They don’t look anything like the rifles the bad guys are using, Private, and it makes it a bit obvious. A pistol is a pistol, especially if it is stuffed inside your pocket. Besides, you’re meant to be infiltrating the station, not launching a full-scale assault. Make sure you’ve got plenty of tranq needles.”

 Cooper reached for his suit and began to tug it on, struggling to wiggle inside it; Roberts held it by the neck, helping him ease his arms and legs into the holes. Though it was difficult to put on, it felt surprisingly comfortable when he was inside it; he flexed his fingers, holding the pistol in his hand, and there was no difficulty at all reaching for the trigger.

 “Do you want these back?” he asked.

 “Just do what you have to do,” Roberts replied. She glanced down at her watch while the others started to stuff equipment into their pockets, almost at random – anything they thought might conceivably have a use. “I need to head down. Good luck.”

 “Thanks, Corp.”

 She nodded, then fixed him with a stare, “This isn’t a suicide mission. Get back. All of you. Is that understood?”

 “We’ll certainly do our best,” Orlowski said, snatching a pair of clips from a rack.

 Roberts drifted off, and Cooper looked at his two friends as they finished getting ready, looking to him to make the first move. It was finally beginning to dawn on him what that new stripe on his arm actually meant, that he was going to be commanding this run. Not taking orders from someone else, or making a couple of quick decisions in a crisis – all of this was on him.

 “Let’s get going, guys,” he said, pushing off down the corridor, making for the hatch down. The three of them drifted in silence down the first shaft, heading to the second level, only a single guard from First Squad there to greet them. He clapped Cooper on the shoulder, then pushed off towards the other end of the station, no doubt to join the rest of the diversionary force.

 “How will we know when they’ve started?” Kelly asked.

 “If we can’t hear them up on this level, then something has gone very badly wrong,” Cooper replied, and they carefully drifted towards the hatch, not making a sound. He rested his hand on the control, the other reaching for his pistol, and mentally started counting down the seconds.

 A series of shots rang out, then the muffled explosion of a smoke grenade, and a confused jumble of shouts and orders. With a smile, Orlowski made for the control, but Cooper shook his head, continuing to wait.

 “Give them time to react. Thirty seconds should do it.”

 Finally, he gently tapped the control, and the hatch slid open; before the others could enter, he took the lead, pushing himself down the shaft as fast as he could, flying head-first into the unknown, one hand reached out to where he hoped the control button would be. His guess was right, and the lower hatch slid open; he kicked out into a corridor, slamming straight into a guard.

 Quickly, he smashed him in the chest, sending them both spiraling around the corridor, then reached into a pocket for a tranq needle. Stabbing the diamond point through his suit, he managed to get the sedative home, and the guard hung loosely in his arms. Orlowski and Kelly drifted down after him, looking around the corridor.  

 “Save some for us, Gabe,” Orlowski said; Cooper made a hacking movement across his throat to silence him, then gestured up the corridor. Before letting the guard drop to the floor, he relieved him of his ammunition and his pistol, throwing them back up the shaft; he didn’t have any room for more ordnance, but that was no reason to allow the enemy to have it.

 The sounds of battle continued to echo around the corridors, but reassuringly distant; they had time to get moving. Now that they were in enemy territory, the suits would provide at least some element of protection, and he kicked off after the others, pushing the guard’s unconscious figure up the shaft after his weapons, and then sealing the hatch. By the time he woke up, the battle would be over.

 “Which way?” Kelly whispered as Cooper drifted behind her; they’d found a crossroads, and nothing particular distinguished any of the tunnels – just more twisted gray rock with the occasional curtained alcove to break the monotony. He glanced down at his datapad, looking at the tracking indicator, but with no other signs, he picked a direction at random.

 “We go left,” he said, waving the datapad to provide the illusion of knowledge. The three of them kicked off down the corridor, attempting to look as if they belonged there, while inside, Cooper quietly hoped that he’d made the right decision. They continued to drift down the corridor, cautiously looking around, and came to a corner; spinning around, they group came face-to-face with a technician working on a panel on the wall.

 For a second, Cooper’s heart stopped; the technician waved at them, and Kelly had the presence of mind to wave back as the three of them drifted past, not daring to say a word. Once they were safely out of range, he remembered to breathe, and turned around another corridor. He looked at the datapad again, and noted that they were at least getting a little nearer.

 The noise of the diversion was beginning to dissipate; there was only so long they could keep it up without actually trying to take the level below, and that was definitely out of the question; they’d need to reinforce the other entrances as well as quickly as they could. Time was passing, and they didn’t seem to be making any progress.

 “Over there,” Orlowski said, gesturing to a spot on the wall. Cooper looked over, and tucked behind an ill-fitting curtain was another hatch cover. He pushed over, activating it, and peered inside, looking down into the inky gloom. Glancing back with a nod, he pulled himself into the tunnel and started to descend.

 This time proceeding with more caution – reasoning that he now had no need of excessive force, as the disguise was obviously working – he drifted down to the lower level, glancing with satisfaction as he noted that he was dropping down almost to the level of the communications station. Somehow they’d managed to find a direct shaft, bypassing an entire area.

 That meant, however, that it was taking a long time for them to descend, too long for his liking. Kelly and Orlowski were behind him, their shapes blocking out the light from above. Placing his pistol in a convenient pocket, he pulled out a tranq needle instead, holding it concealed in the palm of his hand, ready to wield it should the opportunity arise.

 Eventually the shaft came to an end, and the three of them congregated at the hatch. There was no sign of security cameras or other monitoring equipment – they’d found no evidence in the levels above they’d held, for that matter – but all that meant is that it was likely hidden too well for them to detect. He glanced around at the others, held up three fingers, dropping them one at a time before using the last to jab the release button.

 The hatch opened, and they scrambled out; a guard was standing by the side of the hatch, and looked down at them with a frown as they floated into the corridor, shouting something at them in French. Cooper looked at the others, but none of them could understand a word he was saying; before the guard could raise the alarm, he reached over, tapping him on the back, jabbing the needle in between his shoulder blades.

 “Let’s ditch the suits,” Cooper said. “They’re going to slow us down, and we aren’t going to get away with just drifting into a secured facility, I reckon.”

 Frantically pulling off gloves and boots, they stowed the suits with the unconscious guard in the shaft, a silent guardian of the bounty of equipment stored with him. Pulling out everything they could carry from the suit pockets, the two others looked at Cooper for direction. Holding up the datapad again, he gestured down the corridor.

 “We’re getting close now. Pistols at the ready, I think stealth is about to be sacrificed for speed.”

 “How do we get back?” Kelly asked, glancing at the shaft.

 “One thing at a time,” Cooper replied, pushing off from the wall.

 As he slowly moved down the corridor, he waited for alarms, sirens, shouts from approaching guards, but there was no trace, no sign that their incursion had been detected. He began to think that this was actually going to work, that they’d manage to get in and out with the data they required.

 The unbroken walls flowed past; this level was even more spartan than the one above, aside from some data cables bolted to the wall, surprisingly similar to the ones they were using above. Thinking of the knife in his pocket, he decided to make some destructive modifications to the network as soon as they were on their way back.

 A quick, insistent buzzing came from his communicator; slapping his hand down to his pocket, he pulled it out, checking the system. He quickly saw the problem, a loss of signal. Either someone was jamming them, which had some worrying implications, or they were getting too deep in the asteroid. He glanced at the others, who nodded.

 “Now what?” Orlowski said, quietly.

 “We take back the data we need by hand. Come on, it’s just ahead.”

 Shaking her head, Kelly muttered, “I thought this was going too damn well.”

 “It still will if you both cut the chatter. Let’s get moving,” he replied, replacing the now-useless communicator in his pocket. The corridor dipped, and he nearly crashed into the wall before pushing off, using the opportunity to steady himself. Every time there was a dip or a turn, he braced himself for a fight, but they didn’t meet a soul on their passage through the level.

 At last, the datapad gave a single, quiet buzz, and they were finally at their target. Cooper risked a quick peek around the corner, and saw a long corridor, a pair of bored-looking guards floating in front of a door, obviously their destination. The only problem was that the door was at least fifty feet away, plenty of time for them to draw and fire. This time simply barreling in would not suffice.

 Cooper pointed at Kelly, making a pistol symbol with his finger and thumb, and she nodded, drawing her pistol. Two guards, two shots, with Orlowski standing by as cover. They’d only get a single shot at this, so it had to be good – and as soon as they fired, all manner of hell was liable to descend upon them.

 There was no rush. Cooper lined up the shot, and Orlowski counted down, so quietly as to almost be imperceptible, and with a pair of cracks that shattered the silence, two people died, their bodies slowly tumbling down the corridor, blood spilling from their foreheads. Kelly was the first down the corridor, Cooper right behind her; before they could reach it, the door opened, and a pair of shots rang out, a lone guard firing wild, and Orlowski managed to take the shot.

 Kelly drifted past the door, gasping for breath, as Cooper grabbed her; she had a nice bullet hole in her arm, sweat beading up on her forehead.  

 “Damn,” Orlowski said, pulling out his medical kit.

 “Do what you can for her, Orlok,” Cooper said, heading into the room. Aside from the slowly tumbling corpse of the last guard, the communications suite was vacant; a pair of consoles with equipment that Cooper vaguely recognized.

 He struggled to remember his combat hacking course – Kelly had done a lot better than him at that exam – and pulled out a data stick, sending it on a hunt for data; fortunately, most of this equipment seemed to be of Triplanetary origin – something he filed for future reference, as he took a few photographs with his datapad.

 Orlowski drifted in, pushing Kelly, “She’s in shock, but will be fine. How are you doing?”

 “We’re getting the data now, draining it dry.”

 “Any chance we can transmit it to Alamo from here?”

 “If you have some hidden experience with Cabal-modified communications systems, now would be a good chance to use it. Most of the damn dials read backwards.”

 He swapped out data sticks as Orlowski looked nervously around, saying, “Come on, Gabe, we’ve got to get out of here. It’s going to take us twice as long carrying Kelly.”

 “It takes as long as it takes. Cover the door.”

 Peering out, he replied, “There’s no one there.”

 “What?”

 “Hey, don’t look a gift horse…”

 “If this was one of our stations, the place would be swarming with troops by now. Hell, if we were trying to protect some of our most vital intelligence secrets, we’d have more than a pair of dopey guards defending it.”

 “So they’re incompetent.”

 “This would be the first time. The only thing I can think of…”

 “What?”

 Cooper looked at his friend, eyes wide, “Is if they suddenly had to be somewhere else in a hurry, and that what they were doing meant that us getting out wouldn’t be a problem.”

 “Kurwa! They’re attacking the upper levels.”

 “No wonder we didn’t see anyone.” Snatching the data stick out, he said, “I hope that’s enough. We’ve got to get back, right now.”

 Groaning, Kelly said from the corner, “Get out of here, then.”

 “We’re not leaving you.”

 “Yes, you are,” she replied. “Orlok’s right. Getting me back will take too long, and I’ll be no use in a fight when you get there.”

 “Damn it, Joyce,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t leave you behind.”

 Reaching for a gun, she said, “Do I have to shoot you to make you leave? I’ll come after, as fast as I can. Don’t write me out yet.”

 Hanging at the door, Orlowski said, “She’s right, Gabe. Come on.”

 Turning to Kelly, Cooper said, “Give ‘em hell, Private.”

 “I’m a Triplanetary Espatier, Corporal. That’s what we do.”  

 His last sight of her as he pushed off down the corridor was of her propped up against the wall, gun in hand, a crooked smile on her face.

Chapter 19

 Sitting in his command chair, Marshall stared at the viewscreen, watching the image of the asteroid ahead, Hercules seeming to hover just above it from this angle. A pair of shuttles slowly lumbered towards the ships, laden down with a dozen tanks of precious fuel.

 He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, drawing a look of chagrin from Caine at the tactical station, but he could see her fidgeting with her targeting controls, and realized with a smile that she was having exactly the same problem. Turning to face Ivanov at the communications station, he started to speak, but was cut off by the technician.

 “Still nothing from the asteroid, sir.”

 “Well anticipated, spaceman.”

 He looked up at the clock, set to Mission Elapsed Time; twenty minutes and counting since Cooper and his team had begun their infiltration. Zabek had reported that her diversionary attack appeared to have been successful, but there was no news of the strike team. Caine rose from her station and walked over to him.  

 “It could take hours, Captain. They’ll be taking their time working their way through the levels.”

 “I take it you haven’t met Lance-Corporal Cooper.”

 She smiled, shaking her head, “Another one of Orlova’s disciples, no doubt. Even so, it takes time to go that far through the decks.”

 “We could send another team after them.”

 “The espatiers are stripped bare enough as it is, Danny.” Glancing at the door, she said, “Why don’t you go and get something to eat.”

 “Is that an order?”

 Putting on a mock-fierce expression, she replied, “Don’t make it one.”

 “Yes, mother.” He stood, starting towards the door, only to be stopped by a look from Bryant.

 “We’re picking up some activity, Captain. Not from the asteroid, from the moon.”

 Returning to his chair, he replied, “Put it up on the screen. I could do with a change. What are we looking at?”

 The screen changed, and a few small dots were visible moving across the surface; the image was blurry, operating at the maximum possible magnification.

 “Some sort of atmospheric transport, sir. We’ve seen them a couple of times moving between the settlements, pattern suggesting cargo traffic. But only one at a time up until now.”

 “Any message traffic?”

 “None that we are able to detect, Captain.”

 “Want to take a look?” Caine asked.

 “And leave our troops stranded down there?”  

 She shook her head, saying, “Sir, you have two ships to play with now. Alamo can go and take a look while Hercules remains on station.”

 “That’ll put us further from the hendecaspace point.” His eyes widened, and he looked over at the sensor station. “Bryant, I want everything we’ve got focused at the two local hendecaspace points.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 “Matsumoto, have the Executive Officer report to the bridge on the double, and get Mr. Mulenga down to his emergency station.”

 Nodding, the diminutive watch officer replied, “Aye, Captain,” and began issuing the necessary orders from her station.”

 “What is it?”

 “They’re trying to lure us in. Either that or they’re getting ready for something, and I don’t like the implications of that.”

 “Danny, there’s no way they can have responded to us in this little time.”

 He looked up at her, “Unless they were expecting us.”

 “How?”

 “All of this, finding my father, finding Hercules, all of this has been just a little too easy so far.”

 “Tell that to the three troopers.”

 That silenced him for a second, but he replied, “For an operation of that type against such odds, three casualties is astounding, especially for troops engaged in their first action.”

 “They weren’t fighting fully-trained troops…”

 “Or is that just what they wanted us to think?”

 “Sir!” Bryant said. “We’ve got shuttles launching from the surface of the moon. Four of them, I think they’re shooting for orbit.”

 “Configuration?”

 Frantically working her controls, she replied, “Three unknown, one of them from Hercules.”

 McGuire turned from the helm, “I have an intercept course ready to go, sir.”

 “Negative. Ivanov, try to contact them, but I doubt you’ll get any reply. Our friends are the silent type.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “And contact Zabek and ask for an update. Yesterday if possible.”

 “Should I try to contact the infiltration team?”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “No. I don’t want to add to their risks any more than we have already.”

 The elevator doors opened, and Zebrova walked out. She looked from station to station, rapidly assessing the situation, and then moved to stand beside Marshall’s chair.

 “Trouble, sir?”  

 “Maybe.”

 “I have Ensign Zabek for you, sir, urgent!” Ivanov said.

 Racing over to the console, Marshall snatched a headset, “Marshall. Go.”

 “We’ve got incoming, sir! Forces closing in on us in at least four places.”

 “Can you hold them?”

 “Not without help. There’s too damn many of them.”

 Turning to Caine, Marshall said, “Round up as many Alamo hands who fought on Jefferson as you can – get them armed, and get them to shuttles. Take charge of the party. I guess we now know what they were trying to divert us for.”

 Her eyes widening, Zebrova said, “You plan on using untrained spacemen in assault roles?”

 “In defensive roles, Lieutenant.” Gesturing at the asteroid, he continued, “We’ve got to hold as long as we can.”

 Running over to the elevator, Caine said, “All in works, sir. I’m on my way down to the hangar deck now, first shuttles will be in the air in five minutes.”

 “Make it quick, Deadeye,” he replied as Zebrova took her place at Tactical. “Zebrova, contact Hercules and see if they have anything they are able to throw into the fight. Anything at all would be useful right now.”  

 “Yes, sir.”

 He returned to his command chair, sitting down, and started to worry. A part of him wanted to head down to the hangar deck and take charge of the operation himself, but he didn’t have any ground forces experience and he knew it. Something he probably needed to remedy in the future, but for the present, there was nothing he could do but sit and wait.

 “First shuttles taking off now, sir,” Zebrova said a few moments later.

 “Ensign Zabek says that her people are now under fire, Captain,” Ivanov reported. “She can hold, but not for long. Sick bay has been alerted to accept casualties.”

 “Oh God,” Bryant said.

 “What is it?”

 The technician turned to him, her face stricken, “Dimensional instability at the near hendecaspace point, Captain. Major event in progress.”

 Glancing across at Zebrova, Marshall replied, “How major?”

 “Multiple capital ships.”

 “Damn.”  

 The tactical display winked onto the viewscreen, and with a flash of blue light four ships appeared, all of them unfamiliar. The largest, holding station in the middle of the formation, was obviously a carrier, festooned with hatches and launch bays.

 “Best guess, three battlecruisers and a carrier, sir,” Zebrova said.

 “Ivanov, get our shuttles back on board now. Cease all boarding operations in the hangar deck; we can’t risk having them in the air if we’re going to be in a firefight.”

 “Enemy forces will be on us on thirty-one minutes, sir, based on best-guess acceleration profile. Firing window of three minutes, twenty seconds, assuming no deceleration and weapons range matching our own.”

 “Thanks for the guesswork, Matsumoto.”

 “Enemy shuttles are moving to intercept the formation, sir. They’ll link up with them after the battle,” Bryant reported. “No sign of any other activity in system.”

 “What about our craft?” he asked Zebrova.

 “Lieutenant Caine’s shuttle is in final approach now, and she has been instructed to proceed immediately to the bridge. We have two fueling shuttles in the air now, both scheduled to land in seven minutes. They could jettison their fuel and land in three.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “We need the fuel.” He already knew the answer to his next question. “Fuel status?”

 “With that being brought on board by the shuttles, sir, we should have just sufficient to get us to Innes’ Star.”

 A silence swept the bridge; Marshall finally broke it, saying, “Not enough. What about Hercules?”

 “About the same, sir.”

 “I see.”

 “We’re being hailed by the carrier, sir,” Ivanov said. “They want to speak with you, sir. By name.”

 “By name?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Let's not keep my unknown friend waiting.” Marshall relaxed back in his chair, trying to look comfortable with the situation, and a familiar face appeared on the viewscreen – the Commandant who had led the ground forces at Jefferson, this time sitting at the heart of a bustling bridge.

 “Lieutenant-Captain Marshall,” he said. “It is an unexpected pleasure to see you once again.”

 “Commandant,” Marshall replied with a curt nod. “Frankly it is a pleasure I could have done without. Am I this time to receive the privilege of knowing your last name?”

 “If I were in your position, that would be the least important piece of information I was seeking. I must ask you to surrender your vessel.”

 “You know I cannot and will not do that. We are engaged in recovery operations.”

 Smiling, the Commandant said, “Recovery operations?”

 “Yes. We have recovered the Martian battlecruiser Hercules, and are currently rescuing elements of its crew from the asteroid.”

 “And the fuel I see being loaded aboard your vessel?”

 “Free salvage; the asteroid was crewed by mutineers from the Hercules, who we are bringing to justice. They will face trial in a Triplanetary court; I would be more than willing to provide you with the eventual transcripts.”

 “I’m sure they would make for truly fascinating reading.” The Commandant leaned forward, “I know what sort of a position you find yourself in, seeking out your father after all these years. However, he was imprisoned for committing crimes against the Cabal, I believe several counts of piracy.”

 “His ship was stolen from him. I’m simply getting it back.” Marshall smiled, “Once we have completed our current operations, we will naturally be leaving the system and returning home.”

 “Captain…”

 “And if you make any attempt to stop us, I assure you that you will be facing a fight that you will not soon forget. Alamo and Hercules are both ready for battle.”

 “I quite understand that, Captain.” He leaned forward, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “My superiors would like your two ships seized, the crews arrested and detained. I am aware that such an operation would be...expensive, and would wish to avoid it. I will make you an offer.”

 “I’m listening.”

 “Alamo and its crew will be permitted to return home, and I will even provide you with sufficient fuel for the trip. I know what your current fuel levels are.”

 “That’s very generous of you.”

 “Hercules and its crew, however, must remain. I would be willing to permit your father to return home with you, however.”

 Ivanov gasped, and Zebrova turned to him, her eyes piercing. Marshall simply sat on his chair, smiling. He’d thought that the Commandant might have tempted him with the return of Hercules’ crew, simply keeping the ship. This was going to be easier than he thought.

 “No deal, Commandant.”

  “A pity. I have no wish to engage you in battle, Captain.”

 “Then I suggest you maintain station-keeping until we leave the system.”

 Chuckling, the Commandant replied, “You have twenty-nine minutes to change your mind, Captain. After that, I fear it will be too late for any debate.”

 The image winked out, and all eyes turned to Marshall, questioning him. He sat in his chair, looking around the room at each of them, as the enemy forces continued to close in.

 “Hercules calling, sir,” Ivanov said.

 “Put them on.”

 His father’s face appeared, saying, “I’m not leaving my men, but get out of here while you can.”

 “That isn’t an option. I wouldn’t trust that bastard as far as I could throw him. He’s just trying to separate the two ships so he can deal with each of us in turn. We both know that.”

 “Then…”

 “We’re running for it.”

 “We haven’t got enough fuel…,” Zebrova said.  

 “We can worry about that later. Get those fueling shuttles in as fast as you can. Major?”

 “Yes?”

 “Prepare to break station. We’re heading for the far hendecaspace point.”

 “Right.”

 The elevator doors opened, and Caine walked out onto the bridge. After a quick glance at the viewscreen, she raced over to Tactical, sliding into the seat as it was vacated by Zebrova, who walked back over to Marshall's side.

 “Nice little trip I had there, sir,” she said. “Shall I go to battle stations?”

 “Not yet. Wait until we’re ten minutes to contact.”

 “Sir,” Zebrova said, quietly, “We have not got the fuel to get home. The enemy forces will doubtless be pursuing us all the way.”

 “Doubtless.”

 “Are you expecting assistance at Innes’ Star?”

 “No. We’re going to have to work out our own salvation, Lieutenant.”  

 “What about the espatiers on the asteroid?”

 He nodded, turning to Ivanov, “Get me Ensign Zabek.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 There was a ten-second wait that felt like an eternity, before the ensign replied. The rattle of gunfire was audible in the background, and the hiss of static was punctuated by a loud scream.

 “Zabek here. Where’s the reinforcements?”

 Taking a deep breath, Marshall replied, “They aren’t coming. Four enemy ships just jumped into the system. We’re going to have to pull out.”

 “Sir…”

 “No option, Ensign.”

 “It’ll take two trips, sir!”

 “I know,” he said, quietly. “I know. We’ve got shuttles on the way,” he signaled to Caine, who started to issue the orders, “but they’ll be at least five minutes, and they can’t stay for long. I’m breaking station now.”

 “Right, sir. We’ll do our part.”

 “Any sign of the infiltration team?”

 “None, sir.”

 “Very well. Good luck, Ensign.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 Caine turned to him from her station, “You know that the odds of them getting out are slim.”

 “I do. I also know that we can’t take the risk of waiting any longer. Can the fueling shuttles catch us if we move out now?”

 Glancing at her board, Caine nodded, “Just. Transit time will stretch to twenty minutes, but they’ll make it.”

 “In that case, then, Midshipman McGuire, break station. Get us to the far hendecaspace point as fast as you can.”

 “Aye, Captain,” she said. “Transit time will be forty-nine minutes.”

 “Enemy will intercept us...at forty-five minutes,” Caine said.

 “Four minutes while we get to the hendecaspace point, with all that death raining down on us,” Makala said from the engineering station. “They’ll tear us to pieces.”

 “Belay that, spaceman!” Marshall said. “We haven’t lost yet. Alamo and Hercules have a hell of a lot of fight left in them.”

 “Ready on the course, sir.”

 “Get us there, Midshipman.”

Chapter 20

 As he drifted around a corner, pushing off on a wall to speed his passage, Cooper began to hear the sounds of gunfire in the distance; this time it was not a diversion, but a full-scale attack. The corridors were empty, stripped of people – everyone was pushing at their toehold above. His only thought was to get back as quickly as he could, to add his pistol to the fight. An explosion echoed through the corridors, and Orlowski, struggling to keep up, turned to Cooper.

 “You know, I’m glad that we’re not encumbered with anything as complicated as a plan of attack.”

 “I’ve got a plan.”

 “Well, I think I have ‘need to know’ clearance at this point.”

 “Head right into the back of their assault shooting at everything that moves.”

 “Good plan. I see the genius that got you promoted.”

 Kicking off another wall and sending himself into a slow tumble, Cooper quickly checked his pistol, and made sure that he had enough ammunition for the fight; a trio of clips jangled in his pocket. Had he a choice, he’d be going into battle with something that had rather more power to it – he longed for one of the plasma rifles that were safely stowed on Alamo – but you go to battle with what you have, not what you want, he reasoned.

 A rattle of gunfire echoed down the corridor, and the faint trace of a scream followed them; he hoped that it was one of the enemy that had just died, not one of his friends, but if the assault was as serious as he feared, he didn’t like the odds. He had to get back, to join his comrades, even if it was just to die with them.  

 Ahead, a pair of bodies tumbled in the corridor, both of them wearing a khaki uniform he didn’t recognize, bullet holes festooned on their chests. Droplets of blood floated in the air, slowly moving towards the air circulators, and he caught several splatters on his uniform as he passed through it to the waiting shaft. The smell of smoke mingled with blood filled his nostrils; Orlowski started coughing as it reached him.

 Reaching out for a handhold, Cooper swung himself to a stop, snatching his friend out of the air with his other hand, sending them both tumbling to the wall. Looking up the shaft, he could see shadows moving, blocking out the lights, and someone above was spending bullets with reckless abandon.

 “Ready?” he asked Orlowski, who hefted his pistol.

 “As I’ll ever be.”

 “On three, then. Three, two, one, now!”

 Simultaneously, the two of them swung into the shaft, snatching hold of anything they could to brace themselves, then emptying their clips into the forces above. The only possible advantage they had was surprise, and they meant to use it to the full; even if they didn’t hit anything directly, the bullets were rebounding from the walls, a hail of death filling the air.

 Sliding new clips into their pistols, Cooper and Orlowski pushed their way up the shaft, ready to open fire, pushing through four dead and dying bodies. Inside, Cooper breathed a sigh of relief as he saw them all wearing khaki.

 “Cooper? That you?” gasped a familiar voice as they emerged.

 “Corporal?” He looked out into the corridor, and his eyes widened at the sight; Roberts was floating in a sea of bodies, a rifle held limply in one hand while the other clasped down on a gaping wound on her shoulder, blood slowly seeping into her uniform. He looked around, recognizing far too many of the faces of the dead.

 “What happened?”

 “Surprise attack. All four entrances at once.” She coughed, and droplets of blood splattered out into the air, swirling and drifting amid the corpses. “They fought like lions, Gabe. You’d have been proud.” Gesturing down the corridor with her rifle, she continued, “Battle still going on. Rest down there.” With a last, deep breath, her head slumped, and her grip on the rifle loosened, sending it dropping down to the floor.

 As another burst of shots rang out down the corridor, towards the fuel tanks, Cooper drifted forward, closing her eyes with his palm. He snatched her rifle out of the air, and took a clip that was half-out of her pocket.

 “Christ, Gabe,” Orlowski said.

 “She’d want this. Grab a gun and let’s get the hell out here.” Down at Roberts, he said, “Sleep easy, my friend,” and taking one last look, he turned and pushed away, heading towards the action, determined to help the living if he could.

 Snatching a gun out of the air, Orlowski followed him, staring back at the tangle of corpses before returning his attention to the battle. Grim determination on his face, Cooper pushed down the corridor, rifle at the ready, pistol now jammed into a pocket. Two clips didn’t feel like much – and frankly, it wasn’t, especially with one of them half-empty – but if he could make each shot count, at least he might make a difference.

 This time they tumbled into a battle that was in progress; Forrest was leading Third Squad, holding their ground against three times the opposition, the occasional crack of a bullet filling the air as one side or another took a shot against an incautious soldier. Cooper and Orlowski, uniquely, were out of cover, and it seemed as if a dozen people realized that at the same time, unleashing a wave of fire at them. Thinking quickly, Cooper pushed off on his friend, sending them both tumbling away, and fired twice at nothing in particular to send him careening off into the wall, knocking the wind from him as he slammed into the rock, but at least providing him with some cover.

 “What the hell are you doing here?” Forrest said.

 “Didn’t want to let you have all the fun, Sarge!”

 Another voice cut in, “We can’t stay here all day, Sarge!”

 “Cut it, Duggan. We’re not going to.” He pulled a sphere from his pocket, and with a smile, tossed it into the heart of the room. “Was saving that for a special occasion.”

 Cooper recognized what Forrest was throwing just in time for him to raise his hand to his eyes, blocking the flash, but spots still filled his vision, tears welling in his eyes as he furiously blinked to clear them away. Now there were targets, and he was able to take four well-placed shots, sending a pair of enemy troopers flying back out of the battle, leaving a red trail behind them.

 “Everyone out! Get moving!” Forrest said, “Back into the corridor, before they can recover.”

 Cooper didn’t need to be told twice; this battle wasn’t going to end well unless they could get away, and he kicked back into the corridor, spotting a figure moving about. He risked a shot, but it ducked behind one of the floating corpses, using the dead as cover. Forrest, up by his side, shot the corpse with a bullet at maximum velocity; the bullet passed right through and caught the man with the gruesome idea of cover in the chest.

 Six espatiers flew down the corridor, Forrest holding on to bring up the rear. Instinct caused Cooper to raise his hand to the ceiling, slowing his progress and twisting him around to help the old sergeant; Forrest turned to him with a smile.

 “Bucking for a promotion, kid? This is my job.”

 The two of them fired into the darkness, sending them flying back towards the survivors of the squad, shooting at anything that looked like it was moving. It seemed that their enemies had elected to pursue the better part of valor, and wait for them to withdraw before securing the fuel tanks. Orlowski grabbed Cooper by the shoulder, bringing him to a stop close to the shaft.

 “Come on, come on, let’s get out of here!” he said, swinging himself up and out of view. Cooper snatched at the sergeant, slowing him just enough to allow him to grab a handhold.

 “Right, move it,” Forrest said, and Cooper hastened to comply, but before he could slide into the shaft he saw a trio of enemy troopers heading in their direction, rifles at the ready. Fire crackled from the barrels as they advanced, shards of rock tumbling from the air; this group had compensator jets to stabilize them.

 Neither Forrest nor Cooper were so equipped; the old veteran knew exactly what he was doing when he opened fire, sending him tumbling back towards the fuel tanks, where a dozen people waited with guns and a determination to end his life. The last sight Cooper had of him was the sergeant tumbling down the corridor, yelling a battle cry as he fired off the remainder of his clip; he closed the hatch behind him and hastened up to the next level.

 At the top, Orlowski was waiting for him with Knight, both of them with rifles drawn to cover him. Cooper clasped Knight on the shoulder, then looked back down the shaft, pausing for a second to catch his breath.

 “Where’s Forrest?” Knight said.

 Looking up, Cooper shook his head, “He didn’t make it.”

 “Christ,” Orlowski said. “Zabek’s up the corridor with the rest of the platoon. What’s left of it.”

 A strange crackling sound began to ring up the shaft, and Cooper glanced down; the hatch cover was glowing red, a white line around the outside; he quickly closed the top hatch and pushed off down the corridor.

 “They’re burning through, and I think we’re going to have company soon,” he said.

 Following him, they moved through the deceptively quiet corridor; the battle hadn’t yet touched this level, and a few technicians were still packing up equipment as though they had all day to catch the next shuttle.

 “Hurry up,” Cooper yelled as he flew past. “If you can’t pack it up in ten seconds, leave it! Most of that crap will have to stay behind anyway.”

 “Mr. Quinn will have my head if…,” one of the technicians began to reply, but Cooper cut him off, “I’ll have your balls if you don’t! Get moving! People are dying to buy you this time.”

 Zabek looked up as the three of them approached, her blood-splattered face cracking a smile, by the looks of it for the first time that day. She peered behind them, then the smile faded.

 “Forrest?” Cooper shook his head, and she continued, “We’ve got a shuttle docking for the civilians right now. Once they’re loaded, it's our turn on the next.”

 “One shuttle for all of us?” Knight said.

 With a sad frown, Zabek replied, “I think there will probably be some empty seats on that shuttle, Private. Right now, we’ve got to hold this ground long enough to get the non-combatants away. Anything after that is gravy.” She shook her head, then continued, “I’ll send you what’s left of First Squad to cover you, Cooper. You’ve got this corridor; Brown’s taken Third Squad and is holding the over.”  

 “We’ll hold the line, ma’am.”  

 “I know,” she said, pushing back down the corridor as the technicians scurried past, clutching cases to their chests as they raced towards the shuttle. One of them – the one who had talked back to Cooper – briefly turned.

 “I’m sorry, Corporal.”  

 “This is what we do, Spaceman,” he replied, turning back to the corridor. Almost to himself, he repeated, “This is what we do.”

 A loud clang echoed through the corridor, and Cooper realized that the first shuttle had docked. He remembered briefly that Barbara was on alert status today; he hoped that if she was flying, she was on this shuttle rather than the next. The odds of this shuttle getting away were excellent; they’d managed to buy sufficient time for that. The next one was going to have a far harder time. A curl of smoke started to rise from the hatch at the far end of the corridor – the battle would be rejoined in a matter of seconds. Behind him, three more troopers moved up, the remnants of First Squad.

 “Take cover, and fire at any targets.”

 “What if one of ours…”, one of them began, but Cooper shook his head.

 “It won’t be. Trust me.”

 He settled in to wait, hoping that the hatch would hold, and then the lights went out. Amid the tumbling and cursing, he reached into his pocket, sliding on a pair of night-vision goggles. It took them a second to come on, and then his world became a sea of eerie greens and blacks, figures shimmering in the night.  

 “Get your goggles, on, damn it, and get back into cover! Most of you are sitting ducks!”

 “What the hell happened to the lights, Corp?” an unseen voice yelled.

 “How the hell should I know? Or care? They’re out and they’re staying out. Get into your damn firing positions!”

 He turned back to the corridor, pushing himself hard against the wall, testing his purchase with his feet, hoping it would hold when he began to fire. The smoke was becoming a torrent, billowing into the corridor; it was going to provide good cover to anyone emerging.

 “Fire on my command,” he said, leveling his rifle to his shoulder. As the hatch burst open, he coldly continued, “Fire.”  

 The rifle kicked back at him as he pulled the trigger, shooting into the cloud of smoke; the goggles were having serious trouble, so he fired where he assumed an enemy would be emerging. At least one of his bullets hit something, and a dark shape began to tumble around the corridor, but now their shots were being returned, raking fire coming at them. He heard a shout to his rear, one of his men wounded or dying, but all he could do was keep firing into the night.

  “Hold the line!” he said, pulling the trigger again. Shapes were moving forward, advancing behind tall metal shields to obscure them. They might have bulletproof protection, but they weren’t recoil proof; Cooper fired a pair of shots at the rim of one of the shields, sending it tumbling, then managed a satisfactory shot at the now-exposed figure, who fell back into the advancing group.

 More shots cracked around Cooper, and another of his squad slumped down into the corridor, falling prey to another trio of shots; he didn’t know whether the soldier had been careless or unlucky, but he was paying for it with his life. Another wave of troopers burst out of the shaft, advancing on their position, and he slid in another clip of ammunition – his last.

 “Keep firing!”

 “Running low, Corp,” Knight said.  

 “Me too,” another, unfamiliar voice replied.

 “Keep firing, damn it!”

 Another grinding noise echoed down the corridor; the first shuttle was away, and the second would be heading in to pick them up – whatever was left of the platoon now at least had a ride home. Of course, their foes knew that too, and redoubled their efforts to clear them from the corridor, the firing rate increasing. Knight yelled out in agony, tumbling back down the corridor clutching his shoulder, easy prey for another bullet.

 “Going to be one hell of a last stand, Gabe,” Orlowski said.

 “I don’t do last stands,” he replied. He only had a few rounds left, and he quickly spent them to keep the enemy pinned down while he changed back to his faithful pistol. At least the recoil was reduced, though he got the impression that the shielded group wouldn’t be too afraid of it. They were now only about fifty meters away, and he braced himself for hand-to-hand combat; it would be a futile gesture at best, but he wasn’t going to go down without one last fight.

 “Fall back! Back to the airlock corridor!” Zabek’s voice cried out, the sweetest words he had ever heard. A loud slam heralded the docking of the second shuttle.

 “Everyone get going, I’ll cover!”

 Neither of the two survivors of his command argued, pushing themselves back down the corridor while he fired his pistol wildly, trying to at least slow down the advancing group. He counted to ten, then pushed out into the corridor, firing his last three shots in quick succession to propel him away, bullets cracking all around him. He tumbled into Zabek while he was reloading his pistol.

 “We need to hold, Third Squad’s still engaged!”

 Cooper glanced down the tunnel at their open airlock, white light almost seeming to invite him in, but he turned back to the officer and nodded.

 “Take positions! Covering fire!”

 Zabek tossed him a rifle as he settled into his new position. At least a dozen foes were advancing towards him, all behind bulletproof shields. He opened fire, unleashing a series of short bursts, bullets pinging against metal in a series of wild ricochets. Orlowski, on his right, followed suit, and the corridor echoed with gunfire from both sides.

 Grunting from the rear heralded the arrival of Third Squad – two troopers, one of them clutching his arm. Shots rang out after them; now they were caught on both sides, forces advancing remorselessly on their position. The wounded man dived into the corridor, the remaining survivors, now numbering just seven, still trying to hold them off.

 “They’ll be on us in seconds if we stop firing!” Duggan yelled.

 “On my call, break and dive for the shuttle. Last one in closes the airlock,” Zabek said. “Two, one, now!”

 It was every man for himself. Throwing his rifle away for extra momentum, Cooper dived down the corridor towards the airlock, trying to duck and weave, bracing himself for what was to come. Seven tangled figures bounced off each other in the scramble for safety, and after just a few seconds, gunfire was added to the mix.

 Shots rang out, and in that crowded environment, it was almost impossible for them to miss; the wounded trooper gasped his last breath, catching himself on a dangling cable and blocking the corridor for a merciful second while the rest pushed on. The airlock grew closer and closer, and then the fire resumed.  

 Cooper yelled as a bullet smashed into his leg, but he was able to keep a straight course, and the extra boost actually pushed him further into the airlock, ahead of the rest. The pain seemed to vanish for a second, as if his brain had decided it had more important things to worry about. To his side, Orlowski was tumbling, semi-conscious, his right foot a tattered ruin.

 Before he quite realized it, he was in the passenger cabin of the shuttle, bouncing back against the wall and almost tumbling back into the corridor before he reached up with a hand to brace himself. Orlowski had dived in at about the same time, Duggan giving him a final push, another trooper tumbling in behind him. He looked back into the carnage, the only figure remaining Zabek, who was pushing past the dead body of one of her doomed command.

 As he watched, her forehead exploded as a bullet passed through it, and her now-lifeless form slammed into the wall. Duggan finally closed the door, and the shuttle detached, Cooper looking around the room in horror. Out of twenty-five troopers, there were just four of them left alive. Only four. His leg was starting to scream in agony, but he pushed the pain down for a moment, reaching over to the communicator on the wall.

 Barbara’s voice rang out, “Cooper!”

 “Get me Alamo,” he said, his vision swimming. “Get me the Captain.”

 “Gabe…”

 “Now.”

 A few seconds later, Captain Marshall’s face appeared, and with his last reserves, Cooper, said, “Lance-Corporal Cooper reporting.” The image began to blur, and his eyes started to lose their focus, “I’m sorry, sir.” He felt a hand on his back, voices echoing in the cabin, and then everything faded out.

Chapter 21

 “I’m sorry, sir,” Cooper said, as he fainted dead away on the viewscreen. Another trooper pulled him back, and the channel went dark. Marshall sat in his chair, eyes fixed forward; silence reigned supreme on the bridge. The elevator door slid open; Beta Watch coming on duty to provide fresh eyes to the battle. Steele, leading her crew onto the bridge, looked around.

 “What is it?” she said.

 Ivanov, pulling his headset off, looked up with tears in his eyes. “We just lost the station. Twenty dead or missing.” He paused, taking a deep breath, “Ensign Zabek is confirmed dead. She died just short of the shuttle.”

 Marshall turned, walking over to Steele; she and Zabek had been involved for years, since the Academy; her face was a mask of white, but she simply nodded, and walked over to take Matsumoto’s place at the duty officer’s station.

 “Sub-Lieutenant,” Marshall said, “You don’t have to do this.”

 “Michelle, I can handle the watch,” Matsumoto said.

 Steele turned to face the captain, “Sir, I can handle this. Unless you really wish otherwise, I’d like to take my station.”

 Zebrova moved forward, but before she could say anything, Marshall said, “Permission granted. Take your post.”

 “Aye, sir.” With perfect poise, she slid into her station, running her hands across the controls to prepare herself for the battle to come; around her, the rest of her team took their positions, exchanging a few words with their counterparts on the previous shift. Ivanov lingered at the door.

 “Twenty dead, sir. Twenty.”

 “Or missing, spaceman.”  

 “Yes, sir,” he said with a near-whisper as he walked off the bridge.

 “Weitzman,” Marshall said, “I’d like a full report from the shuttle.”

 “We’ve got it, sir. Four survivors on board, three wounded, two of them critical. Private Duggan is putting together a briefing pack for you now.”

 “I want to see them as soon as they land.”

 “They aren’t coming here, sir. Spaceman Bradley is heading for Hercules.”

 “Why?”

 “It’s the nearest ship, sir.”

 “I see.” Marshall stood up, looking over at the tactical display once again. Another ninety-five minutes of cruising to the hendecaspace point, then a furious battle to get out of the system, fighting the four approaching ships. “Lieutenant Zebrova, you have the conn.”

 She looked at him, frowning, “Aye, sir.”

 “Alert me at ten minutes to contact.” He walked around the room into his office, sitting down behind his desk. Picking up a datapad, he called up the espatier personnel files, starting with that of Ensign Zabek. The systems were quick off the mark today; already the ‘Deceased’ flash was winking across the screen. He’d lost people in combat before, but somehow this was different. Always there had been someone to blame, someone to rage against for putting him into an impossible situation. This time the responsibility had been his, only his.

 Dropping the datapad back to the desk, he sat staring at the starscape. The asteroid was mercifully out of sight; he didn’t think he could have looked at it. Not that Alamo was much better off; even if they managed to jump out of the system, they didn’t have enough fuel to get home. He reached into a drawer on his desk, looking at the bottle within, tempted beyond belief to have a glass.

 Slamming it too, he clenched his fist, putting up a schematic of the battlecruiser behind them. The image was continually updating as the sensors gathered more data, building a better picture of the approaching foe. No sign of a laser, but there were a pair of what looked suspiciously like particle beams mounted at the front – he didn’t dare let Alamo get too close to those. Missile ports, at least ten of them, but they wouldn’t have an opportunity to try the same enveloping maneuver they had at Jefferson. This was going to be an old-fashioned battle, a missile-and-countermeasures duel.

 He sighed, reaching for the datapad again, looking at the eager face of Zabek staring back at him. He remembered when that image had been taken, back on Jefferson after she’d been promoted. It seemed so long ago.

 The door chimed, and after a moment, he opened it; Caine and Zebrova filed into the room, each stealing a glance at each other as they walked in, taking positions standing either side of the desk. Marshall glanced out at the bridge as the door closed; Matsumoto was sitting in the command chair.

 “I think we need to talk, sir,” Zebrova said.

 “Damn right, Danny,” Caine said, perching on the side of the desk.

 Marshall looked from one to another, smiling, “Ladies, if you’ve decided this is a good time for some sort of menage-a-trois, we’ve only got about an hour.”

 Sighing, Zebrova said, “Frankly, Captain, we have some concerns about you.”

 “Oh?”

 Caine nodded, saying, “Let’s just say that you don’t appear to be yourself. Hiding in your office with a battle taking place in an hour isn’t your normal behavior.”

 “Do you think me incompetent to command?”

 “Of course not, sir,” Zebrova said.

 “Really? Then perhaps you ought to be paying closer attention, Lieutenant. It might have escaped your notice, but twenty people under my command just died. Twenty people. At the best we can hope that they were captured, and that the Cabal will give them decent medical care. How many widows, orphans and grieving mothers is that?”

 “Danny…,” Caine began.

 “And let’s not forget Alamo. Stranded out here beyond enemy lines with an enemy fleet on our tail because I decided to take the easy way out, to fly out here on a death or glory mission. Well, I think the glory is probably out of the question, but the death’s going to be here soon.”

 Zebrova looked at Caine, saying, “Sir…”

 “It’s my fault, Lieutenant!” he replied, smashing his fist on the desk. “It was my decision, and I was the one who talked you all into it. I should have realized right from the start. I knew they had my psychological profile, and they dangled the perfect bait in front of me. They knew I would take it – how else do you think they got those ships here so fast?” He barked a bitter laugh, “My move to take the initiative, and all the time we’re just dancing on their strings.”

 “You damn coward,” Caine said, and he recoiled into his chair. “Yes, things are going against us. Yes, you took a decision, and it has had consequences. Twenty people aren’t going home again, and undoubtedly there will be more dead here and on Hercules, but that isn’t the point. We’re out here to do a job – as you yourself said.”

 “Everyone who signed up knows the risks they are running, sir,” Zebrova said. “We all volunteered. Those troopers knew going in what they were doing, they knew the odds of surviving a full-scale assault were poor. They went anyway.”

 “Hell,” Caine added, “Most of them would still have gone if they’d known they weren’t coming back. This mission is important, Danny, and you were damn right about that. The data on Hercules – the data we now have here in Alamo – is vital. If we can crack that, we unlock the Cabal. That could easily stop a war. Risking a hundred and fifty lives to save millions? That sounds like a good deal to me.”

 Taking a deep breath, Marshall replied, “It all seemed so clear before, so obvious.”

 “It’s hard to lose anyone. But everything you said before we came out here was right; this mission could change everything if it is successful.”

 “If. That’s a big word.”

 Caine pointed up at the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until they made contact with the enemy, saying, “I’m sorry, we don’t have time for this right now. In less than ninety minutes, we’re going to be in the biggest firefight we’ve ever faced, so you need to get your head back into the game.”

 Marshall looked up at the two of them, shaking his head, “You haven’t thought it through, have you?”

 “What do you mean?”

 Sighing, he continued, “We can’t go home. I’d thought about jumping back to 54298, transferring the fuel from Hercules, and heading back from there…”

 “Good plan,” Zebrova said.

 “But it won’t work. That’s the only way home, and the fleet following us knows that just as well as we do. They’ll jump after us, and we’ll be right back where we started – except this time we’ll need to elude them for two days, not two hours. Hell, they might even have a picket fleet waiting for us.”

 Zebrova’s eyes widened, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

 “Alamo cannot jump home. Even if we had the fuel, we couldn’t make it.”  

 “Have you considered accepting the Commandant’s offer?”

 “Not for one second.”

 “Good,” Caine said. “That’s the Danny Marshall I know talking.”

 “We can’t go home, we can’t stay here...what are our options, then?” Zebrova asked.

 Marshall replied, “We’re going home, alright. It’s just going to take longer than we thought. We’ll work our way around the edge of the Cabal, and strike for either Jefferson or Sagdeev.”

 Caine whistled, saying, “That’s quite a trip you’re talking about.”

 “Seven, eight jumps if we’re lucky.”

 “We have fuel for two,” Zebrova said.

 “If either of you have any better suggestions, I will be only too glad to hear them.”

 “You’ll make Mulenga happy, anyway,” Caine said after a pause. “Where are we going first?”

 Marshall frowned, saying, “Gliese 479. It’s not the best way home…”

 “But we can’t take the easiest way back,” Zebrova interrupted. “Good choice.”

 “Who named all these stars, anyway?” Caine said, shaking her head. “The crew aren’t going to like it.”

 “I don’t like it,” Marshall replied, “But I can’t think of a better option. At least this will give us a chance to lick our wounds for a bit.”  

 “Agreed,” Zebrova said.

 “I should be back on the bridge.” Marshall rose, then paused for a second, “Sorry about earlier.”

 “Don’t mention it, Danny,” Caine said. “This is what we do. Better you do it in here than out on the bridge; senior officers tell no tales.”

 “Thanks, in any case, to both of you.” He stabbed a finger down on the desk, and Mulenga’s voice answered.

 “Astrogation.”

 “This is the Captain. Plot a course for Gliese 479.”

 “Where?”

 “Gliese 479, Lieutenant. We’re not going right back. Start working out the best routes to take us to Sagdeev; as soon as the battle is over I’ll come down.”

 “Sagdeev? I thought….”

 “We’re not going straight back. Get that course ready.”

 “Aye, Captain.”

 “We do have the information we came for. All we have to do is get it home,” Zebrova said.

 “You make it sound so easy, Lieutenant.”

 A siren sounded, and Marshall quickly raced out onto the bridge, only just getting through the doors as they opened. He looked up at the display screen, and saw a host of new contacts appearing on the view, all of them on intercept courses for Alamo.

 “Report!”

 Matsumoto, yielding the chair, said, “Enemy carrier just launched a fighter assault. First contact in five minutes.”

 “Lieutenant Caine, call the crew to battle stations, and alert Hercules to follow suit.”

 “Hercules already hailing, sir,” Weitzman said. “They’re at battle stations now.”

 “Very good,” Marshall replied, sitting down at his chair. Now the wait for action would begin once again, but this time it would be mercifully short. Crewmen bustled around the bridge, a hum of activity as systems were prepared, the slam of the heavy hatches isolating each area of the ship. He looked at the fighters approaching, watched the tracks start to intersect, and began to plan the battle.

 “Tactical to all stations. Report battle status. Repeat, report battle status…”

Chapter 22

 “All stations report ready for action, sir,” Orlova said to Major Marshall.

 “Very good. Time to action?”

 “Estimated three minutes before the first fighters get missile lock.”

 Nodding, the Major turned around to look at each station, saying, “Just relax, everyone. We’ve done this before.”

 “Usually we had a full crew,” Mathis muttered.

 “That’s enough of that, Sergeant,” Diego said from the rear of the room. He was hanging from a strap on the ceiling; the Major had ordered the gravity spin taken off a few minutes before, as soon as the fighters had launched.

 Orlova checked her board, looking at the systems for the hundredth time. It had taken some doing, but eventually she had managed to transform it into a semblance of the layout she was used to back on Alamo, enough for her to know where the important buttons were without having to think about it. Missile salvo was in the tubes and ready to fire, countermeasures were primed and ready, there wasn’t much else for her to do except wait.

 While the clock counted down, she quickly flicked open the data feed from Alamo, going over the second-tier tactical information. Most of it related to the recent battle on the asteroid; the shuttle carrying the survivors had just docked. When she got to the casualty list, her eyes widened. Right at the top, ‘Zabek, Ensign L., Deceased.’

 “Damn…,” she said, quietly.

 “Problem, Sub-Lieutenant?” the Major said.

 She shook her head, “I just found out a friend of mine died in action on the fueling station.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Nelyubov, strapped in at the reserve crewman position. said, “Is this the time to be worrying about that?”

 Curry turned from her station, replying, “Damn it, Frank, you…”

 “No,” Orlova said. “He’s quite right. Time enough to mourn the dead when we’re safely in hendecaspace.”

 “They’ll have company,” Mathis said. “Five minutes on the firing line.”

 “Sergeant,” Diego said, “Improve your attitude or got off the deck.”

 Turning, the technician said, “We’ve gone a bit too far for that, haven’t we? Have we considered surrender, a trade of this ship for safe passage home?”

 “Sergeant,” Diego began, but the Major shot him a look that silenced him.

 “It’s a fair question. Captain Marshall considered it, and dismissed it. Do you really think we can risk trusting them?”

 Mathis nodded, returning to his station, and the Major continued, “Now get yourself focused, Sergeant. We’ve got a battle to win.”

 “Aye, sir.” He looked up at his sensor systems, “Contact in thirty seconds.”

 A look flashed between the two men, and Orlova realized what had just happened. Both of them were playing a long-established game, just another way of occupying the final dragging minutes before battle was joined. She shook her head, smiled, and returned to her station, her hands poised over the countermeasure controls.

 Sensor stations was now giving her a good picture of the incoming fighters, which seemed to fit into two basic types; the first was a simple missile carrier, a pair of ship-to-ship weapons slung on each side of a narrow wing structure. The second was long and cylindrical, and bore an uncanny resemblance to the satellites Alamo had encountered at Jefferson. Flying particle cannons. The enemy commander was saving those for the final wave, letting the missile carriers soak up the countermeasures; good strategy.

 “Ten seconds,” Mathis called. “Eight. Six. Energy spikes, lead fighters!”

 It almost felt like an anticlimax as the first cluster of missiles leapt forward, six of them operating in series, all of them diving for Hercules. Two of them drifted away immediately, easy prey to her automated hacking attacks, but the rest continued to bear down upon her.

 “Return fire,” the Major said.

 “Not yet,” Orlova said. “The big threats are in the third wave.”

 “The Major gave you an order,” Nelyubov said, loosening a strap.

  “And she’s right to override it,” the Major said. “If she has information I haven’t. Proceed as you think best, and fire at will.”

 “Yes, sir,” she replied, diving into her task with relish. Another of the missiles had been knocked out by the computers during the initial exchange, and the three that remained were starting to split up, each of them making for a different spot on Hercules’ hull, another key area. Curry was beginning a random walk pattern to throw off the targeting, but her course changes were uncertain, hesitant. Of course, it was nine years since she’d done this in anger.

 Another of the missiles winked out, and she started to engage them directly, looking up briefly at the second wave of fighters. All of them were heading for Hercules; none of them were breaking off for Alamo.

 She wasn’t the only one who’d noticed; the Major said, “Sergeant, contact Alamo and see if they can give us some cover. Our friends out there seem to have some sort of grudge against us.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 “And see if Captain Lane has made any progress at all on the combat fabricators.”

 Orlova grimaced; four days she’d been working on those, and still no progress. Their absence meant that Hercules was limited to the twenty-four missiles in her magazines; on Alamo, there’d be a chance that some of them would be replaced during a long battle. Her fingers rattled across the console, and the final two missiles collided into each other with a satisfactory explosion.

 “Good work, Sub-Lieutenant,” the Major said.

 “Thank you, sir, but the fun’s just getting started!” she replied, looking over her panel to see what they were doing next. The first group of fighters hadn’t fired their second missiles, instead seemingly accelerating ahead of the formation, pulling away from their targets. Alamo was closing on the rear to provide support, adding its countermeasure systems to theirs. Behind, the four capital ships continued to advance, but they were many minutes away from taking any part in the battle. Unless they had any other surprises up their sleeve.

 “Energy spike, missiles inbound,” Mathis said, and Orlova instantly began to work on them. This time the control programs had the benefit of analyzing the countermeasures she had deployed during their first wave, so she let Caine handle the heavy lifting on Alamo. Different Tactical Officers had different styles of fighting, and hopefully the computer systems would be slow to adapt. Three of the missiles blew up, the remainder passing through the spreading clouds of debris to home onto their target.

 Now the third wave of fighters was getting close, and Orlova could get to work; she unleashed a salvo of missiles, targeting one at each fighter; while there was a good chance that most of them would be deflected, it would at least serve as a distraction to throw off their attack run. Another of the incoming missiles was knocked down, but two of them were still heading for Hercules; she frantically redoubled her efforts.

 One more gone, just one to go, but it was getting too close now. The physical countermeasures were the last line of defense, but the missiles would have to be using very primitive systems for them to be effective.

 “Collision alert!” she yelled.  

 The Major calmly said, “Curry, pivot the ship.”

 Hercules lurched to the side as the missile came into its final trajectory, before disappearing in a blink of light. Orlova looked down at her controls, momentarily mystified, before a smile appeared on her face.

 “Alamo used its laser to knock the last one down! Precision shot!”

 “Make to Alamo, pass on my thanks,” the Major said to Mathis. “Any damage?”

 Ballard shook her head, “Nothing, sir. Shot was nice and clean.”

 “Let’s try to keep it that way. How are your missiles running, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “Two knocked down, four still running. Make that three and three,” she added. The particle beam carriers were throwing themselves around the sky, trying to evade the approaching missiles, but for two of them it proved futile; their images winked from the sensor display. Another wave of missiles passed overhead, Alamo throwing itself into the fray, aiming for the same targets.

 The second wave of fighters were weaving in, trying to get between the new missiles and their targets, but their bravery proved largely fruitless, their countermeasure systems only catching one of the missiles as they soared past. Two more of the third wave were wiped out, only a pair remaining, and those rapidly changed their course, hitting their afterburners to fly harmlessly away from Hercules and Alamo, too fast to even attempt a shot with their particle beams.

 Briefly, there was elation on the bridge, and Orlova allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief, but there were still twelve missiles out there mounted on fighters, and they began to weave around on her display, like birds soaring through the sky, an intricate series of maneuvers that interlocked the two waves into a single devastating attack run.

 “Multiple energy spikes, out of sequence!” Mathis said.

 Frowning, Orlova worked on her countermeasures again, looking with frustration at the missile display as the tubes slowly began to load for the new shot; another system that wasn’t working as well as it should. This time the missiles weren’t coming in as a salvo, but one at a time, half a second apart; the first one easily fell to Hercules’ countermeasures, but the next one was proving far harder to bring down.

 Another new tactic; each missile was passing on the lessons learned from its destruction to its successor, giving it a greater chance of getting through. She briefly looked across at Alamo, hoping that Caine could provide cover, but the remaining missiles lanced across the sky towards the other battlecruiser, either as a distraction tactic or a long shot. Either way, it was working; Alamo had to defend itself first.

 “Green light on the missiles, sir,” Orlova said. “Targeting incoming missiles.”

 “Negative,” the Major replied. “Knock down those fighters. We can survive a few impacts; if they get a chance to rearm we could be in real trouble.”

 The fighters were curving back towards the carrier; Orlova thought that his fears were an outside chance at best, but she obeyed the order, six missiles shooting from Hercules’ launch tubes towards their targets. The two swarms passed each other as the remaining enemy missiles – four of them now, another curving away into infinity after a reprogramming of its targeting computer – homed in on Hercules.

 Frantically, she worked her control systems, trying every trick she knew to knock down the incoming targets, but her book of tactics was beginning to run dry. Two of the fighters disappeared into brief flares of life, her indicators reading the pilots managing to eject at the last second, but that didn’t stop the rain of death that was heading her way.  

 “Knock ‘em down, Sub-Lieutenant,” the Major said, leaning forward on his chair. “Knock those bastards out of my sky.”

 “Trying, sir!” With a quick combination of electronics and physical decoys, she managed to deal with one more of the missiles, but the remaining three ranged in at targets spread across the ship; the enemy had an excellent knowledge of Hercules and its structure, and they were using that to maximum advantage.

 “Too close to stop! Targets are Engineering, Weapons, and us!”

 “Curry, evasive!”

 The helmswoman was ducking and weaving with the maneuvering thrusters, trying anything she could to at least minimize the damage that was about to be wrought on the ship, but there was nothing she or anyone else could do. At the last second, Orlova saw a single missile ready for launch, and she fired it blind from the tube, hoping that it would home into something, reduce the damage by at least some degree.

 Her world tumbled and shook as the missiles hit home, the ship thrown by the impact, lights flickering and going out as the internal power failed. Cracks appeared in her screens, and from above, she heard a loud grinding noise, and managed to dive out of the way just in time to avoid a huge metal supporting strut, thrown down through the overhead plating and slamming across the middle of the bridge, catching Major Marshall and Captain Diego in its path.

 Before she had a chance to recover, she heard an all too familiar hiss, and decompression alarms began to sound out across the bridge. She glanced around, unable to see the cracks; if she couldn’t see them, she couldn’t seal them, and the auto-repair systems had failed.

 “Everyone out! Evacuate the bridge!” she yelled, attempting to transfer control of ship systems to Engineering; the system refused to accept her commands, but she continued to work as the hissing grew louder. Pandemonium reigned all around as the crew raced to clear the room; Curry was pushing the Major through the door while Mathis held onto the override lever, preventing them from being trapped in a room that was rapidly becoming uninhabitable.

 “Damn it!” she cried, mashing the keyboard with her fists. The system refused to accept the transfer of command to anywhere. Neither Engineering nor Weapons were acknowledging, and as a last, desperate try, she tried Shuttle Control. Finally the handshake worked, but the room seemed to be swimming as she entered the commands. A hand grabbed her on the shoulder; she turned to see Nelyubov.

 “Come on!” he yelled, trying to tug her away.

 “One second,” she gasped, continuing to work until at last a series of green lights lit the panel. Only then did she permit herself to be half-led, half-dragged from the room, Mathis still jamming his palm onto the override until the last second, waiting for them to get away. As she staggered into the elevator, the door finally slammed shut, isolating them from the deck.

 She looked around the elevator; Diego and the Major were unconscious, and by the look of their wounds, that was a mercy. Ballard had managed to acquire a rather nasty gash across her forehead, blood spilling into the air in tiny droplets as Mathis reached for the first aid kit. Reaching across, she tapped a button for the shuttle bay, and anxiously waited for the elevator to move. Somewhere outside, a battle was still raging.

Chapter 23

 Marshall’s eyes widened as he watched the missile strikes on Hercules, his fingers bled white where they gripped the arms of his chair. Caine gasped as she looked at the status monitors, but remained focused on dealing with the wave of missiles that was still heading for them, four of them maintaining their course track.

 “Anything from Hercules, Weitzman?”

 “Nothing, sir. No response to my calls.”

 “What about telemetry?”

 Prentis turned from his engineering station, replying, “I’ve managed to get some telemetry readings from Hercules, sir. Heavy damage to the bridge, moderate damage to the engineering decks. Some superficial damage near weapons control.”

 “Someone got a missile off at the last second, managed to fratricide the damn thing,” Caine said.

 “I can guess who,” Marshall replied. “Keep trying to raise someone, Weitzman.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 Turning back to Zebrova, he said, “I want a damage and rescue team in a shuttle ready to go now. You take it; and if...my father is incapacitated, take command.”

 Nodding, she said, “Yes, sir,” and turned for the elevator. Just as the doors closed, the communications technician looked up.

 “I’ve got Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter, sir.”

 “Carpenter? How bad is it over there?” Marshall replied. “Put her on.”

 There was a loud crackle in the background as the scientist began to talk, “Thank God I’ve got someone. I’ve been trying to get through for the last…”

 “I need a status report of some kind, Carpenter.”

 “You can’t get the bridge?”

 “No.”

 There was a brief pause, but before Marshall could respond, she said, “I’m in the aft engineering compartment. Damage control teams are working, but there’s a hull breach between me and the rest of the ship.”

 “Can you give me a ship status report?”

 A different, gruff voice sounded, “Sergeant Wilson here, sir. H-Drive still functioning, and we can maneuver. Missile systems weren’t damaged in the attack – I think it looks a lot worse than it was, sir, our backup systems came through fine.”

 “Sir?” reported Spinelli. “Hercules is drifting to port. Looks like a rogue thruster.”

 “Did you hear that, Sergeant?”  

 “I haven’t got ship control functions, sir. Someone on the bridge transferred them, but I don’t know where to.”  

 “That means someone was alive up there after the impact,” Marshall said, nodding. “Do what you can, and keep me informed.”

 “How are those missiles doing, Deadeye?”

 “Two to go. Getting close.”

 Tapping a button on his chair, Marshall said, “All hands brace for missile impact. Helmsman, I want this ship to dance!”

 “Aye, sir,” Tyler said with relish as he started to work, sending Alamo into a series of ducks and dives. The missiles were through the final wave of electronic defenses, and Caine was attempting to work miracles with the electronic systems, but there wasn’t that much she could do. At least these were the last missiles in the air – until the impending arrival of the battlecruisers.

 “Those two are going to hit!” Caine said.

 The ship shook as the missiles slammed into the hull. Tyler had just managed to complete a particularly intricate maneuver, putting the warheads far from their targets, but the alarms sounding from the rear station didn’t appear to be good news. Unclipping himself from his chair, he drifted over to Prentis, looming over his shoulder.

 “Well?”

 “Wait one, sir.”

 Marshall glanced up at the status display, looking at the tactical situation once again. The missile fighters were retreating, running back for the carrier; they’d been almost untouched in the battle. There was a chance they might continue to be a factor if they could rearm in time, but the battlecruisers would be into the fight in a matter of moments. The pilots had done their job, poking at Alamo and Hercules, wearing down their defenses. As he looked again at the gaping wounds in Hercules’ hull, he shook his head, wondering what Alamo looked like from outside.

 “Getting damage control reports in now, sir.”

 “And?”

 “No combat-critical damage, sir. We’ve got hull fractures on the aft crew quarters, all personnel have been evacuated as a precaution but the blast didn’t get through the armor. The other hit knocked out our long-range communications, but I think it was aimed at our sensors.”

 “So we can see what’s coming, we just can’t talk to them. Is that going to stop us contacting Hercules?”

 “At this range we could do it with a hand communicator, sir,” Weitzman said. “I’m still trying to raise someone.”

 Nodding, Marshall turned towards the helm, saying, “Excellent work, Tyler.”

 Steele, looking up from her station, said, “Shuttle Three reports team loaded, ready for launch.”  

 “Hold on that for the moment, not until we have a better idea what’s happening on Hercules.”

 “Got another reason, skipper,” Caine said. “Those particle beam fighters are coming around for another pass!”

 “Looks like they’re trying for Hercules,” Spinelli said. “Going for the wounded bird.”

 “She’s still got claws, and so do we. Get a salvo up into the air; they haven’t got any cover now.”

 Caine looked up, watching lights on her missile status board switch from red, to amber, and finally to green, then depressed a trio of buttons. Alamo rocked gently as each of the missiles left the bay, homing onto the approaching fighters. She worked her controls with a hunter’s grin, sending them past layer upon layer of countermeasure protection as they closed on their targets.

 “Sir, Senior Lieutenant Zebrova is asking again for permission to launch,” Steele said.

 “Tell her no, and tell her why.”

 “Damn,” Prentis said. “We just lost a hull seal in one of the damaged areas. Ten crew quarters now exposed to space.” He looked up. “No serious damage, though. Damage control teams are already in the area cleaning up the mess now.”

 “Keep me informed, spaceman.” Marshall looked out across the battlefield, waiting. The missile fighters were retreating, pulling back, getting themselves to the relative safety of their home vessel; the pilot in him remembered how reassuring it was to find himself back in a launch bay, though all it really meant was that his protection was someone else’s problem. He looked again at Hercules, still arcing away from its previous cause, jets of atmosphere periodically blasting out from the hull. Then he smiled; those were controlled releases, someone bringing the lumbering battlecruiser back onto its course.

 “Fighter impact in ten seconds, sir.”

 “They’ve given up!” Spinelli said. “Pilots have ejected.”

 That was almost a relief; no matter what the cause, it was never a pleasure to be the cause of the death of a brave man, and they were dropping like flies today already. As the missiles slammed home, the two particle beam fighters disappearing from the sensor track, he permitted himself to briefly relax.

 “Final damage report is in, Captain,” Prentis said. “Nothing new of importance. Some minor damage to the network, all the emergency systems are working well.”

 “No combat-critical damage?”

 “Nothing, sir.”

 “Laser’s charging fine, sir,” Caine added. “We now have a full salvo of missiles in the bay.”

 “Good,” Marshall said. “What about Hercules?”

 Weitzman shook his head, “It’s a mess, sir. I’m getting too damn many reports now – every Private with a communicator is trying to give me the news.”

 “Filter them over here,” Prentis said. “I’ll try to sort it into some sort of report.”

 “With pleasure, John, and the best of luck to you.” Turning back to Marshall, he continued, “No other officers though. I’ve no idea who is in command over there, or if anyone is in command at all. Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter reports that she should be able to head into the main area of the ship shortly.”

 “You can’t give her the command, sir,” Caine said.

 “I don’t think we’re quite that desperate yet. What’s your general impression, Weitzman?”

 The technician paused for a second, then said, “Command and control is blasted to hell, sir. Their internal communications system must be out, and no-one’s set up a new network yet. My guess is…”

 “Say it, spaceman.”

 With a sigh, he said, “My guess is that we’re looking at a total decapitation, sir.”

 “I see. Steele, shuttle status?”

 “I’ve got Shuttles One and Two ready to go, sir, empty for evacuees. Hercules has two shuttles as well, and the hangar bay wasn’t damaged; between them all I’d say we could get all of their personnel out in a single pass.”

 “Time to combat range with the battlecruisers, Spinelli?”

 “Twelve minutes, sir.”

 “Right. Steele, get them…”

 “Sir!” Weitzman said. “I have Sub-Lieutenant Orlova for you, from Hercules’ shuttle bay.”

 A smile crept across Marshall’s face, and he replied, “Put her on.”

 “Orlova to Alamo. Do you read?”  

 “This is Alamo Actual, Sub-Lieutenant. What the hell is going on over there?”

 “Sorry about the delay, sir, but I had to set up an alternate command center. We’re using the shuttle control stations, it was the only place I could switch control to before the bridge became uninhabitable.”

 Caine looked at Marshall, who replied, “You had to?”

 “The bridge was hit at the height of the battle, sir. Major Marshall and Captain Diego were both wounded, and Captain Lane was knocked out when the engineering decks were attacked.”

 “Other casualties?”

 “Four dead, all in engineering, and twelve wounded, most of them too seriously for us to handle over here. Our sickbay is rudimentary at best.”  

 ‘Our’, Marshall briefly mused. It hadn’t taken Orlova long to become attached to her new ship; he wounded if Alamo would feel a pang of jealousy at that.

 “That doesn’t leave you with many people, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Twenty-two, Captain. What’s the situation with Alamo? We’re still blind over here.”

 “Alamo got through essentially undamaged. We have twelve minutes left until we make contact with the battlecruisers.” He looked across at Caine. “Recommendations?”

 “A crew of twenty-two and damage to critical systems?” she said, frowning.

  Marshall nodded, opening the channel again, “What’s your judgment, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “We’ll have Hercules back under full control by then. Our weapons are undamaged and we still have seventeen missiles ready to fire. I have made contact with Sergeant Wilson in engineering, and the maneuvering thrusters are still operational.”

 Marshall glanced across at Prentis, who shrugged, shaking his head, “It’s hard to tell, Captain. I’m having real trouble making anything of this, but I do know there is a lot of confusion over there.”

 “Should I give Shuttle Three clearance to launch, sir?” Steele asked.

 “Eleven minutes and thirty seconds, Danny,” Caine said, one eye on the status monitors.

 “Let’s get One and Two up, and take the rescue team out of Three; they’re going to need the room. Sub-Lieutenant Orlova?”

 “Sir?”

 “It’s time to abandon Hercules. Slave what systems you can to Alamo, then get the hell out of there.”

 “Sir, Hercules is still up for the fight. We can get everything back on-line in the time.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant, don’t make me give you a direct order.”

 “And don’t make me disobey it,” she replied. Marshall’s eyes widened, and Caine struggled to mask a smile.

 “Orlova…”

 “Our hendecaspace drive is fully-functional, and I have sufficient crew to man the ship for the coming action. My intention is to get the wounded over to the medical facilities on Alamo immediately; that will just about use up our shuttles.”

 “Do you really think that she’ll hold together for the jump?”

 “With a crew on board ready to fight for her? Yes, sir.”

 Caine nodded, quietly saying, “I’m not sure you have much of a choice on this one, sir.”

 “Captain?” Orlova said.

 With a deep sigh, Marshall said, “Very well. Sub-Lieutenant, you may proceed as you think best.”

 “Thank you, Captain.”

 “We’ll take care of your wounded. Get them here as fast as you can.”

 “Will do, sir. Have a good fight.”

 With an air of finality, Marshall said, “I’ll see you at the other side. Good luck. Alamo out.” He looked across at Caine, “What chance does she have?”

 “Fifty-fifty. If we can provide some decent cover for her, then we might just get both ships out in one piece after all.” She looked up at the other battlecruiser, continuing, “I’m not sure I’d want to risk it, though.”

 “Sir,” Spinelli said. “Hercules reports that the first shuttle is clearing the decks now, the second to launch in one minute.”

 The elevator door opened, and Zebrova drifted back out onto the bridge, saying, “What the hell is going on?”

 “I can’t risk sending anyone over there, Lieutenant,” Marshall replied.

 “I should go over and assume command, sir. You can’t leave it to a Sub-Lieutenant, no matter who it is.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “We don’t have the time.”

 “I’ll say we don’t, sir!” Spinelli said. “Fighter launch from the carrier, I’m making nine craft in three waves. All missile carriers by the look of it. They’ll be here in two minutes.”

 “Where are they aiming for, spaceman?”

 “Best guess is Hercules, sir, or possibly the shuttles.”

 “Caine, get some missiles into the air, give them something to think about. Tyler, turn us to provide support to Hercules.” He looked up at the display, “We’ve got to give those shuttles some cover.”

 “We can’t, Captain,” Zebrova said, her eyes also fixed to the screen. “We already lost half a minute when we turned back before to assist Hercules; the firing window is getting close to five minutes now.”

 Tyler hesitated at his station, “Sir?”

 “Danny,” Caine said, “She’s right. We’re going to suffer badly enough as it is.”

 “Belay my last order, Mr. Tyler,” he said. “Continue on course to the egress point at best acceleration. Caine, get those missiles into the air now, and another salvo in the tubes; I want those fighter pilots to have something to think about.”

 “Aye, sir,” she replied, and Alamo rocked again, six times. Marshall looked at the tactical display again, watching the shuttle slowly move to catch up, burning at maximum speed; he hoped the pilot was a good one, with potentially a dozen missiles to dogfight with.

 “It’s the right decision, sir,” Zebrova said. “I know your father…”

 “That’s not it. There are wounded men out there running for safety, and we can’t do a thing to help them. All we can do is sit here and watch the show while they fight for their lives.” He looked at the screen again. “That’s not my idea of a battle.”

 “Nor mine, sir.”

 They looked up at the screen, watching the course tracks of the fighters splitting up; six of them were aiming for Hercules, three of them for the shuttles. Alamo’s missiles slowly weaved their way into the battle zone, one by one exploding as the combined countermeasures of their targets took their toll.

 “I hope Maggie’s estimation of Hercules’ battle readiness wasn’t too optimistic,” Caine said.

 Marshall nodded. “I think we’re about to find out.”

Chapter 24

 The flight deck of Hercules was in total chaos; technicians running about, frantically clearing up debris and attempting to get the second shuttle ready to launch. A swearing Wilson was frantically working at the elevator airlock mechanism, struggling to clear a jam, while lightly wounded crewmen helped those worse off than themselves into the passenger lock.  

 Over in a corner, Orlova and the remaining bridge crew were frantically trying to make the launch operations room serve as a makeshift bridge, scrambling to clip in additional control systems and re-task monitors, crewmen trying to get the data feeds from the remaining external sensors fed into the displays.

 Cooper, drifting through all the chaos and attempting not to knock into anything, made his way over to the passenger airlock, smiled, and pushed over to the pilot’s airlock at the front, where an anxious Barbara was rapping her fingers against the panel, waiting to be given clearance to launch. She turned with a scowl as she saw him.

 “I thought you were supposed to go on the first shuttle.”

 “I didn’t like the pilot,” he replied.

 Shaking her head, she said, “I’m too damn busy for this…”

 “Perfect,” Cooper said as he pushed his way inside. “That means you need a co-pilot.”

 “What?”

 “I’m not just a simple damn grunt; I’ve flown shotgun before.”

 Waving her arm at the displays, she said, “Do you know how any of these instruments work?”

 “I think I have a vague idea what the major buttons do.” He looked back at the wounded men at the rear, “Besides, I’d rather be up here helping than sitting back there waiting.”

 “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

 “Probably, but only after we get back on Alamo.”

 “Fine,” she said, ducking out of the way of his lumbering figure as he slid over her and into the co-pilot’s seat. Shaking her head at his hastily-prepared bandages, she continued, “How many painkillers are you on, anyway?”

 “Enough that this pleasant little joyride should pass in a sweet, gentle haze.”  

 “Great. I’m about to fly through the middle of a combat zone with a doped up trooper as my co-pilot.” Tapping a button, she said, “Damn it, Wilson, are we clear yet? I’d like to get moving before I die of old age.”

 “Thirty seconds. The Old Man isn’t on board yet, anyway.”

 Leaning out of the airlock, Cooper saw Major Marshall strapped to a stretcher, Orlowski – whose foot was invisible under huge layers of padding – trying to get him into the airlock. He had an arm outstretched, his hand locked in a death grip on one of the handholds.

 “I’m not leaving my ship,” he said, gritting his teeth.

 Orlowski looked over at Cooper, “I’m going to end up breaking his damn arm at this rate.”

 “Do what the hell you want, Private. I’m not leaving my ship.”

 Orlova drifted across, glancing back at her team as it finished up reading the makeshift control center for use. She looked down at the Major, shaking her head, then gestured at Orlowski to get clear. With a shrug, the private obeyed, drifting into the airlock and strapping himself in.

 “What the hell are you doing, Major?”

 “This is my ship. I’m not leaving her. Not again.”

 “I don’t have time for this, Major, not if I’m going to save your ship.”

 “I’m in command here, you insubordinate…”

 “Not right now, you aren’t.” She sighed, and said, “If we don’t get you to a medical facility – one with a real doctor, not an espatier medic with a blasted foot – within twenty minutes you are going to die, sir. And in that twenty minutes you will not contribute anything to the survival of this ship.” She looked around, then said, “Don’t worry. She’s strong. She’ll live through this fight.”

 With a curt nod, the Major said, “You keep my girl safe. Do you understand me? You keep my ship safe.”

 Saluting, Orlova replied, “I will, sir. I promise.” She looked up at Barbara, and said, “You should be clear now. Try to give them a nice smooth ride, and good luck.”

 “Thanks, ma’am,” she replied, as Orlova gave the Major a sharp push into the airlock. The door closed, and the lights all finally flashed green. Barbara reached up, threw a lever, and the shuttle began to descend, seeming to sink into the deck. Cooper looked around his control, struggling to remember his all-too brief training course last year; he’d received a month’s training on shuttle systems, but all of it seemed to have disappeared into a haze.

 He turned to Barbara and flashed a smile, trying to show a confidence he didn’t feel, and rested his hands on the controls, hoping that his fingers would retain a memory that the rest of him had lost. Slowly, as the shuttle rested on the bottom of the airlock, he began to remember a few things, and started to set up the countermeasure systems, experimentally tapping a few buttons.

 “Don’t think you have to impress me,” Barbara said, glancing across at his work. “If you just want to sit there and watch with the occasional wisecrack, that’s fine by me.”

 “It’s fine, I basically know what I’m doing. If I can help us live through this, that’s enough for me. Though I reserve the right to a wisecrack.”

 The shuttle lurched as the lower doors opened, and with a quick play of the thrusters, the shuttle turned around and started its full-speed burn towards Alamo. Glancing at the sensors, Cooper frowned, double-checking the distance measurements as the navicomputer hastily updated its course projections.  

 “Alamo just accelerated!”

 “They’re in as much of a hurry as we are to get the hell out of here, can you blame them?” Barbara replied. “We’ll catch them.”

 “I hope so,” Cooper replied, looking down at the sensors again. “We’ve got incoming. Three fighters, and if this readout is correct, two of them are heading right for us.”

 “Damn,” she said. “What does the warbook say?”

 “Warbook? Oh, hold on.” His eyes frantically roved across the display, trying to work out where the relevant controls were. Finally he found the right button, “Alamo updates indicate they are Cabal fighters. Two missiles each.”

 “Just four to play with, then. Anything else in the sky tonight?”

 “Six fighters going for Hercules, another for the lead fighter.”

 “Let’s have some fun, then,” she said, tapping a pair of controls. Abruptly, the engine stopped, Cooper thrown forward in his straps as the acceleration died. Before he could say anything, she turned them on again, running the throttle as high as it could go, and then tapped a sequence into the thrusters that sent the stars wobbling on the screen. Cooper had received a year’s worth of low- and zero-gravity training, given by the best in the Confederation, and through medical screening to prove his constitution. Nevertheless, he was getting space-sick.

 A light beeped on the console, tapping it, Orlowski’s voice barked, “We’ve got wounded back here, remember! Keep on joyriding like that and these people won’t live to see Alamo’s sickbay.”

 “They won’t live through a missile impact either, Private,” Barbara replied, her eyes fixed on her controls. “Nurse them as best you can.” Turning to Cooper, she said, “Turn that off, and don’t hit it again unless I tell you. The last thing I need is a distraction.”

 “Fine,” Cooper replied. He looked up, his eyes widening, “How about two missiles as a distraction! We’ve got an energy spike from the lead fighter, two missiles bearing directly.”

 “Start your countermeasures run, I’m going on random walk.”

  Nodding, he began to work, tapping at the controls. His training in this field had been rudimentary at best, and he relied on the computer’s on-board systems, throwing a few quick probes at the missiles before shaking his head in frustration. Barbara looked over.

 “No, no, no. There’s a reason we need a human sitting at that station. Don’t just do what the computer tells you, improvise! They’ve got computers too, remember!”

 The two missiles continued to home in on them, the tracks converging with a countdown running over the sensor screen. Each missile was designed to do significant damage to a capital ship; one of them would rip the shuttle apart into pieces too small to identify. Sending two fighters to take them down felt like overkill.

 Lacking any other ideas, Cooper began randomly pushing buttons on the countermeasures station, throwing wave after wave of hacks at them. Oddly enough, it briefly seemed to work; one of the missiles stuttered on its course, its engine failing for a second before turning back onto its previous trajectory. He tried it again, but this time it didn’t work; the missiles were better able to adapt than he was.

 Looking over at the physical countermeasures, he activated that station as the missiles ranged ever nearer. This was rather simpler to understand, and it took little work to get them activated for deployment, but whether they would actually do any good was another matter. With nothing to lose, he worked the electronic screens again, pressing down three buttons at once in a chord of hacking.

 That actually seemed to work; one missile stopped altogether, going dead in space, shaking from side to side on its maneuvering thrusters as if it was trying to hunt for him. The other hove in, closer and closer, locked down on the shuttle’s engine as if with a clamp.

 “Hold on, I’m going to try something,” Barbara said; she turned the engines off again, then started to work at her controls. Alarms began to go off as the number of seconds remaining before impact dropped down into single digits; Cooper wrapped his hand around the side of his chair, a futile gesture if the missile actually hit. The physical countermeasures detached on cue, but the missile simply dived through them.

 With a single second to go, Barbara poked a button and the engine fired, alarms sounding louder than ever, and the missile vanished from the track. Cooper looked at the rear view, and saw debris in the wake of the shuttle; she cut the engine again and started to reset controls.

 “What the hell did you do?”

 “Ran the engine up to five hundred percent for a few seconds. Try that game for long and it’ll explode, but the missile certainly didn’t enjoy the energy bath.”

 Cooper looked up at the screen again, “How long until we’re on the move? Alamo isn’t waiting for us, and even that other shuttle’s beginning to look awfully far away.”

 “Just a few seconds. There we go,” she replied, and the acceleration began again, the navicomputer recalculating its course track with silent resignation. Cooper breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing in his chair a little, only for his eyes to widen again. He’d almost forgotten about the second fighter, but the fighter pilot had evidently not forgotten about them.

 “Energy spike from the other fighter! We’ve got two more missiles in the air.”

 “Not again,” she said. “Get back on those countermeasures of yours. See if you can reproduce some of that blind luck of yours.”

 “I though I was doing the wisecracks,” Cooper replied as he began to work the controls again. Gradually the little training he had received began to come back to him, the practice of combinations of programs. His instructors had given him a few tricks, first and foremost that the same pattern would be unlikely to work twice.

 Bearing that in mind, he decided to try something different. Rather than trying to batter down both missiles at once, he opted to focus on only one, the lead warhead. He skipped over the array of sensor manipulators, instead going right for the core programming, by far the hardest part. These were at the heart of the missile’s defenses, but he began to unleash wave after wave of hacks at them, the computer making suggestions that he occasionally took, but more frequently rejected.

 This time, he left the physical countermeasures alone; they were an act of desperation in any case, and he suddenly wasn’t feeling quite as desperate. Barbara continued to throw the ship from side to side, but was looking with alarm at her fuel indicator; it had dropped markedly after she’d done the trick with the engine, and now it was looking suspiciously as though that might become a problem.

 Less than thirty seconds to impact, and suddenly he had broken through the defenses. His first thought had been to simply blow up the missile, but there wasn’t enough time now for him to work on the other one. Instead, he slowed it, bringing it back towards its counterpart, a finger hovering over the destruct control, waiting for it to get close enough. Finally, with a sigh of relief, he tapped the button, and both missiles disappeared from the track.

 “Nice work,” Barbara said, shaking her head.

 “Don’t sound so surprised,” Cooper replied. “We should have a straight run for Alamo now. How’s our fuel?”

 “It’ll hold out. What else is going on?”

 Cooper looked down at his screen, then took a deep breath before saying, “It’s looking bad for the other shuttle. Two missiles on their tail and they can’t dodge them. Piper’s slowed himself all the way down, but they over-ran and are coming around for another pass.”

 “That trick only holds them off for a while. Damn fool.”

 Cooper looked across at Barbara, saying, “We need to do something, don’t we.”  

 “I guess we do. Brace yourself.” She slammed on the throttle again, jamming it down and running the engine hot, kicking it over the red line for a sustained burn. It even sounded frustrated, incomprehensible readouts on Cooper’s console streaming down the monitor screens, lights winking from green to amber.

 “This isn’t good for the engines, is it?”

 “They’ll hold.”

 “I’m glad you think so. I’d rather hear them say it.”

 They were closing on the other shuttle rapidly; the internal communications light was blinking again, but Barbara’s quick stare prevented him from acting on it; Orlowski was going to have to manage as well as he could for the present. At least they were getting closer to Alamo, and the battle that Hercules was waging was now far to the rear; they weren’t likely to get caught up in that skirmish.

 Cooper was still out of effective range for his countermeasure programs, but he had a couple of ranging probes out anyway, just on the off-chance that he might manage something. He didn’t want to just sit there waiting as the clock counted down. The three fighters, evidently satisfied with their work, turned back towards their carrier, getting clear of any possible retribution from Alamo.

 “We’re almost there,” Barbara said. “Get on your controls.”

 “Random hacking strikes again.”

 “Not this time,” she replied, sharply. “I need something specific. Go for their sensor controls, I want them as fogged as you can possibly manage. Anything it takes.”

 “Whatever you say, skipper.”  

 “That’s the attitude that’ll make you go far in my navy.”

 He’d wanted to try the other panel anyway, and he started to focus on the sensor foggers, shaking his head as he struggled to interpret the controls. An experimental probe seemed to work, and he began typing in a series of commands, following the computer instructions for a few seconds then working beyond them, overriding them to follow his own hunches and judgments. He was fighting a battle against a computer – against whoever had written its control software.

 “I don’t know how much good I’m doing,” he said. “I think I’m getting somewhere, but they’re still running true.”

 “They won’t in a second,” she replied, punching down a pair of thrusters to send them diving towards the missiles. For a heart-rending second, the two tracks converged, and Cooper thought that she had managed to put them onto a suicide run, but they separated out again to place the two shuttles at roughly the same length. Now he realized what she was trying, and he worked twice as hard to help it work.

 “Closest approach,” Barbara said, and the missiles wavered, briefly shaking, and then started to tumble, seeking a new target

 “They’re out, but not for long,” he said. “Nice try, though.”

 As the shuttle cruised on, the two missiles found new locks – now each shuttle had its own missile, slowly and relentlessly closing on them. Cooper was out of tricks, and looked down at the sensor screen, shaking his head.

 “Impact in thirty seconds,” he said.

 “No it isn’t,” Barbara replied. “Look!”

 To his surprise, the missiles both wavered off their tracks, spiraling off into space before self-destructing. For all his focus on the battle, he’d missed Alamo up ahead; now they were in an electronic screen run by someone who actually knew what they were doing. Closing his eyes, Cooper bowed his head, and took a deep breath.

 “That was too damn close.”

 Barbara turned to him with a smile, “Hell, with a little training you might make a mediocre co-pilot.”

 “Next time I’ll ride tourist.”

 Grinning, she replied, “Better give them a call.”

 Nodding, he picked up a headset; even he knew how to operate the shuttle communicator. “Shuttle to Alamo, requesting clearance to land.”  

 “Clearance on request, shuttle. Try for docking port two.”

 “Right.” He turned to Barbara, “Docking port…”

 “Two. I have ears. Hang on.”

 With a careful tweak of her thrusters, the shuttle eased into position, and Cooper’s heart skipped a beat as the docking clamps locked on, and the stars began to slide out of view as they were pulled into Alamo. The whole flight had taken just a few minutes. A familiar hissing sounded outside, and the shuttle emerged in the hangar deck, technicians and medics waiting to receive the cargo of wounded.

 Unstrapping, Cooper slid out of his couch, pushing over Barbara while she completed her checklist; diving through the pilot’s airlock, he reached down for the deck, pulling himself in and planting a kiss on the hull. He looked up to see an amused Quinn looking down at him.

 “I guess it’s good to be back, Corporal?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “If I could interrupt your reunion, and you feel up to it, we’re still at battle stations.”

 Glancing down at his bandages, he replied, “I’ll head for my damage control station, sir.”

 Doctor Duquesne turned at that, looking at him up and down, “The only station you’re going to is sickbay. Right now.”

 “Don’t worry, Corporal. I think you’ve done enough,” Quinn said.

 With a nod, and a salute, the trooper turned back to the wounded; if he was heading for sickbay anyway, he might as well help someone else on the way. Pausing, he turned to Quinn, reaching deep into a pocket, tossing him the data keys he’d been holding since he’d left the asteroid.

 “Get those to the Captain,” he said. “And be careful with them. They were pretty damned expensive.”

Chapter 25

 Sirens sounded across the hangar deck as Orlova leaned over her improvised Tactical station, waiting impatiently for the next salvo of missiles to drop into the launch tubes. Only ten left to fire, now, and it seemed to be taking forever. Nelyubov was peering over her shoulder, shaking his head as she worked.

 “Do you have any input, Lieutenant?” she snapped, and he backed away, scowling.

 “Still two missiles on track, ma’am,” Mathis said. “Bearing directly. The fighters have now veered away, I think.”

 “They’re out of shots anyway,” she replied. “Forget them. Ballard, where’s the e-screen?”

 The engineer poked her head up from underneath a panel, saying, “I can’t find the damn relay connections, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 With a sigh, Nelyubov pushed over, easing her out of the way and snatching a toolkit with practiced skill. At the moment, all Orlova could do was sit and wait for the missiles to get closer; all the defenses were still out.

 “Curry, keep random walk,” she said.

 “Trying, but I’ve only got half my thrusters.”

 “It ought to be really random, then,” she replied. “Any trick you’ve got. If they’re going to hit, let ‘em hit areas that have already been knocked out.”

 “Will do, but that’ll give the bridge quite a hammering!”

 “Who cares when we have such a wonderful replacement. Nelyubov, give me an estimate.”

 “Almost there, two relay connections left.”  

 “Hurry up, hurry up!” She tapped into the flow feed of the missile arming system, and her eyes widened; someone had gone out of their way to make it as difficult as possible. Every possible safety interlock had been engaged, and the missiles were having to make their way through a dozen hatches before making it to the tubes. It would almost have been quicker for her to drag them the length of the ship; she quickly disabled the safety systems, and the status indicators began to race forward.

 “One more connection, nearly there,” Nelyubov said.

 “Fifteen seconds to impact,” Mathis said, trying to keep a calm voice.

 Finally, a pair of lights winked green, “Stand by for missile firing, hang on!”

 “Wait a minute,” Nelyubov said. “We’ve only got ten left!”

 Orlova slammed down the buttons, watching twin trails arc away from the ship, and replied,  “Unfortunately, Lieutenant, we didn’t have a minute.” She urged the missiles forward as they closed on their counterparts from the fighters, musing for a second that they had probably been programmed by the same person, and raised a fist as the trails connected, fading from the screen.

 “That did it, ma’am,” Mathis said. “Good shooting!”

 “Thanks, Sergeant. What about the enemy battlecruisers?”

 “We’ve got at least seven minutes before we have to worry about them.”

 “And twelve to the jump.” She turned to Curry, “Is the course loaded yet?”  

 “Sub-Lieutenant Race reports all systems go from Astrogation.”

 “Good,” she said. “Contact Alamo, tell them that we are go for the jump.”  

 “Now that we have a moment,” Nelyubov said, pulling himself up from his station, “I’d like to ask a question.”

 “Go ahead.”

 “Why the hell are you in command? We’re all the same rank, and you’ve got the lowest seniority by far.”

 “You’d prefer to have it yourself, Lieutenant,” Orlova replied with a raised eyebrow.

 “Actually, I believe Lieutenant Curry beats us both with seniority.”

 “Leave me out of this, Frank,” Curry said. “I’ve got a ship to fly.”

 “Then it falls to me, yes.”

 Sighing, Orlova said, “Can we have this argument later? We’re a little busy right now.”  

 “Certainly. Cede command and we can talk in hendecaspace.”

 “Skipping over the fact that Captain Marshall – and Major Marshall, for that matter – gave me the ship, the factor isn’t the length of service, but that you are in the wrong fleet.”

 “I beg your pardon?” Nelyubov said, hackles rising. She was getting looks from some of the other bustling technicians, dagger-like stares from some of them.

 “I’m an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet, Lieutenant. While we’re beyond Sol System, that gives me seniority.” She pushed over to him, raising her voice, “You can either except that, or go and join one of the damage-control teams. Do I make myself clear on this?”

 “Hell,” Ballard said, “She’s doing a good enough job so far.”

 Sullenly, Nelyubov nodded, replying, “Yes, ma’am.”

 With a smile, Orlova continued, “I haven’t thanked you yet, by the way.”

 Confusion reigned on his face, “What for?”

 “Saving my life, back on the bridge. I won’t forget it.”

 He shrugged, replying, “You’d have got yourself out in time.”

 “Maybe.” She kicked back from her station, “Since I’m in command, take tactical. I can’t do both jobs at once.”

 Nelyubov looked across at Curry, who smiled and turned back to her station, “You want me to take tactical?”

 “Can you do the job?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then do the job.”

 With a loud crunch, the elevator at the rear of the hangar bay stuttered open, and a pair of figures in battered uniforms – one of them unmistakably Triplanetary – drifted out. Carpenter was in the lead, followed by Wilson, and she looked around the deck, shaking her head.

 “You’ve been redecorating.”

 Orlova nodded, saying, “Well, I was bored. Where have you been?”

 “Aft engineering section. Took a damage control team a quarter-hour to clear open a corridor so we could get out. Has Captain Marshall got through to you? Where are the shuttles?”

 “Gone with the wounded.” Orlova paused. “There’s another damage control team back there? Anyone know anything about it?”

 Ballard looked around, then replied, “I only heard from two. Guess we’re a bit better staffed than I thought.” She looked down at the monitors, then stabbed a button. “I’ll get them to the hendecaspace drive. No point us racing for the egress point if nothing happens when we get there.”

 “Good idea. Sergeant?”

 “Ma’am?” Wilson replied, saluting.

 “How are things back in engineering?”

 “A lot better than they look, ma’am. Superficial stuff mostly. My crews shouldn’t take long to repair it.”

 “Interesting. As though someone’s trying to pull their punches a bit.”

 Curry nodded, saying, “They want their ship back. It make sense that they wouldn’t do any more damage than they needed.”

 Looking around the deck, Orlova said, “We’ve got three damage control teams, but it would be nice to have a fourth. Now our shuttles are out, see what you can scavenge from around here, Sergeant.”

 “Will do, ma’am,” Wilson said, turning to a surprised technician and barking orders.

 “Maggie,” Curry said. “If they want their ship back, maybe we should let them have it.”

 “Hell no,” Nelyubov said. “We went through hell to get this ship back, and I’m only giving it back over my dead body.”

 “For once we agree, Lieutenant,” Orlova said. “This ship can still fly, we still have eight missiles in the racks – which now work, at least – and we can jump out of the system.”

 “We could call back the shuttles,” Carpenter said. “There would be just time to evacuate.”

 “We’ve got people scattered all over the ship,” Mathis replied. “What they hell do they do? Get into spacesuits and jump?”

 “I’ve done worse,” Orlova said.

 Curry turned from her station, saying, “If we contacted them, we might arrange a ceasefire. The commander of that fleet did offer one.”

 “You honestly believe he would keep his word? I’ve fought these people before, and I wouldn’t. Nor do I intend to risk the crew of this ship on that basis. We’re safer inside this hull than we are floating about in shuttles.”

 “Besides,” Ballard said, “With two ships on the move, the fire is split between the two of us. If it was just Alamo trying to escape, she’d never live through a combined assault from three ships. Four if the carrier has any anti-ship weapons mounted.”

 Silence filled the room; Orlova broke it, saying, “The decision is made. That’s all there is to say. If you have any protests, note them in the log – but do it later, because we’re rather busy at the moment.”

 Curry shook her head, “You’re in charge, we’ll do as you say.” With a thin smile, she continued, “In truth, I’d hate to have to leave this ship anyway.”

 “Let’s get on with the battle, then, shall we.”

 “Signal from Alamo, ma’am. Captain Marshall,” Mathis said. “Top priority.”

 “Better put him on, then, Sergeant.”

 The crackling of the communicator indicated the poor state of repair of the exterior arrays; Orlova struggled to make out what Marshall was saying through all the disruption.

 “Alamo Actual to Hercules Actual. Report status, we’re not getting telemetry.”

 Ballard shrugged, “I had to find spare network capacity from somewhere.”

 “Sorry about that,” Orlova said. “Problems over here. We got through the attack without sustaining any further damage. What about the shuttles?”

 “All down, and the wounded are receiving treatment. Can you accelerate?”

 “Negative, we’re going as fast as we can now.”

 There was a pause, “We’re going to get to the egress point first.”

 “Understood, Alamo. We’ll be sure to make the mandatory rude gesture at the bad guys as we leave.”

 Marshall forced a chuckle. “I’ll hold you to that. We’ll co-ordinate tactical for the final pass. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

 “Negative, sir, I think we’re in about as good a condition as we can manage.”  

 “Then all that remains is for me to wish you luck. Have a good fight.”

 “You too, Alamo. Hercules out.” She closed the channel, looking around the bridge. The crewmen were looking at her, waiting for her to give orders, make decisions. With three words, she could give command to someone else, and she glanced at Nelyubov as he worked the tactical station. Taking a deep breath, she looked over at Curry.

 “Let’s see if there is anything we can do to reduce our time in the firing line. Start playing with our course a bit, keep them guessing, try to stop their approach. Nelyubov, pull the countermeasure records from the shuttles – that trick with the missiles was a good one, maybe we can duplicate it. Wilson…”

 The sergeant was floating past, a trio of slightly perplexed crewmen in tow, “We’re on the case, ma’am. Heading down to see if we can do anything with the maneuvering jets.”

 “Good. Mathis, I want to know everything about those battlecruisers, up to and including what their crews had for breakfast this morning. If there is any sort of a weakness, we need to know about it.”

 “I have a green board for missiles, countermeasures working now,” Nelyubov said.

 “What do I do?” asked Carpenter. It seemed a fair enough question.

 “You had basic medical training, didn’t you?”

 “First Aid level only, Maggie.”

 “See if there are any stragglers from Wilson’s work team, put together a medical detail. Then start calling round. We already missed one damage control team, maybe there are a few more crewmen isolated in other areas of the ship.” Frowning, she turned to Ballard, “I thought the internal communications system was working?”

 “So did I, ma’am, I’ve got a green board here. Is it a priority?”  

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “No, not at the moment. We’ve got bigger things to worry about right now, and I think all critical stations have hand communications. Mark it for a check when we reach hendecaspace though.”

 “If…”, Carpenter said.  

 “When, Sub-Lieutenant,” Orlova snapped. “We’re going to make it,” she paused, and smiled, before finishing, “and that’s an order.”

 “Want me to tell the incoming fleet, ma’am?” Mathis said with a chuckle.

 “Good idea,” she replied. The technician smiled as he turned back to his station, and she watched the crew – her crew – bustle to carry out her orders, preparing the battlecruiser for combat. Aside from the bridge crew, and Carpenter loitering around with a communicator, the cavernous hangar deck was now empty. A single, half-dismantled shuttle loitered at the rear of the room, pieces strapped to the wall. Something else to worry about when they jumped.

 Looking down at the display again, she saw one of the battlecruisers turning towards them, slowing to maximize its firing time. Eight missiles left; that battlecruiser could likely manage that in a single salvo, and still have more to follow. Tapping a button to look at Hercules’ status, she shook her head. If they had a day, an hour to make repairs, they wouldn’t be far from full combat efficiency, but as it stood, all they were doing was diverting a little fire from Alamo.

 “Ma’am,” Ballard said. “I’ve got Sergeant Wilson. Urgent.”

 “More trouble?” Orlova picked up the head set, “Go ahead, Sergeant.”

 “How would you like functioning combat fabricators?”

 “How would you like a promotion?”

 “I thought you’d say that. I’ve got them working.”

 “You have? That seems…”

 “Wasn’t much wrong with them. Only took a minute.”

 Suspicion briefly grabbed her, but she had other things on her mind. “Great, Sergeant, great work.”

 “Our pleasure, ma’am.”

 Orlova looked back down at the sensor station, rubbing her hands together. Now they might have a chance.

Chapter 26

 Leaning back on his command chair, Marshall watched the remaining fighters slowly withdraw back to their carriers, clearing the battlespace for what was to come. In less than two minutes it was going to be a very dangerous place to be. He glanced around the bridge; Caine was furiously working at her station to make a host of final preparations, with Zebrova hanging close to her – not watching what she was doing, but ready to take over at a second’s notice should it be necessary.

 “Steele, all decks ready?”

 “All systems show ready, sir,” the young officer said without looking up from her work. “All blast doors secure, damage control teams at prepared locations, everything is ready to go.”

 “Incoming signal from the carrier, sir,” Weitzman said.

 “I can guess who it is.” He looked up at the clock, and said, “I suppose I can spare sixty seconds or so. Put him on.”

 The face of the Commandant appeared on the screen. “Captain Marshall, is there any chance that I can talk you out of this?”

 “Is there any chance you will simply allow us to leave the system?”

 Shaking his head, the other man replied, “This is foolishness, Captain. You are out-manned and out-gunned. I do not question your courage, but already too many lives have been lost.”

 “On both sides.”

 “True.” He looked off-screen, and reached across for a datapad, “And now I see that you have wounded, as well. Our medical facilities…”

 “We can handle it,” Marshall said, curtly.

 “I am sure you can.” Leaning forward, he continued, “I will assure you that anyone we capture will be treated with the same care as the prisoners we have taken from the asteroid.” As Marshall’s eyes widened, he said, “Yes, we have prisoners. They will be treated well, I can assure you of that. Were you to agree to my terms, I would even be willing to repatriate them.”

 Fury burned in Marshall’s chest as he replied, “Repatriate them to hell, Commandant. Because that’s where the two of us are going. Alamo out.”

 The screen went dead, replaced by a tactical overview of the battle; Marshall glanced across to the holoprojector, currently displaying a schematic of one of the battlecruisers ahead. Looking over the unfamiliar lines, he rubbed his hand across his chin.

 “Too much to hope that you’ve found an obvious weak spot, Caine?”

 “Far too much. Given time, we’d probably find something, but with this little notice...I’ve got engines, sensors and missile bays pinpointed, though.”

 Zebrova said, “I would not be surprised if they possessed additional concealed capability, Captain.”

 “Neither would I, Lieutenant.” He frowned, looking up at the countdown clock. Less than a minute to go. “Forget about the enemy ships, Deadeye. Focus on the missiles.”

 Steele turned, saying, “Sir, we should do as much damage as possible…”

 “If this was a last stand, Sub-Lieutenant, I would agree. We’re trying to escape, not go down in a blaze of glory.”

 “Agreed,” Caine said. “I’ll fit the next set of missiles with multiple warheads. I might as well poke at the battlecruisers with the laser, though. That would be massive overkill for a missile.”

 “It’s your console, Lieutenant. Do what you think is best.”

 “Twenty seconds, sir,” Steele said, bracing herself for the battle. Zebrova pulled a strap around her waist, securing her to the wall in the event of any sudden deceleration. Marshall found himself counting down inside, watching the clock as it ticked down, watching the approaching targets, almost longing for the battle to start.

 When Spinelli yelled, “Energy spike,” and the first wave of missiles started to race towards Alamo, it almost felt like a relief. Sixteen missiles were inbound, all of them close together, their tracks converging. There was silence on the bridge; everyone knew what they were doing, and for the present, there was nothing to report. Prentis was watching the incoming missiles with Marshall – if everything went perfectly, the Flight Engineer would hope to sit out the battle.

 Not that everything was going perfectly. Three of the missiles blinked out with the first wave of hacking attacks from Caine, but the rest were stubbornly still reaching towards Alamo. With a flourish, she launched a salvo to intercept them, hoping them in on the approaching tracks, and then resumed working at her station.

 “Another wave heading for Hercules, sir,” Spinelli said.

 Eight more missiles in the sky, these going for the lagging battlecruiser they had come so far to defend. That Hercules was now reduced to the role of a flying decoy frustrated Marshall more than anything else; he’d rather have taken that role himself, allowed the older craft the chance to get clear. As he watched, another series of missile tracks leapt from Hercules, six warheads heading towards the approaching missiles. Orlova was burning her ordinance early.

 Caine kept working, and another pair of incoming missiles blinked out, self-destruct systems preventing them from doing damage to any of their counterparts. Still, it was eleven missiles against six from Alamo as the two groups closed in on each other, and after a brief series of flares on the screen, four missiles held their course.

 “Where are they going, Spinelli?”

 “All of them are targeting our drive systems, sir.”

 “Looks like they want the pleasure of our company for a while longer. Caine…”

 “I’m trying. These are the smart ones,” she said. “Though that’s another one gone.”

 “Mr. Tyler, start random walk. Make sure not to sacrifice speed.”

 The midshipman frantically worked to satisfy the two near-contradictory orders, settling for throwing the ship into a tumbling spin whilst keeping them pointed at the egress point. The missiles attempted to match the spin, but at the last second, Tyler managed to reverse it. The ship shook from the impact, and a couple of the displays flickered before coming back to life.

 “Prentis…”

 “Working, sir.”

 “One hit on Hercules, Captain,” Spinelli said. “Looks like somewhere forward, maybe the communications antenna.”

 “I can’t get anything from Hercules, Captain,” Weitzman said. “We’re out of range of any hand communicators they’re using now. I’d guess they just lost all long-range systems.”

 “Damage report now, sir,” Prentis said. “Significant damage to the rear laser assembly, that’s going to need an EVA to repair. Damage to the aft sensor array, and we’re working on that. Other damage superficial hull, but we have a couple of pinhole breaches. No serious casualties.”

 “That’s something, anyway. Try to keep it that way.”

 “Aye, sir,” Tyler said. “Maintaining course and speed.”

 “Energy spike,” Spinelli said. “More salvos, sixteen at us, eight at Hercules.”

 Marshall looked over at the tactical station; switching the warheads was the right decision to make, but it meant that the time to reload was doubled. A missile dropped from the pack, stuttering to a stop as its engine died, and another three self-destructed harmlessly at the first touch of a hack.

 “Come on, Deadeye,” Marshall said.

 “Going as fast as I can. Only three of those were mine, though, I think they’re having problems.”

 “My heart bleeds for them,” he replied.

 The missile tracks raced in once again; Prentis was shouting orders to damage control teams as he worked to get the aft sensors working. The viewer was fuzzier than normal, some of the images jumping around as the system corrected an increasing build-up of errors.

 “Hercules has fired a full salvo, sir!” Spinelli said. “Six missiles heading out!”

 Zebrova looked over at the technician, “Confirm that.”  

 “Double-checked, ma’am!”

 “Way to go, Hercules,” Marshall said, smiling. “With two functioning missile platforms we might get the edge back on this fight!”

 “Missiles away, sir!” Caine said, and Alamo’s salvo lanced out towards the new threats as they closed. Less than twenty seconds before projected impact; this time it was going to be far too close for comfort. Once again the two tracks dived at each other, but when the flares disappeared, there were no tracks remaining.

 “All missiles destroyed.”

 “Debris incoming, sir!” Spinelli said, alarm on his face.

 “All hands, brace for impact,” Marshall yelled.

 He felt the shock, rather than hearing it; the shrapnel from the explosion tore into the hull, and Prentis started shaking his head as reports started to filter into his station. Marshall waited for a few seconds before unstrapping and carefully walking over to him, peering at the status monitors; the hull was a series of amber and red.  

 The technician, looking up over his shoulder at him, said, “We’ve got hundreds of pinhole fractures, now, sir, and auto-repair is struggling to keep up. I’ll get a party on it as soon as we enter hendecaspace. Incidental damage to our port-side communications array.”

 “Keep on it, spaceman.”

 “Energy spike! Third salvo incoming!”

 “What about Hercules?”

 “Two strikes from that last impact, somewhere forward. Can’t tell where. They’ve got their share of the missiles coming as well, sir.”

 “What’s the score, Caine?”

 “Sixteen-nothing to them at the moment. They’re getting smarter with each wave. Prentis, how much more damage would another of those shock waves do?”

 A twinge of pain seemed to creep across the engineer’s face as he replied, “How close?”

 “Close.”

 Sighing, he said, “We’ll get more breaches, probably lose communications in one area of the ship, likely another sensor array as well.”

 “Fratricide, Deadeye?”

 “They’re not letting me in to hack now, and it’s going to be touch and go with the missiles anyway…”

 “But if you get them close enough, you’ll catch the lot in an explosion.”

 “And Alamo,” Steele said.

 “Better they explode close to our hull than on it.”

 “Another salvo from Hercules, sir!” Spinelli said. “She’s got some fight in her!”

 Marshall nodded, then sat back in his chair to watch the show, trying to relax. Sixteen missiles – fourteen as two more dropped out – closed in on Alamo, and this time there was nothing they could do to stop them until the very last moment. Caine was setting up the missile strike for the correct second – the correct microsecond – with the occasional comment from Zebrova, and Prentis was pulling all the crews back from the outer hull. Weitzman was the one having the quietest battle now; he didn’t have anyone left to talk to with Hercules’ communication systems out.

 Caine nodded, entering in the final sequence, then sat back, looking up at the hull. Only the computer could manage the timing for the shot she’d worked out, and if she missed it, there was no way of knowing whether there would be enough left of Alamo for it to matter.

 The tracks continued to converge, running down towards single figures, and he caught himself fidgeting with his fingers, his eyes fixed forward. He braced himself for the impact, trying not to imagine what the effect of fourteen missile strikes at the same spot on Alamo would be.

 “Missiles away!” Caine yelled, and the ship shook. The time between missile launch and the flash of impact on the sensors was almost too short to notice.

 “Brace yourselves,” Prentis said, gripping onto his chair. This time he heard the impact, and alarms began to sound; Weitzman quickly worked to silence the ear-splitting roar.

 “We’re still here,” Marshall said, “so I guess it worked. How bad?”

 “Hull breach! Rupture in lower sensor decks. Casualties on the way to sickbay, no numbers yet. Astrogation level is sealed off,” Prentis said. “Starboard sensors are out, and we’ve lost the communications array on that side of the ship as well.” He looked up, “We can’t take much more of this pounding, sir.”

 “Tyler, do we still have the astrogation course plot?”  

 “All safe, sir,” the midshipman replied, tapping his console. “Egress point in one minute.”

 “Prentis, my controls are going crazy,” Tyler said. “What the hell’s going on?”

 The engineer shook his head, “I don’t see...oh, damn it, some of the thrusters must have been hit.”

 Alamo lurched wildly to the side, a couple of precious seconds wasted as the midshipman pulled it back on course, carefully nudging a thruster at a time in a bid to regain control. Shaking his head, Tyler turned to Marshall.

 “I don’t dare do any more evasive turns, sir. Not if we want to actually hit the egress point.”

 “Hold your course, then, midshipman. How long?”

 “Fifty-five seconds.”

 “For the record, midshipman, you have the call.”

 “Aye, sir. I have the call.”

 “Energy spike! Fourth salvo away, and, god, all of them are heading right at us,” Spinelli said.

 “How long before impact?”

 “One second after we jump.” Marshall looked at Zebrova; substantial energy release in local space during a dimensional transition was never a good thing, as some ships had in the past learned to their cost.

 Zebrova turned to Marshall. “At least it will take some of the weight off Hercules, sir.”

 “How’s Hercules doing, Spinelli?”

 “Hard to tell. Sensor resolution’s way down. She’s still moving towards the egress point, though, that much I do know.”

 “But is she under power?” Caine said, shaking her head. “This cluster is totally blocking my countermeasures. They learn quickly.”

 “Fratricide?”

 She pointed at the screen, the courses beginning to arc out wide, “I don’t think that’s going to work a second time, sir. They’re spreading out over a much wider area, catching us from all sides.”

 “Missiles?”

 “They’ll be ready in time to get off another shot before we leave.”

 “I think leaving a farewell present to our friend the Commodore would be a nice gesture. Target the carrier, tight salvo shot.”

 “Yes, sir,” she replied with a smirk, turning back to her station.

 Marshall looked at the display, and saw a change to Hercules’ aspect. Before he could ask the sensor technician going on, Spinelli had risen from his seat and was waving his fist in the air, yelling a war whoop.

 “Hercules has fired again! Full salvo at the carrier!”

 “Maggie had the same idea,” Caine said. “I guess she’s been hanging around you too long.”

 “What about the change to target aspect?”

 The smile vanished from Spinelli’s face as he replied, “Hercules has slowed, sir. Looks like the lost an engine, probably battle damage.”

 “We could turn to help them,” Steele said.

 Marshall shook his head, “Not with twenty-four missiles heading for us. There would be nothing left of us to help.”

 “I’d have trouble making the turn anyway, sir,” Tyler said, glaring at Prentis. “Thirty seconds left.”

 “Weitzman, is there any chance that Hercules is hearing us?”

 “Probably not, Captain. I’ve been signaling constantly, no reply. Not even a message laser.”

 Nodding, Marshall slumped back down in his seat, watching the twin clocks over the viewscreen click down a second at a time, one lagging an instant behind the other. The first gave the time at which they would hopefully be escaping this system, the second the time of their destruction if they didn’t. Twenty-four missiles coming from all sides would leave nothing but tangled wreckage.

 Ten seconds to go. Hercules continued to lag behind; they were going to be at least a minute behind Alamo. At least twenty people were still on board, all of whom he was responsible for. The missile tracks converged, diving towards them. The timing was no accident, and as the last seconds ticked away, he decided that this must be one last trick, that something would have been done to sabotage the hendecaspace drive, something to leave them stranded and wrecked.

 “Two, one, jump!” Tyler yelled, and with a welcoming blue flash the universe disappeared, this time interspersed with tangles of orange flame. The space where Alamo had been a bare second ago was the middle of a megaton-level explosion, but all they took with them was a faint echo, a fragment of that power.

 “Transition successful, sir,” Tyler said. “We’re on course as scheduled.”

 Now another waiting period would begin. Hendecaspace was not like normal space, sensors only had a very limited range – but if Hercules was going to jump after them, they’d know about it. The seconds ticked away once again, the bridge still filled with silence. Had it been just Alamo, there would have been elation of another successful escape, Captain Marshall defeating the odds once more, but this time it was different. All of them were still with Hercules in spirit, willing its shadow to appear behind them, a silent ghost to accompany them to their destination.

 Sixty seconds passed. Then seventy. Then eighty. At ninety, Marshall rose from his chair, looking around the bridge. If Hercules wasn’t following them now, it never would. Either they had surrendered, or they had been destroyed, and knowing Orlova, he could guess which option she would have chosen, and her crew would have been cheering her on all the way.

 He tapped a button on his armrest, “Captain to crew. We have concluded a successful transition. All decks, report battle damage and system status to the Executive Officer. Good work everyone.”

 It wasn’t much of a speech, but he didn’t have one in him, and he didn’t think the occasion deserved one.

 “You have the conn, Lieutenant Zebrova.”  

 “Aye, sir.”

 Marshall walked into his office, and sat down behind his chair, pulling open a drawer. Inside was the bottle of vodka he had stashed their earlier. He carefully poured a single shot into the zero-gravity cup, and raised it to his lips.

 “To absent friends,” he said. “Rest easy, Hercules. I know you died well.”

Chapter 27

 Curls of smoke rolled through the improvised bridge as Hercules shuddered from another impact. The ship lurched to the side, the change to the acceleration almost sending Orlova tumbling; she clutched a nearby console with a hand, the other wiping blood from a cut on her forehead. Carpenter was hovering close by with a first aid kit, but she waved her away.  

 “Curry, how are we doing?”

 “Closing on the egress point,” she replied. “Eighty seconds to go.”

 “Alamo’s heading in now,” Mathis said. “With twenty-four missiles on her tail.”

 “Good God,” Orlova replied, leaning over to the sensor console. She could see Alamo, its engines burning white-hot as it struggled to get away, pinpoints of light surrounding it from all side. There was a blinding blue flash and an explosion, and the battlecruiser was gone, a debris cloud in its wake.

 Mathis looked up, his face a mask of horror, “It’s not there. It’s not there anymore.”

 “Did it jump?”

 “Sensor resolution’s shot to hell.” He sighed, “Ma’am, from my console the flash and the explosion were simultaneous.”

 Turning away, her heart a swirling cauldron of rage and anger that she forced herself to suppress, she went over to Nelyubov. He glanced up at her, then back at his station; he was frantically working his controls, but his console was a forest of red lights.

 “All launch tubes jammed, I can’t get another salvo up. Damage control teams are on the way, but…”

 “Never mind,” Orlova said, clapping him on the shoulder, “We’ll be out of the system before they can fix it anyway. Keep working on the countermeasures.” She swung around to Ballard, who looked on the verge of tears. “What’s the news, Corporal?”

 “All bad. We now have eleven hull breaches, too many pinhole leaks to count, our long-range communications are gone, thrusters on the port side out, it just goes on, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Can we get to the egress point?”

 Ballard looked down at her board, then looked back up at Orlova, replying, “If we don’t sustain any more damage. The drive’s about the only thing we’ve got that’s still working.”

 “That’s all we need to work. Time, Curry?”

 “Sixty seconds!”

 Orlova looked back at the sensor station again, watching Hercules lumber to its freedom from the system. She could still see the explosion in her mind, and her imagination was only too eager to fill in all the gaps; Alamo pictured as a cluster of tumbling wreckage, her friends and shipmates dead at their posts, or scattered to the far corners of hendecaspace, lost forever in another dimension. She shook her head to dismiss those thoughts; Alamo was just as likely to have got away, and even if it didn’t, all it meant was that Hercules had to survive, had to get home.

 “Signal, ma’am!” Mathis said, frowning.

 “I thought we’d lost long-range comms?”

 “It’s a message laser. Looks like they’ve found an interface point; I think it’s from the carrier, ma’am.”

 “Put it on.”  

 There was no picture; the bandwidth was far too low for that. She didn’t need one; as soon as she heard the arrogant, sneering, superior voice, she knew exactly who she was speaking too.

 “How can I help you, Commandant?”

 “Hercules, Alamo is gone, and you are stranded in this system. I have overwhelming force at my disposal, and you have already suffered far too many casualties. Isn’t it time to end this? I’m willing to discuss terms of surrender.”

 She looked around at the bridge crew, working at their posts while they waited for her answer. This could all be over now, and she could join the survivors of the asteroid in captivity. Her wounded could be treated, and her crew saved. For a second, she opened her mouth to agree, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t find it in her to surrender.

 Instead, she remembered a line from an old movie, and with a smile, replied, “I’m sorry, but I’m not in a position to accept your surrender right now. My intention is to leave this system.”

 The Commandant chuckled, replying, “I see. Know that I regret what I must do.”

 “I’m sorry to put you to all the trouble. Hercules out.”

 The channel closed, and Carpenter looked over at her, eyes wide, saying, “You’re crazy.”

 “Comes with the job,” she replied.

 Mathis looked up, saying, “Energy spike! Four missiles, heading directly.”

 “Only four? Are you sure?”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 “They’re pulling their shots,” Curry said. “They still expect to take us alive.”

 “Nelyubov, countermeasures please.”

 “Running,” he said, furiously typing commands into his station. “These have resisted everything that Alamo and us have thrown at them. I wouldn’t count on me being able to knock them down.” He smashed into the base of the panel with his knee, grimacing in frustration. “If we only had a couple of missiles, I could blast them out of the sky.”

 “Evasive, Curry, then.”  

 “We’re spilling seconds as it is.”

 “Mathis…”

 “Impact will be three seconds before we jump, ma’am. No way to stop it.”

 “There isn’t much I can do about changing our aspect that close,” Curry said. “I’ve got damn little control of this beast as it is.”

 Nodding, Orlova replied, “We’ll just have to ride it out, then. Get all personnel away from the areas we’re going to lose. Let’s just hope we don’t take any damage we can’t fix.”

 “Twenty-five seconds to impact,” Mathis said.

 Orlova watched the missiles closing in. Four missiles – three, another one dropped away, its engine burning out – couldn’t do that much damage to them. It was almost as if they wanted Hercules to escape, maybe to warn the Confederation what would happen if they entered Cabal space again. That didn’t make any sense, though.

 Damage reports continued to stream in, their teams calling in systems status as they raced to the interior of the ship, getting themselves to comparative safety. Eighteen seconds to impact, and then three seconds after that, this system and everything that had happened would be a memory, and they could begin to put the pieces back together again.

 “Maggie!” Curry yelled, “We’ve got a big problem!”

 “What’s wrong?”

 “The astrogation systems just went dead. We’ve lost our course.”

 The blood drained from Orlova’s face as she stabbed a button, “Astrogation, what the hell is going on?”

 “Race here. I haven’t got the faintest idea. All of my systems just went dead, it’s as if someone purged the course plot from the system.”

 “No wonder that bastard only fired four missiles at us,” Orlova said. “New course, now!”

 “In thirteen seconds?”

 “Work quickly,” she said, closing the channel. Jumping without a course was a nightmare that hadn’t been tried since the earliest days of interstellar exploration, before people knew better. Hendecaspace was a strange enough place to be if you knew where you were going; flying blind into the unknown was not a prospect she relished.

 “We can’t jump, abort,” Curry said, starting to work her controls.

 “Belay that,” Orlova said. “Proceed with the jump.”

 “Without jump calculations, we could end up anywhere, Maggie!”

 Thumping a hand on the sensor station, over the display that showed a trio of missiles angling onto their position with four capital ships following up to make the kill, she replied, “Right now, anywhere is better than here. Proceed with the jump! You have the call, and that is a god-damned order!”

 Sullenly, she turned back to her station, “Aye, ma’am. Proceeding with the jump.”

 Orlova hovered over the sensor display, watching the missiles come in. Nelyubov was doing everything right, launching the physical countermeasures at the very last second, trying for a miracle that all of them knew was unlikely to come. She couldn’t fault him, couldn’t fault any of them. Less than two seconds remained.

 “Hang on, everyone!”

 The missiles smashed into Hercules’ aft sections, ripping and gouging at the hull, tearing breaches up and down the deck plating. The shock sent the ship tumbling, thrusters firing wildly out of control, and the bridge crew were thrown from their stations to the deck as the acceleration shifted, the engine fading out as the fail-safe systems cut in.

 Every second was an eternity; Curry was tossed to one side, drifting helplessly into the cavernous hangar deck, reaching with a desperate, futile hand for her station. Two seconds to make the jump, before Hercules drifted past, destined to remain in Cabal hands and yielding a crop of prisoners for the Cabal work camps.

 Orlova launched herself towards the console, but she was never going to make it in time. She hadn’t been quite quick enough, and as her flailing arms reached out for the panel, her legs pushing off from the sensor console over the falling form of Mathis, all she could think was that she had failed them. Sirens screamed all around, as though the ship itself was protesting its fate.

 Then, suddenly, there was Carpenter, pulling herself up and over the station, reaching down for the control button. Orlova was barreling right into her unable to change her course.

 “Third from the left, second row from the top!” she cried, trying to stretch for the control.

 Carpenter nodded, and pushed the button, just as Orlova crashed into her, and then everything changed. She could feel the dimensional transition, sense that something had changed around her, and as the ship tumbled out of control, the lights flickered, dimmed, and failed, before dimmer emergency lights slowly began to glow.

 Panting, Orlova said, “Someone give me a report.”

 Nelyubov was nearest the engineering station, he pulled himself across, rubbing at his shoulder, and started to run a systems check. Gradually the bridge crew pushed themselves back to their stations, shaking and stretching; Ballard’s arm was at a crazy angle, obviously broken, but there seemed to be no other wounds.

 “Transition successful. God knows how,” Nelyubov said. “We’re in hendecaspace. Feels strange to have no course information.

 “What about the rest of the ship?”

 “Damage reports as long as your arm. We’re in a mess, Sub-Lieutenant. But at least we showed those battlecruisers a clean pair of heels.”

 Curry looked over at her, shaking her head, “They fired another full salvo just before we jumped. Twenty-four. We’d never have lived through that.”

 “That was his last bluff. He wanted this ship intact, and prisoners to parade through the streets for his masters.”

 “If the drive hadn’t activated, would you have surrendered? You wouldn’t just have let us be destroyed, would you?” Carpenter said.  

 “Do you really want me to answer that question, Susan?” Eyes widening, the paleontologist shook her head. “Probably for the best. I want a full systems status report as soon as possible. We need to get this ship back into combat-capable condition. I’ve no idea what we’re going to run into at the other end of this journey, but whatever it is, we need to be ready for it.”

 “That’s going to be quite a tall order, Sub-Lieutenant,” Mathis said, taking the first aid kit from Carpenter to work on Ballard. “We’ve only got about twenty people to work a ship that needs a hundred.”

 Orlova shrugged, replying, “We’ll have to make do with what we’ve got. That’s all there is to it.”

 As her crew started to work, began to get the pieces put together again, getting Hercules into some semblance of operational status, she looked around the deck. Her first command, a torn-up battlecruiser on a course to nowhere, with a skeleton crew, supplies running low, stranded light-years behind enemy lines, carrying information that had to get back home at all costs.

 She thought again of Alamo, and called up the final frame in which she appeared, ringed by blue light with a halo of flame surrounding her. It was a beautiful sight, but destruction often was. All she could do was hope that her friends had survived, that they might be able to meet up with them again somewhere out in the dark.

 A buzz of noise began to sound from overhead, and the lights began to flicker back on, one after another, bathing the room in white light. Nelyubov walked over towards her from his station, holding out a cracked datapad.

 “First damage control assessments, ma’am.”

  She looked over at him, nodded, and took the pad from his hands. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” The thinking, planning and worrying could wait. She had a job to do.

Chapter 28

 Marshall turned the data key in his hand, feeling the hard edges press into his palm. All the tests had been completed; Cooper had managed to obtain everything they needed to break the encryption. The data that had been transmitted from Hercules was an open book to them, the breakthrough that they had been looking for. Despite all that, there was an empty pit in his stomach.

 Cooper was standing in front of his desk, leaning on a crutch, still festooned with dressings; standing next to him, impeccably dressed, was Tyler, who looked slightly surprised to be in Marshall’s office. Caine was perched on the side of his desk, a smile across her face.

 “Corporal, I know how expensive this was, but I want to you know that it was worth it. When we get back I’m going to put you up for a Red Shield. You deserve the highest commendation we’ve got.”

 “The people I left behind deserve it more.”

 “I’m putting the platoon up for a Unit Citation. If that means anything.” He sighed. “I know there is nothing I can say, nothing I can do...but we both need to know that it wasn’t for nothing. This data stick proves it.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “I’m confirming you as Lance-Corporal. We’ve only got a single fire team right now, you’ve got the command. Let me know if there is anything you need.”

 Cooper saluted, and replied, “Nothing physical, sir, but there is something.”

 “Speak.”

 “I understand why we had to leave, sir. I know the reasons, and I agree with them. I want to know one thing.”

 “Yes, Corporal?”

 “I want to know that we won’t do it again. If there is any opportunity to rescue the prisoners they took from us, no matter how slight, I want to know that we’ll take it.”

 Nodding, Marshall replied, “Leaving those men behind was the hardest thing I ever did, Corporal. If we can get them back, we will. You have my word as an officer.”

 “That’s enough for me, sir.” Cooper snapped a salute, and Marshall returned it.

 “That’s all, then. You’d better get back to sickbay.”

 “Very well, Captain.” Cooper turned and limped out of the office, the door closing behind him. Tyler watched the trooper leave, then turned back to Marshall, his face impassive. There was a flicker of a smile, and Marshall reasoned that the young man had an idea of what was about to happen. He glanced up at Caine, then back at Tyler.

 “As of now, I’m pulling you from the bridge duty roster.”

 His face dropped, and he replied, “Sir, if I’ve done anything wrong?”

 “Quite the reverse. We’ve got a massive intelligence coup, Tyler, and I need an officer working on it full-time. You’ve already proven your ability in this area of work, and I’m naming you as Intelligence Officer pro-tem.”

 Tyler glanced across at Caine, then said, “Aye, sir.”

 “Disappointed?”

 “No, sir. It’s the sort of work I’ve always been interested in, and I’m looking forward to getting started.”

 “Very good. If I were you, Sub-Lieutenant, I’d get yourself an office as fast as you can. Space is likely to be at a premium for a while.” He watched Tyler’s face light up. “Yes, I’m commissioning you, effective immediately.”

 “Sir…”

 Raising a hand, Marshall said, “If everything had gone as planned, you’d be sitting your boards in a month or so, and I have no doubt in my mind that you would be commissioned with honors. I’m doing it early because I need you to do this job, and I know that you are up to it.”

 “I won’t let you down, sir.”

 “I know.” He looked down at a datapad, “Second Lieutenant Bailey will be out of sickbay tomorrow. She’ll take your place on the duty roster, so make sure she’s up to speed.”

 “I will, sir.”

 Caine shook her head, “Take it from me, Tyler, you’re going to be a tough act to follow in that chair. I’ve never seen someone with a flare for the helm like that.”

 Nodding, Marshall added, “Don’t be surprised if we borrow you for that job on occasion. You can go spread the good news now.”

 “I don’t know what to say, sir.”

 “Well, ‘thank you’ is traditional, but in this case I’d rather hear, ‘here’s my completed report, sir’. Go get to work.”

 “Yes, sir,” Tyler said, beaming as he walked back out onto the bridge.

 Caine looked down at Marshall has the door closed, “You enjoyed that.”

 “Best part of the job,” he replied. “The kid’s earned it.”

 “Remember the last time we had a Sub-Lieutenant Tyler on board?”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Come on, how many people in the Confederation have that surname? Hundreds? Thousands? I don’t judge anyone by his last name.”

 Her eyebrows raised, Caine said, “And you checked to make sure he wasn’t related. Be honest.”  

 “The moment I found out he was coming on board,” Marshall said. “No possible ancestry back to when records began, and intelligence gave him a clean bill of health.”

 “I’m glad to see your sense of paranoia is nicely developed.”  

 “I’ve been hanging around you too long.” The two of them chuckled, then Marshall looked down at his desk. “I’ve messed this one up, haven’t I?”

 “Danny?”

 “We’re stuck deep behind enemy lines. Dozens of my crew are captured and killed, and the ship we came here to rescue is lost.”

 “All of that is true.” She gestured to the data stick. “But that’s not why we came here. That wasn’t the mission you set us after we found Hercules’ survivors. Our job was to pull off the intelligence coup of the century, and there it is, right there in your hand.”

 He held up the data stick, nodded, and said, “The cost, though.”

 “Exabytes of classified data. Tyler’s only going to be scratching the surface. It’s going to take months for the spooks to go over all of that when we get home, and when they do, we’re going to have a picture of the Cabal that would have taken us years to get by other means. People have died. People have been captured. How many lives have been saved today?”

 “I know.”

 “If we’d known going in that we’d have had casualties – right down to the presumed destruction of Hercules – I’d have said it was worth the price.”

 Marshall looked up, shaking his head, “I know. They all knew the risks, going in.”

 “Which only strengthens my argument. We’ve done a tremendous thing here. All we have to do is finish the job and get that data home.”

 Sighing, Marshall said, “That could be a lot easier said than done. We’ve bought ourselves a little time, but they’ll throw everything they have at us.”

 “Of course. And we’ll beat them.”

 “Yes we will,” he replied.

 Caine looked down at the datapad; the file displayed was a list of casualty reports. Major Marshall’s name was right at the top.

 “How is he?” she asked.  

 “My father? It’s a toss of a coin. If he hadn’t got to Duquesne when he did…”

 “He did, though. He’s strong, and Duquesne’s good. He’s going to make it.”

 “I wouldn’t bet against him.” He looked up at her, saying, “Still glad you signed up?”

 “I’d do it again in a heartbeat. You think I’d want to miss all this fun?”

 Standing up, Marshall walked around his office, “I’d better get back onto the bridge and make myself seen. How are the crew holding up?”

 “Morale’s been better, but everyone’s happy that we got through in one piece. They were prepared for a trip out and back, not for a spin around the cosmos, though.”

 “I know,” he said, nodding. “So was I.”

 “You should talk to them.”

 With a look of disbelief, he said, “You’ve heard some of my speeches.”

 “Make it a good one, Danny. The crew need it, and so do you.”

 “I know.” He paused at the door, “Thanks, Deadeye. For everything.”

 “All part of the service, skipper.”  

 He walked out onto the bridge; Kibaki nodded as he approached, and made to rise from the command chair, but Marshall waved to him to remain, walking over to stand by his side. Zebrova was over in the far corner, talking to Quinn and the duty flight engineer; a man and a woman in Martian uniform were standing nearby, offering the occasional word; Captain Lane and one of her staff from Hercules. Walking over to the group, he listened for a moment, then Zebrova looked up.

 “Sorry, sir, I didn’t see you there.”

 “How are we doing, Lieutenant?”

 “Everything’s in hand, sir. Nothing we can’t fix.”

 “Alamo’s a tough girl, sir,” Quinn said. “We’ve got through a lot worse than this.”

 “Captain,” Lane said, “I thought I’d thank you for giving us a safe berth out. All of us want to work our passage home, help in any way we can.”

 “Don’t worry, Lane, we’re going to use and abuse you as though you were are own. There are going to be plenty of opportunities for hard labor.”  

  “I hope so, sir.” She looked around the bridge, “It’s not like Hercules.”

 “Every ship’s different. This one has something about her that is all her own.”

 Zebrova passed a datapad across to him, “I’ve already worked out how we can integrate the two crews, sir.”

 Smiling, Marshall took the proffered datapad, replying, “We’ll have a talk about it at the first opportunity. Good work, Lieutenant. You carry on.”

 He walked around the bridge, looking at the stations, watching the technicians at their posts, slowly working on preparing Alamo for its return to normal space. He made his way to the communications station and picked up a headset.

 “Ortega, can you patch me through to the whole ship, please?”

 “Certainly, sir,” she replied, tapping a sequence of buttons. “You’re on to the ship, Captain.”

 “Thank you.” Clipping on the microphone, he began, “Captain to crew, attention. Captain to crew, attention. All of you are aware of the tactical situation. We’re a long way from home and heading in the wrong direction, a fleet of Cabal ships at our heels. They’re going to hound us all the way as we work to get home, and try anything at their disposal to stop us.”

 “They’re going to do this because we have in our databanks information that will change the shape of interstellar politics for a decade. A complete, decoded ship’s database with all the information we need to bring the Cabal down. They know how dangerous Alamo is, and simply by grabbing this data, we’ve already struck them a tremendous blow.”

 “We left a lot of friends behind at Hades Station. The bulk of the espatier platoon captured or killed, and Hercules missing. They didn’t die for nothing. They gave us this chance, a chance to run for home with what we now know. And we are going home, ladies and gentlemen. They can send their entire fleet against us, and I’d still think the odds were in our favor, because I know you, and I know this ship, and I know that you combined are more than capable of dealing with anything that the Cabal can throw at us.”  

 “I’ve already asked a lot of you. I know that. I’m going to be asking a lot more of you over the next weeks and months, to go above and beyond the call of duty time and again. In return, I promise you this: we’re going to get home. All they way. No matter what it takes, no matter what it costs, I’m going to get this crew home.”

 He looked around the bridge, a sea of faces watching him. Some of them were nodding, smiling, others simply staring at him as they contemplated the enormity of the task ahead.

 “Mr. Mulenga,” he said.

 “Aye, sir,” the astrogator replied, his voice echoing throughout the ship.

 “Plot us a best-speed course for Sagdeev, and send it up to the helm.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “That is all. Captain out.”

 This time he accepted the chair offered him by Kibaki. As he sat down, he contemplated the course, thinking of the problems that lay ahead. At best, he was looking at seven or eight jumps to reach their destination, and they only had fuel in their tanks for a single jump. They’d have to find more, raiding ships and outposts just as his father had done in the war against the UN a decade ago, just as this ship had done in those dark days.

 Home was a long way away. At least he’d taken the first step. And if nothing else, he was going to see worlds and systems he’d never dreamed of seeing before. He sat back in his chair, and smiled.  

 Whatever happened next, he knew one thing. They were going to make it. All the way.

Thank you for reading 'Battle of Hercules'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.

The writer's blog is available at http://tinyurl.com/pjl96dj

Look out for Spitfire Station: Triple-Cross, available soon on Amazon.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28