CAGE OF GOLD

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 15

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #15: Cage of Gold

Copyright © 2015 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: November 2015

Cover By Keith Draws

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

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With Thanks To: Ellen Clarke and Peter Long

All the world over, nursing their scars,

Sit the old fighting-men broke in the wars--

Sit the old fighting-men, surly and grim

Mocking the lilt of the conquerors' hymn.

Dust of the battle o'erwhelmed them and hid.

Fame never found them for aught that they did.

Wounded and spent to the lazar they drew,

Lining the road where the Legions roll through.

Sons of the Laurel who press to your meed,

Worthy God's pity most – you who succeed!

Ere you go triumphing, crowned, to the stars,

Pity poor fighting-men, broke in the wars!

Rudyard Kipling

Chapter 1

 As he had countless times before, Captain Marshall sat in the command chair, looking around the bridge of the Battlecruiser Alamo, waiting for the ship to make the transition back into normal space, not knowing what would be lurking in the unexplored system ahead. Their mission was the recovery of an enemy starship, one that had apparently been lost and abandoned in orbit around a habitable planet in that system, but that was all they knew.

 Signs of the battle they had recently fought were all around him. Cautionary warnings from systems that Engineer Quinn had been unable to repair, technicians bypassing problems that they had no time to solve. The ship was in no state for a fight, and certainly no state to go exploring, but the prize they sought was worth the risk they were running.

 To his right, his tactical officer, Senior Lieutenant Caine, monitored the combat systems, using all her expertise to keep them running. Behind him, his operations officer, Senior Lieutenant Orlova, stood watching the viewscreen with as much attention as he. At the helm, Midshipman Foster rode her console with consummate skill, managing the transition to normal space, nursing Alamo back into her home dimension.

 “Ten seconds,” she said, glancing up from her work.

 “Acknowledged, Midshipman,” he replied. “You have the call.” Turning to Caine, he asked, “Everything ready?”

 “As ready as we can make it,” she said.

 “Spinelli, Weitzman,” he continued, turning to the sensor and communications technicians behind him. “Full sweep as soon as we get into the system. We’ve only got the barest amount of information, so sing out at the slightest sign of trouble.”

 “Aye, sir,” they replied, as the elevator door opened, Lieutenant Grant stepping out onto the bridge. He glanced at Orlova, then stood to her side. He was something of a fifth wheel at the moment, an officer searching for a role after his flying career had come to an abrupt end, and it showed in the sullen expression on his face.

 “Two seconds,” Foster said. “One. Transition.”

 The familiar flash of Cerenkov blue brought Alamo into the new system, the stars appearing on the viewscreen once again, a brown sphere resting at the heart of the image, the planet they were seeking. To his left, the tactical display jumped, planets moving into their correct position as the system replaced extrapolations of distant data with reality. The details could be left to the science team. Essentially, the system was as advertised, four planets orbiting a cold sun, the second being the source of their current interest.

 “Reading signs of life, sir,” Spinelli said. “I’ve got the alien spaceship, down on the surface.”

 “On the surface?” Marshall asked. “A starship that can land on a planet?”

 “Not just that, Captain,” the technician added. “I’m picking up a small city, and several outlying settlements. Roads connecting them up, signs of agriculture.” He looked up at a reading, and said, “My guess is that we’ve found a lost human colony. There’s a larger ship at the heart of the city. I’m trying to match it now.”

 Shaking her head, Caine said, “No records of any attempts at colonization this far out, but it won’t be the first time that we’ve been surprised. Could be connected with the Cabal, of course?”

 “Not according to the data we brought back,” Orlova said. “This is three or four jumps beyond their territory. They’d have orbital defenses, as well, and I’m not reading anything along those lines.”

 “I recommend caution,” Grant said. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”

 “The not-man ship is well beyond the territorial area,” Spinelli said. Stepping from his station, he walked up to the hologram and manipulated a control to bring the surface of the planet into stark relief. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. The atmospheric pressure is too thin for life as we know it at ground level, but there are a series of deep craters, the deepest more than five miles down.” He gestured at the image, and said, “It forms two levels. One where the pressure is about Earth-normal, another which averages that found at ten thousand feet. On both life would be possible.”

 “And the city, the bulk of the civilization, is focused on the areas of greatest habitability,” Marshall said. “What about the rest?”

 “We’ll learn a lot more when we get into orbit,” Spinelli said. “No sign of structures there, though I am picking up point heat-sources. Could be small settlements, maybe scouting parties.”

 “Do we go for orbit, sir?” Foster asked.

 With a thin smile, Marshall said, “It would be a shame to come all this way and go home without a closer look, wouldn’t it? Proceed to synchronous orbit over the city, Midshipman. Best speed. Spinelli, I want a look at the whole of the planet. Anything we don’t pass over, use shuttles. You’re sure there isn’t anything in orbit?”

 “Not a thing, sir. No sign of any satellites, or any activity at all. Maybe they’ve regressed from spacefaring capability.”

 “Then nothing can stop us,” Grant said.

 “We’re just strangers here, Lieutenant,” Orlova said, “And I wouldn’t leap too quickly into the lion’s den. We don’t know the situation down there.”

 The main engines fired, hurling Alamo towards the planet, its image slowly growing in the viewscreen as the ship drew nearer. Periodically, the sensor display would update, showing the surface in greater and greater clarity, the city slowly resolving itself into a cluster of buildings, narrow trails curving up from the deep crater to the higher plateaus surrounding it. 

 “A signal, sir,” Weitzman said. “It’s primitive, old radio, but beamed at us. Coming from the city. I’ve isolated the transmitter.”

 “Looks like some sort of military station,” Spinelli added. “Maybe orbital observation. They must have seen us when we came into the system.” Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t see how they can have missed us.”

 “Very well, put me on,” Marshall said, sliding a headset into position. “This is Fleet Captain Daniel Marshall, commanding the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo. To whom am I speaking?”

 A deep voice crackled through the static, replying, “This is General Daniels, commanding officer of Fort Medaris. I have the Governor for you, on relay.”

 Caine looked across, whispering, “United States General, Cold War era.”

 “That just about confirms it,” Orlova replied.

 “Thank you, General,” Marshall replied.

 “Cold War?” Grant asked.

 A softer voice came onto the line, saying, “This is Governor Hammond. What nation do you represent?”

 “The Triplanetary Confederation, sir,” Marshall said. “May I ask the same question of you?”

 There was a faint chuckle, and Hammond replied, “Young man, I am the Governor of Thule Territory of the United States of America.”

 A hush filled the room, Grant saying, “The United States hasn’t existed in decades.”

 “Here, I presume, it still does,” Orlova replied.

 “Governor, you have me at a considerable disadvantage.”

 “Captain Marshall, I assure you that the confusion is mutual. You represent a government I have never heard of, and I presume you are surprised to find an outpost of our great nation lost among the stars. Nevertheless, we can discuss matters of constitutional legality at more leisure. You command a warship?”

 “A capital ship of the Triplanetary Confederation, yes.”

 “And I presume that you have technology that dwarfs ours, in that you have retained the secret of starflight. You might be the answer to all of our prayers, Captain.”

 “In what way, sir?”

 “Our colony is under attack by savage forces that live in the high plateaus. An alien vessel landed here some months ago, and is providing them with technological and tactical assistance to launch strikes against us. Their goal is nothing less than the elimination of our presence on this planet. Captain, I am responsible for the lives of twenty-five thousand men, women and children.”

 “You are requesting our assistance?”

 “I am compelling it, sir, as I presume the nations you claim ancestry from had treaties with my government that were never removed.” He paused, then said, “The Last War would have prevented any such.”

 “The Triplanetary Confederation has no such formative treaties,” Marshall replied, “but I could be in a position to offer assistance, once I have assessed the situation. Certainly we won’t sit by in orbit and watch a massacre; we have faced your enemy in battle on several occasions.”

 “Then you will help?” Hammond asked.

 “Subject to my assessment of the situation, yes,” he said. “I cannot promise anything, but I have the latitude to offer limited military and technological aid.”

 “In that case, Captain, I invite you and your crew to come down and take a look for yourselves. Please consider yourself as guests of the United States government, and I offer you full permission to enter parking orbit around Thule.”

 “The name of your planet?”

 “Indeed. We have no airstrip; do your shuttles have VTOL capabilities, or would you like us to clear a runway?”

 “We can land on any patch of level ground, sir. If you provide my technician with the suitable co-ordinates, my staff will make the arrangements.” He glanced across at the display, and said, “I will see you in one hour from now, if that is suitable.”

 “More than suitable, Captain. I’m very much looking forward to meeting you face to face. To see humans from another world is a boon that I never thought I would receive. I will turn you over to General Daniels to arrange the details. Thule out.”

 “Fix that up, Maggie,” Marshall said, passing her the headset. “Then get Shuttle One ready for launch.”

 “Thule,” Grant said. “Nice, bleak name for a planet. An outpost at the end of the world.” He looked around, then said, “None of you ever studied mythology?”

 “You’re going, Danny?” Caine said. “Down to a planet that we have not checked, to a situation that is uncertain at best, that we know is under attack by hostile forces?”

 Placing her headset down after dictating some numbers, Orlova said, “Let me go in your place, Captain, as your envoy.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Not this time, Maggie. Whatever he is calling himself, that’s the political leader of a sovereign planet. Protocol demands that the senior officer in-system goes down to meet him. If for no other reason that I have to make the arrangements myself.”

 “Then why not bring him up to us?” Grant asked. “Shuttle One…”

 “Protocol again,” Caine said with an exasperated sigh. “He invited us down.”

 “He needs us,” Grant pressed. “He said so himself. They are under attack, and they want our help. The least he can do is be flexible.” Looking around the bridge, he said, “There is nothing stopping us from simply breaking orbit and going on our way. If we want the alien ship, then we can make a landing on the plateau and secure it for examination without dealing with the planetary government at all.”

 “Are you seriously suggesting such a course of action, Lieutenant?” Marshall asked.

 “No, sir. Just pointing out that we have a very strong hand in all negotiations, and that we should not forget that.”

 Orlova looked at Grant, and said, “While he has a point, sir, I think it important that we tread carefully. This planet is likely to be on the front lines in any conflict between the Confederation and the Not-Men.”

 “You don’t think they’d side with them against us?” Grant asked.

 “Not by choice,” she replied, “but if we let this domino fall, then they won’t be given that option. This planet could have immense strategic value. A habitable world in this location…”

 “You think we should help them?” Marshall asked.

 “Depending on the situation on the surface, yes, sir. If the not-men have established a foothold on the planet, then we’ve got to counter their presence. Right now Alamo can do it. If we have to wait a while, then it could end up taking a full-scale task force.”

 “I’m not sure we could support operations on Jefferson and here,” Caine said. Shaking her head, she replied, “We’d better go down.”

 “Both of us?” Marshall asked.

 “I’m the Tactical Officer, remember. We both need to make on-the-spot assessments on this before any action can be taken.” Glancing up at Grant, she added, “Frank Nelyubov can take my chair while I’m down on the deck.”

 “I still think you should let me take the lead on this,” Orlova said.

 Marshall tossed his datapad at her. Without thinking, she reached for it with her new, artificial hand, and the thin device slipped through her fingers, clattering to the deck.

 “Light duties, Maggie, remember?” he said. “Nothing that requires you to have too much manual dexterity.”

 “I’m fine, sir.”

 “Not yet, but you will be. As long as you are sensible.” He glanced at Caine, and said, “We’ll take an honor guard down with us. Ensign Cooper, Sergeant Gurung, and a fire team. Make sure they understand that this is a ceremonial mission, and that the plasma weapons they will be bringing with them are for demonstration purposes only.”

 “Understood, sir,” she said.

 “Sir?” Foster asked. “Request permission to serve as shuttle pilot.”

 Marshall glanced at Caine, then said, “Negative, Midshipman, but if you want to come along for the ride, you can. You can act as Lieutenant Caine’s aide on the surface. Call your relief to the helm, and have Sub-Lieutenant Salazar report as pilot. Dress uniforms all around, of course.”

 “Must we?” Caine asked. “They won’t know the difference.”

 “I will, and besides, this is a historic moment. Cameras everywhere, most likely. You don’t want to disappoint the historians of tomorrow, do you?”

 Frowning, Grant said, “Request permission to take Sub-Lieutenant Salazar’s place, Captain.”

 “You’re going to be needed up here, Lieutenant.” Rising to his feet, he walked over to Orlova, and said, “The ship is yours until I get back. Take good care of her.”

 Looking around at the combat damage, she replied with a smile, “I’ll try to keep her in her current condition.”

 “See that you do. Come on, Deadeye.”

 Marshall stepped into the elevator, watching Orlova move into the command chair under Grant’s gaze. It was obvious that Grant had hoped to benefit from her duty restriction, but he had no intention of placing someone he didn’t absolutely trust in command. Caine stepped in after him, and the door slid shut.

 “Are you sure this is a good idea, Danny?” she asked.

 He tapped for the quarters level, and said, “Sometimes the commander has to lead from the front. Besides, I want to get down where the action is for once.”

 “We’ve been having plenty of action lately. I doubt the Combined Chiefs will thank you for getting the Fleet involved in another war.”

 “They’d be less happy if I let the planet suffer under the tender mercies of the not-men, Deadeye. Maggie’s right. If we can bring this world into our alliance, so much the better.”

 “I hope so,” she replied. “All of this seems a lot like leaping before we look.”

 “We usually manage a soft landing.”

 “Maybe, but we’ve only got to mess it up once.” The door opened, and she added, “Come on. Let’s find out whether our dress uniforms still fit.”

Chapter 2

 Salazar settled into the pilot’s couch beside a frowning Foster, running his fingers over the controls as the navigation computer updated its course plot. Sensor information was streaming in from the bridge, details on the atmosphere, gravity, geography of the planet below.

 “Preflight ready?” he asked.

 “Of course,” she said. “Sure you don’t want me to take it?”

 “I don’t want to get out of practice.” A light flashed on his panel, the airlock closing, and he turned to ask, “Everyone ready back there?”

 “All set,” Marshall said, throwing him a thumbs-up.

 “Right.” Sliding a headset on, he said, “Alamo Actual, this is Shuttle One, requesting launch clearance.”

 “Affirmative, Shuttle,” Orlova said. “Be careful.”

 “Always, ma’am,” he replied. The shuttle started to drop through the decks, the elevator airlock snapping into life to launch them into free space. A faint surge ran through the ship as the engines warmed up, the systems locking their projected course into place. As the lower hatch opened, he caught a glimpse of stars beneath, and the spin of the ship tossed them clear of the hull, setting them tumbling.

 A flick of the thrusters stabilized them, and he took his first real look at the planet below. All brown and white, except for the crater that was their destination. He tried to imagine the size of the impact needed to create it, enough to set off earthquakes and volcanoes around the planet, to damn near rip it in half.

 “Engine start,” he said, and the acceleration pushed them back in their couches as the shuttle dropped out of orbit, its curve slowly sliding them down towards the atmosphere. “Watch for turbulence, Midshipman. Keep an eye on the temperature sensors as well.”

 “I am a qualified shuttle pilot, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Turning to face her with a grin, he said, “I’m the pilot-in-command, which means that worrying about the details is the biggest part of my job. You’d be just the same if the seats were swapped, and you know it.”

 “Let’s just get this over with and we can go our separate ways on the surface.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “Are you ever going to get past this? It isn’t the Academy any more, is it? The star pupil who no longer has her class seniority.”

 “You might have been able to fool Captain Marshall,” she whispered, “but I see right through you. I know who and what you are, and I’m not going to forget that.”

 Turning back to his console, Salazar replied, “I’d be very careful about suggesting that my commanding officer is any sort of a fool, Midshipman. Not going to earn you many marks on your commissioning boards. Atmospheric interface in two minutes. Try and contact that ground station, what was it, Fort Medaris?”

 “On it,” she said, tapping a control. “Shuttle One to Traffic Control, come in.”

 The reply was faint and full of static, the voice badly distorted, “Reading you Strength Five. You’re clear all the way. Wind speed is ten miles an hour, south-west, minimal cloud cover. You should be able to come right in.”

 “Thank you, Traffic Control.”

 “Hell, I should be thanking you,” the voice replied. “First time I’ve ever done this. Beats walking perimeter patrol. Ground out.”

 “That’s inspiring me with confidence,” Foster said.

 “Give them a break,” Salazar replied. “They probably haven’t seen anything fly in years. Here comes the atmosphere.”

 He tugged the nose forward, slamming the shuttle into re-entry attitude, the heat shield starting the glow a dull red as the temperature surged. The ground seemed to be rushing below them, a series of brief glances, the crater now dead ahead as the shuttle slowed. Nursing the thrusters to smooth the ride, he kept one eye on the course plot and another on the external readouts. The autopilot would help, but when it came to re-entry without proper atmospheric modeling, he preferred the personal touch.

 “Skin temperature dropping,” Foster said. “We’re through the plasma sheath.”

 “Should be smooth from here,” he replied. “Landing area is about a hundred and thirty miles north of here, straight line. How’s the weather?”

 “Wind velocity and cloud cover as advertised.” She frowned, tapping a control, and a siren began to sound. “Threat warning. Missile coming up, looks like it’s from the not-men ship. Impact in forty seconds.”

 “Switching to full manual control. Ride the countermeasures and fire up the warbook. See if it’s worth trying jamming it.”

 He slid the throttle to full, ignoring the protestations of the computer that its carefully calculated course plot was being overridden, and pulled the nose down, racing towards the planet, gaining speed as he shed altitude.

 “What are you doing?” Foster asked. “Gain height, abort to orbit.”

 “No time,” he said, “Got to try something different.”

 The crater wall was just ahead, one of the outlying plateaus where the enemy armies were lurking, preparing to attack. Behind him, the missile raced down, and Foster’s face turned pale as she realized what he was planning.

 “Abort, damn it,” she said.

 “Countermeasures on my mark,” Salazar replied, his voice calm and steady as the collision warnings began to sound. The missile was just seconds away, a design that they couldn’t hope to fool electronically. The shuttle was below ground level now, skimming along a narrow ravine, the mile-high wall of the crater just ahead. Counting down the seconds, he reached down for the lateral thrust controls.

 “Now!” he yelled, and as Foster launched the decoys and chaff, he slammed the lateral thrusters to full as he pulled up, the shuttle almost seeming to turn on itself as it followed the crater wall, close enough that he could make out individual rocks, that the vibration was causing avalanches all along the base. With inches to spare, he reached the top, then dived over it, running down the other side of the wall.

 The missile never had a chance, and slammed into the crater, the explosion tearing a hole in the wall, sending debris flying through the air, fast enough to rain off the roof of the shuttle.

 “We’re going to have to get her serviced after this!” he said, shaking his head.

 Glancing at her panel, Foster said, “Someone’s trying to contact us.” Tapping a control, she said, “Shuttle One, go ahead.”

 “Traffic Control here. That was amazing! I’ve never seen anything like that in my life!”

 “Are we still clear for landing?”

 “Hell, yeah! Come on down! The Governor’s waiting!”

 “I guess we’d better not disappoint him,” Salazar said. “Coming around. There’s the inner crater.”

 The shuttle soared in a smooth, gentle arc as he rode the throttle down, spilling the speed he had recently gained. As they passed over the inner wall, he could see green fields, small clusters of buildings, and up ahead, a small city, built around the rusting ruin of a grounded spaceship, one almost as large as Alamo. He carefully played his thrusters, keeping the maneuvers slow and steady, not wanting to do any damage.

 Fort Medaris was easy enough to find on the far side of the city limits, a barracks building near a dilapidated radio telescope, and a parade ground with a line of people standing on its perimeter, waiting for their arrival. On the far side was a launch tower, in the early stages of construction. Evidently the locals didn’t intend to be permanently confined to this planet.

 “Final burn,” he said, pulsing his thrusters to kick up some dust, putting on a little show for the crowd. There were several vehicles scattered around, one of them obviously a ceremonial car, more ornate than the others.

 “Ten meters,” Foster said. “Five. Two. Down.”

 “Engine stop,” he replied. “Landing gear stable. All systems green. Start post-flight checks and contact Alamo, will you? I’d better see to the passengers.”

 Unbuckling his restraints, he rose from his seat and stepped back into the rear compartment. Marshall clapped him on the back as he secured the hatch, Ensign Cooper rising to stand on the other side of the airlock.

 “If I ever need someone for a combat drop, I’ll know where to look,” he said. “Nice work.”

 “I doubt the maintenance team will agree when they see the blast damage, but thanks.”

 “Let’s not keep the dignitaries waiting,” Marshall said, and Salazar opened the hatch, dropping the ramp to the surface. A band started to strike up an unfamiliar song as the door locked back, Marshall taking the lead with Salazar and Cooper following him down to the surface. Behind them, Corporal Vaughan and his fire team scrambled out, plasma carbines very much in evidence, standing to attention in front of the shuttle and returning the salute of the local honor guard.

 A tall man, white hair spilling down the back of his well-tailored suit, stepped forward with his hand extended, walking to Marshall.

 “Captain Marshall?”

 Taking his hand, Marshall replied, “Governor, it’s an honor to meet you.”

 “The honor is all ours, I assure you.” The soldiers burst out into an obviously rehearsed round of applause, and he added, “We’d have played your anthem, but I’m afraid none of us had any idea what it might be.”

 “That’s perfectly fine, Governor. May I introduce the commander of our ground forces, Ensign Cooper,” he gestured to the Espatier, “and my aide and shuttle pilot, Sub-Lieutenant Salazar.”

 “Ah, so you are the one responsible for that impressive aerobatic display. I remember seeing something similar at Montgomery when I was a very young boy. Brings back a lot of memories. My compliments, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Thank you, sir.”

 Leading Marshall towards a row of decorated officers at the rear, he began to introduce the Captain to a series of military dignitaries, leaving Cooper and Salazar behind at the shuttle. The trooper reacted with a start, pointing at a figure working at the end of the parade ground.

 “My God, that’s a Neander!”

 “Are you sure?”

 “Damn sure!”

 “Is there a problem?” the Governor asked.

 “Ensign,” Marshall began, but Cooper interrupted him.

 “There are Neander here, sir. Working on the field.”

 “Ah,” the Governor replied. “Those are the problem we have to deal with. It is their people who are threatening our colony, Captain, though I stress that many of them live and work in our community.”

 Salazar looked at the row of officers, and said, “None in the higher ranks, sir?”

 “Indeed not. I fear the level of their education is not suited to such a role, at least, not yet. For the present, they serve best where they are. I will be happy to introduce you to some of their civic leaders, Captain, later on.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “I need to contact my ship, make a few arrangements.”

 “Take all the time you wish, Captain.”

 As the Governor walked away, Marshall turned to the two junior officers, and said, “Take a look. Quietly. Remember that this is a diplomatic mission.”

 “They should have told us, sir,” Cooper said.

 “Maybe, but this might all seem perfectly normal to them. I’ll be back in a minute.”

 While the Governor and his officers were deliberating, a younger lieutenant stepped forward from the guard, taking a glance back at the Neander still working on the far side of the field. He looked admiringly at the shuttle, then turned to Salazar.

 “I’d love to take a ride in her someday.”

 “That might not be too hard to arrange,” Salazar said.  

 “Oh, sorry,” he said, holding out his hand. “Second Lieutenant Al Higgins.”

 “Pavel Salazar,” he replied, shaking the proffered hand. “Gabriel Cooper.”

 “Pleased to meet you.” Looking up at the shuttle, he said, “That really is a sweet ship. I was watching from the observation tower.”

 “You ought to see Alamo,” Cooper said. Gesturing at the launch tower, he added, “You hoping to go up yourself one day?”

 “Maybe. We’re working on satellites at the moment, just experimental stuff. We’ve got all the textbooks, but there are so many steps to work on, and we don’t really have the industry.” Looking back at the two of them, he added, “Not that it’ll be a problem now. With your help, we'll be launching from here within a year.”

 “How bad are things down here?”

 Shaking his head, Higgins said, “Been a while since I’ve been on patrol, but someone’s got the tribes really stirred up out there. The aliens, I guess, though they’ve always been a problem, ever since we landed here.”

 “They’re native to this planet?” Salazar asked.

 “So they say. Not all of them are bad, though. Some of the tribes, down here in the crater, we get along with them well enough. Maybe a couple of dozen of them work on the base. Territorial Guard watches them, just to make sure.” He gestured at a red-uniformed man on the perimeter, eyes locked on the shuttle. “Governor McIntyre came up with the idea, about forty years ago.”

 “We’ve fought alongside them on other planets,” Cooper began.

 “Hell, so have I. Lots of them out on the border posts. When I was at Outpost Patton…” He turned as a senior officer called to him, then said, “Guess I’m wanted. I’ll take you up on that ride sometime.”

 As the young lieutenant jogged away, Salazar said, “There’s something seriously wrong down here.”

 “Don’t jump to conclusions too quickly,” Cooper replied. “Until we know exactly what the situation is on this planet, we can’t judge. The Captain will make the decision, when the time comes. One thing, though. Our weapons are a couple of orders of magnitude above theirs. Old rifles, a few machine guns, nothing we couldn’t handle if we had to.”

 “And if they’re keeping out these tribes of theirs…”

 “Then we’re going to be able to make a decisive difference, one way or another.”

 One of the Neander was looking over the lines of the shuttle, the same spark in his eyes that Higgins had shown, and Salazar moved away from Cooper, heading towards him, but before he could reach him, the red-uniformed man stepped out onto the field, the Neander scurrying away, back to his work.

 “I think you might be right,” Cooper said. “There is something seriously wrong down here.”

 Marshall stepped back out of the shuttle, looking around the field, and the Governor stepped back over to him, holding his arm outstretched.

 “Captain, if you have concluded your business with your ship, I’m anxious to provide you with details of our situation, and a little of our background.” He glanced across at the guardsman and said, “Doubtless we have a lot to explain.”

 “Probably we both do,” Marshall replied. Caine stepped out behind him, Foster by her side. “My Tactical Officer, Senior Lieutenant Caine, and her aide. She’ll be conducting the tactical assessment.”

 “I’d like to take a look around the base, get a feel for your capabilities. If you’ve got any samples of enemy equipment, I’ll want to see that also,” she said.

 “Lieutenant Higgins can see to that,” the Governor said.

 “Only too happy, sir,” the young officer replied with a beaming smile.

 “The limousine will take us to our meeting. I think it best that it be held in private.”

 “Agreed,” Marshall said. “Did you say limousine?”

 “There are a few perks to this office, Captain, and we have managed to reconstruct a few of the comforts of home.”

 “Lead the way, then, sir,” he said, and he and Salazar followed him to the waiting car.

Chapter 3

 “Got it,” Grant said, looking up from his console. “Buried deep in the records, but I think I’ve managed to match it. As best as I can figure it, that ship down there is a Dyson-class freighter.”

 “Dyson-class?” Orlova asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

 “I’m not surprised. Officially, none were ever constructed. During the run-up to the Third World War, they were experimenting with all sorts of designs, trying to speed up the colonization of Mars. This was an Orion-drive ship, propelled by nuclear bombs.”

 “You have got to be joking,” Nelyubov said, looking up from the tactical station. “Bomb-powered starships?”

 “Spaceships,” Grant said. “This was never intended for interstellar travel, just for Mars, maybe Callisto at a stretch. I presume they fitted a similar drive that the colonists of Ragnarok employed. As I said, there are no records that one was built or launched, but that matches the designs in the computer.”

 “When was it designed?” 

 “2033, according to the records, at Redstone Arsenal under the auspices of the United States Army Missile Command. I’ll dump all the details into your personal database, but it would have been capable of putting a couple of thousand people into space, along with colonization equipment. And that was for an uninhabitable planet. The idea was a one-launch sustainable settlement.”

 “A lot of people tried that, and a lot of people died,” Nelyubov said.

 “But here they could breathe the air, drink the water,” Orlova replied. “I presume that helped. So they launched maybe twenty years later, during the Final Exchange, and headed out into deep space.”

 “That seems to be as good a theory as we're going to get. The records do show a ship launching from Redstone during that period, listed as making for Mars, but there’s no evidence that they ever made it.”

 “Not surprising. Less than half the ships that launched during that period got to their destinations,” Nelyubov said. “I guess they managed to get lost in the shuffle.”

 “With a war going on, record-keeping was somewhat vague. There are a lot of missing files from that period. Presumably they’ll fill in all the blanks for us when we establish firmer diplomatic relations,” Grant said.

 Frowning, Orlova said, “Nuclear bombs. That’s got some pretty serious implications.”

 “I’ve run a complete check,” Spinelli said, “and if they have any nuclear material, it’s hidden well enough that it is concealed from all of our sensors. I don’t see any evidence that they have that sort of technology.”

 Walking over to the viewscreen, Orlova looked at the planet below, hanging still in space, the crater facing them like a green scar ripped across the fabric of the world. All the life on the surface was gathered in that small area, an oasis in a global desert.

 “There’s no way that the surface can be natural.”

 “I ran simulations,” Nelyubov said, “and the data we’ve got agrees with you pretty closely. While a crater like that would provide some sort of an atmosphere, the odds against it being anything that we could breathe are millions to one against. The presence of Neander down there seals it as far as I’m concerned. This planet has had two waves of colonists from Earth.”

 “Hard to imagine,” Grant said. “They were taking a tremendous risk, launching in a ship like that with an untested star-drive. Ships like that struggled to make it to the nearest planet, but we’re almost twenty light-years from Earth.”

 “And yet ships like that settled Ragnarok, Jefferson, worlds in the Cabal,” Orlova said, shaking her head. “We thought we were the pioneers coming out here. All we’re doing is following in their footsteps.”

 “Don’t worry, Maggie,” Nelyubov said. “We’ll get to do some exploring of our own one of these days. There has to be some limit on how far they expanded.”

 “I hope so,” she replied. “What about the rest of it?”

 Walking over to the viewscreen, he replied, “They’re finished. That’s not a stable environment. If they had three or four times the area to work with, that colony might have a chance, but I’d say they’ve about reached the limit of their potential. No room for expansion. Worse, that atmosphere is going to deteriorate, and rapidly.”

 Nodding, she said, “I was afraid you were going to say that. Let’s talk options. I know the Captain is going to want a full report.”

 With a sigh, Nelyubov said, “It really comes down to one. Evacuation. Pull the colonists out and evacuate them to a world that actually has some potential. Jefferson, maybe, if we can make the agreements, though I don’t think we’d have any trouble just bringing them back to Mars.”

 “You’re thinking politics,” Grant said. “Try thinking logistics. We’re talking about a population of twenty thousand people.”

 “Actually,” Nelyubov said with a sigh, “more like forty thousand. You were forgetting the Neander.”

 “We don’t have the space-lift capability.”

 “There’s the luxury of time, Lieutenant.” Orlova said. “We don’t have to do it today.”

 “The longer we wait, the harder it gets to pull off,” Nelyubov said. “Assuming that we can use one of the assault carriers, I think we could pull the population back to Yeager Station in a little over a year. Civilian transports to take them on from there. Ragnarok might be a possibility for resettlement, thinking about it.”

 “Cost?”

 He smiled, reached for a datapad, and said, “Enough to build three battlecruisers. Conservatively. Whether the Senate would vote for this in a million years is another question entirely.”

 “There must be another option.”

 “What? Terraforming would cost a fortune, and I’m not sure we could pull it off in any case. Ultimately, we’re at the outer reach of our logistics pipeline out here. If they were settlers in the system we wouldn’t have a problem, but we’re talking about four jumps to get back to Sol. There aren’t that many freighters around that can do that.”

 Folding his arms, Grant said, “All of this overlooks the fact that they won’t leave their world anyway.”

 “Wouldn’t they?” Orlova asked. “Knowing what the ultimate fate of their descendants will be, a life that gets harder and harder until it becomes impossible? Oh, we could turn the planet into a domed settlement, I suppose, but what would be the point? There just isn’t anything here to make the system worth exploiting.”

 “Strategically....,” Nelyubov began.

 “Today, yes, that’s important. Will it be important tomorrow? Or next year? Or in a decade from now? That’s a hell of a gamble to bet the future of your children on. If I had a choice, I’d be on the first ship out.”

 “With all due respect,” Grant began, and then the lights went out.

 Orlova waited for a second for the emergency lights to come on, then reached into her pocket for her communicator flicking it open and turning it on by feel. She heard a clunk, then a yell, as someone behind her walked into something.

 “Everyone stay were they are,” she said. “Bridge to Engineering. What the hell’s going on?”

 “Wait one,” Quinn said. “Auxiliary Control took over. I’m trying to fix it now.”

 “There are four redundant power distribution systems serving the bridge,” Grant said. “How do they all get knocked out at once?”

 Abruptly, the lights came back on, and the systems restarted, consoles booting up as their operators logged back on.

 “Thanks, Jack,” Orlova said.

 “Don’t thank me, I didn’t do anything.”

 “What?”

 “I hardly had time to get the diagnostic software started up. I still don’t know what happened.” There was a pause, and he added, “I’ve got a damage control team heading up right now.”

 “Keep ship operations at Auxiliary Control for the moment, and get someone to monitor it to make sure that it doesn’t go down either.”

 “Already on it. Grogan’s on the way with a portable generator just in case. I don’t think anything else is wrong with the ship, but I’m going to start a full check of all systems.”

 “Agreed. I’ll be down in a minute.” Returning the communicator to her pocket, she turned to the bridge crew and said, “Don’t bother logging in. I want you all in Auxiliary Control. Grant, you take the conn down there.”

 “On it,” he said, sliding up from his station. “Come on, everyone.”

 “We’re going to Engineering?” Nelyubov asked.

 Nodding, she stepped into the elevator, half-expecting that the door would refuse to open, and tapped the control to send it hurtling through the decks. Nelyubov looked at her for a moment, then frowned. 

 “Go on,” she said.

 “This is really getting to you, isn’t it.”

 “They’re stuck in the middle of a war zone, Frank. Thousands of men, women, children. With a not-man ship behind enemy lines raising an army to slaughter them, if what the Captain said is correct. Certainly it seems to match their usual strategy.”

 “Why, though? What’s so important about this planet?”

 “Now that is an excellent question. Strategically it could be valuable, yes, but there is nothing stopping them putting a battlecruiser in orbit and just conquering the place. With orbital superiority, the colonists could stop us. So why use a small scoutship?”

 “Maybe their resources are spread thinner than we thought,” Nelyubov said, shaking his head. “No, that’s too easy an explanation. And they had the resources to spare if we wanted them, the ones we knocked out last month. They could have used them here to greater effect.”

 “There’s something missing from all of this, a piece of the puzzle we don’t have yet.” With a sigh, she added, “At the end of the day, I don’t think we have much of a choice. We can’t just sit up here and watch a massacre taking place, not when we have the ability to intervene and prevent it from happening. We’re going to be sending the rest of the platoon down to the planet.”

 “Probably.”

 “And I don’t like that either. It feels as though we’re being forced into a single course of action.”

 Pulling out a datapad, Nelyubov said, “There are definitely signs of mass movement in the outer crater areas. Forces in the thousands massing for some purpose. I can’t see what else they could be preparing, not given their strategic positioning.”

 “Hell, maybe that’s the idea,” she replied. “Suck us into attritional warfare, force us to position forces here.”

 Shaking his head again, he said, “Even if we can’t stop this with Alamo’s forces, all we’d need to do is leave a platoon down on the planet as military advisors, give them some equipment, and they could do the job themselves. We’re not talking about a significant resource drain.”

 “There’s a mystery here, Frank. And one we’ve got to uncover before we can call this one a win. After we’re done here, I want you down on the sensor decks. I want that planet taken apart one molecule at a time if that’s what it takes. Keep looking until you find something, anything that we’ve missed in our first pass.”

 “The far side of the planet?”

 “Have Jack set up a satellite network. Full orbital surveillance.”

 “That’s going to hit our reserves, Maggie.”

 “I know,” she said, and the doors opened, a frustrated Quinn standing in front of them, his hands gripping a datapad tightly enough that his knuckles turned white.

 “I’ve solved a bit of it, but you aren’t going to like it,” the engineer said.

 “Tell me the bad news. Is it related to the damage we took in the battle?”

 “No, but that certainly isn’t helping.” Thrusting the datapad into her hands, he said, “I had Hooke take a look at the root networks. There’s no possible hardware-based reason for all the power networks to suddenly decide not to supply the bridge, not without damage enough to rip the ship in half.”

 “Which means it must be software-based,” Nelyubov said.

 “There were significant changes in the power distribution software. Enough to cover what happened and a lot more besides.”

 “A warning shot?” Orlova said. “That’s crazy. We’ll be able to track them easily.” Quinn shook his head, and she added, “No fingerprints?”

 “All of the software is back to normal, and not restored to factory defaults. Or even to the backups we take every week. There are changes present that I implemented this morning. Someone went in, changed the systems to suit themselves, then went back out and changed them all back again. We’re talking some serious equipment to do that.”

 “More than that,” Orlova replied. “I presume you’ve checked the rest of the database?”

 “I’d just finished up when you arrived. Everything’s as it should be, and I can’t think of a way to hide something powerful enough to do this.”

 “Which means an external system.” 

 Nelyubov frowned, then said, “Tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

 “I’m very much afraid that it does,” Orlova said with a sigh. “We’ve got a saboteur on board.”

Chapter 4

 The limousine pulled up outside the ruin of the colony ship, by a small restored section with an American flag flying over it, permanently fixed at half-mast. A sign proclaimed the ‘Museum of Earth’, and a soldier stood to attention by the side of the entrance, his rifle snapping into place by his side.

 “I thought it would be an appropriate place to have our discussion. The place is closed for the moment, and is as quiet as my apartment would be,” Governor Hammond said.

 “No Governor's Mansion?” Marshall asked.

 “Building mansions was not our highest priority, Captain. I have the top floor of a prefabricated apartment block, four rooms. It is more than sufficient for my need.” He smiled, and said, “The anniversary of our landing was only a few weeks ago, so the ceremonial car was in good condition. Normally we keep it in mothballs.”

 The driver walked around to the Governor’s door and pulled it open, standing at attention as he climbed out onto the road. Marshall and Salazar slid out after him, looking up at the towering, rusted ship, rising eighty feet high, dominating the skyline. Around it were a cluster of low buildings, all near-identical of prefabricated design, mostly made of hull material.

 “The ship was designed to be broken up for the colony. We made full use of everything we had.” Hammond tapped the hull with a loving hand, and said, “When I was five years old, my father took us on board, told us that we were going on a great adventure. I didn’t understand, not then, but I came to soon enough. This ship was our home for three years, and carried us from a ruined world to our salvation.” He looked around at the barren, bleak landscape, and added, “Our paradise.”

 “I can’t conceive what it must have been like.”

 Hammond’s gaze was elsewhere, perhaps twenty light-years away. “The sirens sounded. Even then I knew what that meant, that there was an attack in progress, warheads on the way to wipe us out. The Secretary of Defense was on the base, part of the dispersal plan, and he gave the order. A thousand of us, all picked from the garrison and their families, all climbed onto the ship and strapped ourselves in. It was the largest spaceship ever launched from the surface of a planet, and for all I knew still is.

 Taking a deep breath, he continued, “And when we launched, we killed everyone we left behind with our first pulse. A fifty-kiloton bomb to get us moving, to get us started. They were dead anyway, soon enough. That’s what we told ourselves. Then we raced through the orbital defenses, spilling our bombs after us, a column of fire into the darkness. It must have been something to see. Finally, we tried the faster-than-light drive, knowing that if it didn’t work, we were all dead. As you can see, it did.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “I’m sorry. Just an old man, rambling about the past. There aren’t many of us left now, those who rode the rocket to get out here. The children don’t remember what it was like, knowing that any malfunction might kill us, and end any chance for the survival of mankind. We thought we were all that was left, that Earth was finished, the planetary colonies doomed.” Looking at Marshall, he said, “Your arrival, Captain, is the answer to a dream.”

 “You aren’t the only colony to have been established in those days. The Australians settled Ragnarok, at Lalande 21185, and another American expedition made it to a planet they called Jefferson.”

 With a smile, Hammond said, “I guess the Air Force got their ship up as well, then. We never did hear. Then humanity survives?”

 “Thrives,” Salazar said. “We’re on dozens of planets now, scattered across forty, fifty light-years, and still expanding. Our new hendecaspace ships can make the jump between systems in days.”

 “It took years for us, Sub-Lieutenant. Years in an untested ship thrown together with a secret budget at the last minute. And yet it was all we had to work with, and it did the job. At least, after a fashion. This wasn’t our first choice for a settlement.”

 “Where were you aiming for?”

 “Procyon. The Hawking Telescope had picked up a habitable planet, at least potentially.”

 “The Lunar Republic settled it about five years ago,” Marshall said.

 “Lunar Republic?”

 “It’s a long story.” Hammond looked at him expectantly, and Marshall continued, “The war you escaped from lasted for ten years, and the aftermath for the rest of the century. There was never a peace treaty, circumstances rendered it moot. None of the nations that fought in the war still exist.”

 “Then the United States…”

 “All national governments were dissolved in 2077 in the One Earth Pact.”

  Shaking his head, the Governor replied, “We're going to have to adjust our calendars. We knew that we'd experienced some time dilation, but working out the changes was a low priority until it was too late. For us, we're only just on the threshold of the 22nd century, and for you it is half over.” He looked at the two of them, smiled, and said, “Just an old man rambling. You were saying?”

 “The priority was survival. For a while it was uncertain whether Earth had been irreparably damaged by the war. Over time, gradually, we pulled ourselves back from the brink. The planetary colonies survived, thrived, even, and that provided resources for the rebuilding program. By about 2100 it was clear that we could repair the damage done to the ecosystem.”

 Hammond smiled, and then, “A happy ending. So your Triplanetary Confederation is Earth, Mars and where? Ragnarok?”

 “Mars, Callisto and Titan. We rebelled against the United Nations. The rebuilding came to an end, but the exploitation didn’t. So we declared independence, and after ten years, made it stick. The Interplanetary War ended fifteen years ago.” Shaking his head, he said, “I fought in the last three years of it. I’ll see that you get full briefing materials, enough to bring you all back up to date with the state of the galaxy.”

 “The state of the galaxy,” Hammond said. “That has quite a ring to it.” He looked down at the ground, and said, “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve been used to being responsible for the survival of the human race. To find that we are in a forgotten backwater is going to be hard to get used to.”

 A jeep pulled up beside them, sending a cloud of dust spilling up into the air, and a thin, wiry man wearing a battered field uniform, a star on each shoulder, jumped out into the street. Marshall immediately snapped a salute, the general returning it with a smile.

 “I’ve talked to one of your people,” he began. “You must be Captain Marshall.”

 “Yes, sir,” he said. “General Daniels?”

 Nodding, Daniels replied, “Sorry I wasn’t there to see you come down. I was out at Patton Outpost.”

 “Trouble?” Hammond asked.

 “One of our patrols spotted signs of activity. I think one of the tribes is going to be probing our defenses tonight.” Turning to Marshall, he said, “We could really use a bit of help if we’re going to repel them.”

 “What is the tactical situation?”

 “Poor, bordering on desperate. I’ve got about a hundred effectives,” he glanced at the insignia on his shoulder, and grinned, continuing, “for all that I should be commanding a brigade. We’re spread out at half a dozen outposts, with a few reserves back at the Fort. Any large-scale attack will break through, and there’s damn all we can do about it. It’s as simple as that.”

 “I’m afraid General Daniels is quite correct, Captain,” Hammond said. “I’ll make it formal and request the assistance of your forces. There are women and children down here, and I don’t think their chances are going to about to much.”

 “The Neander were here when you arrived?” Salazar asked.

 “As I said,” Hammond began, “this planet wasn’t our first choice, or anything like it. When we arrived in orbit and found a habitable spot, we didn’t have time to ask questions. The ship was falling apart, and we weren’t even sure we could get out of orbit, still less head for another star. We had to land.”

 “There were natives living down here, of course,” Daniels said. “There was some fighting in the early days, before we came to an agreement with the local leaders. We would provide them with education, medical assistance, make them a part of our society, and in return they would stop fighting. It worked.”

 “You conquered them?” Marshall asked.

 “It wasn’t like that,” Hammond said.

 Glancing at the Governor, Daniels said, “Yes it was, and you know it. We out-gunned them, and the only reason we came up with that was to stop a massacre.” Turning to Marshall, he said, “All of that was fifty years ago, and I’m not going to stand here and say that we’re innocent bystanders, but there are people who are going to be killed tonight unless you help us stop them, and none of them had anything to do with the Territorial Treaty.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “And the Neander now?”

 “Those who live down here are a part of our society. Infant mortality is a hundredth of what it once was, and their life expectancy has doubled. Those who wouldn’t agree went up to the plateau. They had a choice.”

 With a barking laugh, Daniels said, “Live down here as a second-class citizen or go up where you struggle to breathe and the temperature is ten degrees colder. Some choice, Bill. And you know it.” Turning to face Marshall, he continued, “We’re bringing them up, but it’s a slow process. About a third of my troops are Neander, though none in the officer grades.” The look he gave the Governor made it apparent that this was not his choice.

 The door to the museum opened, and an old man in a tight-fitting suit stepped out, walking with a limp. He scowled at Daniels, then walked over to stand beside Hammond.

 “You’re holding this meeting on the street?” he asked.

 “Not intentionally. Captain, this is the Secretary of the Interior, Kirk Mason. About the only thing we have that resembles any sort of civil service.”

 “A pleasure to meet our savior in person. You are planning on helping us, aren’t you? Those savages must be stopped.”

 “Secretary, I’ve fought alongside Neander, and there are several I count as friends,” Marshall said. “Whatever they are, they aren’t savages. Has a diplomatic solution been considered?”

 “With those aliens spurring them on?” Mason asked. “They can’t be reasoned with, Captain. They don’t know how. I don’t know who you were dealing with, but my experience is that they are,” he paused, “children who need to be guided. Perhaps in a generation or two, they might be ready to have more of a say in the government of this territory, but not yet.”

 “Secretary, the General had just about sold me on helping you. You’re making me want to get into my shuttle and let you handle this problem by yourself. If they are such savages,” he laced the word with as much sarcasm as he could muster, “then I can’t see that you will have any difficulties in dealing with them.”

 “Barbarians they might be, but they outnumber us in military effectives. Every one of them is a warrior, whereas our people,” Mason stiffened, “Our people have grown weak. They must be protected.”

 “That seems to be a general theme with you,” Salazar said, earning himself a sharp stare from Marshall.

 “That will do, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “I hope you are able to keep your subordinates under better control that this normally, Captain,” Mason said.

 “He might have said it, but I was thinking it,” Marshall said. He glanced at the city, shook his head, and said, “I’ll contact my ship and have my ground strike force mobilized. Four men to each outpost. General, you said that Patton Outpost was the one you expected the greatest threat?”

 “As far as we can tell, but we don’t have any aerial reconnaissance.”

 “There we can definitely help you. I’ll have my staff prepare a briefing pack for you.”

 “Thank you, Captain,” Hammond said.

 Raising a hand, Marshall said, “I will not, however, authorize lethal force.”

 “What? That’s absurd!” Mason yelled.

 “My men will be equipped with non-lethal weapons. I’m certain they will be more than up to the task at hand.”

 “Better any help than none,” Daniels said. “We’ll take what we can get.”

 “What then, Captain, when they wake up? We’ll have prisoners to deal with, or are you wanting to avoid having blood on your precious hands?” Mason pushed.

 “Secretary, I am doing this against my better judgment, in all honesty, and I will not allow the perpetuation of a massacre. Even if I gave such orders, my people would never follow them, and I wouldn’t want to serve in a military that did.”

 “I must protest…” Mason began, but Marshall cut him off.

 “Feel free, but I don’t see any need to listen. Now, do you want to continue an argument that you won't win, or would you rather I contacted my ship and made the arrangements?”

 Locking a dark stare on Mason, Daniels said, “I’ll arrange for transport at the Fort for your men, as well as a tactical briefing on the situation they’ll be facing.”

 “No need for the transport, General, we’ll handle that. You’ll need to appoint a liaison officer to work with Ensign Cooper, though.”

 “To hell with that, Captain, I’ll gladly do that job myself. It's about time I got my hands dirty. I can’t wait to see what tricks you’ve managed to come up with after a century of progress.” Looking at the pistol in his holster, he said, “Frankly, most of our equipment wouldn’t look out of place in a Civil War re-enactment.”

 “Our people have worked like dogs to provide them for you,” Mason began.

 “And my people have died by the dozen to protect them from the unrest you and the Guard have managed to rouse. Don’t blame us for this.” Throwing a salute at Marshall, he said, “I’d better go and get things moving. Governor?”

 “Get to work,” Hammond said, but Daniels was already stepping into his jeep, his driver revving the engine into life, the noise drowning out the Governor's words. “I’ll have to speak to him later.”

 “You ought to relieve him.”

 “And replace him with who, exactly, Kirk? Let’s not pretend that we’re exceeding our recruitment quotas, and I note that the Territorial Guard isn’t out on the frontier in any strength.”

 “No point defending the borders if we don’t watch the enemy within.” With a withering glance at Marshall, he said, “I have matters to attend to. Until later, Captain.” He walked off down the street, without a backwards glance.

 “I’m afraid you have seen the worst of us today, Captain,” Hammond said.

 “I’ve seen worse.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “Fighting over the scraps. I presume your science team has already determined the future of our planet? Or lack of it?”

 “They’re working on a report right now.”

 With a deep sigh, he said, “Our future will lie with you, or we will not have one at all. I’ve got to find a way to make them all see that. Your arrival in orbit has given us the first real hope that we’ve had in decades, but there are people like Kirk who will never admit it.” Glancing back at Marshall, he said, “I presume you have better things to do than tour a museum of old relics?”

 “Later, perhaps,” Marshall replied.

 “Well, tonight I will be hosting a reception to celebrate your arrival. As such, your attendance would be most welcome, and you will have a chance to meet the rest of our small political class. At around twenty hundred.”

 “I’ll be there, sir.”

 “Don’t think too badly of us, Captain. We did what we had to do, and we believed that we had the survival of humanity itself on our shoulders. Would you not have taken desperate steps under such circumstances?”

 “Perhaps.”

 “I’ll have my driver give you a lift back to your shuttle. I’d better go after Kirk and see if I can talk some sense into him. Good day, Captain.” With a quick word to the man at the steering controls, he walked off down the street, after the limping old man.

 “Salazar,” Marshall began.

 “I’m sorry, sir, but all of this…”

 “I agree with you, Sub-Lieutenant.” Shaking his head, he said, “We need to keep things under control whilst we can work out a longer-term solution. For that we’re going to need intelligence, and I want you to gather it.”

 “Anything I can do, Captain.”

 “Tonight, while I’m suffering at this reception, you and Foster are to go out on the streets. Not undercover, nothing like that, but take a look around, and try and avoid any escorts. I want to see what life is really like on this planet, and I doubt I’ll get to do it while under a Gubernatorial escort.”

 “With Foster?” he said, frowning.

 “I know,” Marshall said, returning the frown with a smile. “Needs must, Sub-Lieutenant.” He stepped into the car, and said, “Come on, unless you want to miss your ride.”

 “Aye, sir.”

Chapter 5

 Cooper looked out of his viewport at the outpost below, trying to get a quick feel of the terrain from the air. The base itself looked like it had been torn out of the pages of a manual, a cluster of buildings protected by a stockade, surrounded by a deep trench with machine gun emplacements facing the pass up ahead. All the undergrowth had been cleared away, creating a quarter-mile of killing ground. He certainly wouldn’t want to assault it.

 The pass, to the north, was a similar story. Someone had done work on it in the past, widening the path that ran through the rocks, wide enough for half a dozen people to march in formation. There were still plenty of hiding places, lots of opportunities for ambush points. A classic stalemate. The enemy couldn’t assault them without taking massive casualties, but they couldn’t return the favor either.

 As the shuttle descended, a group of men raced out from the stockade, moving into parade formation. It seemed to be about an equal split, half the force Neander, all fluidly racing to their assigned position, their rifles down by their sides. A cloud of dust kicked up as the landing jets smashed into the ground, the shuttle settling into the dirt.

 “All clear, sir,” the pilot said. “I’ve got five minutes before my next appointment.”

 “We won’t hold you up, Midshipman,” Cooper said. “Corporal, see to the equipment. I’d better go out and see what the situation is.”

 “Yes, sir,” Vaughan replied. “Come on, come on, let’s show these dirthuggers how it’s done.”

 The airlock hatch slid open, and Cooper stepped through, walking down the ramp towards the waiting soldiers, their commander bringing them to attention as he reached the surface. A short, wiry man wearing a well-used uniform stepped forward, moving to the front of his men.

 “Patton Outpost Garrison, ready for your inspection, sir!”

 “You must be Lieutenant Blaine,” Cooper said.

 “That’s correct, sir, and let me be the first to tell you that we’re all very pleased to see you. The prospect of facing a mob of a couple of thousand on our own was not something we were looking forward to.”

 Cooper quickly ran his eyes over the assembled men as his troopers brought out their equipment. Their rifles were well-used, but obviously well-maintained, their uniforms patched but otherwise in good order. From the look in their eyes, they were scrutinizing him as closely as he was looking at them.

 Gesturing behind him, he said, “This is Corporal Vaughan, commander of Second Squad. He’ll be leading my strike team.

 “Just four of you?” Blaine said.

 “I think you’ll find we’re up to the task at hand. While the Corporal sets up our equipment, you’d better give me the guided tour. We’ve got about four hours until dusk, and we’d better make full use of them.”

 “I agree. Sergeant, you can dismiss the men.”

 One of the soldiers glanced to his right, then said, “Permission to speak, sir.”

 “Granted,” Blaine said. “Get it off your mind.”

 “Sir,” he replied, looking at Cooper, “Is it true that you’ve only brought non-lethal weapons?”

 “My commanding officer has not authorized the use of deadly force, yes. Nevertheless we have some toys that I think should do the job very nicely.”

 “What then, sir? After you’ve knocked them out with your magic death ray? What do we do then?”

 Cooper paused. The fact was that he had no good answer to the man’s question, no firm idea what he would do if he was presented with a couple of thousand unconscious Neander to deal with.

 “Our goal is to convince them that attacking this outpost will cost more than they are willing to pay, and to force a negotiation.”

 “Best negotiation I’ve had with those bastards is with my rifle,” one of the Neander said. “They’re not going to listen, and we’re going to have to kill them in the end.”

 “That will do, Corporal. Our job is to obey the orders of civilian authority,” Blaine said. “We’ve been told what we have to do and the weapons we are to use, and that’s all there is to it.”

 “Come on, Lieutenant,” a red-uniformed man said, stepping out of the stockade. “The Corporal is quite correct. The savages are an infection, and we must take any and all measures possible to make sure that it does not spread to our homes.”

 With a sigh, Blaine said, “May I introduce Abel Fowler, of the Territorial Guard.” 

 “My pleasure,” Fowler said, giving Cooper a curt nod. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do, Ensign, though I hope you brought some real weapons with you. I assure you that you are going to need them, and that after you’ve faced those devils, you’ll be recommending that the gloves get taken off.”

 “My troops and I are not here to perpetuate a massacre. But if it is a demonstration you want, I’ll be happy to give it to you.” He pulled his plasma carbine out of his backpack, flicking a switch to charge it, and turned to face the pass. He lightly squeezed the trigger, and a ball of green fire smashed into the rock face, sending a cloud of dust and debris flying through the air, a cascade of loose stones dropping to the dirt. “To use such weapons against the enemy you are facing would be using a grenade to kill a fly. Our job is to bring a peaceful resolution, not to destroy the enemy.”

 “Force is all they understand,” Fowler said. “Perhaps if you were to demonstrate those weapons in battle, they might fall into line and accept our administration. Until then, I fear that you are chasing a fantasy. Nor do you express the stated policies of our government, with whom I must immediately communicate. Doubtless I will see you later.” He turned on his heels, and stepped back into the stockade.

 “Platoon,” Blaine said, “Dismissed!” The men began to file away, some to their guard posts, others back inside the stockade. Turning to Cooper, he said, “I’m sorry about that.”

 “It’s understandable, being stuck out here.”

 Shaking his head, the lieutenant said, “No leave for months, all of us watching and waiting for the tribes to attack. Time was we were able to poke recon teams down the pass, take a look at what they were doing, but the last two we sent in didn’t make it back. Good men, all of them. An army could be massing two miles away, and the first we’d know of it would be when they came boiling down that pass.”

 “Any surprises in the defenses?”

 “We’ve laid a minefield in front of the pass, but that was years ago. I couldn’t vouch for how effective they are now. The plan was to replace them next year, we’re just not producing the equipment we need in sufficient quantities.” He pointed at the machine guns, and said, “We’re meant to have eight. We’ve only got four because Corporal Max is good with machinery.” He paused, then said, “That was the, what did you call them, Neander who spoke earlier.”

 “He seemed rather…”

 “Eager to fight? Well, for him, it’s personal. He came down when he was a kid, some sort of tribal squabble that he ended up on the wrong side of. I understand it was us or death. Not much of a choice. You can trust him, and the rest of his people. I’ve fought with all of them before.”

 Frowning, Cooper replied, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem as…”

 “Prejudiced? I don’t have time for any of that crap out here. We’re all that protects our families and loved ones from a mass of savages who want to wipe us out. Anyone that wants to stand on the wall with me and hold them off is more than welcome, and I’ll gladly fight beside them.”

 “I’ve fought against Neander before, and I’ve fought alongside them.”

 “You are a veteran, then?”

 “Five combat stars, two of them on planetary surfaces. Most of my platoon are the same.” He paused, then said, “I can’t give you the details, but we were fighting on the dirt two weeks ago. Lost some good people. I don’t want to do it again.”

 “I’m glad to hear it. That you know what you are doing, that is. No-one seemed to know.” He paused, then said, “I’ve been stuck out here for ten years, Ensign. Every year it seems to get worse out here. Since those damn aliens arrived, everything’s been too quiet. I know they are coming, and soon.”

 “Our recon suggests you are right. In substantial numbers, high three figures certainly. Incidentally, don’t spread this around, but I do have clearance to use deadly force against the not-men.”

 “The…”

 “The aliens. They’re human, believe it or not, though evolved down a very different road. Who do you think I was fighting last week?”

 “Not the Neander? Not even as a last resort?”

 “If it gets that bad, I’ll call for reinforcements, but I don’t think it will. As I said, we’ve got some interesting hardware to deploy, and we know what we’re doing.” Glancing at the crater wall, he asked, “What about going right up the cliff-face?”

 “That’s more than a mile, straight up, with the air too thin to breathe easily at the top. We don’t have the equipment.” Blaine smiled, then said, “My guess is that you do.”

 “Standard Triplanetary Service Respirators, Mark Five. Should be more than enough for the job, and as it happened, I’ve got some spares. Enough for about a dozen people. As well as some climbing equipment.”

 “I thought you had full aerial reconnaissance. Or drones, or something like that.”

 “The resolution isn’t as good as I’d like, and there’s still nothing like getting a look at the enemy up close yourself. Besides, I can’t launch a preemptive strike while I’m sitting on the ground.”

 With a smile, Blaine said, “I like the way you think. Sneaky. How many?”

 “Two of us for recon. Fancy getting a bit of exercise?”

 “I think I might enjoy that. Hold on while I get my kit.”

 As Blaine walked back into the stockade, Cooper’s communicator chirped.

 “Cooper here. Go ahead.”

 “Shuttle Three. I’ve completed preflight checks and am ready to go.”

 “Right, Midshipman. Thanks for the ride, and I’ll see you back at the barn.”

 “Roger. Happy hunting.”

 The shuttle roared on its engines, rising steadily from the ground as it cleared the stockade, all eyes on it as the pilot tipped the nose up before kicking his throttle into full, the ship hurtling toward the horizon like a dart, flame and smoke pouring from its rear. Cooper winced at the sonic boom, worrying about damage in town.

 “All set, sir,” Vaughan said. “I’ve got Rhodes and Martinez setting up the mortars. Are we sure they don’t have any sort of protection?”

 “Let’s hope not. Break out the extra tranq guns and tasers, and start instructing the locals in their use. I want them to be perfect long before it comes to it. And pick out the best, oh, half-dozen or so. I have a special mission in mind.”

 “Hit them before they hit us?”

 “Something like that. Watch out when you are working your ranges, by the way. Apparently there’s a minefield out there.”

 “I’ll have Nash run a sweep, get us a map. Unless they’ve got one.”

 “If they have, no-one’s told me about it. On your way, Corporal.”

 “Sir.”

 Cooper walked over to the bags, unceremoniously dumped on the ground, and reached through for a second respirator, quickly running the diagnostic checks. As the final light winked green, Blaine emerged, rope curled over his shoulder, a pistol in his holster and a knife at his belt.

 “We’re not going to be up there for long, are we?” He looked at the respirator, and shook his head. “That little thing? Where’s the tank?”

 “Only needs a small one, under high pressure, just on the side of the mouthpiece. Good for a couple of days if necessary.”

 “Two days? In that?” 

 “It works as a compressor. Trust me, it’ll work.” The two of them donned their respirators, Blaine with an air of distinct disbelief, and then turned to the crater wall. As they approached, Cooper raised his datapad ahead of him and tapped a button, waiting for the sensor to scan the cliff.

 “It’ll tell us the best way up. Scans for hand-holds, and where the rock is weak.”

 “That little gadget? How do you read it while you are climbing?”

 “You don’t, it’ll tell you through the respirator earpiece. It’s a short-range communicator as well.” A light flashed green, and Cooper continued, “All done. Let’s rope up.”

Frowning, Blaine asked, “Have you done much climbing?”

 “Not in this heavy a gravity field, but I’m sure the principle's the same.”

 “I don’t know, I was expecting rocket boots or anti-gravity.”

 With a smile, Cooper started to secure his rope, and said, “Nothing as magical as that. We still do some things the old-fashioned way.”

 Slowly, patiently, the two of them began to scale up the side of the cliff, the datapad issuing advice and warnings whenever they seemed at risk of falling. There were hand-holds everywhere, the rock hard and dry, almost perfect conditions if it wasn’t for the reduced air pressure.

 “Say, Lieutenant,” Cooper said. “What stops the Neander sneaking teams down this way?”

 “Not a damn thing, but we have recon towers at the Fort, as well as periodic patrols. It’s never happened, at least not that we know of.”

 The view behind them was magnificent, the green fields mingling with the brown desert, a clear blue lake at the heart of the crater, sparkling in the sunlight, with roads and buildings scattered seemingly at random, as though some giant hand had dropped them from the sky long before. Which, in a sense, they had.

 Even the respirators were beginning to complain by the time they reached the summit, the two of them cautiously peeking over the edge of the cliff. Cooper’s eyes widened as he saw what was waiting for them, dozens of tents with hundreds of Neander walking around them, patrolling the perimeter, training and preparing for battle. One of them, wearing some sort of head-dress, was talking to one of the not-men, wearing the familiar battle armor.

 “Worse than I thought,” Blaine whispered. “That’s going to be damn tough to beat.”

 “We can take them.”

 “They’ll attack at dawn,” the lieutenant continued. “Right down the pass. I don’t know what you’ve got planned to stop them, but it had better be good.” Cooper peered across the plateau, pulling his datapad out. “What are you doing now with that magic gizmo?”

 “Working out ranges. Don’t worry, they won’t attack at dawn. We’re going to hit them first.”

Chapter 6

 Marshall looked around the room, trying to avoid being spotted surreptitiously looking at his watch. He’d only been at the reception for twenty minutes, and already he was trying to conjure up urgent reasons for him to return to Alamo. Caine wandered over from the side of the room, holding a plate with a trio of small hamburgers on them, smothered in some sort of spicy sauce.

 “Never thought I’d be missing a fabricator,” she said. “These aren’t bad. Try one.”

 “Cooper will be launching his attack in a couple of hours,” Marshall replied.

 “And he’s an expert who knows his job, and worrying about it isn’t going to help in the slightest, is it?” Glancing around the room, she continued, “Here we are with the great and near-great, and you, Captain, have a diplomatic duty to undertake. Isn't that why you came down in the first place?”

 Governor Hammond was holding court at the far side of the room, a pair of gray-haired women nodding at whatever he was saying while Mason looked on, periodically exchanging glares with Marshall. A pair of Neander were standing on either side of the refreshments table, though he wasn’t sure whether they were waiters or guards. Or both, judging by their demeanor.

 “Captain Marshall?” a tall, slender woman asked, walking over to him. “We were introduced, but I’m sure you could hardly withstand the bombardment of introductions earlier. Eunice Richardson, Mayor of New Jamestown. And failed Gubernatorial candidate, twice over.”

 “I’m surprised that the Governor…,” Caine began, but she interrupted.

 “We political hacks are a small, incestuous group. Oddly enough, most of the people are more interested in just getting on with their lives and trying to survive.” She gestured at the two women by the Governor, and said, “The one on the left was Governor before Hammond, and I suspect the one on the right will follow him. Sisters, of course, descended from the Captain of the Mayflower II.”

 “First families?” Marshall asked.

 “We’ve had ten Governors now, and the same last names keep cropping up, time and again. My grandfather was merely a Corporal, a last-minute addition to the crew, so I have no standing to speak of.”

 “You’re the Mayor. That must mean something.”

 “Lots of boring meetings trying to keep everything ticking over. That’s just a sideline, anyway. I spend far more of my time working on what we laughably call our space program. Which means that your arrival brings a combination of excitement and depression.”

 “Oh?”

 “Fifteen years I’ve been working on trying to turn blueprints into hardware, and we’d have been lucky to throw something into orbit for another thirty. I might have done it just before my retirement. Now it all seems rather pointless.” She took a sip of her drink, and said, “Not that I’m not glad to see you. Are we to be absorbed into your Triplanetary Empire?”

 “Confederation,” Marshall said. “And this isn’t a mission of conquest.”

 “How many people have you got in your nation? How many worlds?”

 “About seventy-five million, on a couple of dozen planets, moons and asteroids.”

 “We’ve got twenty-five thousand stuck in a crater in the middle of nowhere. Hotheads like Mason are talking about going it alone, but speaking personally, I’ll be glad to leave this place behind. We’re not the center of the universe any more.”

 Looking around the room, Caine asked, “Is this a popular opinion?”

 “It will be when the word really begins to get out. Most of our population are subsistence farmers, and the rest are trying to turn rust into machinery from half-ruined records. A lot of people are going to want to emigrate.” She paused, then said, “Hammond and Mason won’t tell you any of this. Hammond because he always repeats what the last person told him, and Mason because he still dreams of manifest destiny, of conquering the savage tribes of the plateau and bringing them the glory of what remains of our civilization.”

 Frowning, Marshall asked, “How many do you speak for?”

 “Based on last year’s poll, about thirty-two-point-nine percent of the population.” She gestured at the door as a red-uniformed figure stepped in, and said, “And precisely none of the Territorial Guard. As far as I know, the whole mass of them voted for Hammond. Strange, isn’t it.”

 “Are you implying…”

 “Not a thing. I’ve got no reason to suspect that the election was rigged. I just find it amusing that Mason’s Gestapo has managed to pick the winner five times in a row, and that he’s never decided to just take the job for himself. Always the man behind the throne.”

 Marshall glanced at the figure, and said, “You don’t seem to be afraid of them.”

 “I’m the perennial opposition leader, and the best damn engineer on the planet, for what little that is worth. And making people disappear isn’t their style. It just gets impossible to stay in a government job, which means heading out to the farms, and once you are out of the city, no-one gives a damn what you think. Not while you are spending sixty, eighty hours a week trying to turn weeds into food.”

 Hammond strolled over, a smile on his face, and said, “Now, now, Eunice, you can’t bother the Captain with all of your conspiracy theories.”

 “She isn’t,” Marshall said. “It’s important for me to know the whole spectrum of opinion on this planet.”

 “You are more patient than I, Captain, and considerably more patient than the electorate. If the trend continues, Miss Richardson will find herself out of office at her next bid for re-election.” He gestured at a glass cabinet on the wall, and continued, “I thought that you might want to have a look at my collection.”

 “Collection?” Caine asked, while Richardson shook her head.

 “Of alien artifacts, Lieutenant.”

 A smile began to dance onto her face as she replied, “I have a degree in xeno-archaeology. I’d be very interested to see them.”

 Hammond pulled a key out of his cabinet and opened the door, revealing three shelves loaded with a collection of pottery, stone tools, and strange-shaped pieces of alloy steel, some of which had pictographs on them that were somewhat familiar.

 “Gathered from across our small world,” he said. “There was an advanced civilization here once, long ago. There are relics of them everywhere, though most of the best sites are up on the plateau. My theory is that this world was terraformed, by a species with a compatible biochemistry, perhaps…”

 “Ten thousand years ago,” Marshall finished. “That matches our conclusions as well, though we don’t believe the creators were alien.”

 “You believe this?” Richardson asked.

 “We’ve found evidence of a precursor civilization to our own all across this part of the galaxy. My Science Officer is on detached duty right now, leading an excavation. It was almost certainly the Neander.”

 Mason walked over, shaking his head, and said, “There is no evidence that those savages ever had any advanced civilization.”

 “I’ve visited sites from their ancient past. They were spacefarers, ten thousand years ago. Not from Earth, though. Our belief is that some of their ancestors, and for that matter, some of ours as well, were taken from our homeworld about thirty thousand years ago and seeded on suitable colonies. This may well have been one of them.”

 “Then the aliens gave them their technology…”

 “No, sir,” Caine interrupted. “The aliens left. We believe there was some sort of a war. The Neander developed spaceflight, starflight, on their own, while on Earth our ancestors were working out the most efficient way to hunt a mammoth.”

 The look on Mason’s face was amusing, but Richardson was frowning in thought, saying, “You have records of all of this? I’d like to take a look.”

 “I had no idea this interested you,” Hammond said.

 “That the Neander were out in the stars before humanity would rather disprove most of the propaganda that passes for our sociological studies,” she replied.

 Raising a hand, Marshall said, “I should say that there is also evidence that we have ancestors among the stars as well, humans of our type that were also spacefaring. Mister Governor, with your permission I’ll take some photographs of your collection and send them up to Alamo. There’s a good chance that we’ll be able to translate the writing.”

 The old man’s eyes lit up, and he replied, “That, Captain, would be the resolution of a life’s dream for me. I’d be extremely grateful to see any material that you have gathered. This has been my study, my passion, ever since I first saw the ruins as a boy.”

 “Watch yourself, Bill,” Mason said. “Besides, all of my studies show quite clearly that the Neander, as you call them, have inferior mental capacity and capability. Do you realize that when we arrived, they practiced cannibalism?”

 “There are cultures in our own past that practiced human sacrifice,” Caine said.

 With the air of one talking to an infant, Mason replied, “Our tests have repeatedly demonstrated that they have only a limited ability for creative thought, doubtless why our ancestors bested them in the fight for survival on Earth. Creating a technological society would be impossible.”

 “I’ll have to talk about this with the commander of Hydra Station, next time I see him,” Marshall said.

 “Is he another of your learned experts, Captain?” Mason asked.

 “In a manner of speaking. He’s Neander. As are most of his crew.”

 Shaking his head, the Secretary replied, “I don’t think that we have anything else to discuss. Not while you are acting in such an intransigent manner. I am speaking of scientific tests, and you throw hearsay in my face.”

 “Damn it, Kirk, he’s talking about people he knows,” Richardson said.

 “Maybe,” he replied, waving a hand, “they have evolved beyond the savagery that existed on this planet before our arrival. I have no way of knowing. I certainly hope that you will consider the situation here, rather than relating it to what you may or may not have seen elsewhere. Excuse me.”

 Shaking her head, Caine said, “The man is completely out of touch with reality.”

 “He has his own reality, and I think he finds life there a lot more comforting,” Richardson said.

 “You are speaking of one of the most dedicated public servants that I have ever encountered,” Hammond replied. “And someone who has spent most of his life working to educate and improve the lot of those people. I would not be so quick to judge.” The Governor hastened after him, and Richardson shook his head.

 “If we apply for admission in the Confederation, I presume that a requirement will be that we make some rather significant changes to the way we do things,” she said. 

 “Almost certainly,” Marshall replied.

 “Speaking purely personally, and not for my supposedly diminishing constituency, I am extremely pleased to hear it.”

 Caine walked over to the drinks table, taking another glass of wine, then hurried over to Marshall, tapping him on the arm and saying, “Over to the window. Right now.”

 He followed her, and looked down at the street below. A couple of hundred people were marching towards them, banners and placards in the air, shouting and yelling. When Mason saw them, he raced to the door, where one of the Territorial Guard was on duty, issuing instructions.

 Leaning out to look at the crowd, Richardson said, “Another demonstration. Part of the not-so-silent majority.”

 “It’s about two-thirds Neander, I think,” Caine said. “Can’t quite make out the banners from here, or the shouting from that matter.”

 “There are those who would like to be free, and for some reason they would like to be full citizens of this planet. With the right to vote, to own property, the usual.” Shaking her head, Richardson said, “Not that it will do them any good. The Territorial Guard will be here in a few minutes.”

 Grabbing her wrist, Marshall asked, “What will they do?”

 “The usual. Water cannon, arrest the ringleaders, put them to work on one of the collective farms for a few months. I spent some time in one myself when I was young and stupid.”

 Racing over to Mason, he said, “Call off the guards.”

 “This is a matter of internal security, Captain, and none of your affair.”

 “Call off your guards or every Triplanetary citizen will be off this planet before dawn, and you can use your precious police force to try and stop the not-men conquering this city.”

 “I don’t think you know…”

 “I don’t think you have the first idea who you are dealing with. I represent the Triplanetary Confederation, and we are not in the business of supporting tyranny, no matter what it claims to be or what flimsy justification it uses.” Turning to Caine, he said, “Contact Alamo. Have them get the shuttles warmed up for an emergency evacuation, and to prepare for additional passengers.”

 Stepping forward, Hammond said, “Kirk, we’ve argued about this many times in the past. This time I think the Captain has the day. We need his help, or everything we have worked and fought for is finished. You know that just as well as I.”

 “This is not over, Captain,” Mason said. “Encouraging radical factions such as that will bring about the ruin of our society.” He turned to the trooper, issuing an order under his breath, and then said, “This time I will go along with your request, but I will hold you personally liable for any damage to public property or civil order.” He stalked off with the guardsman, Richardson mock-clapping him as he left.

 “Bravo, Captain,” she said. “That’s the first time I’ve seen anyone pull his fangs quite so comprehensively.” Turning to Hammond, she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d better go down and talk to them. I think they’ve made their point, better than they could have thought.”

 “If you can disperse them without bloodshed, then I am very much in favor,” the Governor replied. “Go.”

 “We will talk again, Captain,” Richardson said as she made for the door.

 Shaking his head, Hammond said, “None of this is what any of us wanted.”

 “Your Secretary of State is downright dangerous,” Caine said, bluntly. “I thought freedom of speech…”

 “Sedition laws were introduced during the martial law period, and we’ve never managed a majority in a referendum to revoke them. Perhaps I should issue an executive order.”

 “I think that would be an excellent idea,” Marshall said. Hammond nodded, took another glass of wine, then made his way over to the window to watch the crowd below, roaring cheers as Richardson spoke to them. 

 “What do you think?” Caine asked Marshall, quietly.

 “I think the Mayor arranged to put on a little show for our benefit, but I don’t think it had quite the ending she was expecting.”

 “Would you have gone ahead with it? Knowing the cost?”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “It would never have come to that. For tonight, at least, they need our help and they know it.” With a sigh, he said, “Damn it, there has to be a better way. Better than any of this. We’ve got to get a look at what the Neander think, what they really think. What the prospects are of some sort of settlement here.”

 “We’ve got the carrot of Triplanetary membership to offer them.” 

 “With the alternative ceding this planet to the not-men? We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, Deadeye. We’ve got to settle this, and we’ve got to do it soon.” He looked at his watch, then said, “Let’s get back to the shuttle. I’m finding the company here a little stifling.”

Chapter 7

 It was a cold night, the wind sweeping down from the plateau and shrouding New Jamestown like a blanket. The city, barely worthy of the name, was a collection of prefabricated structures, battered and bruised by the elements, and mud-brick buildings thrown together out of local material. The technological was mixed with the primitive, neon signs advertising a local blacksmith’s wares, a horse trough outside a car park.

 Salazar walked down the street, Foster by his side, quietly trying to take in the sense of the place. The streets were quiet, the crowds that had been protesting dispersed into the night. When the Territorial Guard had first appeared, he’d drawn back, not wanting to risk a diplomatic incident, but now he cursed his caution as he feared he had missed a chance to get in with the rebels.

 He peered into the window of a seedy bar, a group of people singing some old ballads while the crowd cheered them on, but there was no sign of any of the demonstrators. Shaking his head, he turned, walking back into the night. A couple of Neander were walking down the street, but at their sight of the Triplanetary officers, they hurried off down a side street.

 “How long are we going to go on with this?” Foster asked.

 “Until we find what we’re looking for. They’ll have a base somewhere.”

 “With a flashing sign advertising their presence, no doubt.”

 Turning to look at her, he said, “Use your head. We don’t have to find them, we just have to make it possible for them to find us. There’s an excellent chance that we’re under surveillance already. Their leader will want to speak to someone from the Confederation, and we’re giving them that chance. And if we don’t manage it tonight, we’ll try again tomorrow.”

 “When I joined the Academy I dreamed of flying starships, of space adventure. Wandering around a hick town in the middle of the night wasn’t what I had in mind.”

 On the far side of the street was the largest building they had yet seen, an unfamiliar flag wrapped around a pole in front of the door. Forty feet high, and obviously made with a lot more care than most of the buildings in town, though with local materials. A pair of Territorial Guardsmen in their rust-red uniforms stood on guard at the door, eyes locked forward.

 “Company’s coming,” Foster said, pointing ahead. A column of Guardsmen were marching towards them, striding down the middle of the road, almost robotically in time with an officer leading them. Once they saw the two Triplanetary officers, they paused, and one of the guards in the front rank walked forward towards them.

 “Identify yourselves,” he barked.

 “You first,” Salazar said. 

 Raising an eyebrow, the guard replied, “I ask the questions, not you.”

 Turning to Salazar, Foster said, “Midshipman Valerie Foster and Sub-Lieutenant Pavel Salazar, of the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 “Section Leader McDonald, First Company, Territorial Guard. What are you doing out on the streets at night? Don’t you know there’s a curfew?”

 “No, actually.”

 “I could place you under arrest, lock you in a cell and forget both of you exist.”

 “Until a platoon of Espatiers marches down to release us in the morning,” Salazar replied, matter-of-factly. “You might want to adapt to the idea that I don’t concede that you have any authority or power over me, and that your costume does not impress me in the slightest.”

 “Your activities tonight will be reported to your commanding officer, and I shall personally urge that he takes the strongest disciplinary action against your willful refusal to comply with our laws.”

 “I am literally quaking in my boots,” Salazar said, walking down the road. Foster paused for a second, then sprinted after him, while the column continued its march down the street as though nothing had happened.

 “That was crazy,” she said. “When the Captain hears about this…”

 “He won’t. And even if he does, I had good reasons.”

 “You might have just caused a major diplomatic incident.”

 He paused, turned, and said, “You talked about joining the Fleet to see some adventure. Let me tell you why I joined up. To fight precisely the sort of tyranny that jackbooted bastards like that symbolize. Your mother was a General, a high-blown hotshot. Mine was a Corporal, who lost both her legs at Second Vesta, and she wasn’t even meant to be on the front line. My father spent the war as a prospector in the battle zones, riding in and out in his rinky-dink scoutship trying to find critical materials before the enemy could get to him, and he had his ship shot out from under him three times.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t be. They knew what they were doing, and so do I. If someone gives me an order to kowtow to people like that, then I’m afraid that is one order I will never accept. Fortunately, I know that the Captain would never give such an order, and I can’t see any other officer in the Fleet doing that either. This uniform means something. People died to make it mean something. I’m not going to let them down.”

 She looked across at him, shaking her head, and said, “I never had any idea you felt so strongly about it.”

 “Everyone has their own reasons for joining the service. Perhaps mine are a little closer to the surface.”

 “Interesting,” a voice whispered from the shadows. “Do the rest of your people think as you do, Sub-Lieutenant. Is your Fleet really tasked to ward off tyranny?”

 “We went to war to free ourselves from the United Nations,” Foster said.

 Turning to face the voice, Salazar peered into the gloom, barely about to make out a short figure, curls of hair running down his back, who took another step into the shadows.

 “Best that you don’t know who I am until I know that I can trust you. Why are you here?”

 “Looking for you,” Salazar said.

 With a faint chuckle, the voice replied, “Accurate, yet uninformative. What is your Fleet’s purpose on this planet? And please spare us all the tedium of a diplomatic lie.”

 “We’ve been fighting the not-men, and we learned that one of their ships was marooned on this planet. Our mission was to investigate. We didn’t have any idea that the world was inhabited, or even inhabitable for that matter. To the best of our knowledge, no ship from Earth had ever visited this system before.”

 “And now that you are here? Are you going to permit the Secretary to continue his reign of tyranny over the people?”

 “Not if I can help it,” Salazar said, earning himself a look from Foster.

 “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you are a junior officer, not in a position to make such a bold statement.”

 “I think I speak for the Captain, but all I can be certain of is that I speak for myself.”

 “Well said.” The figure stepped out of the shadows, and Salazar saw an old Neander, gray-haired and wrinkle-faced, looking at him with golden eyes. “Your Captain has claimed that your Confederation has no interest in territorial acquisition.”

 “We would offer Thule membership, and given the deteriorating condition of this would, I’d suggest that you give serious consideration to such an offer, but if you decided to remain independent, to banish us from this world, then we would honor that.” He paused, looking at the Neander again, and asked, “Who are you?”

 “I am Astris, though the Terrans would refer to me as John. They gave us all names, you see, better to distance us from the past they want us to forget. We had a culture of our own, a society, but all of that is a fading memory that some of us cling onto. Even the integrationists forget that.”

 “There are Neander worlds all across this part of space,” Foster said.

 “That gladdens my heart, but our culture developed over ten thousand years. Who sings our stories now, who honors our ancestors? We toil in the farms and factories, where once we roamed free on the fields and the plains.”

 “And you would have died,” Salazar said. “In the long term, this planet is not viable.”

 Astris smiled, and said, “Our bodies might have died, but our souls would have lived on, and I would not sacrifice one to save the other. Sub-Lieutenant…”

 “Pavel.”

 “Pavel, not all on this world is as it first appears.”

 “That’s true of most planets.”

 “Maybe so,” he nodded. “I presume that your commander has sent you to make contact with the resistance to the human government.”

 Glancing at Foster, he said, “My job is to find out what the government isn’t telling us. I’m not going to promise anything.”

 “I understand. You have at least some wisdom. If I speak, will you listen to what I say?”

 “I will use my judgment to determine the truth.”

 “For the present, I will settle for that. Come with me, both of you.”

 Astris stepped back into the shadows, walking down a narrow alley between two prefabricated buildings. The town had been built to no particular plan, by all appearances, and streets were scattered about almost at will. He paused at a half-derelict house, the roof gone and the bricks tumbled down, and shook his head.

 “Once this was the site where our children were taught the wisdom of the ancestors. Then it was seized, and all that your people did was let their ruins crumble into dust. Look well. That will be the fate of all your works, in enough time.”

 “What happened here was wrong,” Salazar said. “I will freely admit to that, but there is nothing we can do to change the past.”

 “Nevertheless, my heart still weeps.” The old Neander pointed at a building up ahead, a mud-brick house with a horse tied up outside, lapping water from a trough. “That is our destination.”

 Foster glanced at Salazar, and said, “We should contact Captain Marshall, tell them where we are going.”

 “Any signals would be intercepted,” Astris said.

 “Not with the technology you are using down here, they won’t,” Foster replied, but Salazar nodded.

 “The not-men, Midshipman. He might have a point.”

 “We can’t just…”

 “You can go back if you want.”

 She looked at the house again, and said, “I think we’d better stick together.”

 “I agree. So let’s get on with it.”

 Astris led the way, pushing open the door, and the two of them followed him in. The house had obviously been abandoned for years, dust and decay over everything, some ruined furniture on the floor. Anything worth taking had gone long ago. Salazar’s eye was drawn to a picture on the wall, hanging lopsidedly over the fireplace, a photograph of a green field, covered in flowers, with a mountain range behind it.

 “Earth,” Astris said. “As it once was, in any case.”

 “And is again,” Foster said. “Much of the damage from the Third World War has been repaired.”

 Shaking his head, the Neander replied, “Such tyrannies do all men visit on the things they love. It was not like that here. We preserved our land, keeping it healthy and prosperous down the centuries. Most of the game that we cared for is gone, now, except that which was able to adapt to life on the plateau. Soon it will all vanish into time.”

 “There we might be able to help you,” Salazar said. “Preservation programs, transplanting breeding populations to other planets.”

 “And what of this world?” Shaking his head, Astris added. “I’m afraid there is only one thing left to do.” With surprising speed, he pulled a pistol out from under his robes, leveled it at Foster, and fired. The midshipman slumped back to the floor as Salazar leapt forward, his hand reaching to draw the pistol at his belt. Before he could get his fingers to the trigger, the Neander fired again, sending him collapsing to the ground, next to Foster.

 Looking down at him, the Neander cautiously kicked the pistol away, and said, “Do not think badly of us, Sub-Lieutenant. The toxin I used is not fatal, and will have no permanent effects. Nor will you lose consciousness at any point. It is refined from a local herb, one of the secrets we have maintained from your countrymen.”

 Salazar struggled to move, but while he could see the Neander walking to the door, his arms and legs wouldn’t respond. He wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come, his mouth struggling merely to gulp for air. Glancing across at Foster, he caught a look of fury in her eyes, silent confirmation that she was suffering from the same effect.

 Time seemed to drag as he tried to fight the effects of the drug. With a herculean effort, he managed to wiggle one of his fingers, but the effort exhausted him, as though something was leeching all of the energy from his body. Foster kicked out with her foot, stabbing it into the wall. Perhaps they might be able to get away, but as the door opened again, it was obvious they would not be given the opportunity.

 Stepping inside, his boots rattling the floorboards, was a not-man, wearing the same armor that had cloaked them in the fighting on Yeager Station. He glanced across at Astris, who nodded, and then looked down at the two officers on the floor.

 “You wanted to learn the secret at the heart of Thule,” the figure said. “I intend to see that you have that opportunity.” Turning to Astris again, he said, “Take them. Go quickly, and go quietly.”

 “I will, my lord.” The Neander looked down at Salazar, and said, “Remember. Nothing here is as it appears.”

Chapter 8

 Cooper peered across the plateau from his vantage point, picking out individual spots with his goggles, relaying them down to the troopers waiting for his orders down below. Some sort of briefing was going on, instructions on the battle that was being planned for the morning, the battle he was hoping to forestall. The dialect was proto-Indo, a language they had been exposed to before, and he cursed the problems with Alamo’s translation systems that was preventing him from understanding what they were saying.

 Not that it mattered. They might as well be discussing Titanian folk ballads. In a couple of moments, he’d be breaking up this party. He looked left and right at the force he had assembled. Corporal Max, heading the local force, the three best shots with the tranq guns during the afternoon’s practice, and Private Martinez to back him up. He had the only plasma weapon, strapped to his back.

 “Ninety seconds,” he whispered. “Remember the plan. Target officers, leaders, anyone who tries to rally them. There will be a lot of confusion, a lot of chaos, and you are to do anything you can to make it worse. I want this mob running for the hills.”

 “It would do better with a preparatory bombardment,” Max said. “A few blasts from that plasma rifle would wipe them all out.”

 “No lethal force. That weapon gets used only if I get a good shot at one of the not-men. If this all goes wrong, rappel to the surface and report to Lieutenant Blaine for further orders. All understood?”

 There was a chorus of nods, and he quietly spoke into his communicator, “Vaughan, you ready?”

 “All four mortars are ready to fire. There’s quite a crowd gathering around to watch. I’ve loaded with smoke and tranq, two of each. Firing solutions are plotted and ready, and Watkins is riding shotgun on the targeting computer.”

 “Seventy seconds, Corporal. Fire on the mark.”

 “Mark seventy. Got it. Good luck.”

 Cooper turned back to the Neander force, gathering now into groups, clustered together as the orders were dispersed. The commander of this force knew what they were doing, good sound doctrine despite the primitive weapons. Most of the Neander had clubs, stone axes, knives. There was something to Max’s point; a couple of plasma rifles could wipe out the entire army in a matter of seconds, leaving nothing but ashes in their wake. Not something he’d ever want to do. Even if given the order, he didn’t think he’d obey it.

 He glanced across at Max. The Neander’s weapon was hefted, pointing towards the enemy, and he could almost see his eyes calculating trajectories and firing solutions, determined to do the maximum damage to the enemy with the weapons at his disposal. Not a bad trait in a soldier, but it seemed strange that he was willing to unleash such havoc on his own kind.

 Forty seconds to go. Still no sign that his strike force had been detected, that anyone had noticed their preparations. There had been an alarming lack of reconnaissance about the whole affair, and for a second he wondered whether they were being drawn into some sort of a trap.

 “Ensign?” his communicator hissed. “We’ve got a problem. Malfunction with the targeting computers.”

 “What?” Cooper asked. “How the hell?”

 “No idea. We’ve lost the link with Alamo’s orbital navigation. They’re working on the problem.”

 Taking a deep breath, Cooper said, “Then go to manual override and handle them yourselves.”

 The Corporal paused before replying, “We’ve never done that outside of a simulator.”

 “I’ll appreciate it very much if you get it right. Position to fire long, and I’ll walk you towards the target. Use the current elevation as a starting point.”

 “Will do, sir. Operating manual controls, increasing elevation by five degrees. If I’m getting my sums right, that will bring the shells down on the far side of the camp.”

 Looking over to his men, Cooper said, “Change of plan. You’ve got fifty rounds each. We’ll start with a semi-automatic burst, twenty rounds, indiscriminate fire. Then we’ll switch back to sniper mode. Just make sure you hit something with each shot.”

 “We could abort,” Martinez whispered. “Try again in an hour, give Alamo’s tech teams time to work the problem.”

 “I was surprised enough we managed to make this climb once, Private, and I’m not going to risk a mission abort if they spot us on the way down. Set your weapons, and fire when I give the mark.”

 “Don’t worry, sir,” Max said. “I never miss.”

 There was a coldness in the Neander’s voice that convinced Cooper that he meant it. Closing his eyes for a heartbeat, he started to take deep breaths, calming himself down, steadying into a firing position. He counted the last few seconds down in his head, then gave the order.

 “Fire!” he yelled, then started to take shots at figures from the crowd in front of them. The rounds they were using had been designed for crowd control, and cracked and whined as they flew through the air, tiny speakers to project the noise of a hail of bullets sweeping the field, and as the first wave of Neander fell, a wave of shouting raced across the plateau.

 Some of their commanders started to mobilize them, urging them towards the small thicket of assailants by the cliff-side, but before they could begin to move the whine of the mortar rounds sounded, billowing clouds of smoke rising in columns from the far side of the army.

 “Towards the cliff, south, fifty meters!” Cooper yelled to his communicator, all pretense at stealth gone. “Let them have it!”

 Six guns fired as one, and six from the first wave of charging Neander dropped in their tracks, their bodies trampled by their comrades as they attempted to reach them, stones and arrows flying through the air, shots taken more out of desperation than skill. Cooper flicked a switch to take his gun back to single shot, and started aiming at anyone who looked like he was trying to rally the troops.

 Another round of shells dropped, and this time the smoke was a mix of white and green, the latter added for effect as the tranquilizing gas began to spill out from the field. A warning light flashed on his respirator, alerting him of the danger, and he continued for fire. Half his clip expended.

 Max was carefully aiming his shots, going for those with the more ornate clothes, and a small mound of bodies was beginning to rise. What little order remained fell to nothing with the third round of mortar hits, figures dropping wherever they took a careless breath. Now the mob was racing away, heading for the horizon, trying to escape an enemy they couldn’t attack.

 “North, one hundred meters,” Cooper said, more calmly. A few pockets of resistance were putting up a fight, still futilely trying to get their charge home, to avenge what they believed to be their dead comrades, but the heart was gone from their attack, and another salvo of shots from the tranq guns sent the survivors racing from the field, right into the fourth round of mortar fire, all smoke this time.

 Stepping out of cover, Cooper led his squad forward, towards what remained of the army, walking through the enveloping smoke. Amazingly, a pack of Neander were still in formation, on the far side of the battlefield, and they turned to charge, raising their axes high and screaming fearsome chants.

 “South-East, fifty meters,” Cooper said, raising his gun. “Salvo fire!”

 Six more shots, and six more Neander fell, joining their comrades in slumber, but this time they just kept coming. Someone had worked out that the Triplanetary weapons did not kill, or had at least decided that their cause was worth dying for. After another round of shots, there were still dozens more charging forward, and some of the troopers turned nervously back to the cliff, pondering the potential wisdom of a retreat, but Cooper stood his ground.

 Cold fury drove their attack, but the fifth round of mortar shells dropped in amongst them, Corporal Vaughan getting the range exactly right, and the soldiers fell on all sides, their charge disrupted beyond redemption. Max continued to fire, back to semi-auto, emptying his clip into the Neander, while Cooper looked around. No sign of continued resistance, and the few enemy soldiers he could see were running for the horizon.

 “Cease fire!” he said, pulling up his communicator. “Good work, Corporal. That last one did the job. Get a clean-up crew up here, on the double.” Max took one last shot at a retreating figure, before turning to give Cooper a rueful scare.

 “Hold your fire, Corporal,” Cooper said. “That’s an order.”

 There was no sign of the not-men, nor had there been at any time over the battle. Regardless, Cooper swung out his plasma rifle and started the charge cycle, ignoring the puzzled frown from Martinez. If they were planning some sort of surprise attack, this would be the perfect time.

 Racing up the pass, his eyes wide and a smile on his face, Blaine looked around at the aftermath, at the dozens of slumbering figures on the ground. Cooper knelt by the nearest, taking a quick pulse, and nodding.

 “They’ll be fine. That’s a six-hour gas, though some of them will take longer to come round. Best guess is that they’ll get themselves together and go off to find the rest of their comrades. I don’t think that you need to worry about them for a while.”

 “This solves nothing,” Max said, shaking his head. “They will go back to their new overlords, and return with a plan that will render this defense impossible. Next time they will not give us an opportunity to attack.” He looked down at the bodies, and said, “We should consider sending a harsher lesson.”

 “All their weapons will be confiscated,” Cooper said. “Held at the Fort until further notice.”

 “They’ll only make more,” Max replied. “It won’t take long.”

 “Corporal, we can’t handle that many prisoners. We’re going to struggle to feed ourselves this winter,” Blaine said. “Let’s just take the win…”

 “And what? Be happy?” He shook his head, and said, “If they had attacked us, swarmed down that hill, everyone in our outpost would have been dead. We’d have taken a few hundred of them with us, but we would not have lived through it. Then they would have swarmed across the plain, looting and burning. We’re showing them a mercy that they would not show us under the same circumstances.”

 “They’re your people, damn it,” Cooper said.

 Turning sharply to face him, the uniformed Neander barked, “Officer or no, you have no right to accuse me of turning traitor. I’m loyal to Thule, and will gladly die to defend it, will do whatever it takes. If you don’t want to kill them, give me your weapon and I will do it for you. Because if you don’t, they’ll lick their wounds tonight, and tomorrow they will be back, here or at one of the other outposts.”

 “Then we will push them back again.”

 “And how long will you be here, Ensign? Are you planning to stay here for the rest of your life, holding our borders and telling us how to defend our homes and families? Is that your plan? No, you’ll be gone in a few weeks, but we will still be here, and they will still be here, and they will come again, and we will all die, as well as those we are responsible. Where is the greater mercy, sir?”

 “Corporal,” Blaine said icily. “Report to the stockade on the double. That is an order.”

 “The man is right,” Fowler said, walking slowly up the hill. “Max is an excellent soldier, and I accept his tactical judgment. Under ideal circumstances we would re-educate them, but these are far from ideal circumstances.”

 “I will not kill them,” Cooper said.

 “You are a soldier, and soldiers obey orders.”

  “I am, to the letter, obeying the orders given to me by my superiors. My commanding officer is determined to negotiate a diplomatic solution to this crisis, and that will not be assisted by perpetuating a massacre.”

 “Then I believe that we have nothing further to say,” Fowler said. “Return to the barracks, and I will summon transport to take you back to the Fort. Lieutenant Blaine, you will carry out my orders or face the consequences.”

 “No,” Cooper said, swinging around his plasma rifle. “Private Martinez. Head down to the stockade on the double, and return with Corporal Vaughan and the others. They are to report here at once, with their weapons hot and ready.” He turned to face Fowler. “If anyone touches a hair on their heads, they will answer for it with their lives.”

 “You are threatening an officer of the Territorial Guard, a direct representative of the government. I suggest you reconsider your actions.”

 “There will be no killing today. Not of Neander, at any rate.” He saw something out of the corner of his eye, and turned to level his gun at Max. “Corporal, I suggest you follow the orders given to you by Lieutenant Blaine.”

 “When they wake up, they are unlikely to thank you for this,” Fowler said. He sighed, then added, “I know that combat can have a strange effect on people, and that you might not be thinking clearly.”

 “I haven’t felt more clearly about anything in my life. Go down the hill, all of you, and I recommend that you do not to interfere with my men on their way up.”

 Vaughan raced up the hill, looked around, then asked, “Orders, sir?”

 “Defensive perimeter around the unconscious Neander.” 

 “Against?”

 “The Territorial Guard. Are our stores secure?”

 “I wouldn’t recommend messing with them. Might be some spontaneous explosions.”

 “Good.” He looked at Fowler again, and said, “On your way, Guardsman.”

 “I shall be reporting this to the highest authority. I assure you that you have not heard the last of it.”

 “Lieutenant, you’d better go as well.”

 Blaine looked at Max, shook his head, and said, “No, I don’t think I had. Someone needs to stay.”

 “You don’t need to prove anything.”

 “Yes, I do.” 

 Max shook his head, and replied, “You are both insane,” before taking up a position watching both the Espatiers and the unconscious Neander.

 “Corporal, what do you think you are doing?”

 “When you realize just how big a mistake you have made, you’re going to need all the help you can get. I’m not going anywhere.” Looking at Blaine, he added, “Don’t say anything stupid about disobeying orders. You ceded that right.”

 Fowler looked around, shook his head, and walked off down the hill with the rest of the soldiers, muttering dire threats of reprisal under his breath. Cooper watched him go, then turned to look at the slumbering Neander, more than a hundred of them, all of whom would doubtless be extremely angry about the situation they were in when they woke. He pulled out his communicator, and with a sigh, began to speak.

 “Cooper to Alamo, come in. I need a direct link to the Captain.” After waiting for a second, he repeated, “Cooper to Alamo, come in, please.”

 “Vaughan to Alamo,” the Corporal said. “Mine’s dead as well, sir. Must be that same malfunction.”

 “Great.” Rubbing his hands together, he said, “Martinez, start a fire. It’s going to be a long, cold night.”

Chapter 9

 Orlova looked down the length of the conference table, and asked, “Jack, how long to get the external communications system back on-line?”

 Shaking his head, Quinn replied, “If I had any idea what was wrong, I’d be able to tell you.” Putting a datapad on the table in front of him, he continued, “We’re facing an escalating series of malfunctions. As yet, none of them have been critical to key ship operations…”

 “I’d say not being able to talk to any of our teams on the surface is pretty damn critical,” Grant said.

 “...but that might not last. I’ve distributed emergency oxygen and heating systems all across the ship, just in case.”

 Harper looked across at the engineer, and said, “This isn’t a systems failure. It’s got to be deliberate sabotage. They even knocked out the relays in the shuttle. Hooke and I have been going over this for the last six hours, and the answer is simple. We have a saboteur on board.”

 “We’re forgetting the planet,” Nelyubov noted.

 “Do they even have computers down there?” Grant replied. “Harper’s right. There has to be someone on board. An agent of either the United Nations, or the not-men.” He paused, then added, “Unless you are suggesting that the operative might be one of the personnel we sent down to the surface.”

 “I’ve cross-referenced duty logs with systems failures, and I can’t find any correlation at all. There aren’t that many people on board with the technical skill to pull this off..”

 “That we know of,” Grant said.

 “Granted, but even so, it doesn’t match.”

 “The logs could have been changed.”

 Shaking her head, Harper replied, “The active files, but not the back-ups. There’s just no way to cross-link the two. It would have to be a minimum of three people to pull this off, not a single saboteur.”

 “We haven’t taken on any new crewmen in months,” Orlova said. “I have a hard time thinking of any of them as a traitor.”

 “With the exception of Sergeant Gurung,” Grant noted.

 “Who is down on the surface, in a location with no communications hook-up to Alamo,” Harper said. “This isn’t a timed-release program. Anything powerful enough to cause this much havoc wouldn’t be hard to find, even if I couldn’t do anything about it. You can rule out anyone who doesn’t have access to advanced equipment.”

 “So,” Orlova summarized, “What you are telling me is that it can’t be anyone on board, it can’t be anyone on the surface, and it can’t have been introduced some time ago and only now taking effect. Yet somehow, it is still happening.”

 “Why now?” Nelyubov asked.

 Grant shrugged, and replied, “This way Alamo goes off into the wilds of deep space, never to return, with months before any follow-up expedition. More than enough time for someone to come around and take us all off into detention.”

 Shaking his head, Nelyubov replied, “Tell me why they wouldn’t have sabotaged the ship during either of our last two battles, Lieutenant? They could have destroyed Alamo quite easily, without any suspicion of trickery or sabotage.”

 “The plan must have been introduced since then. Is there a chance that we have someone on board we don’t know about?”

 “We’d have spotted it in the life support consumption telltales. Unless our saboteur has given up breathing, we’d know.” 

 “Nevertheless, I want a full search of the entire ship,” Orlova said. “I’m not sure I buy that theory myself, but it’s the only workable one on the table.”

 “We’ve got double-authorization redundancy on all critical systems, but it isn’t doing any good,” Harper said. “Maybe we ought to go to triple. I can bring more safeguards on-line, but we’re going to seriously hit reaction time if we go much further.”

 “Leave things as they are for the moment. Jack, what are the prospects of us getting any of these communications problems fixed in the near future?”

 “You’ll have to ask whoever causing them.”

 Nodding, she said, “We can’t leave the Captain hanging on the surface. Have Sub-Lieutenant Bradley take Shuttle Three down, right away. Her orders are to brief the Captain. I want a full load of emergency supplies on board, anything that you can think of.”

 Glancing across at Orlova, Grant said, “What are you planning?”

 “I’m just playing the percentages right now. Jack, I want every system on the shuttle checked over before takeoff, with a large enough crew that nothing slips through the net. Grant, take charge of the security and loading.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” he replied.

 “I think that brings this to a close. Dismissed.”

 She rose from her chair, leading the officers out of the room, Nelyubov hurrying to walk by her side. Harper paused for a second, then followed the two of them to the elevator, only just jumping in before the doors closed.

 “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I don’t believe the saboteur theory. It doesn’t hold up.”

 “You seemed to agree with it in the meeting.”

 “Only because I don’t have an alternative to offer. And because there are things that I couldn’t tell the rest of you.” She glanced at Nelyubov, and added, “You, I trust.”

 “I’m honored,” he replied with a frown.

 “There have been no attempts to get into my concealed database.”

 With a shrug, Orlova said, “Good.”

 “No, no, you don’t understand. If you were infiltrating this ship, if your goal was to cause maximum havoc to the interests of the Confederation, what would you be looking for? The most sensitive, secret information on board.”

 “I’m surprised there is any way to access your black files,” Orlova said.

 “Black files?” Nelyubov looked at Harper, and asked, “Is there any way you can legally brief me in what is going on?”

 “Not with your current clearance,” the hacker replied. “And to answer your question, Maggie, there isn’t. Not the real database. I’ve got a fake one set up as a target, with some out-of-date information and fabricated stuff. A distraction, in case someone decides to hack into our system. My point is that no attempt has been made. Whether or not anyone would get in doesn’t really matter.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “Which means that any foreign saboteur, someone sneaking on board at one of our recent stops, has overlooked the most likely avenue of attack. You’re right, that doesn’t seem likely.”

 “Could we be dealing with another Minerva?” Nelyubov asked. At the pair of blank faces, he added, “During the war, one of our scoutships, lost when the Systems Officer went quietly crazy. Rigged the guidance system of its missiles to blow the ship to bits. Most of the crew got out, but the ship was a write-off.”

 “Lieutenant, if someone wanted us dead, there are far more obvious and direct ways to do it. Introduce something nasty into the life-support system, for example.” Harper shook her head, then continued, “Yes, there are fail-safes, but I could say that about several of the problems we’ve had. Our computer network is under systematic attack, and there is only one explanation I can think of that makes any sense at all.”

 “And that is?”

 “Someone is trying to stop us conducting a proper examination of this planet.”

 Shaking his head, Nelyubov replied, “That just takes us back to the same two possibilities. Three if you count the Cabal.”

 “No. Look at the current situation. We’ve got troops in force down on the planet, and say we end up being forced to abandon ship. With our technological edge, we’d end up as the dominant power bloc by the default. The result is that Thule joins the Confederation, at least de facto.”

 “She has a point,” Orlova said, glancing at Nelyubov. “Where does that lead?”

 “Right down to the planet. I don’t think there’s a saboteur up here, I think someone has set up shop down there, one of the big power blocs, and I think that they’re doing everything they can to distract us.”

 “We could run a full sensor sweep. In fact, we did, when we arrived,” Nelyubov said, before adding, “No, I see what you are getting at. We can’t necessarily trust that all of our readings are accurate. Too much risk that someone could have hacked into the systems to conceal something, and unless we knew what we were looking for, we’d be out of luck. Tricky.”

 “I want to go down with Bradley,” Harper said. “If I’m right, then the answer to this puzzle isn’t up here. It’s down on the planet. Has to be, almost. I don’t think that I can do any good up here. Hooke’s competent enough in a dogmatic way to fix things if it does turn out to be a systems-based problem.”

 “I presume you realize the risk you are running. All of the Espatiers are off at one outpost or another, and there’s no guarantee that we’ll be able to provide any support from Alamo.”

 She nodded, and said, “I’ve thought of all of that, and it still leads me to the conclusion that I can be a lot more useful down on the surface than I am up there. If someone is hacking us remotely, then I’m the best qualified to analyze and investigate.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “Very well, permission granted. Grab your kit and head down to the hangar deck.”

 “Will do.”

 “Good luck.” The elevator doors stepped open, and Harper ran out, racing down the corridor to her quarters as they watched. As the doors slid shut again, the elevator resuming its course to the bridge, Nelyubov shook his head.

 “You’re beginning to sound just like the Captain,” he said.

 “Oh?”

 “Don’t get me wrong, it suits you.”

 “Right now I’d be a lot happier if I was down there and he was up here.”

 The door opened, and she stepped out onto the bridge, Kibaki rising from the command chair as she approached, moving forward to his station. Nelyubov moved over to the tactical console, looking over the readings.

 “Everything still seems to be working here. We’re still at stand-by alert.”

 Nodding, Kibaki said, “We had a minor malfunction in one of the refuse airlocks, nothing serious.” He glanced down at his console, and said, “Shuttle Three is requesting clearance to launch.”

  Tapping a control, Orlova said, “Alamo Actual to Shuttle Three. You are clear to depart. Good luck, and happy landings.”

 “Thanks, Maggie,” Harper said. “See you later.”

 Resting in the command chair, Orlova turned to Nelyubov and said, “I want them tracked all the way to the deck. The slightest variation is to be reported immediately.” 

 “Ma’am?” Austin, the duty communications technician, said. “We’re not getting any telemetry from the shuttle. Someone’s just turned it off. No data transfer at all.”

 “That was me,” Harper’s voice said, echoing over the ceiling speaker. “I’m isolating us from anything that might be affecting the ship. We’re just about to drop out from the elevator airlock, and I’m guessing we’ll lose communications as soon as that happens, so…” As she predicted, she was cut off.

 “Well, that’s that,” Nelyubov said. “There’s nothing we can do now but watch the show.” He glanced across at his console, and said, “No sign of anything else in the sky, and their course track takes them well clear of the not-man ship. Course computed to bring them down right in the heart of New Jamestown.”

 “Some night watchman at Fort Medaris is going to get a big surprise in a few minutes.” Orlova replied with a smile. “At least they’ve got plenty of room to work with.”

 “Course error,” the sensor technician, Fox, said. She looked across at her readings, and said, “They’re coming in too shallow. Unless they correct, they’ll skip off the atmosphere.”

 “Damn,” Nelyubov said. “Start plotting an intercept course, in case we have to pick them up. Sub-Lieutenant, warm up the main engines.”

 “Come on, Barbara,” Orlova said, leaning forward, looking at the viewscreen. “Work the damn problem, get that lady down onto the deck.”

 The shuttle continued along its track, ranging out wide, high over the planet, until abruptly the engine cut. After a second that seemed like a year, the shuttle pivoted on its thrusters, the engine firing again in brief bursts, the trajectory slowly curving back down.

 “What the hell?” Kibaki said.

 “They’re managed to get the manual controls working, but not perfectly. They can’t do continuous burns.”

 Frowning, Nelyubov said, “That doesn’t suggest a happy ending.”

 “If they can get their track down into the crater, the emergency chutes will bring them down, though it’s going to be a one-way trip,” Kibaki said.

 “That’s a small bulls’-eye on a large planet,” Orlova said, her gaze locked onto the trajectory track as it jerked back to the correct position, the projected landing site slowly moving to their original goal. “Coming into re-entry attitude. They can do that on thrusters.”

 “Entering the plasma sheath,” Fox said. “Attitude looks good. Landing site now within the crater, with a two-hundred mile margin of error.”

 “Enough to leave them well outside. There’s no way they can land with an intermittently functioning engine,” Kibaki said.

 Even if the communicators had been working, there was nothing that Orlova could do for the crew of the shuttle now. They were locked on a spiral down to the surface of the planet, with their skill weighed against whatever problems the systems were throwing at them. She ran through everything in her mind, working out what she would do if she was at the controls, almost able to picture herself in the cockpit with flames lapping around the windows, preparing for the run in.

 “They’re through. Coming in fast, looks like they are trying to conserve velocity.”

 “Bradley’s hoping to glide in,” Orlova said.

 “Maybe. Cresting over the first crater wall now, over the plateau. Landing point long, right by the far wall of the lowest crater.”

 “Anywhere down there will do,” Kibaki said. All eyes were focused on the shuttle’s final descent track, the ship left to take care of itself for a moment. “Look, thrusters firing. They’ve given up on the main engines altogether.”

 “I can’t blame them for that.”

 “Chute deployed,” Fox said. “Still a little high for it to be much use. They are slowing, drifting down to the south. I think they’re going to overshoot.”

 Bradley had come to the same conclusion, and the shuttle’s thrusters fired for one last time, one final burn to try and make the crash survivable. The parachute was at last beginning to open, spreading out in the thin atmosphere, but with one last, desperate pulse of thrust, the shuttle crashed down to the surface, dangerously close to the cliff.

 “Well?”

 “Touch and go. Impact velocity was a little on the high side, but I think they managed a survivable landing. That’s the good news,” Nelyubov said.

 “The bad news being that they just touched down in the middle of hostile territory, and that we have no way of telling anyone on the surface where they are,” Orlova said, frowning. “And there’s nothing we can do to help them.”

Chapter 10

 Marshall was awakened by the sound of broken glass and the crack of a bullet flying over his head. On instinct, he rolled out of bed onto the floor, reaching for this pistol in his holster, keeping low and out of sight. There was a chance that the would-be assassin might think that he had found his target.

 He’d accepted the Governor’s offer of accommodation for the night, staying in the nearest thing New Jamestown had to a hotel, a decision he was now regretting. He reached for his communicator, and cursed as his hand brought down a ruined scrap of metal. At least he knew where the bullet had gone.

 Cautiously, he inched up to the window, then heard an earth-shattering crack from above, a sonic boom, a shuttle coming into land. He caught a glimpse of it as it raced overhead, a parachute dangling from its tail, engines faltering, the pilot desperately trying to avoid a crash. Most of the town had been woken by the noise, lights in all the windows coming on, people pouring onto the street. Any hope of catching his attacker was gone.

 “Captain, are you alright?” Sergeant Gurung yelled.

 “I’m fine. Get Caine, then go out and see if you can find anything. I don’t think you’ll have any luck, but you might as well make the attempt. I can look after myself. And call Alamo, let them know what happened. That bastard shot my communicator.”

 “Mine isn’t working, sir. Signal error.”

 “Nor mine,” Caine said, walking into his room, still wearing her nightgown. “I can’t get through to anyone, either on ship or surface. Maybe that shuttle was coming down to warn us that something was wrong.”

 “It certainly managed that,” he replied. “They came down somewhere at the far side of the plateau, miles from here.” He looked at the growing chaos outside, then said, “We’d better get to the Fort and rustle up a search party.”

 “Do my orders stand, sir?”

 Glancing out of the window again, he shook his head, and said, “No, damn it. It’ll have to wait until morning. Our people might not. Get your kit together.”

 “Danny,” Caine said, “A jeep’s just pulled up outside. Territorial Guard on board, along with your favorite local politician.”

 “I can guess what they want.”

 “I’m not so sure,” Gurung said. “Not after an attempted assassination. You aren’t meeting him without an armed escort present, Captain, and that is not an order I am going to permit you to countermand.”

 “He’s got you there, Danny,” Caine added. “I agree with him. He looks to me like the type that might do something stupid, and with the ship out of reach, there isn’t much we could do about it.”

 “I might be able to give him a few arguments he’d struggle to counter,” Gurung said, patting his rifle. Turning to the corridor, he yelled, “Tactical deployment, right now, you apes! Let’s move!”

 “No chance that anyone in this hotel is going to get any rest tonight,” Caine said, shaking her head. She looked at the mark on the shelf where the bullet had passed, and added, “That was a close one. A few inches to the left and they’d have hit you.”

 Loud footsteps marched up the stairs, Sergeant Gurung positioning his men in the room, one on each side of the door while he stood behind Marshall, his hand ready on the butt of his gun.

 The door burst open, and Mason stepped in, saying, “Captain, you’re coming with me.”

 “My Sergeant and I think otherwise,” Marshall replied. “Are you aware that someone tried to kill me five minutes ago? Then you and your merry men come marching in here. Interesting coincidence.”

 “I hold you directly responsible for the actions undertaken by Ensign Cooper. I am convinced that he was operating under your orders.”

 Raising a hand, Marshall asked, “Kindly could you tell me what the hell you are talking about? And get your men out of the room.”

 “Not while yours remain.”

 With shrug, he replied, “Very well, then we’ll stay crowded. You don’t seem at all interested that there was an assassination attempt on a visiting foreign dignitary, just a few moments ago.”

 “I will see that a full investigation is undertaken first thing in the morning. No doubt one of the radicals decided that you were insufficiently revolutionary, or some nonsense like that, and attempted to kill you.”

 “Don’t you ever worry about small things like the collection of evidence?” Caine asked. “Any sort of due process?”

 “I know these people, and I know the sort of people they associate themselves with. Which reminds me, Captain. I have another complaint about your Sub-Lieutenant Salazar. I have been informed that he was out after curfew, and refused to comply with the orders of one of my people. I expect him to be disciplined appropriately.”

 “We were never informed of any curfew.”

 “Ignorance is no defense under the law, Captain. I demand…”

 “You are in no position to demand anything,” Marshall said. “What has Ensign Cooper done to upset you?”

 Gurung glared at Mason, as he answered, “After concluding the attack upon the savages that were planning to attack our outpost, he refused to allow the Territorial Guard to take them into custody for re-education. Now he sits on top of the plateau, waiting to treat with our enemies, and has forced some of our soldiers to remain with him.” Pointing up at the sky, he said, “And now we see that you have called for reinforcements. Are you planning to conquer our planet?”

 “Mister Secretary, I have made no secret that we are hoping for a diplomatic solution to the conflict on this planet. Let me make one thing perfectly clear. The Triplanetary Confederation will not support any government that conducts itself in the manner yours does. We have no such thing as second-class citizens.”

 “But…”

 “You are getting assistance from us now for the simple reason that without protection, I was convinced that hundreds, maybe thousands of your people would have been killed. Do not fall under the delusion for a single moment that I am on your side, or that my government will impose an agreement that benefits one faction over the other. I think that any further discussion should take place directly with the Governor.”

 With a look to his left, the Guard raised their weapons, rifles covering the room. The Espatiers matched the move, their weapons humming as the power built up, ready to fire.

 “You will come with me for questioning,” Mason said. “I will give you one opportunity to come with me peacefully, before I am forced to give an order that we will both regret.”

 “Have you ever seen what happens to a body smothered in plasma fire?” Gurung asked. “It isn’t pretty, and by all accounts it is a horrible way to die. You might get off a single round of shots with those popguns of yours, but I doubt it.”

 Taking a step back, Mason replied, “You have revealed your intentions quite transparently, and I will recommend to the Governor that you be ordered to leave this planet at once. We don’t want or need your help.” Turning, he walked through the door, his guards following.

 “He won’t be gone long,” Caine said, as soon as he left. “My guess is that he’s gone to get reinforcements, probably more snipers.”

 “We can deal with anything they want to throw at us,” Gurung said. “The three of us have firepower that exceeds anything they have in their arsenal.”

 “And you would have to kill them all to do it, and probably set New Jamestown on fire into the process. Let’s file that one away as a last resort.” He looked out of the window, the jeep still waiting. “How far down would you say that is?”

 “Twenty feet,” the sergeant replied, his face breaking out into a smile. Without missing a beat, he tossed a cable from his belt to Caine, who secured it to a supporting pillar as he jumped backwards out of the window, lowering himself carefully but quickly to the ground, dropping down in front of the jeep.

 A few rounds of applause came from the slowly dispersing ground, and Gurung turned, making a mock bow, before covering the hotel entrance with his plasma gun. Caine scrambled down next, jumping into the driver’s seat, and at the urging of the troopers, Marshall followed her, sliding his hands down the line, planting his feet in the mud.

 “I think I can work it out,” Caine said. She turned a key, and a satisfactory rumble came from the engine. “There we go. Looks like we’ve got half a tank of fuel, but I don’t know what that’s good for.”

 “Everyone on board,” Marshall said, as the last of the troopers dropped down. He slid into a seat next to Caine, the two troopers hopping into the seats at the rear while Gurung stood on the running board, gripping onto the side of the jeep with one hand while keeping his rifle ready in the other.

 “Hang on,” Caine said, and she gunned the engine. “I think I know what I’m doing. This is a bit like some of those old racing games I used to play.”

 “Let’s hope the designers knew what they were doing.”

 The jeep burst into life, racing down the road, weaving from side to side, as Mason shouted at them from the hotel, he and his guards bursting out onto the street just in time to watch them make their escape. The remainder of the crowd melted back onto the sidewalls, Gurung firing a quick pulse of plasma fire into the air, briefly illuminated the night with an eerie green glow.

 “Was that necessary, Sergeant?” Marshall asked.

 “We’ve got an audience, sir, and the least we can do is put on a show.”

 “Quick question, Danny,” Caine said. “Where are we going? Patton Outpost?”

 “They’ll be expecting us,” Gurung said. “Probably have a roadblock waiting for us. Maybe we could go cross-country, but that will slow us down. We don’t know the terrain like they do.”

 “Head for the crash site of the shuttle,” Marshall ordered. “They might be expecting it, but if that landing was as rough as it looked, the people on board are going to need some help.”

 “Company!” one of the troopers said, pointing to their left. “Pair of jeeps, lighter than ours, with machine guns!”

 “Damn it,” Marshall said. “I didn’t come down here for this. Sergeant, try another warning shot. Just over their heads, enough to give them a tan.”

 “With pleasure, sir,” the eager veteran said, squeezing the trigger and sending another bolt of flame over them. The two jeeps split up, accelerating to try to get alongside, returning fire with a fusillade of shots from their machine guns, high over the jeep.

 “I don’t think they want to play either, Danny,” Caine said. “I’m going to see how fast I can take her.”

 Slamming her foot down on the accelerator, Caine urged to jeep to greater speed, bumping over the dunes as they burst out of town, leaving the buildings far behind. Up ahead was an inky darkness, the looming crater wall filling the horizon, a few isolated spots of light scattered across the terrain, the only marks of civilization on the lonely country.

 “Pull over!” a voice yelled from one of the trailing jeeps. “We have orders to take you to the President!”

 “Like hell!” Gurung called back.

 “Danny, they’re going to be better at this than we are, and they probably have full tanks of gas,” Caine said. “Not to mention that I don’t have the faintest idea where we’re going at this point. One bit of bleak desert looks a lot like another.”

 “Private, give me your communicator,” Marshall said, reaching his hand back to the rear seats. “Marshall to Alamo, Marshall to Alamo, come in. Any station, any station, come in, please!” Shaking his head, he said, “Sergeant, you seem to have the loudest voice.”

 “Comes with the job, sir.”

 “Then please tell them to head back to town or we will open fire.”

 “Will we, sir?”

 “If we have to, as a last resort.”

 Before Gurung could rise, a burst of machine gun fire erupted from out of the night, right into the path of the approaching jeeps. Four quick single shots dosed their headlights, leaving them in gloom.

 “We’ve got you covered, and could take you all out in a single burst. Go back, soldiers, and you can tell Kirk Mason that he can go to hell.”

 “Lady, I don’t care who you are…” a voice replied.

 “We don’t have a choice, Scott. Damn it, I can’t even see them,” another said.

 “We’re leaving, but come morning, there will be a couple of hundred people coming after you, and they’ll be shooting to kill. You’d be better off coming with us now.”

 The two jeeps turned, and drove off into the night. Marshall stepped out onto the desert, Gurung covering him with his rifle, and walked towards the woman up ahead.

 “Miss Richardson, I presume.” 

 “Got it in one, Captain,” she replied. “Now come on. We’ve got to move.”

 “I have people up on the plateau in need of help.”

 “You don’t know the half of it, Captain. Come with me if you want to know the rest.”

 “It’s not as if we’re drowning in options, Danny,” Caine said.

 “I guess not,” he replied. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 11

 Salazar saw brief glimpses of the terrain through the cracks in the side of the cart as it bounced its way towards the canyon wall. He was beginning to get some feeling back in his arms and legs, but was still unable to move. Foster lay next to him, visibly seething, glaring at him.

 “I think we might be able to make a break for it,” she said. “I can move my legs.”

 “You will stay where you are,” he whispered in response. “That is an order.”

 “The first duty of every officer is to attempt to escape.”

 “Use your head for once,” he replied. “Our mission was to make contact with the opposition, and you want to run away just as we accomplish it?”

 “Wait a minute. You planned this? This was your big idea?”

 “It seemed sensible enough at the time.”

 The cart clattered to a halt, and Astris jumped down to the desert, patting one of the horses before making his way around to the back, dropping the gate with a loud clunk.

 “Time for me to give you the antidote,” he replied. “From here you walk.” Stepping into the back, he poured a sour-tasting liquid down Salazar’s throat, and immediately he felt a renewed vigor, stretching his aching muscles. As he moved over to Foster, Salazar glanced out at the black, empty desert.

 “You seem very trusting.”

 “If you want to run, it’s about forty miles to the nearest settlement, and you don’t know the terrain. I think you’re going to stay. Our friends are waiting for us at the top of the hill, and there have been some developments while you have been asleep.” After administering the cure to Foster, he said, “Your Captain managed to start a nice little firefight in town, and is now on the run. More importantly, one of your shuttles crashed in our territory.”

 “Are they…” Foster began, but Astris interrupted.

 “My lord is waiting with transport for us to recover them. He thinks it best that you are all together when he tells you what he has to say.” He gestured ahead, to a thin stream trickling out of the wall, and said, “That cave will take us all the way up. There are canteens in the corner. Once you are ready, we will go.”

 Astris walked over to the horses, pulling something out of his pocket to feed to them, and Salazar jumped out onto the ground, forcing his tired legs to move. After a moment, Foster followed him, canteens in hand.

 “We can take him. Then we’ve got a hostage.”

 “Fun as that might be, that isn’t why we’re here,” Salazar replied. “If you want to try for town, feel free, but be prepared to be captured by the Governor as soon as you get there.”

 “You believe him?”

 “I thought I saw a flash earlier back from the town, and I definitely heard the shuttle flying overhead. If that is one of ours, then whoever is on board might be in dire need of help.”

 “Alamo can send down another shuttle.”

 “If they could, they would have already. Something else must be wrong up in orbit.”

 “They might have brought it down.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “I don’t think so. Why aren’t we dead? They could have killed us quite easily, and no-one would have known what happened to us. Our job is to help negotiate a diplomatic solution down here, and we’re not going to do that if we don’t talk to both sides.”

 “I hope you know what you are doing.”

 “So do I,” Salazar replied, taking a deep swig of the cool water. He wiped his hand across his mouth, then said, “I think we’re ready. Have you got respirators for us?”

 “Cached in the cave,” Astris replied. “Come on.”

 Leaving the wagon behind, the three of them walked up to the cave entrance, stepping into the gloom. The Neander pulled a small torch out of his pocket, flashing it down onto the floor, but it was barely enough light to see by. Soon the outside world was invisible, and they followed the tricking stream up the hill, the rise growing sharper and sharper.

 “You are unusually blessed, you know,” Astris replied. “This cave was the home of our ancestors, and is one of our sacred places. None of your kind have ever ventured here before. I would not take you here now, but there is no other way for us to get to the plateau without being seen. The Army does not know of this route.” He flashed his torch up to the wall, revealing intricate carvings of birds, animals and Neander, lovingly carved over the centuries.

 “Beautiful,” Salazar said.

 Astris smiled, and said, “Perhaps if you can appreciate our creations, we might be able to work together. Your brothers from Earth have not inspired such thoughts. To them our arts, our culture, was savagery to be suppressed. The blood of those who carved the creatures flows in my veins. There is history here, thousands of years of it.”

 Foster shook her head, and replied, “Don’t judge us by the colonists who came here.”

 “I shall make the attempt, though you will excuse an old man for trusting his past experiences over mere words.” He turned the torch back to the passage, and continued to climb.

 Salazar was now beginning to gasp for breath as the air grew thinner, the exertion getting harder and harder as they rose out of the dense atmosphere of the crater to the rarefied air of the plateau. It was a relief when they stopped again, Astris reaching into a hidden crack to bring out two bulky respirators, orange tanks connected to rubber masks with hoses.

 “A little primitive,” Foster said. “How long do we have?”

 “About five hours before you have to change tanks. Your people made these, not mine. We don’t need them.”

 “You can breathe up there?” Salazar asked.

 “We notice the change, and the air is preferable in the crater, but yes, we can live up on the plateau.” He shook his head, and said, “Not that we have much choice. Live free and watch our children gasp for breath, or descend to the human settlements and see them taken from us. I can understand why some have made that choice.”

 “They take your children?”

 “For re-education. To ensure that they are properly indoctrinated into human culture, and learn their proper place in society. At the bottom. I would rather die free than live as a slave, and there are many who feel the same way.”

 “We need to contact Alamo, pass this on. The Captain needs to know about this.”

 “As I said, my information is that he has fled New Jamestown. Either he will be captured by the government or the human rebels will give him sanctuary. Or he and his friends will die in the desert.” 

 Throwing a heavy switch, Salazar turned the respirator on, and immediately felt a rush as oxygen entered his lungs. He looked for controls, for a regulator, but couldn’t find anything. The mask stank, and there was a copper tinge to the air, but after what he had been breathing, it felt beautiful.

 “Not much further now,” Astris said, continuing his climb. He gestured ahead, where a faint glimpse of moonlight was just visible. With renewed energy, they doubled their speed, striding easily over the jagged rocks and muddy floor, the occasional drip of water upon their heads from the stalactites above. Finally, they stepped out onto the surface, where a battered jeep was waiting for them, a not-man sitting at the wheel.

 “At last you join us,” he said. “Perhaps you are beginning to realize that you are fighting on the wrong side.”

 “You don’t seem to realize that we aren’t on anyone’s side. We want to see peace on this planet, not to conquer it in the name of one or another.”

 Shaking his head, the not-man said, “You wish to bring this world into your sphere of influence to use as a forward base for operations against us, and we wish to do the same. The only difference is that we are more honest about it. For today, I have no reason to do you harm, and see every reason for us to work together.” He pointed along the cliff-side, and said, “The crashed shuttle is a few miles distant. I believe we should hurry.”

 After a moment’s hesitation, Foster and Salazar climbed into the back, Astris remaining behind at the top of the cliff, watching as the jeep drove away. The engine stuttered, faltering in the thin air, struggling to keep forward movement. Despite the bumpy ride, the view was astonishing, the crater spread out beneath them, a sea of stars twinkling in the night, each one a farm or a settlement.

 “No black-out regulations. If we’d wanted to, we could have captured this planet in a matter of hours upon our arrival,” the not-man said.

 “I’m surprised you didn’t,” Foster said.

 “It’s always easier if a population wants to be ruled, and working through local leaders greatly reduces the risk of rebellion. Nevertheless, someone must intervene here, and I don’t just speak of the present conflict. In less than a thousand years, all life on this planet will end.”

 “We’ve come to the same conclusion,” Salazar replied.

 “Then you further understand why this planet’s value is merely temporary. An accident of history that it lies in between two nations determined to wipe each other out.”

 “We don’t intend any such thing.”

 “Then you will lose, and yourselves vanish into the sands of time to be forgotten, your people enslaved or exterminated. The strong live, the weak die. Such is the rule of the universe, cold and uncaring as it is. And when we, or I admit, another, stronger race, have supremacy, then we must war with the universe itself for survival.” He smiled, then added, “That, however, is a matter for a day long in the future, when we are all naught but dust.”

 Up ahead, Salazar could just make out the crash site, and could see someone moving around, a figure emerging from the wreckage with a torch in hand, the beam connecting with the jeep as it raced towards them. He waved his hand, despairing that he would be seen, but the figure waved back, stepping back into the shuttle.

 “At least someone survived the crash,” Foster said.

 “I am glad,” the not-man said.

 “I’d have thought you were hoping they had died,” Salazar replied, frowning.

 Shaking his head, he said, “I have need of them at this moment, and so do you. Pragmatism must sometimes override philosophy, after all.”

 The jeep pulled up short of the shuttle, and Salazar stepped out, walking towards the wreckage. The pilot had obviously come close to pulling off a landing, the gear deployed and digging into the soil, the remnants of a parachute dragging across the dirt, twisted and battered. There was a gouge running all the way down the side of the hull, and the engine was a total wreck, a ruin of beaten and tangled metal.

 “Pavel?” Harper said, shaking her head. “What’s that contraption you came in?” She peered into the gloom, and added, “What the hell is going on?”

 “It’s a long story,” he replied, but before he could say anything further, she pulled a pistol from her holster, leveling it at the not-man, who raised his hands over his head.

 “I am here to help, as strange as it might sound. If Midshipman Foster will check, you will find that I am unarmed. Tell me, is your ship experiencing unexplained systems failures, ones that cannot be accounted for by anything other than sabotage?”

 Nodding, she replied, “Looks like I’ve found the answer I came down for.”

 “Indeed, but I venture not in the manner that you were expecting. Why do you think my ship has remained on the surface? We arrived in orbit four months ago, and began our survey, but were forced to land within a matter of days when our systems began to fail. Now our ship does not function.”

 “You fired on us,” Foster said.

 “My ship fired upon you, yes, but it was not my will that launched the missile. The ship did it, by itself. Or should I say that whoever is controlling it chose to fire it.” He smiled, and said, “You are welcome to examine it for yourself. I would be extremely grateful if you could find some sort of solution. I and my engineers have failed.” 

 “Is there anyone else on board?” Salazar asked.

 “Bradley, but she’s fine. Trying to get the communications system working to contact Alamo.” Shaking her head, she said, “One of the things we were coming down to report was that the external communications system had failed.”

 “It was not dissimilar for us,” the not-man said. “I presume your ship is incapable of landing on the surface of a planet?” 

 “No.”

 “Then your problem is even more acute than ours. I have one further piece of evidence that something very strange is happening on this planet.” Ignoring the pistol still pointed at his chest, he walked around to the rear of the jeep and opened the hatch to a compartment, reaching in and dragging out what appeared to be a corpse.

 Bradley stepped out, her hands covered in grease, looking at the scene, “You’ve got some interesting friends, Pavel.”

 “One of the Territorial Guard,” the not-man said. “We captured him for interrogation two months ago, but he died before we could question him.” Glancing up, he said, “We did nothing to him, other than the normal restraints. Perhaps died is the wrong term. Ceased to function might be better. Which of you is the best engineer?”

 Harper stepped forward, looking at the corpse, and asked, “Why doesn’t it smell?”

 “Take a look for yourself, and see.”

 She knelt down, pulling off the cover, and looked at the body. Salazar peered over her shoulder, and could see a scar running down the side of the man’s face, all the way from his ear to his neck. He reached down to touch it, and recoiled as the skin peeled back, exposing a metal skull underneath.

 “What the hell?” he yelled.

 “My thoughts exactly,” the not-man said.

 Peering closer, Harper said, “I’d like to get one of our toolkits and do a proper examination, but this is definitely some sort of, well, android. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 “Our robots do not look like human beings,” the not-man said. “We have never developed any technology of that time. From what I know of your people, neither have you.”

 Shaking her head, Harper replied, “As far as I’m aware, nothing like this was ever built. We’ve got robots, of course, but not autonomous, and all single-function.” She looked closer, and said, “I’m not sure, but this looks like a communications relay, and a powerful one at that.”

 “After we learned of this, we captured a second android and conducted a full dissection. There is no brain, not that we can find. Our theory is that there is some sort of master control computer, somewhere down in the crater.”

 “You’re saying that all of the Territorial Guard…”

 “We’ve taken three, all the same,” the not-man said. “Whether that is a conclusive sample or not, I do not know, but I believe it significant.”

 “To say the least,” Harper said. “Now we know what is causing the systems failures.”

 “The only question remains what we do about it,” Salazar said.

 “We have to inform the Captain of our discovery,” Foster said. 

 “We don’t even know where he is.”

 Looking at the body again, Bradley said, “What about my husband? The last we heard, he was leading an attack against the Neander.”

 “I can take you to him,” the not-man said.

 Rising to his feet, Salazar said, “Can you sneak us back into town without being detected?”

 “Probably.”

 “Then Harper, Foster and I are going back. That computer must be there somewhere, and we’ve got to find it, and work out some way of disabling it.”

 Nodding, Bradley said, “I’ll find Gabe, and start rustling up some cavalry to ride to the rescue. We’ve got twenty-five Espatiers on this planet, and that ought to be enough to do the job.”

 Looking at Salazar, Foster said, “And Captain Marshall?”

 Sweeping his hand across the plateau, Salazar replied, “Is out there, somewhere. Once we get into town, you need to try and find him, while Harper and I start digging.”

 “Great,” the hacker said, rubbing her hands together. “A new computer to play with.”

 “To destroy,” Salazar said, glancing up at the sky. Alamo was just visible, a pair of sparkling lights that seemed almost motionless up in orbit. “While we still have time.”

Chapter 12

 The engineering display was a mass of amber and red, lights flashing on and off, auxiliary systems snapping into life as the primary functions started to fail. Quinn looked up from his console, shaking his head, while Orlova frowned.

 “It’s getting worse, not better,” he said. “I still can’t get communications back on-line, and Hooke’s not had any luck attacking this from a software point of view.”

 “We’ve still got sensors,” Spinelli said. “There’s some activity around the crashed shuttle. Looks like some sort of a rescue party went up from the crater. And we picked up plasma fire from the town.”

 Grant looked across at the tactical station, and said, “We have missiles and targeting computers. Why don’t you let me put on a little display, try to impress them. Or send down some reinforcements.”

 “You want to lose another shuttle?” Nelyubov asked. “And what is the purpose of that little display of yours? Are we trying to conquer this planet now?”

 “They’re attacking us,” Grant yelled. “Either half the ship is working against us, or this isn’t any damn saboteur. That not-man ship. We could strike that. Six missiles…” 

 “Would be no more likely to reach their destination than the shuttle did.”

 “Not if we used dead-man. Get them onto the trajectory on the first try, and disable all of their systems ourselves. It can work, Lieutenant, and it’s about damn time that we took some action. Before every system on this ship fails.”

 “Grant,” Orlova replied. “You are perfectly right. We must conclude that there is some sort of hostile force on the surface, though I am less than convinced that it is the not-men. Maybe some other buried installation, something hidden away. Frank’s right in that a missile strike would be futile. Even if we could get a salvo off, they’d be taken out of our control before we could get them onto trajectory. I wouldn’t want to risk another shuttle for the same reason.”

 “Then are we just going to sit here and do nothing?” Grant asked. “While a full-scale battle takes place on the surface, and our people are at risk?”

 “What can we do?” Nelyubov said. “Other than what we are doing right now? Continue to try and solve the problems, tidy up the malfunctions, and work on some way of protecting our systems from the attack.”

 Shaking his head, Grant replied, “Simply going on the defensive hasn’t worked. We’re going to have to go onto the offensive, try and regain the initiative. I still think a point-strike might be effective. We could fit one of the shuttles with ordinance, or perhaps a parachute drop.”

 “We have one shuttle left capable of making a landing,” Nelyubov pointed out. “I’d be extremely wary of throwing it away for nothing. Assuming that the shuttle wasn’t redirected to an area with an atmosphere too thin for that trick to work.”

 Orlova walked across the bridge to the command chair, and asked Quinn, “In your judgment, Jack, what are the prospects of our correcting the systems failures?”

 “There are only so many workarounds we can manage. Sooner or later they’re going to catch us up. Grant’s right about one thing. We’re not going to win a defensive war. Right now we are losing decisively.”

 Nodding, she said, “I agree.”

 “Then you will approve an attack,” Grant said. “I’ll start to work out a trajectory plot.”

 “No,” she replied. “That isn’t going to work, and we both know it. My instincts are just like yours, to launch some sort of attack, to take some steps, but I can’t think of anything that is feasible. We don’t have enough information about the tactical situation on the surface. Not without communications from the ground.”

 “Then what do we do, Maggie?” Nelyubov asked.

 Looking down at the deck, she said, “In my judgment, we have no choice now but to consider the safety of the ship over that of the people on the surface.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “We’re leaving. Frank, have all decks prepare for hendecaspace, and I want Lieutenant Race to calculate a course for home. Grant, take the helm, and plot a course to the egress point at maximum speed.”

 “You can’t!” Grant said. “We’ve got almost forty people down there.”

 “And we have more than a hundred people left up here, as well as information that we need to bring home. Those people down there are my shipmates. Don’t think that I am making this decision lightly.” She shook her head, and said, “We’ve got to get out of the system while we still can. Don’t worry, Lieutenant, we’re coming back.”

 Turning to face her, Nelyubov said, “All decks report cleared for space, ma’am.”

 Grant looked at her, as though trying to change her mind with a stare, before turning back to sit at the helm. His hands paused over the controls for a second.

 “Lieutenant?”

 “Aye, ma’am,” he said. “Course is computed to the egress point. We will be leaving the system in thirty-one minutes.”

 Taking one last look at the planet, she said, “Then by all means, Lieutenant.”

 With a curt nod, he tapped the control, and Alamo’s engines began to roar as the ship pivoted on its axis, turning to the correct position. The viewscreen switched to an orbital plot, the apoapsis rising while the periapsis fell, the ship gaining speed and rising on course. Then she felt a lurch, the ship changing direction, starting to spin.

 “Wait one,” Grant said, frantically working his console. The engines died, and Alamo began to coast again. “The helm is not answering control. Manual override does not respond.”

 Orlova leapt forward, leaning over Grant and working the station herself, with the same result. “Jack, I thought we still had flight control.”

 “So did I. My board is green.” He shook his head, tapped a control, and said, “Auxiliary Control. Initiate course change. Break us out of orbit.”

 There was a brief pause, and the duty technician replied, “Negative on engine burn, sir. I have no helm control.”

 “Thrusters firing,” Grant said. “I’m not doing anything. Looks like we’re stabilizing, correcting the spin.” He tapped the controls again, and added, “Still not accepting my input, and the manual override is still not responding.”

 “The computer’s locked us out completely,” Quinn said. “We can’t correct our course.”

 “It gets worse,” Grant added. “Look at our orbit.” He gestured at the screen, where the lowest point of the ellipse that marked Alamo’s path flashed red. “That takes us into the upper atmosphere. Enough that we’ll start seeing a serious drag effect.”

 “How long?” Orlova asked with a sigh.

 “Best guess is that we burn up in four hours. I’ll start working it out to the second if you want.” Turning to Quinn, he said, “We’ve got to try a manual burn. Without computer control. Even a few seconds of thrust would throw us clear and buy us some time.”

 “Can’t be done,” Quinn said. “There are thousands of millisecond-to-millisecond adjustments needed to fire the main engine. No way to correct all of them manually, humans just can’t react quickly enough.”

 “Is it worth a try?” Orlova asked.

 “If we did, at best we’d wreck the engine permanently. At worst we’d lose the ship.”

 “We’re going to lose the ship anyway,” Grant said. “What about the thrusters, then? We’d have to damn near empty the tanks to do it, but we could fire those on manual. They’re basically just gas jets.”

 Hurriedly, he started to enter in commands, isolating the thruster controls from the core system. With a triumphant smile, he turned and nodded.

 “We have thruster control.”

 “Try it,” Orlova urged Grant. “One brief pulse to test it first.”

 Quinn frowned, and said, “We won’t be able to refill the tanks without computer control. Once the tanks are empty, that’s it.”

 “Will it be enough?”

 “Toss a coin. I'd rather trust that than the navigation computer.”

 “Here we go,” Grant said. “Quarter-second burst, at minimum power.” He tapped a control, and the stars slowly began to rotate. “It worked!”

 “Let ‘er rip, Lieutenant,” Orlova said, leaning back on her chair.

 Grant threw a pair of levers, then jammed his hand down on the thruster controls, tapping four buttons at once. There was a faint surge, the ship sluggishly responding to commands, the systems reluctantly engaging to provide Alamo with the speed to fly clear of the atmosphere. Escape from the system was impossible at this point, all that mattered was preventing the fiery death that awaited the battlecruiser and her crew if the plan failed.

 The orbital plot remained on the viewscreen, the focus of attention for everyone on the bridge as the crucial numbers began to rise, albeit all too slowly. The thrusters were only meant for maneuvering, just for attitude control or pinpoint course adjustments. No-one had ever intended to use them to actually fly the ship.

 Focusing on his controls, Grant carefully balanced the thrusters, keeping the thrust as even as he could, using every pound of thrust as efficiently as he could. The lowest part of the orbit was slowly starting to climb, but remained resolutely in the red, Alamo still dipping down into the atmosphere. The apogee was rising as well, but that didn’t matter. Escape velocity was out of the question. Orbital velocity would do.

 “Come on,” Nelyubov said. “Keep firing.”

 “Not far to go,” Grant muttered. “Losing Thruster Four.”

 “Can you redistribute the fuel?” Orlova asked Quinn, already knowing the answer.

 Shaking his head, he said, “Not without computer control.”

 The ship was rising more slowly now, more of the fuel wasted in keeping the ship on a steady course, compensating for the loss of the thruster. Still it climbed, higher and higher, not a sound audible on the bridge as the crew willed their ship up, out of the atmosphere, into the safety of the cold space where it belonged.

 “That’s it,” Grant said. “Two and Five are out. I can’t give her any forward momentum.”

 “Disabling thrusters,” Quinn added. “We don’t want anyone undoing our work.”

 “The final score?” Orlova asked.

 “Not enough,” Nelyubov said. “Better, though, we’ve bought some time. We’ll burn up in about thirty-nine hours from now.” 

 “That doesn’t give us much time to come up with something,” Orlova said. “Any ideas?”

 “Could we try for an atmospheric skip?” Grant asked. “Adjust our trajectory so that we’d bounce back out into space again?”

 “Maybe,” Quinn said, “but I’m not sure that we could manage it manually. Even if we had the thruster fuel left, and we don’t.” He shook his head, and said, “We forget just how much of our job the ship’s systems do for us. If a couple of things break down, we can work around them, but I don’t think that we can trust any systems at the moment.”

 “Controlled release of atmosphere, using the airlocks? Or shaped charges, if needed?” Grant suggested. “If we timed it right…”

 “Without the computer?” Nelyubov asked. “Let’s face it. The ship has been hopelessly compromised. As things stand, I don’t think there is anything we can do to fix it. Not without knowing what is attacking us. Even if we could, there’s no reason to think that we wouldn’t immediately be infected again.”

 “How about that, Jack?” Orlova asked. “Is there any way to totally protect the ship’s systems from exterior feeds?”

 He frowned, then said, “You’re looking at a hell of a job. We already take firewalls pretty seriously, but you’re talking about isolating the key command systems from the rest of the ship, actually break the relays and links to outside.”

 “Can it be done?”

 “With everyone on the ship working around the clock, I think we might do it in twenty-four hours. Maybe. Navigation would be a nightmare, but we’d at least be able to break orbit, buy ourselves some more time.”

 “Then let’s get started,” Grant said. 

 “Wait a minute,” Quinn replied. “It isn’t as simple as that. The system is infected right now, and we’ve got no way of purging it.”

 “Yes, we do. And the other systems as well, maybe long enough to get us out of the system. The original control software is still in storage, all buried deep with the daily updates.”

 “Sure.”

 “And that system is totally safe.”

 “Sealed in a Faraday cage, and one of the technicians swaps out the storage database manually every day. A bit primitive, but we’ve never thought of anything better.” He paused, then said, “Maggie, you don’t know what you are asking.”

 “Nor do I,” Nelyubov said.

 “Purge the system. Delete everything, from every system on the ship…,” she began.

 “And all the autonomous computers as well. Every datapad. Everything that can transmit,” Quinn interrupted.

 “Then re-start from the original, unaltered code, from our last refit. That’s recent enough that we won’t have any compatibility problems. If we do that, and isolate everything, we get a clean system and can execute an escape burn.”

 “We’re going to be extremely tight on time, I’ll warn you now,” Quinn said.

 “Why?” Grant asked. “Yeager Station was back online within five minutes.”

 “Alamo’s mainframe is far more complicated, and twenty-five years older. Not to mention that we’ve never done this before, not even during refits. Uploaded patches, taken some systems off-line, but you’re talking about…,” he shook his head, then continued, “I’m not sure we can do it. Even if we can, my guess is forty hours total.”

 “That’s an hour too long, Jack.”

 “We'll find a way to shorten it, somehow.” He looked at Orlova, and asked, “Are you sure about this?”

 “If anyone on the bridge can think of anything else, any other option, now is the time.”

 “I don’t see any other way,” Nelyubov said.

 “Me either,” Grant added.

 Looking around, as though looking for a straw to clutch, Quinn said, “I guess I don’t, either. We’d better get started right away. I’ll need all hands on duty for this one, including the bridge crew.”

 “Not a problem,” Orlova said. “None of these controls work anyway. We’ll have the middies on watch just in case something happens, with standing orders to blast us out of orbit if they get a chance.”

 “I hope they do,” Quinn said. “I really hope they do.”

Chapter 13

 “What the hell is that?” Vaughan yelled, looking up at the sky. A bright beam of light had briefly erupted from Alamo, and the once-stationary ship was on the move, slowly beginning to drift across the sky as if it were a ship that had lost its anchor. “They’re moving out!”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “Probably just changing orbit. They only burned the main engine for a minute. Maybe they’re investigating something on the far side of the planet.” He pulled out his communicator, glancing at it again, but there was no sign that it was picking up any signal strength. “I wouldn’t worry.”

 “That’s our ride home,” Martinez said.

 “And it will take us home when the time comes. We’ve got bigger problems right now.” He glanced at his watch, and said, “Dawn in less than an hour, and by then the first of the Neander should be waking up. I want all weapons charged and ready.”

 “You’re authorizing deadly force now?” Max asked.

 “No, Corporal, I’m not. Nevertheless we are outnumbered something like twenty to one, and we might have to demonstrate our firepower.”

 Looking down the pass, Blaine said, “They’ll be coming up for us before long. By now a company of the Territorial Guard will be massed at the outpost, getting ready to come after us.”

 “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Cooper said, “but I’m not much more scared of those single-action rifles of yours than I am of the stone axes the Neander are using. One shot from a plasma carbine will win any battle. I just don’t want to use them unless absolutely necessary.” He glanced at the power readout, frowning. The new weapons were a lot lighter than the older, bulky models, but they had a far reduced ammunition capacity. Forty shots was all they could manage.

 “Lieutenant,” Max said to Blaine, “I think it’s a little late to worry about the Territorial Guard. We’re both guilty of mutiny, and they’ll shoot us if they catch us.”

 “No court martial?” Cooper asked.

 “From the Territorial Guard? A quick firing squad is the nearest thing we’ll get to due process. I suppose we could try and surrender to one of the other outposts, but in the long-run, I doubt we’d be any better off.” Blaine shook his head, and said, “Can you get in touch with your people up in orbit?”

 “We still haven’t re-established communications.”

 “And for all you know they are pulling out.”

 “Relax, Lieutenant,” Vaughan said. “You’ll live longer.”

 Cooper looked over the mounds of unconscious Neander, a low rumble coming from them, near-synchronized snoring. The gas they had deployed would have no lasting effect, other than giving them a good night’s sleep, the tranq darts using the same basic chemical mix. He looked over them, trying to identify the leaders, to remember the ones who had attempted to rally their comrades during the battle.

 “Something happening at the bottom of the pass,” Martinez said.

 “I told you,” Blaine said.

 Walking over to his sentry, he looked down the hill, where a collection of Neander were busily assembling a barricade, others digging foxholes and trenches, as though they were preparing for a siege.

 “I don’t think you need to worry, Blaine,” Cooper said. “Looks like they’re more interested with keeping us out than launching an attack. Most of the workers aren’t wearing uniforms, though.”

 “Labor levy from the farms,” Max said. “They’ll have sent their people around to gather every able-bodied Neander for ten miles.”

 “They can do that?” Vaughan asked.

 “Of course,” the Neander replied. “Repayment for the benefits of culture and technology that they have been provided.” Cooper couldn’t be sure, but he thought for a second there was a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “You’re right, though. Maybe they’re worried that we’ve joined forces with the Neander.”

 “Have we?” asked Martinez. “I mean, isn’t that what we’re doing?”

 “Belay that, Private. Whatever you think of the Thulian government,” Cooper said, “and believe me, I think a lot, our job is to mediate a peace, not to pick sides. There may be things we don’t know.”

 “I know chattel labor when I see it, sir.”

 Cooper had no response to that. At heart, he agreed with his trooper. Everything about this situation was abhorrent to him, and he’d felt a sense of relief when he had broken with the government forces last night, even if it did leave he and his men in a precarious position.

 “Once they wake up, what do you want to do, sir?” Vaughan asked.

 “Negotiate with them, Corporal.”

 “No, sir, I mean tactically. I was going to suggest that I double over to the nearest pass and find out what is happening there. Corporal Hunt’s fire team is only six miles away. I can be there and back in three hours.”

 “Or be shot in an hour and a half. I’m not sending anyone out by themselves, Corporal, not until we know more precisely what the situation is.”

 “Sir,” Martinez said. “I think one of them is waking up.”

 Nodding, Cooper hefted his weapon in his hands, gesturing for the others to keep him covered, and stepped forward to the groaning Neander, one that he had identified as a leader. He’d been one of the last to fall, and had gone down urging his men to return to the fight.

 “Wake up,” Cooper said.

 Looking up through half-open eyes, the Neander replied, “I am dead, and heaven speaks the language of my enemies.”

 “I don’t speak your language, I’m afraid. And we were using weapons designed to knock you out, not to kill.”

 “The better to serve in your slave labor camps. I will die first, thank you.”

 Max shook his head, and said, “You see?”

 “The Triplanetary Confederation has no such camps. You are a prisoner, and only temporarily at that. We’re here to help.”

 Glancing around at the battlefield, the Neander replied, “You have a strange way of showing it. What did you say you were?”

 “I am Ensign Gabriel Cooper, commanding the Espatier Platoon of the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo.”

 “Impressive. What does it mean?”

 “We’re not from this world, but are….”

 “Another starship, probably the enemies of the aliens who landed here four moons ago,” he replied nodding. “Suddenly I understand. We aren’t allying with them, either.”

 “You aren’t?” Blaine asked. “Our information…”

 Pushing himself to his feet, the Neander said, “Three of the tribes elected to place their destiny in their hands, ours did not. I am Wolpis, War-Leader of the Grey Ridge Tribe.”

 “Then…”

 “We attacked out of desperation. There is no more food, our crops have failed for the last time.” He looked at Blaine, and said, “You should know that. It was your agents that did it, spreading their foul death on our soil. Not that it has not been coming for years. Every year the harvest gets smaller and smaller, but this time it was gone. Our food reserves are exhausted. Seizing food and farmland was the last hope we had left.”

 “You could have asked for help.”

 “We did,” he replied. “Your Secretary Mason made it quite clear that we would only be permitted to send our children down to your paradise, to be taught that their ancestors were evil beings, and that they should be grateful for the scraps they were given. We would sooner die than do that.”

 “Or kill,” Max interrupted.

 “No-one needs to die,” Cooper said. “How many in your tribe?”

 “A dozen-hundreds. Fewer than once they were. Likely they have scattered to the four winds. I fear that many of them will never return.”

 “Alamo could provide emergency rations for that many,” Vaughan said. “Once we get into contact with them, it would only take a half-dozen shuttle loads to bring it down.”

 “Is this another trick?” Wolpis asked, as another Neander began to rouse himself. “What share of our souls would you ask for this boon?”

 “We’d probably expect that you would stop trying to kill us,” Cooper said, sotto voce, “but aside from that all we would ask is that you consider a peaceful settlement with the humans of the crater.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “It is a trick. It must be.”

 The other figure looked up, and asked, “Wolpis? What is happening?”

 “This is Kladjos, Lore-Keeper of our tribe,” Wolpis said to Cooper. “And I do not know what is happening. Speak American for the sake of our friends.”

 “They attacked us,” Kladjos said.

 “Strange,” Max said. “I could say exactly the same.”

 “Only before you could attack us,” Cooper replied. Lowering his weapon, he said, “My commander wishes to see peace on this planet, and an end to the servitude of your people. It’s as simple as that.”

 “Why?” Wolpis asked. “I do not understand.”

 With a thin smile, Cooper said, “Thirty years ago, our people were in a not dissimilar condition to yours, laboring for overlords and tyrants. After a long struggle, we overthrew them and freed ourselves. How could we refuse to help those suffering under the same burden.”

 “The answer to a prayer,” Kladjos said. “If it is true.”

 “That is the greatest question,” Wolpis replied. “Provide me with this food, allow me to distribute it to our people, and I will agree to your terms.”

 “Once we get back in contact with Alamo, I will,” Cooper said,

 Shaking his head, Kladjos said, “That does not solve the problem, only postpone it. Our children’s cries of hunger might be stilled for a few days, a few weeks, but there is not enough food on this planet, and too many people. Our home is rejecting us.”

 “How much do you know of your past?” Cooper asked.

 “That our world was settled, long ago, from a far star called Earth, and that it was given to us to protect and treasure for all time,” Kladjos said. “We have failed it.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “You never had a chance, not without a technological civilization. This world was altered, terraformed, as we call it, but the process was never completed.”

 “Could it be? Have you that ability?”

 “It is not impossible,” Cooper replied. “There are many worlds where you might live, though, others where you can breathe the air and drink the water, or more advanced worlds, huge domes.”

 “Move our whole tribe, our whole culture, to another world?” Wolpis said.

 Frowning, Kladjos said, “I do not like the idea. I might consider it if we would remain as one tribe, one people, though my preference would be to stay here.”

 All around, the Neander were beginning to wake up, grunts and groans as they slowly scrambled to their feet. Kladjos walked around, looking at each of them, while Wolpis remained standing opposite Cooper.

 “Can we come to terms?” Cooper asked. “At least for the present.”

 “Ask your friends down below.”

 Glancing down the hill, he replied, “I’m afraid I’m not on speaking terms with them at the moment.”

 “To put it mildly,” Blaine said.

 “They wanted you massacred,” Vaughan said, bluntly. “We certainly weren’t going to do it, and we weren’t going to sit back and watch it happen to you, either.”

 “We only took you on to prevent you attacking innocent people down in the crater,” Cooper added.

 “Innocent?”

 “Of course they are,” Cooper said. “Most of the people down there want nothing more than to watch their children grow up, eat well and have a roof over their heads. Just like your people.”

 “He’s right,” Kladjos said. “I’d have that Mason impaled, and Hammond as well, but I won’t blame the people for the actions of their tyrants.”

 “How are our people?”

 “Nothing serious. A few broken bones, grazes.”

 “Martinez,” Cooper ordered, “break out the medikit and see to them. Show Kladjos what you are doing.”

 Frowning, Wolpis said, “Very well, you shall have your truce. At least for the present. I will be happier when my people are fed.” He glanced around, and started barking orders. Four of his people nodded, and started to walk off in different directions. “I am sending scouts to find the rest of the tribe and bring them back here.”

 “Good. Now, I’d like to know more about the situation down here, about the rest of the tribes.”

 “Sir!” Max yelled. “Dust, from the west. Looks like a jeep.”

 “From the west?” Cooper asked. “One of the other forts must have sent someone. I guess Corporal Hunt decided not to wait.”

 Peering through binoculars, Vaughan shook his head, and said, “You aren’t going to believe this, sir.”

 “Try me.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Bradley in the passenger seat…”

 “Barbara?”

 Wolpis frowned, then nodded, and said, “Your mate.”

 “And a not-man in the driving seat.”

 “Tactical deployment!” Cooper yelled. “Wolpis, get your people into cover. Vaughan, you and Watkins on point, tell me when you get good shots lined up on the not-men. Do not fire unless I tell you. Martinez, stay with the wounded.”

 “I take it these are not your friends either,” Wolpis replied, as he urged his people back, finding whatever cover they could.

 “You might say that.”

 The jeep bounced forward as the Espatiers took their positions, lined up to protect the Neander. Vaughan tossed his binoculars to Cooper, who peered through them at the incoming vehicle. His wife didn’t seem to be under any duress, no sign of any weapons, no sign of any hostility at all.

 “Hold fire for the present,” he said. “There’s something very strange about all of this.”

 With a squeal, the jeep stopped, and Bradley jumped out of it, leaving the not-man behind. Cooper cautiously rose to his feet, keeping his weapon pointed at the jeep.

 “Stand down, Gabe,” she said. “He’s on our side, at least for the moment. Their ship is wrecked as well.”

 His eyes widening, Cooper said, “What do you mean? Is something wrong with Alamo?”

 “You don’t know?” she shook her head, and swore, “Damn it. Communications are still out. Alamo’s been having escalating systems problems. We think she tried to break out of orbit and failed. I came down a few hours ago…”

 “I heard the shuttle.”

 “And linked up with Salazar. Gabe, those Territorial Guards, they aren’t human.”

 “What?” Wolpis asked.

 “It is true,” the not-man said. “They are some sort of sophisticated android, controlled by a master computer, located somewhere in the crater. Your Sub-Lieutenant Salazar has gone to try and located it, and ordered us to find you.”

 “Barbara, is there any chance this could be some sort of trick?”

 “Harper examined the damn thing herself. It’s genuine.”

 “What does he want me to do?”

 “Mobilize the platoon and get ready for an assault.”

 Wolpis leaned back, a loud guffaw erupting from his mouth, and said, “So our attack is merely postponed, after all!”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “What about the Captain?”

 “Missing. I guess you’ve got command authority while we’re on the ground.”

 Taking a deep breath, he turned to the not-man, and said, “How much fuel have you got in that thing?”

 “Enough.”

 “Then you and Corporal Vaughan are to go to each of the passes and find a way to get the platoon back together. You’ll need to be careful. I’ll set up an operations base right here and try and put some sort of a strike team together.” 

 “We’re going down there?” Blaine asked. “They’re my people.”

 “If you can persuade them to stand aside and let us go to the capital, I’ll be happy enough with that outcome,” Cooper said. “Otherwise, we’re going to war.”

 He turned back to the pass, looking at the defenses being put into position again. The diplomacy was over. The battle would soon begin.

Chapter 14

 “I don’t like this,” Marshall said, looking out of the window at the farmland outside, where a pair of Neander were struggling with a recalcitrant mule. “It’s too exposed, too isolated. We’d be caught in a second if anyone came.”

 “It’s been six hours, Danny,” Caine replied. “If they were coming, they’d be here by now.” She gestured at a plate of congealing food, “Have some breakfast.”

 He looked down at the pair of fried eggs, grabbed a fork, and said, “You’d think I’d be happy to eat some fresh food for once. I can’t stop thinking about…”

 “The ship, the shuttle, the troopers, the crew,” Caine said. “None of which you can do anything about right now. All we can do is wait for Richardson to get back.”

 Stuffing a forkful of egg into his mouth, he said, “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. What do you think of this place?”

 “You can fit everything I know about farming onto a very small piece of paper, but I get the impression that it has seen better days. They aren’t working all the fields, and if we’re coming up to harvest time, I don’t think much of the yield. I’d like to see some figures on food storage, but I doubt they are good news.”

 The door opened, and Richardson walked in, saying, “You are very perceptive. The Governor just announced that the food ration is being cut again. Even then getting through winter is going to be a struggle. Can you help?”

 “Possibly,” Marshall said. “Once we get back in touch with the ship. What’s the problem?”

 “The soil’s exhausted,” she replied. “It was never very good, and we farmed it too intensively, too quickly. The aquifers are draining fast now, and we’ve got no way of replacing them.” She shook her head, and said, “This planet supported about five thousand Neander before we arrived, and now there are six, seven times that many people. It just doesn’t work, not long-term, and we haven’t done anything to fix it.”

 “I’m surprised you settled here at all,” Caine said. “I’d have been tempted to stay up in orbit, expand from your colony ship.”

 “It was in a very bad way when we arrived, but we might have been better off not becoming so reliant on the ecosystem. It seemed like such a miracle, though. A planet where the air was breathable, and where our crops would grow, and we could eat the native animals. I can understand it.”

 “You know what happens next.”

 “Reversion to barbarism as we start picking over the scraps of whatever is left, the collapse of what remains of our civilization, and we go back to only a few thousand people down here. With the difference that the upper plateau is no longer inhabitable, and that the ecosystem is totally exhausted.” Sighing, she added, “I’ll be surprised if there is any intelligent life on this planet in a century. I’m not sure there is any now.”

 “Have you any news of the rest of our people?” Caine asked.

 “I sent a team to take a look at the shuttle, but they couldn’t get up the plateau. They didn’t see any signs of life up there, I’m afraid. Ensign Cooper is holed up at the top of a pass, looking down on the Territorial Guard.” With a smile, she continued, “He’s attracting a lot of attention. Something like half their strength is up there waiting for him. With reports that he is building an army out of some of the Neander tribesmen to attack.”

 “What?” Marshall said. “He wouldn’t do anything like that.”

 “We’re in an information bubble down here,” Caine said. “If the situation was worse than we thought, he might.”

 “As for the rest of your troopers, they’re under effective house arrest, though no-one has dared to try and take them into custody yet. It amounts to a series of stand-offs in every military outpost. Heaven help us if any of them get attacked right now. I think my old grandmother could take us at this point.”

 Taking a drink from a cup of what was almost coffee, Marshall asked, “The Governor?”

 “No word. Just official proclamations. It might as well be Mason running the government right now. Captain, what are your intentions?”

 “Get in touch with my ship, contact Ensign Cooper, try to find a way out of this mess.”

 “That might not be so easy,” Caine said. “We still haven’t managed to establish contact with Alamo, and I took a good look at my communicator last night. The problem’s at the other end. I think we’re going to have to deal with this one with what we have on the surface.”

 Dropping into a seat, Richardson said, “I’ve got about a couple of dozen people I can count on if it comes to a fight. Most of our supporters are passive, not active.”

 “You seem quite eager for battle,” Caine replied.

 “Ready, not eager,” she said. Glancing out of the window, she continued, “It’s been apparent for some time that it was likely to come to this in the end.”

 While Marshall took another mouthful of egg, Caine asked, “Have you any concrete plans for an uprising?”

 “Nothing worth the paper it is written on,” she replied. “Scarce of that nowadays as well. The few trees we have left will likely go when winter comes. I think the Governor was underplaying our problems to try and gain some leverage.” With a hacking laugh, she added, “All we have to offer is a used-up beer can.”

 “That doesn’t mean we won’t help you,” Marshall said. “Though I don’t think the time has come for an uprising. What the hell does Cooper think he is doing?”

 “We’ve got a man with him, but I haven’t heard from him since last night. We don’t have any way of getting in touch with him directly, not at present.” Looking at Marshall in the eyes, she asked, “What do you want of us, Captain? Be honest.”

 Taking a deep breath, he said, “What I want is to bring this planet into the Triplanetary Confederation as a protectorate. To rewrite your legal code to end this two-tier system, to disband the Territorial Guard, to get a few freighters of relief supplies in, and more to put a station up in orbit. Then we can help you, all of you, to work out the long-term future of your planet and your people, with the luxury of time.”

 “Short and to the point,” Richardson said. “I can tell you aren’t much of a politician. For what it’s worth, you have my support. Even if we get through this winter, and fight off the Neander attacks, the situation’s only going to deteriorate from here. I’ll help you.”

 Gurung came running into the room, and said, “Sir, there’s a convoy of jeeps heading this way. Army by the markings, not the Guard, and one of them is flying a flag with a star on it.”

 “General Daniels himself,” Richardson said. “No, I wasn’t expecting it, and no, I don’t know what they want.”

 “Get your men out of sight, Sergeant,” Marshall ordered. “If it comes to that, I’d rather hit them from ambush. I’ll meet them.”

 “We’ll meet them,” Caine said.

 Looking at Richardson, he added, “You’d better stay out of sight, at least for now.”

 “Whatever you say,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re calling the shots.”

 “You don’t seem much like a would-be planetary ruler,” Caine said.

 “I’m an engineer, who would far rather be taking a look around that ship of yours than sitting down here in the mud. If you start accepting immigrants, I’ll be the first one on the transport out of here.”

 “Something to remember,” Marshall said, as he walked out of the front door, rubbing his greasy hands down the side of his trousers, Caine by his side. Daniels was opting for maximum effect, five jeeps driving in line-abreast formation towards the farm, his in the middle, men standing ready at their machine guns while others watched the horizon, waiting for an attack. He noted that more than half of the soldiers were Neander, one of the drivers giving the field workers a knowing look.

 “Captain Marshall, I presume?” Daniels said, his jeep grinding to a halt. “Damn it, I’ve always wanted to say that.”

 “What are your intentions, General?” he replied.

 “That rather depends on you. Theoretically, I have orders to place you and your men under arrest on a rather amusing variety of specious charges. I’m under no illusions what will happen if I make the attempt, and I don’t intend to throw the lives of my men away for a politician’s whim.” He gestured to the barn, and said, “Two men in there, one on the roof of the farm, all of them keeping me well and truly covered.”

 “I left the details to Sergeant Gurung,” Marshall said.

 “Smart man. Captain, I’m a man with a problem. I need alternatives, and I don’t have any. One of your men is getting ready for a showdown with the Territorial Guard, the Governor has gone into hiding, and somehow a declaration of martial law has left the Army with little or no authority.”

 “You want me to give you that alternative?”

 With a shrug, Daniels said, “There are a lot of people down here that are waiting on what happens next. If it comes to an attack from the plateau, I know how to respond to that, but I’m on unfamiliar territory otherwise. It comes down to a simple question. Are you planning to overthrow the government and install a regime of your own?”

 “No,” Marshall said. “That is not and has never been my intention. I don’t like your government, and I’m tempted as hell to follow the course of action you just outlined, but ultimately this is your planet, and you’ve got to make of it what you choose.”

 “Not the worst answer,” he replied. “I’ll be honest, part of me hoped that you were going to tell me you would be taking over. I would have had an easier decision to make.”

 Stepping out of the farm, Richardson said, “Come on, Phil. We both know that Mason will never let any of this go through, and that he’ll try and use those jackbooted morons of his to stop us if we try. I doubt the Assembly will ever meet again.”

 “Where the hell did the Guard come from, anyway?” Caine asked.

 “About twenty years after we landed. It started as our reserves, but they quickly switched to dealing with the Neander down here in the crater, in our territory,” Daniels said. “They train them young, and I think they’re damn near brainwashed. Al Higgins’ kid joined them, and he was never the same after that.”

 “Hasn’t anyone ever complained, tried to stop them?” Marshall asked. “Did you all just sit around and let all of this happen?”

 “We’ve been fighting for survival,” Daniels said. “Whatever else you can say about them, they work their fields and provide a good surplus every year. I have about a hundred people under me, and they outnumber me two to one.”

 Richardson nodded, and said, “Don’t think we haven’t protested. I authored a bill to disband them seven years ago, but it got wiped out at the referendum. First time I realized they were probably rigging the votes.”

 “We don’t have proof of that,” Daniels said, frowning.

 “Come on,” she said. “Do you think it is a coincidence that Mason’s picked candidate wins every time? Damn it, Hammond was a museum curator two years ago, no interest in politics at all. I don’t buy it, and neither do you.”

 “So we overthrow the government, and put you in charge?”

 “No, we put you in charge, and hold free and fair elections in sixty days.” She looked at Marshall and added, “With a couple of them to make sure that everything goes according to the books.”

 “Sir,” the Neander driver said, “Our people are going to be the ones to suffer first. All the food goes into the city, but what comes out is never enough for the ration. I’ll tell you now that the men won’t raid farms for food.”

 “It’s all so damn pointless,” Daniels said. “Captain Marshall…”

 “I need one of your jeeps, a uniform, and an escort,” he said.

 Turning to look at him, Caine asked, “What crazy plan are you coming up with now?”

 “We know what’s going to happen next. You two are going to end up joining forces, and there will be a nice, bloody revolution. One in which hundreds of people will lose their lives. Likely the Neander tribes will get involved as well, and this civilization will collapse.” He pointed up at the sky, and said, “I can’t contact Alamo, so we’re not going to get any help from up there, not any time soon.”

 “What do you suggest, then?”

 “That there might be a peaceful way to end this. We don’t know where the Governor is, and he is the civil authority down here. If I could get to him, maybe I could convince him to issue an order to disband the Guard, or at least put it under military authority. Getting rid of Mason would be a start.”

 Shaking her head, Richardson said, “You’re dreaming, Captain. He’s Mason’s puppet.”

 “Granted that you are right, that doesn’t mean that the situation can’t be turned to our advantage.” He looked around at the soldiers, and said, “That has to be better than the alternative.”

 “You’d be walking right back into enemy territory,” Caine said.

 Nodding, he replied, “And let’s take the worst-case scenario. I get shot, killed. Then you continue with the plan as outlined. Right now, I’m expendable.”

 “I can sneak you into town,” Daniels said. “That part shouldn’t be difficult, but it’s a small community, Captain, and everyone knows everyone else. You won’t find it easy to move around.”

 With a smile, Richardson said, “I know a couple of safe houses. At least they’ll give you somewhere to hide. Though finding the Governor will probably be the easy part. I know where he is.”

 “The Museum of Earth.”

 “Where else?” the rebel leader asked. “Captain, if you are going to do this, you can’t do it now. Wait until dark, and we’ll sneak you in under cover of darkness. Today won’t be wasted.” She smiled, then said, “The four of us need to work out what the hell happens if we succeed. We’ve got a long afternoon to work out a Constitution for Utopia. I’d say we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Chapter 15

 Salazar struggled to hold onto the reins of his horse, almost bouncing clear of the saddle as they rode along an old dirt trail, New Jamestown still a few miles away, the tops of the buildings coming into view. Foster was handling hers with enviable skill, and Astris looked as though he had been born on horseback. Harper, he noted with a little relief, was struggling just as much as he was, with the air of one who was looking for the manual override.

 “Can’t we walk?” he asked.

 “What’s the problem, Sub-Lieutenant, can’t you handle it?” Foster said. “This is great! I might move here!”

 “I’m with Pavel,” Harper said. “How do you control this beast?”

 Craning his neck to look back at them, Astris said, “We’ve got to blend in with everyone else. Horses are the way everyone travels out on the farms. Besides, I picked you the gentlest mounts I could find.”

 “How are you doing this?” Harper asked Foster. “You can’t have ever ridden before.”

 “Lots of historical VR sims when I was a kid,” she replied. “I guess they were as accurate as the designers claimed.”

 “Remind me to recommend horsemanship to the Academy when I get back,” Salazar said, panting for breath. “How long?”

 “Not much further,” Astris replied. “Maybe thirty minutes.”

 “Thirty minutes?” Harper said. “I might not last thirty seconds!”

 The group continued to ride across the land, Astris demonstrating the control and skill that the others, even Foster with her exuberance, lacked. Over time, Salazar began to get the rhythm of the ride, but muscles he didn’t even know he had were beginning to ache. Glancing ahead, he saw a group of jeeps riding past, bouncing over the dunes, a mix of soldiers and guardsmen heading off into the desert.

 “Where are they going?”

 “Patton Outpost, I think,” Astris said. “Your friend is getting quite an army gathered there. Once I drop you off, I’m going out there to take a look at the fun.”

 “You aren’t staying with us?” Foster asked.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Too many people are too interested in talking to me, and I need to keep a low profile. At least until all of this is over.” He glanced to the side, at the jeeps, and added, “Show a little interest, but not too much. They look too busy to care about a few horsemen riding into town, but if you act suspicious, they might come looking.”

 They rode past the convoy, Astris even waving cheerfully at one of the drivers, who returned the gesture with a smile. The trail began to firm up as they raced past a farm, a patch of green struggling to rise from the palette of browns that made up the landscape. The flat, smooth trail became a rutted track as they progressed, the horses seeming to know where to put their feet far better than their hapless riders.

 Passing a pair of low, prefab buildings, identical aside from the varying levels of decay and the cracks in their walls, they sped into the outskirts of town, racing through an abandoned checkpoint to head down the main street. It was busy, lines of people outside the shops, mothers keeping their children close at hand as they went about their daily lives, eyes looking around as though trying to spot the bogeyman before he could leap out of the shadows. There was an air that something was about the happen, and everyone was preparing for the worst.

 A rhythmic thumping drew Salazar’s attention, and he turned to see a pair of men boarding up the windows of their house, thin strips of plastiboard being slammed into position with rough-hewn iron nails. He glanced at Astris, who guided his horse down a side alley, bringing it to a slow canter and motioning for the others to do the same.

 This time they did attract some attention, he was almost certain of that. A figure peering from behind a curtain, tugging it back into position when it saw that he had noticed her. If it had been someone from the government, likely they would already have been captured.

 “We’re here,” said Astris, and he dismounted, throwing the reins of his horse over a wooden post and tying it with a loose, easy knot. With difficulty, Salazar slid over and dropped down after him, grimacing in pain as his boots splashed in the mud. Harper almost toppled over, and he braced her with his arm just in time.

 “Thanks,” she said, looking down at the slimy, viscous mud.

 “Any time.”

 As Foster splashed down beside them, Astris quickly secured the horses, patting his mount on the flank before walking up to the door. He waited for a moment, then knocked three times, paused, then knocked again. A small hatch opened, then the door, whining on old hinges.

 An old woman, leaning on a stick, pushed open the door, and gestured for them to enter. Salazar stepped in first, looking around the room, old furniture lovingly cared for, a photo-montage of landscapes from Earth along one wall, a battered, broken digital picture frame resting on a hand-carved desk.

 “These are your friends, Astris?” she asked.

 “I know you’ll look after them, Mother,” he replied. “They need to stay out of sight until nightfall, and then they’ll be out of your way.”

 “All dressed the same,” she said. “You’re from that ship, aren’t you?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Pavel Salazar, Triplanetary Fleet,” he said. Gesturing to the others, he added, “Midshipman Valerie Foster, and Technical Officer Kristin Harper.”

 “Lieutenants, Officers,” she said, a smile on her face. “It’s been a long time since I have entertained such august company. Have a seat, and I’ll see about warming up some broth. It isn’t much.”

 Reaching into his pocket, Salazar said, “I won’t say no to a fresh-cooked meal, but at least let me give you one of our ration packs.” With a smile, he added, “I confess they are essentially tasteless, but they are nutritious, and they last just about forever.”

 Taking the foil package, she ran her hands over it, and said, “I might be able to do something with it. A few herbs and spices, you’d be surprised what can be done to even the worst food.” Reading the label, she said, “Banana beef?”

 “Here,” Harper said, tossing another to Astris. “You might want something to eat out on the road.”

 “Thanks,” he replied. Glancing around, he said, “Allow me to apologize again for earlier. I wish that it hadn’t been necessary.”

 Raising a hand, Salazar said, “You didn’t know whether or not you could trust us. I’m just grateful for the help you are giving us now.”

 “I still don't trust you,” Astris said. “I don't have much choice.”

 The old woman left the room, heading through a door, and within a moment they could hear the rattle of pots and pans as she began to prepare food. Astris lingered at the door for a moment, then nodded.

 “I’d better be off before the guard comes back on duty. With luck, we will meet again soon. I do not envy you your mission.”

 “I should be off as well,” Foster said.

 “Not in daylight,” Salazar replied. “Captain Marshall won’t be moving until it gets dark, and you can hook up with him then. He’ll be hidden somewhere by now, and if the local security forces can’t find him, what chance do you think you have?”

 Shaking her head, she said, “I just feel so damn useless, wasting the day. We might not have that much time left.”

 “There are some good people up on Alamo,” Harper said. “If there is any way to fix it up there, they’ll think of it. And if we get captured down here, that isn’t going to do anyone any good at all.”

 “She’s quite right, my dear,” the old woman said, bringing in a battered iron tureen, placing it gently on the table. “From the hull of the Mayflower II. We used for all sorts of things. Funny to think that it transported us across the stars, and now I’m using it to transport goat broth.”

 “You never told us your name,” Salazar said.

 “Ginger,” she said. “Ginger Schneider. My husband was a lieutenant, just like you.” She frowned, and added, “He looks a little like you, Pavel. Do you mind if I call you that?”

 “Not at all.”

 “I’d show you a picture, but the frame hasn’t worked in years. No-one here seems to know anything about it.” Looking at the steaming broth, she said, “I’ll go and get some bowls, some spoons. I think I’ve got some of yesterday’s loaf as well.”

 “We can’t eat you out of house and home,” Harper protested.

 “Not at all, my dear. I’m glad to have the company. It really isn’t any trouble.” She smiled, and said, “Security never seems to come here. Not down the alleys. Most of the people in town don’t care for me too much, but the feeling is mutual.” She stepped out of the room, and Harper reached over for the picture frame, tugging a toolkit out of her pocket.

 “Don’t break it,” Foster said. 

 “I think I can fix it. Probably just needs a new power cell.” She started tugging at the device, prising the case open and peering inside. “Give me a minute.”

 “This all seems too good to be true,” Foster said.

 “I’m too tired to care,” Salazar replied. “We’ve been on the move for thirty-six hours, and someone is offering me a comfortable chair and a hot meal.”

 “That doesn’t mean we should let down our guard.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “If the Territorial Guard wanted to grab us, they would have by now. Astris certainly had no reason to turn us in. We’re on his side.”

 “I just want a look at that computer,” Harper said. “Ah. Got it. I thought it just needed a tweak.” A green light popped on, and an image of a tall, olive-skinned man wearing a smartly-presented uniform appeared, a beaming smile on his face as he stared up at them.

 Ginger walked in, and stopped dead in the doorway as she saw the image on the frame. She carefully placed the bowls on the table, then stepped forward and gently took the picture from Harper’s hands, a tear forming in the corner of her eye.

 “Twenty years since I’ve seen his face,” she said. “Twenty years, and you fixed it in a matter of moments.”

 “It was no trouble at all,” Harper said. “Just a small adjustment.”

 “Just a small adjustment, and no-one here could do it. I bought that at the PX, six months before takeoff. For our wedding photos.” She shook her head, “I could never have dreamed that it would have gone so far.” Looking up, she continued, “He was just out of the Point, a specialist in rocket artillery. So young. He died nine months after we landed. Some disease, took out dozens before it burned itself out.”

 “I’m sorry,” Salazar said.

 “It was almost sixty years ago, young man,” she said. “You do look a little like him. You have his eyes. Maybe some common ancestor, or perhaps I’m just a foolish old woman.”

 “I was born on Callisto. My grandmother’s family was from Siberia, my grandfather’s from Mexico. I suppose it might be possible. There was a lot of migration during the war years, refugees fleeing everywhere, and the records are incomplete.”

 Nodding, she said, “So I shall never know. There was an uncle...but never mind.”

 “Did you have any children?” Harper asked.

 She smiled, and said, “About a dozen. You’ve met one of them.”

 “Who?”

 “Astris, of course.” Harper glanced at Salazar, and Ginger added, “There was a lot of fighting between the two groups in the early days, and a lot of the native children found themselves without parents. I took them in, tried to teach them the best of both worlds. I sang them songs of Earth, and what I could find of their own culture.” She sighed, and said, “Such a long time ago. You’ll have to ignore the ramblings of an old woman.”

 “The locals shun you for that?”

 “I committed a sin, you see. I tried to learn what I could of the people who were living here when we arrived, tried to record their customs, their traditions, their legends. I was a sociologist, though not a fully trained one. I still had years to go on my doctorate before we left. I dared to suggest that we should adopt some of the native ideas, on farming, land management, conservation.” Shaking her head, she said, “Fewer and fewer people listened, and eventually I realized that no-one cared.”

 “I’m sorry,” Foster said.

 “Tell me,” she asked. “What are you here to do?”

 Glancing at Harper, Salazar said, “Our mission is to infiltrate Territorial Guard headquarters. Somewhere under there, we hope, is a way to end all of this.”

 “Pavel into the lion’s den,” she replied.

 “I never thought it was going to be easy.”

 “Where were you born?” she asked, glancing at the pictures of Earth.

 “Callisto, though I grew up on Titan. Navy brat. The others grew up on Mars, I think.” He chuckled, then said, “Come to think of it, we’re all at least second-generation military.”

 “Seventh,” Foster said.

 “It becomes a tradition after a while. My Jerry was an army brat, hoping for a secondment to NASA. And you were born on the worlds he hoped to reach.” Glancing at the window, she said, “Space was beautiful. Dancing out among the stars, you could almost forget the horror we were escaping. A horror that we managed to bring with us, after all.”

 Resting his hand on hers, Salazar said, “If we get out of this, I think I can arrange for you to see it again, take a shuttle ride up to Alamo. It’s the least we can do.”

 A twinkle in her eye, she replied, “I might just take you up on that. Now, let me serve some of the broth before it gets cold.”

Chapter 16

 “And for the record,” Orlova concluded, speaking into the log recorder, “I am undertaking this action entirely on my own responsibility, and am fully aware of the risks that it entails. I recommend special commendations for Senior Lieutenant Quinn, Lieutenant Nelyubov, and Lieutenant Grant for their work during this crisis, as well as to the damage control teams for the expeditious manner in which they have disabled all ship’s systems.”

 She paused, looking around at the bridge crew, all busily shutting down their stations, working through a thousand different last-minute tasks, and added, “Also to all duty crews for their performance. According to our current calculations, if this attempt fails, this ship will re-enter the atmosphere in less than eighteen hours. If you recover this log, please get it and the data it contains to the nearest Triplanetary Fleet facility. This is Senior Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, Acting Captain of the Battlecruiser Alamo, signing off.”

 Looking over from the tactical station, Nelyubov said, “Ready to launch on your order. I’ve placed it on a sidereal orbit, well out of the ecliptic, on a trajectory that couldn’t be natural. The next person to come into the system will see it easily.”

 “Assuming they don’t fall into the same trap,” Grant said.

 “Let’s hope they are better prepared than we were,” Orlova replied. “Launch when ready, Frank.”

 A small point of light raced away from the ship, and she smiled. Whatever force was holding them in orbit, at least they hadn’t prevented them sending their last messages home. Besides her report, most of the data on the probe was the personal logs of the crew, and letters back to their families. Maybe some day they would be picked up, even if it was a hundred years from now, and someone would know what happened here.

 It was strange to look around at the status displays. Most of them weren’t even the warning red, but a cold black, the systems deactivating one after another. Everyone was wearing bulky jackets, designed for use on Ragnarok, all that Chief Kowalski could find in the fabricator inventory.

 She glanced down at her datapad, skimming over the list one last time. Emergency rations for an optimistic month, medical kits, chemical heaters, sleeping bags. As well as countless decks of cards, sets of chess and Go, even a guitar. As though they were packing for a long holiday, rather than to wait out a long, dark night.

 The elevator opened, and Quinn stepped out, looking around, saying, “Auxiliary Control is all closed out. As soon as you are finished up here, I’ll give the word to the communications crew and elevator control. That’s pretty much all we have left.”

 Turning off her datapad, Orlova asked, “You’ve checked all these?”

 “Now that you’ve turned that off. I have almost five thousand of the damn things in Storage One, and three technicians with sore fingers from turning them off. I never realized how ubiquitous they were.”

 “I’ve finished on the helm,” Grant said. “Not that anything is working, anyway.”

 Tapping a button, Weitzman said, “Alamo to any station, any station, come in, please. Alamo to any station, reply at once, reply at once.” Looking up, he said, “I thought it was worth a try.”

 “I agree,” Orlova said with a smile. “I don’t think we’re going to be permitted to make any calls today. You can shut it down now.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” he said, reaching under the console and throwing a stiff lever, his board fading to black. “That’s it for the communications suite.”

 “Last sensor report,” Spinelli began.

 “Damn, Spaceman, that seems rather final,” Nelyubov said.

 He glanced up, smiled, and said, “Still on course as before. Orbit decay predicted in eighteen hours, nine minutes. I have a positive track on the probe, which has reached escape velocity and is settling into its parking orbit around the sun. No sign of further activity on the surface, no attempts to take off by the shuttles.” He looked up at his console, and said, “I guess that’s just about everything. Monitoring systems off.”

 His panel went dead, the viewscreen and the engineering station the only signs of life left on the bridge.

 “Any of you that want a ride to Storage Six, you’d better get on your way now,” Quinn said. “There’s some hot food and drink down there, but I don’t know how long it will last.”

 “Are you sure you don’t need us up here, ma’am?” Spinelli asked, rising from his station. “I know I speak for all of us when I say that we’re all willing to stay and wait it out with you.”

 “There’s nothing left to do, Spaceman,” she replied, “but thank you. You get going.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” he said, stepping into the elevator. Weitzman and Erickson were already ahead of him, waiting. “I didn’t think it would end like this.”

 “Neither did I,” she replied to the closing doors. She turned to the engineering station, the others already clustered around it, Quinn tapping one control after another, shutting down the final selection of systems, lights winking off one after another.

 Over his head, the power distribution node grew simpler and simpler. Normally it was a complicated mess of tangled lines, connecting every system, every area of the ship to the main reactor, but a bare handful of links remained, and those constantly growing thinner.

 “Elevator control, this is Quinn,” the engineer said. “Kill the power.”

 “Aye, sir,” a voice replied. “We’re all shut down here. Heading for Storage Six.”

 “Thank you, Chief.” He looked up at Orlova, and said, “That just about does it. All except the big one.” He tapped the bright red light at the heart of the panel. “I already shut down the auxiliary reactor, and I’ve turned off all the safeties. We’re ready to go, but it’ll take the two of us to authorize it.”

 “We are sure that we can turn it back on, right?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Well,” Quinn said, a frown creeping over his face, “I don’t ever remember anyone deliberately doing what we’re setting out to do. We’re basically decommissioning the ship with the intention of recommissioning it again in the morning. On paper, getting the main reactor going from stand-down should take two, three days, but I think I can do it in eight hours.”

 “That’s too long,” Grant said, bluntly.

 “The auxiliary reactor will be up in half an hour, but don’t worry, Lieutenant, I already thought of that. We’re not planning on using the laser, so I filled up the capacitors as far as I could. We’ll have enough power for a one-minute full-power burn of the main engine, and to run the ship for four, maybe five hours if we’re careful.”

 Nodding, Grant said, “That should be more than enough to kick the old girl up to orbital velocity, maybe even all the way to escape velocity, if we’re careful. Especially with thruster controls.”

 Looking around, Quinn said, “If anyone has any other bright ideas, I’d like to hear them right now. Once we engage this sequence, there’s no going back. The computer will start to dump the main memory, and that’s irreversible.”

 Orlova looked around the room, and asked, “Anyone? Please?”

 “I think we’ve exhausted all of our options,” Grant said. “With no prospect of regaining computer control, the systems are useless to us anyway.”

 “I agree,” Nelyubov said.

 “Purely for the purposes of the record, I concur as well,” Quinn added.

 “So do I,” Orlova said. “Lieutenant Grant, as Officer of the Watch, you will at the next possible time enter this action in the log, and note that it was undertaken on my order with the consensus of the senior staff.”

 “Consensus and support,” Nelyubov said. “Put that in, as well.”

 “Right now I won’t be unhappy to live to face a board of inquiry, Frank,” Orlova said. “Thanks, though. I appreciate the support.” Walking to the engineering console, she placed a finger on the security scanner.

 “Damn, I hate these things,” she said, wincing as a needle stole a drop of blood from her thumb, running the DNA analysis. A series of complicated calculations ran across the single remaining monitor, before the light by her name flashed green. “Your turn, Jack.”

 Nodding, the engineer took his place at the panel, typing in his access code and proffering his thumb for the verification process. It seemed to drag on endlessly, as though the computer was reluctant to allow someone to put it to sleep, but finally, the second green light winked on, and another panel opened up, a huge red button emerging from the console, decorated with warnings that it should not be pushed under any conceivable circumstances.

 “Someone in the design team had a sense of humor when they built this in,” Quinn said. “I guess it doesn’t matter what it looks like. That should start the cold reboot. I hope.”

 “You hope?” Grant asked.

 “I don’t think anyone has ever actually done this in the field before. Usually we’d be tied into the infrastructure at a spacedock. It’ll be interesting to find out if it works.”

 “Interesting is one word for it,” Orlova said, placing her hand over the control, ready to press it. She looked around for one last time, her mind racing to think of something else, some alternative, an option that she had overlooked. Shaking her head, she gently pushed the button into place with her palm, then took a step back to watch the fun.

 The image marking the main reactor winked three times, then flashed out, the mighty heart of Alamo still, at least for a time. A few systems persisted for a moment on stored power, red lights flashing along the status monitors, before they finally went dark. The viewscreen faded to nothing, and the big central light at the heart of the bridge blinked once, then went out.

 Quickly, Quinn pulled out a flashlight, shining it at the status panel, and said, “Well, it worked. The reactor is out, and the computer is using its stored power to run the data purge and update. There’s no possible way for any external force to influence it now, we haven’t left any possible way to access it. Hooke and his team will be swapping drives manually.”

 From overhead, a low rumbling whine started to sound, then slowly faded away until the room was absolutely silent, the four of them standing alone on the cold, dark bridge, only Quinn’s flashlight to cast an eerie gloom on the proceedings.

 “Air circulators going out. All we have now is what we already have, and the chemical scrubbers. They’ll work by themselves.” He shrugged, and said, “We’ve got air for at least seventy-two hours.”

 “And only eighteen hours of orbit left to enjoy it in,” Nelyubov said.

 Glancing at his watch, Grant asked, “When do we get to hit the button?”

 “Well, we broke all records getting everything deactivated, so I’d say that we’d have a good chance of success in twelve hours. Fourteen at the outside. After that,” he paused, then shrugged. “After that, I guess we think of something else.”

 “Listen,” Nelyubov said. “I never realized how damn noisy the ship was before. Not until now. It’s so strange to have no background noise, nothing at all.” Looking around, he asked, “What do we do now?”

 “Wait,” Quinn said. “There’s the chess tournament in Storage Two, hot food in Storage Six, where I believe Spaceman Garland is planning an impromptu concert.”

 On the panel, a red light winked on, and Grant asked, “What’s that?”

 Quinn smiled, and said, “We’re about one-two-hundredths of the way through the data dump. Not a bad start.” He reached into a pocket, and picked out a flask with four cups attached. “I’ve got coffee.”

 “To hell with Garland’s chamber music,” Nelyubov said. “I think I’d rather watch this show. I can’t wait to see how it ends.”

Chapter 17

 General Daniels carefully guided the jeep along the dirt trail, curving around a tall, jagged rock that seemed to erupt from the ground. Next to him, Richardson, wearing the same borrowed uniform as the rest of them, scanned the horizon with her binoculars, watching for any sign of the Territorial Guard.

 “Something’s still bothering me,” Marshall said, glancing at Caine. “Who the hell tried to kill me last night? I can’t understand why Secretary Mason would try it, when he was on his way to arrest me.”

 “Oh, that’s easy,” Richardson said, her attention still on the landscape. “I did.”

 “What?” Daniels said.

 “I knew that they were coming to arrest you, and I didn’t have any easy way to contact you. I did have a forty-five with a good scope. Sometimes you have to use what you have available.”

 Caine shook her head, replying, “Could you find some other way of communicating than assassination attempts?” 

 With a shrug, the rebel leader said, “I’m just doing the best I can with what I’ve got. No sign of anyone, not yet. I think we’re going to make it.”

 “I’m less sure,” Daniels said. “The patrols are only going to get thicker from here on.”

 “I still don’t think it was a good idea for you to be driving us yourself.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “If I’d sent anyone else, they’d have been arrested without a second glance. There is at least a chance that I would be able to talk our way out of the situation. These stars on my shoulder might be good for something, after all.” With a smile, he said, “Brigadier-General. I’ve got a slightly oversized company under my command. Back in the old days that would have gone to a rather junior Major.”

 “Traditions are good for something,” Caine replied.

 “In this case all it has been good for is a politicized and over-large officer corps. Which is pretty remarkable given the size of our population. All I know is that I’m looking forward to getting back to my farm when all of this is over.”

 He revved the engine, speeding their way down the trail as its condition improved. They passed a burned-out, ruined farm, the land around it barren and bleak, and Richardson shook her head.

 “We need to be getting new farmland, not losing what we already have.”

 “That was the O’Reilly’s place,” Daniels explained. “A fire took them, four years back. Some rumor that it was foul play, and no-one ended up taking up the land.” He frowned, then said, “Didn’t Mason get tangled up in that at one point?”

 “Yeah, he...,” Richardson began, before her face fell into a frown. “We’ve got company. Two jeeps on the horizon, heading right for us, and red-legs at the wheel. Eight, I think.”

 “Could just be using the trail,” Daniels said. “Hell of a coincidence if it is. They must have seen us.”

 Pulling out his borrowed plasma carbine, Gurung said, “Peace through superior firepower. Keep us stable and steady.” 

 “Wait a minute,” Richardson said. “They’ll see the explosions clear back to town. We can’t just unleash that sort of hell. Unless you’re willing to start the final battle right here and now?”

 “She’s right, damn it,” Caine said. “We need somewhere to hole up.”

 “They’ll be on us in a couple of minutes,” Daniels said. “What about the Scrambles?”

 Richardson glanced at the officer, her eyes widening, and said, “You have got to be out of your god-damned mind.”

 “Can you think of a better place to hide?”

 “Almost anywhere.” She paused, then said, “What the hell. We’re dead either way. Take your shots, Sergeant.”

 At a nod from Marshall, Gurung rested the carbine on the seat in front, lining up his shot cautiously, before pulling the trigger, unleashing a bolt of violent green flame that smashed into the ground just ahead of the nearest jeep, sending a hail of mud and dirt into the air. The vehicle, spinning out of control, crashed into the crater, the troops inside scrambling to escape as the engine started to smolder.

 A second pulse slammed through the air towards the second jeep, the passengers bailing out just as it smashed into its side. Caine followed up with a pair of well-aimed smoke grenades, and before anyone could recover, Daniels had crammed his foot down onto the accelerator, spinning the wheel to the left, taking them towards a low ravine.

 “They’ll be thinking about that for a while,” Richardson said, looking back at the devastation with awe. One of the guardsman had scrambled out of the smoke, watching them as he escaped, obviously marking the direction. “We’ll have to find another way into the capital. And I think your little secret is out as well, General. They’ll be looking for you.”

 “I’ll head to the Fort,” he replied. “I’d love to see them get me there once I put the garrison on alert, see if I can rustle up some reinforcements for Ensign Cooper.”

 He drove the jeep down a bumpy trail, taking it down into the ravine, amidst a collection of strange, jagged ruins, twisted and tangled metal with strange writing inscribed on them. The trail quickly petered out, and he guided the vehicle underneath one of the larger pieces, bringing it to a stop.

 “Come on,” he said, “Let’s get the camo net over it. No point making the search too easy.”

 Marshall climbed out of the jeep, looking up at the ruins, “Has this place ever been investigated?”

 “We don’t have any archaeologists to speak of,” Richardson replied. “A couple of decades after landing, a group came out here for a summer to do a proper dig.”

 “What did they find?” Caine asked.

 “No idea,” Daniels said. “They never came back. We sent a team out to look for them, and all of their equipment was just dumped out in the open. Mason managed to blame it on the Neander, got his start as a politician that way, but I never bought the story.” Looking around, he said, “People who stay here too long have a habit of disappearing. Most people don’t come near the place.”

 “I don’t think Mason will let superstition stop him from ordering a full search. That guardsman got a good bead on our destination.”

 Gesturing to the top of the ravine, Daniels said, “There are half a dozen farms down that way. They’d assume we’d gone there rather than risk heading down here. Probably. This runs for about a mile and a half, heading roughly towards town.” He glanced at his watch, and said, “Ten miles after that in pretty rough terrain, lots of cover, we should do it in three hours easily. That’ll bring us in a little after dusk, not much later than we planned.”

 He and Richardson tossed the net over the jeep, securing it to the ground with a collection of loose rocks. Using a small shovel, he started to toss dirt onto it in billowing clumps, Richardson walking around it, making small adjustments.

 “They’ll never see that from a distance,” Daniels said. “This way.” 

 He led the group along a winding path running by the ravine wall, carefully picking his way between the ruins. Obviously some great structure had been here once, long ago, something hundreds of meters long by the look of it. There were signs in a few places that the ravine had been worked, smooth surfaces instead of jagged outlines, even carvings of ancient graffiti on the rocks.

 Marshall glanced at Caine, who was looking at the ruins with something approaching rapture. This was her specialty, at least, her passion, and he could tell that she would love to spend a few weeks here, poking about to see what she could learn. Some of the writing looked a little familiar, probably more examples of the proto-Indo dialect they had been encountering. He reached for his datapad, taking a few quick shots for later analysis.

 “Astonishing,” Caine said. “Was it ever dated?”

 “We don’t have the equipment for that,” Daniels said. “Old, though. That alloy is tough stuff, stronger than anything we’ve got. At one point we were hoping to make use of it for construction.” At Caine’s expression, he hastily added, “Nothing ever came of it, though. Aside from taking a few samples. We do know that it wasn’t mined down here. The alloy was formed in zero-gravity.”

 “Alamo didn’t pick up any signs of orbital presence when we came into the system,” Marshall said. “Nor on any of the other planets, though we might have missed some small, unused installations. After a thousands of years, they'd be hard to pick up without a close search.”

 “You’ve probably seen more of the system than we have,” Daniels said. “We just limped into orbit and then down to the surface. There was no opportunity for an extensive survey.” Shaking his head, he said, “We’ve got long-term plans to take a look at our moon…”

 “Which aren’t worth the paper they are written on,” Richardson said. “We’re having a hard enough time finding a way to lob a melon-sized satellite into orbit, never mind put a manned capsule on a trans-lunar trajectory.” Looking at Marshall she added, “The first ships to survey our system won’t be flying our flag, that much I do know.”

 “The worlds in your system are yours to do with as you wish,” he replied. “We can probably arrange to sell, or at least lend, some in-system craft for you to get started. If we establish a facility in orbit, your military with have equal access rights, and there will be a real spaceport on the ground.”

 “A dream,” Richardson said. "Even if it has a high price tag.”

 “Some dreams are worth paying for,” Daniels said. “Though right now I think I’d settle for a quiet life above anything else. All of this is your problem, Eunice. I’m retiring next year, remember.”

 “Still clinging onto that?” she asked.

 “I’ve got to have something to look forward to.”

 Caine had roved ahead slightly, and she turned to ask, “General, I thought you said no-one was doing any work on these ruins?”

 “Not that I know of,” he replied. “I damn well should, as well. I can’t see anyone wanting to poke around in here without an escort of some kind, or at least letting someone know what they were doing. Unless…”

 “None of mine,” Richardson said. “My people are as sensitive about this area as yours, General. I suppose it might be the Neander, but the ones in the crater are pretty much all loyalists now. Besides, this spot was taboo for them, as well.”

 “All I know,” Caine interrupted, “is that there is a patch of recently dug-over ground up ahead, right by one of the pylons. Looks pretty big as well.”

 Glancing at Richardson, Marshall walked forward, Caine turning back to lead the way. He felt slightly uncomfortable out in exposed ground, but he quickly forgot that as he looked at the spots Caine indicated. Four six-foot long holes, with some attempt at camouflaging them, one of them obviously only a few weeks old.

 Shaking his head, he said, “Are these what I think they are?”

 “Impossible,” Daniels said. “I know what you are thinking, but no-one’s gone missing for months. Certainly no-one is unaccounted for.”

 “What about those Guardsmen?” Richardson asked. “A three-man scout team vanished on the plateau, six weeks ago.”

 “Exactly,” Daniels replied. “On the plateau. What would they be doing down here?”

 “Not to mention that there are four graves,” Caine said. “Have you still got that shovel?”

 “You aren’t serious,” Richardson said.

 “Totally serious. For all we know something critical has been cached here. It shouldn’t take long to find out what.”

 Daniels reached into his backpack and pulled out his shovel, extending the shaft, and planting the blade into the ground. “We’ll take it in turns. I might as well go first.” He started to dig, tossing small mounds of earth to the side, slowly opening up a hole in the middle of the nearest grave. Caine looked over his shoulder, down at the disturbed soil, while Richardson kept a wary watch.

 “We don’t have time for this,” she said, shaking her head. “Any moment now, someone will come to rescue those guardsmen, and they’ll know exactly where to go to find us. We’ve got to get back into cover.”

 “I think we can afford a few minutes,” Marshall said. “Want me to spell you, General?”

 Shaking his head, Daniels continued to attack the ground, scooping more and more ground into an ever-larger pile, before abruptly stopping, gently probing at the earth, running the shovel along an outline.

 “It’s a body, and recently buried.” He wrinkled his nose at the smell beginning to issue forth from the hole, and added, “Too recently.”

 “Mutilated,” Caine said. “Someone wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t be possible to identify him. No chance of a DNA test on this planet.” Shaking her head, she added, “It isn’t a Neander, though.”

 “I know him,” Daniels said, his voice dead. “That birthmark on the shoulder. It's Al Higgins' son.”

 “Gunshot wound to the chest,” Gurung said. “Textbook execution shot. Now we have the next question.”

 “Who killed him?” Marshall said.

 Kneeling down, Daniels reached down at the dead man’s hand, something clasped in a death grip between his fingers. With an effort, he worked it loose, a piece of red cloth. He looked up at Richardson, fury lighting his face.

 “The Guard. They did this. They’re killing our people.”

 Richardson looked down, eyes widened, and said, ““That doesn't make any sense! Hell, I saw Chuck Higgins yesterday, at the demonstration.”

 “I don’t need to understand it,” he said. “And I don’t pretend to know who he is, or why he died, only that they are the ones who did it.” Looking up at Marshall, he added, “Any remaining traces of doubt that I had are gone. We’ve got to get rid of those murdering bastards, and we’ve got to do it now.” He sighed, and said, “I should have done this years ago, before it got this far.”

 “I don’t think you could have, General,” Caine said. “Can I have your shovel? I think I see something.” She took the proffered tool and cautiously started to push some earth aside, exposing what looked at first was a white rock. As she excavated it, Marshall realized with disgust that it was a human skull.”

 “That’s been down there a damn sight longer than a month. Decades, at a guess,” Caine said. “With some work, we might be able to identify it from dental records.”

 “The first excavators?” Richardson asked.

 “Definitely homo-sapiens-sapiens,” Marshall said. “I’ve seen too many old bones lately. One of your people, certainly. General, this has been going on for years.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t understand. How could all of this have been happening without anyone noticing? This is a small planet, Captain, everyone knows everyone else. People die, yes, of course, and occasionally the bodies aren’t recovered, but why bury them here?”

 “A place no-one goes, and people who do never come back?” Caine said.

 “Yes,” Richardson said, “but that was just a handful of people. Maybe ten, eleven over the years, and none for a long time. There aren’t that many disappearances around here.”

 Looking down at the corpse, Marshall said, “Add that mystery to the list, then. I don’t think we’re going to find the answer here. Not without equipment we don’t have access to. The only place we’re going to find what we seek is in town.”

 Nodding, Richardson said, “We’d better get moving. If this place is important to the Guard, we just made ourselves even more of a target.”

 “As soon as we bury him again,” Daniels replied. “And say some words. I’d wager we’ll give him a better burial than he had the first time around.” Looking down at the body, he added, “Son, when all of this is over, we’ll find out where you belong, and make sure you rest with your kin.” He reached over to Caine, and said, “I’d like my shovel back.”

Chapter 18

 “Down there?” Cooper asked, passing the binoculars back to Vaughan.

 “Yes, sir. The only outpost I couldn’t contact. It looks like they’ve got our people holed up inside. If he followed doctrine, Corporal Pavlov will have picked somewhere he can reinforce, with only one way in to guard.”

 “Ironically,” Blaine suggested, “I think he’ll have taken over the guardroom. Right by the far wall, with only one way in or out, and a window too small to access but big enough for observation. All of these outposts were built to the same basic plan. Grant was the first, actually.”

 Peering down through the gathering darkness, Cooper spotted four guards walking perimeter, others at the machine gun nests, and a smattering of red-uniformed guardsmen supplementing the soldiers. He didn’t see any Neander in evidence, or any officers. Frowning, he started to push back into cover. Corporal Max looked dispassionately out across the terrain, as though disengaged from what was happening.

 “Technically, sir, we don’t need Pavlov’s force today,” Vaughan said. “I’m sure he can take care of himself, and we have a more than ample force assembling above Patton Outpost. Five hundred Neander and twenty Espatiers ought to make one hell of a bang.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “I don’t want to leave any hostages behind that might be exploited, Corporal. I’d like to make sure that we get all of our weapons back as well. The last thing we need is to run into a plasma barrage when we make our strike in the morning.”

 “That, and you don’t want to leave anyone behind,” Vaughan said, nodding. “Not that I disagree, sir. I just thought I’d make the point.”

 “It’s a good one,” Max said. “Four more men will make little difference, and if they had yielded their equipment, we would already know about it.”

 “We’re getting back our men,” Cooper said. “They would do it for me.”

 “A fool led by fools,” Max replied, shaking his head, earning a sharp stare from Vaughan.

 “What about launching our attack here, then?” Blaine said, “It would have the benefit of surprise, and they haven’t made anything like the preparations.”

 “Nor have we,” Cooper said. “Moving that mob will take a long time, long enough for them to react. They’ve got motor transport and interior lines of communication. That gives them an edge. We’ll stick to the plan, but we’re going to go and get back our men.”

 “The three of us? Now?”

 “Why not?” Cooper asked. “We’re all armed, you know the terrain, and I’d rather make this a stealthy operation anyway. This is a job for a rapier, not a sledgehammer. We sneak into the base, get to the guardroom, and free Pavlov, Freeman and the rest. Then the seven of us can break out in a rather more violent manner, and get back up here to the plateau.”

 “This isn't going to be easy,” Blaine warned. He paused, pulled a pencil out of his pocket, and started to draw a quick map of the interior layout in the sand, making walls and entrances with hasty strokes, slashing into the dust. “We go in here, then around here. Assuming we can get past the perimeter, and I’m not sure how we’re going to do that.”

 “No problem,” Cooper said, quickly scanning the layout. “They know that you have switched sides, right?”

 “Sure, but don’t expect that to win any favors. I’m guessing that the Territorial Guard has taken command down there. We didn’t have any trouble convincing the other garrisons to let the Espatiers walk out peacefully.”

 “None of them wanted to deal with a plasma barrage,” Vaughan said. “I was half-tempted to show them what they were up against.”

 “I’m glad you didn’t,” Cooper said. “There’s still a chance that we can deal with this peacefully. Knocking out the Guard is one thing, but those soldiers are just doing their job. Somehow I feel easier about killing an android than a human, anyway.”

 “What is the plan, then?” Blaine asked. “And why do I think that I’m not going to like it?”

 “Vaughan and I will rappel down the side of the wall here,” Cooper said, gesturing at a fissure in the rock. “Wait five minutes, then start walking down the pass, drawing as much attention as you possibly can. My assumption is that at least some of the patrols will go after you, and you can retreat up to the top of the slope, heading right back to camp. We’ll use the distraction to make our way into the compound.”

 Max chuckled, and said, “Bait. I’m warming to this plan.”

 “They won’t be diverted long,” Vaughan warned.

 With a shrug, Cooper replied, “In my experience, soldiers are usually a lot more worried about what might be coming in than what might be coming out. We need to make this quick, Corporal. In and out in as few minutes as we possibly can.”

 “What do you want me to do, Ensign?” Max asked. “Do you need a third for your kamikaze mission.”

 “Stand and watch,” Cooper said. “Once Blaine runs for it, keep an eye out at the top of the pass, and check for anything coming in.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Hang around in the rocks and wait for something to happen. Or for someone to come up here and shoot me. Got it.”

 Flashing the Neander soldier a glare, Vaughan asked, “Weapons?”

 “We’ll get them charged, but use them only as a last resort. If we have to use them coming in, then the game is probably up anyway. Are you ready, Lieutenant?”

 “No, but that probably isn’t going to stop you. Good luck.”

 “And to you,” Cooper replied, clapping the nervous officer on the shoulder. He turned, hunching down low and running along the side of the cliff, dodging from one piece of cover to another, Vaughan hard on his heels. He reached down to his datapad, then frowned. Getting down to the surface of the crater was going to be easy enough, but getting back up again could prove rather more difficult.

 Two minutes to get to the right spot on the crater, a blind spot that he had identified as soon as he had seen the plans of the base. Pavlov and his team had been given instructions to deal with it, but it appeared that he hadn’t been given the time or the opportunity to do a proper job. The only obstruction was some barbed wire at the bottom, a few tangles that should be easy to get over.

 “All set, sir,” Vaughan asked, pulling his cable free from his belt. “Never done a drop quite like this one before. Wish I had a parachute with me.”

 Clicking his cable to that of the Corporal, Cooper replied, “We should have just enough to do the job. I’ll go first.”

 “Really, sir, I ought…”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Keep watch at the top. If you see anything I need to worry about, don’t be shy about letting me know. The game will be up anyway if we’re spotted, and Blaine will need to get clear as well.”

 Glancing back, Vaughan said, “I’m not sure how far I trust him, sir. Not that I think he’ll betray us, I just think he’s a little jumpy.”

 “Give him a break, Corporal. Being under fire for the first time is bad enough, it must be a lot worse when your own people are shooting at you.”

 With a smile, he replied, “Besides, sir, you’ve given him a job which would be pretty difficult to mess up.”

 “All he has to do is run down, scream, and run back up again. They’ll go after him.”

 “It’s a pretty obvious trick, sir.”

 “Which just means that they won’t send everyone. He’s a wanted traitor to his government. They daren’t just let him escape without at least making the attempt to snatch him.” Glancing at his watch, Cooper said, “I think we’re about right on the time now. Secure the cable.”

 As Vaughan hurriedly tied it to an outcropping, testing the weight to make sure that it would hold, Cooper threw the cable over the edge, watching it unroll as it dropped down to the floor of the crater below, hooking itself up on one of the pieces of barbed wire. He gave it another experimental tug, then clipped his harness into position, swinging out over the edge, beginning to drop.

 He let himself fall, a few meters at a time, using his gloves to keep his speed nice and steady, kicking himself free of the cliff face whenever he drew too near. The view was spectacular, but he had no time to enjoy it, unable to worry about anything other than getting quickly into position on the ground, before anyone could spot him.

 Up above, Vaughan swung into position, giving him a slight pang of worry. The cable was designed to carry both of them, or even an entire fire team if necessary, but he was less happy about the rock face, and he redoubled his efforts to reach the ground. Just as he touched down, he saw a flash of light from the plateau, a few hundred meters from where their cable was secured, about where Max was meant to be hiding.

 Crashing to the ground, he quickly unstrapped himself and raced into cover, looking up to try and see what the Neander was doing. A series of flashes in sequence followed, twelve of them, but they didn’t match any code he knew about. As Vaughan dropped in beside him, he gestured up at the figure, a grimace on his head.

 “He might be trying to warn us, sir,” Vaughan suggested.

 “I don’t think so,” Cooper replied. “He’s signaling to someone. Damn, I didn’t like him, but I thought we could trust him.”

 “What do we do now, sir?”

 Pausing, Cooper said, “Proceed with the mission as planned. There’s no sign of any activity down there, and it isn’t as if we have anything better to do with this evening. If he has sold us out, then there will be search teams combing the desert for us any moment now.”

 “And if the garrison is alerted?”

 “Then we still have the plasma carbines and smoke grenades to cause enough chaos that we just might be able to pull this stunt off yet.” With a quick look back, he said, “You take point. I’ll cover.”

 The two men sprinted around the edge of the cliff, hugging it as close as they could, ever watching for signs that the garrison might have detected them. They only had to cover a few hundred meters, but it might as well have been a hundred miles, time almost seeming to stand still as they raced for cover. A loud report echoed from ahead, one of the sentries firing at a fleeing Blaine, hopefully, and they paused for a second, ducking behind a large rock, looking at the garrison ahead.

 “Someone really messed up here,” Cooper said. “The kill zone is barely fifty meters.”

 “It doesn’t need to be that wide,” Vaughan replied, “Not if their aim is sharp.”

 Two figures were racing up the pass, leaving a wide gap in their defenses. For a moment, all attention would be on the fleeing rebel, and the two Espatiers took full advantage of their brief window of opportunity, sprinting across the sand, taking the thinly stretched barbed wire fence in a single leap, and flattening themselves against the side wall, hugging the blind spot of the overhead defenses.

 Picturing the map of the base in his mind, Cooper led the way around the outside, glancing up at the side wall. When he thought he was in the right place, he pulled out a quartet of climbing spikes from his pack, quickly fitting two of them to his boots while attaching the remainder to the palms of his hands, Vaughan doing likewise.

 “I hate these things,” the veteran trooper said, shaking his head. “Too risky.”

 “We only need to use them for a moment,” Cooper said, digging into the plastoform wall with the first spike, pulling himself up the side of the stockade with the other. The material was old, with plenty of small gaps and fissures to exploit, and the two men hastily climbed to the top of the wall. Cooper glanced across, and saw a figure at the top of the pass, looking out across the plateau. At least Blaine appeared to have made a break of it.

 Rolling over the top, he lay on the platform behind the wall, looking around the perimeter. A trio of guards lounging in a corner, sitting around a flickering fire, in front of a locked and bolted door. Vaughan quietly moved in beside him, and started to take off the spikes.

 “That must be it,” Cooper whispered. “Not much of a guard.”

 “Doesn’t have to be much,” Vaughan replied. “Nothing will sneak past, and there are two machine gun nests covering the door.” He gestured at the two nests on their side of the wall, both manned by red-uniformed guards.

 “Grab one of them, quietly,” Cooper said. “I’m going down.”

 “Careful, boss. This could still be a trap.”

 Pausing for a second, he threw Vaughan an incredulous stare, and replied, “I think you might be leaving that realization a little on the late side, Corporal.”

 “Better late than never, sir,” he grinned, quietly sneaking along the platform. Cooper scrambled down the ladder, a pair of smoke grenades in hand, and waited for Vaughan to do his job. He started to take deep breaths, calming himself down, his eyes scrutinizing every detail he could make out. In less than a minute, they would either be on their way out of the stockade and on their way up to the plateau, or they would be captured, or dead.

 Looking up, he saw a quick wave of the arm from the machine gun, a sign that all was ready. He raised the first grenade, pulled the pin, and rolled it gently across the ground, quietly enough not to attract any attention until it erupted with smoke.

 “Fire!” he yelled, hoping for a brief second’s distraction, while he threw the second grenade into the mix, another burst of smoke filling the air. He sprinted through the confusion, pushing a hapless soldier to the crowd, and raced up to the guardroom. The door opened as he approached, and Corporal Pavlov stepped out.

 “Good evening, sir,” he said with a smile. “Are we leaving?”

 “We are indeed. Are you all good to go?”

 “Packed and ready.”

 A burst of machine gun fire raked across the compound, catching one of the panicking soldiers square in the chest, his bloody corpse collapsing to the ground. Before the guardsman could fire again, Vaughan turned his machine gun on the red-uniformed murderer, smearing the next with enough bullets to silence it forever.

 Cooper raced through the compound, lobbing another smoke grenade to his side, Vaughan providing covering fire to prevent the other machine gun nests from intervening. Pavlov’s squad charged after him, weapons in hand and ready, and they slammed into the big double gates, bursting them open, to reveal a Territorial Guard formation standing before them, weapons at the ready. Quickly raising his plasma carbine, he pulled the trigger, only for a red light to flash on, an error message as a series of diagnostic checks began.

 He managed to hurl himself into cover before the shots ran out, Pavlov attempting a shot with the same result. Cooper glanced up at Vaughan’s machine gun nest and swore, seeing an empty gun. By now the erstwhile gunner was on his way back around to join them.

 “We’re pinned!” Pavlov said. “We go back the machine guns get us. Go forward and we’re charging our own personal firing squad!”

 Pulling out his backup pistol, Cooper cursed, firing off a round to reassure himself that it was still working. Trying to charge machine guns with pistols was likely to yield an unhappy ending, but the troopers were rapidly running out of alternatives. He had one smoke bomb left, and there was a remote chance that he might be able to use it to give them cover to withdraw back to the guardroom. Some of them, in any case. He was just about to give his final order, when Private Freeman pointed at the pass.

 “Reinforcements!”

 A figure came racing down the hull, firing semi-automatic bursts ahead of him, breaking up the line of guardsmen that was blocking the door. None of them were in cover, all perfect targets for a good marksman, and this one was taking them down all over the field. Tossing his grenade ahead, Cooper began to charge forward.

 “Come on!” he yelled, and the five of them raced towards the pass, Vaughan sprinting after him out of cover. Pavlov and his team hastily deployed their respirators, while Cooper provided some suppressing fire, allowing himself a brief glimpse of satisfaction as he brought down one of the guardsmen.

 By the time the enemies had recovered, they were already almost a quarter of the way up the pass, and gaining speed all the time. Max waited until they were level with him, emptied the remainder of his clip, and raced to catch up with Cooper.

 “Hope I timed that right,” the Neander said.

 “Couldn’t have been better,” Cooper replied in between gasps of air. He shook his head, then said, “I thought you’d sold us out.”

 “You saw the signal?” he asked. “I guess my cover’s blown, then.”

 “Cover?” Vaughan asked, while a pair of ineffectual cracks echoed from the stationary guardsman behind them.

 “I’m with the Underground. Have been for years. Sergeant Gurung sends his best, by the way.”

 “What?”

 “We’re got some more reinforcements coming to join us. With luck.”

 “That’s great,” Cooper said. “There’s just one problem. Our plasma weapons have stopped working.”

 “All of them?” Max asked.

 “I’m afraid that our technological advantage just got reversed.” He stopped, looking down at the outpost, and paused to catch his breath. They weren’t making any attempt to follow them now.  

 “You got us out, sir,” Pavlov said. “I’d call that a win.”

 “Yeah,” Cooper gasped, looking at his useless plasma carbine. “We win. This time.”

 “What are we going to do, sir?” Vaughan asked.

 “That, Corporal, is an excellent question.”

 “We attack,” Max said. “And we find a way to beat them.”

Chapter 19

 Salazar glanced at his watch, looked at the others, then rose to his feet, walking over to Ginger, still sitting in the corner giving occasional glances at the repaired picture frame, a cold cup of tea in her hand.

 “It’ll be dusk in a few minutes,” he said. “We should be leaving. There’s no sense putting you at any further risk.”

 Looking up at him, the old woman replied, “No risk is too great for the cause of freedom. Promise me that the three of you will be careful, at least, as much as you possibly can. I know how important your mission is, but nevertheless.”

 “I don’t do one-way missions,” Harper replied with a smile. “We’ll see you again when we get back.”

 “I’ll be here,” she said. “Be careful in the catacombs. I don’t know if all of them ever were explored. Anything could be down there.” She smiled, then said, “If I was twenty years younger, I’d be going with you.”

 “Thank you for all your help,” Salazar said, leading the way out onto the street. It was quiet outside, dusk gathering, a few people running about on last-minute errands. There remained a sense that something was about to happen, though there were far fewer guardsmen present than there had been when they arrived.

 Foster made to head towards the Fort, but Salazar grabbed at her arm, saying, “We need to stick together, at least for the moment.”

 “I have a mission of my own, Pavel.”

 “Can we do this some other time?” Harper hissed. “I’m not sure that having a full-blown argument is the best way to sneak in. Unless you two are going to cause a distraction so that I can finish the mission by myself.”

 Keeping an eye on Foster, Salazar walked towards the Guard headquarters building, looming over the southern side of town. There had been little chance for a careful inspection earlier, just a few hints and rumors, and as they approached, all of them seemed to be true. A shortage of building materials didn’t seem to have affected the designer in the slightest, tall walls protecting a central structure, one large gate with two people standing on either side.

 “Any ideas?” Salazar asked.

 Looking at the gate, Harper said, “Maybe we could climb one of the far walls. I’ve got some cable.”

 Gesturing around at the streets, Foster replied, “That’s crazy. We’d be seen by any one of a hundred people, and the alarm would be raised before we got ten meters. I say we rush them. Go right in, disable them, and get inside.”

 “And have them chasing us all the way,” Harper said.

 “Any decent security system will spot us before long anyway. This way we at least get into the building, and I can pull back, feint them away, distract them.”

 Frowning, Salazar replied, “I was rather hoping that we could defeat the security.”

 “We’re not fighting an enemy of the same technological level as the rest of the planet, remember,” Foster said. “Somewhere in there is an electronic warfare system powerful enough to disable a battlecruiser. We can expect that they will have a defense system to match.”

 Salazar let Foster and Harper argue for a moment, watching the guards, motionless in position,  standing at attention. He could make out a pair of cameras on each corner, swinging back and forth. There was a brief blind spot in their movement, but not long enough to do anything useful. The gate was not covered, though, not even for a second. Presumably the designers had presumed that the guards and the lock would keep out intruders.

 “I think we’re going to be going with Foster’s plan,” he said, looking around. “Make your way closer to the gates before making your run. Go in, wreak havoc, and run for it into the crowds. Once you are clear, try and make contact with either the Captain or Ensign Cooper. I’ll leave that to your discretion. Contact Alamo if you can and let them know what we are doing.” He glanced at Harper, and asked, “Ready?”

 “You do realize that this is crazy, right?”

 “Completely, but we don’t have much of a choice. If they are robots, we can’t expect them to relax their guard, not even for a second, unless we can organize some sort of distraction.”

 “And if they leave some of their guards behind?”

 “We’ll have to deal with that problem when we come to it.”

 As Foster edged forward, surreptitiously moving closer to her objective, the hacker replied, “Better start thinking. We’re going to be facing it in a matter of seconds.”

 Salazar looked around, watching for any other observers. He was almost certain that he saw someone, a figure glancing out of a window, but he wrote that off as someone associated with Astris keeping an eye on him. There was no sign that the guards were reacting, and Foster was getting ready to make her attack.

 “Pavel,” Harper said. “Is that who I think it is?”

 Following her nod, he saw Captain Marshall, Caine following behind him, wearing local uniforms and making their way down the street. Glancing in his direction, Caine gave him a quick wink of recognition, before they continued on their errand. Unable to suppress a smile, he turned back to Harper.

 “At least they’re free,” he said, before the smile drained from his face. “We’ve got to stop Foster. If she stirs up trouble, they’ll catch the Captain!”

 He started to head over towards the gates, but he was far too late, and Foster sprinted forward out of cover, cracking a pair of shots with her revolver, felling one of the two guardsmen before racing back, heading right towards the crowd where Marshall was attempting to hide.

 “What do we do?” Harper asked, as sirens began to sound, a squad of guardsmen chasing after Foster.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “We do what we came here to do.”

 “But, the Captain…”

 “Was in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s nothing we can do other than join them in captivity. We’ve got a job to do, and we’re damn well going to do it. Come on.”

 Ignoring the gathering chaos, he sprinted towards the gate, Harper reluctantly following hard on his heels. Foster seemed to have outrun her pursuers, and was turning around in a long curve, heading back for the gate, flashing a look of horror at Salazar. She’d seen Marshall, far too late.

 “She’s drawing them back towards us!” Harper said.

 The gate was just ahead, only a single guard standing in his way. His pistol in his hand, he felled the red-uniformed sentry with a bullet to the head, watching him collapse to the ground, stepping over the body as he raced inside the headquarters building.

 “They’ve got him!” Harper yelled, and he turned to see a trio of guards snatch the Captain, pulling him away, another knocking Caine unconscious with a well-timed blow to the chin, snatching her pistol from her hand. Foster, for want of anywhere better to run, was heading towards them, and one of the guards was still chasing her, the others evidently deciding to settle for the more valuable prey they had found.

 “Come on,” Salazar said. “Or all of this is for nothing.”

 He raced through the gate, and carried on across the dry parade ground up a series of well-worn stone steps, right into the single tower at the heart of the complex. By some miracle, there were no guards on duty, everyone drawn away in pursuit of the attackers, and he sprinted down the central hall, Harper by his side, a grim-faced Foster dashing after him.

 Kicking open the first door he came to, Salazar felled the guard within with a pair of well-aimed shots, knocking the android to the ground before he could react. The room was some sort of control complex, all strange lights and whirring sounds, and he gestured at Harper while he stayed at the door. The hacker raced inside, looked at the computers, and shook her head.

 “Far too primitive,” she said disdainfully.

 “I know, I know, but they’re still using it for something, and it might be important. Break it.”

 Nodding, Harper ducked under the desk, firing three shots from her pistol, and all of the monitors immediately went dark, the noise from the mainframe dying away. Foster caught up, firing behind her, the flash of the bullet briefly illuminating the darkened hall.

 “Captain Marshall!” Foster yelled. “Did you see?”

 “Yes, I did.”

 “We’ve got…”

 “Midshipman, I am in command of this operation. We will proceed as planned.” He glanced down the corridor, looking at the latest addition to the collection of corpses they were building up. “Underground. There must be a way down.”

 Running back out into the hall, he looked from side to side, trying to spot any sign of special interest being paid to an area, anything that might provide the slightest hint towards their objective. All the doors looked alike, all locked, and there wasn’t time to check them all.”

 “That one,” Harper said, picking one at random. She took out the lock with a single shot from her pistol, the door snapping back on its hinges as he raced in. Foster stood in the hall, ready to bring down anyone that might attack, while Salazar peered in after the hacker at a collection of pots and pans, worktops and ovens.

 “Dead end,” he said. “Come on, we’ve got to try somewhere else.”

 “No, it’s got to be here,” she said. She pulled open the door of a large cupboard, then turned back with a smile. “There. A shaft, going right down, nice and hidden.”

 “How the hell…” he asked.

 “I don’t think androids eat,” she replied. “Why have a kitchen?”

 “Foster!” Salazar yelled. “Come on!”

 “I’ll stay. Hold them off.”

 Shaking his head, he raised his pistol at her, and said, “I don’t have time to argue with you. Get to the shaft, on the double.”

 Glaring incredulously at his weapon, she turned and ran into the kitchen, pausing at the shaft to snatch a nearby saucepan, dropping it down the hole, listening to it bounce down the rungs of the ladder.

 “Checking for traps,” she said, at Harper’s questioning scare. “Didn’t want anything else to go wrong.” Without a further glance, she started to drop down the hole, climbing hand over hand down the ladder. Harper followed, and Salazar paused at the entrance, waiting for a moment to give them a chance to get a start, before pulling a grenade out of his pocket. He pulled the pin, rolled it out through the door, then dived down the shaft.

 The rumbling explosion echoed all around, the sound of falling masonry like a crack of doom. He continued to descend as dust danced down to his shoulders, the light from above fading away. As he dropped to the bottom, the others waiting for him, he looked back up.

 “Figured I’d better salt the earth.”

 “Just out of academic curiosity,” Harper asked, “How do you plan for us to escape?”

 “I don’t,” Salazar replied.

 Harper looked across at Foster, then said, “I already told you, I don’t do one-way missions.”

 “Alamo is in big trouble, the Captain has been captured, our people are scattered all over the place, and there are hundreds of enemy troops up above who can skip meals, sleep and fatigue. Being stuck at the bottom of a hole is the least of our problems.” He paused, then said, “The only way out that I can see is if we find that master computer. We know that it’s down here somewhere, and if we can find it, I’m presuming that everything else will deal with itself.”

 “That’s a pretty big assumption to make, Pavel,” Harper said.

 “I know,” he replied. “I’m not that happy with the idea myself, but at least we should have some time to ourselves down here.”

 “How romantic,” she said with a wry smile, before starting to walk down the corridor.

 Foster looked up at the shaft, knuckles white on her pistol, and said, “I led them right to him. He never had a chance. Neither of them did.”

 “There was no way that you could have known,” Salazar said. “It was just bad timing. If you want to blame someone, you can revert to type and blame me. I’m the one who ordered the attack, and I’m the one who told you not to go back and try to rescue him.”

 “For once this isn’t your fault,” she replied. “Create a diversion, you said, and by God I did a good job of that.”

 “And it worked,” he said. “We got past the guards, did a nice bit of damage to their headquarters, and are on the way to accomplishing our mission. At least, we might if we don’t hang around down here at the entrance.”

 “He knew,” she said, still back at the gate in her mind. “He saw me running towards him, saw me leading the guards in his direction. If I’d had a few seconds’ warning, I could have let the guards catch me.”

 “Look, Midshipman,” Salazar said, trying to force a commanding tone to his voice. “I don’t pretend to know what Captain Marshall was planning to accomplish, but I can tell you that our mission is almost certainly more important. Assuming that he wasn’t here with the same idea.”

 “How can you…”

 “We’re the only ones that actually have a chance of ending this thing, once and for all, as well as saving our ship. Against that, the lives of a member of the crew, even that of the Captain, have to come second. If he were here, I know that he would tell you exactly the same.”

 Harper raced back, and said, “Crossroads up ahead. I think there are some tracks. Are we going, or should I break out Roberts’ Rules of Order?”

 “We’re coming,” Salazar said. “After you, Midshipman.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Where did you pick up all that stuff?”

 “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said with a smile. “Maybe they issued it with the pips. Let me know when you get yours. Now, shall we proceed?”

 The three of them started to walk down the corridor, slowly swallowed up by the shadows.

Chapter 20

 Orlova hugged her jacket tighter around herself, watching her breath condense in the cold air of the bridge. Nelyubov was draining the last few drops from the last flask of coffee, Grant and Quinn watching the status monitor complete its track, the final cluster of red lights winking on, one after another.

 “How long?” Grant asked for the twentieth time.

 Quinn shrugged, and replied, “Any minute now. We’re just waiting for the last few software uploads to complete. Some of them are pretty substantial, and there isn’t any way to prioritize them.” Shaking his head, he said, “Remind me to put in for a new mainframe at our next upgrade. The whole system has just been thrown together a piece at a time. I’m surprised it works at all.”

 “One more to go,” Nelyubov said.

 Nodding, Grant moved over to the helm, and said, “The second we get power back, I’ll put the ship on a programmed heading and fire the engines at full. Give us as much margin as we can. Even if we lose control again after a few minutes, it should be enough to give us the edge we need.”

 Nelyubov took a position at the watch officer’s station, adding, “I’ll give you a more precise course as fast as I can, out to the egress point. Race said that he can plot a jump to a known system in twenty minutes if necessary. Let’s hope we get to test him.”

 Looking down at the monitor, Orlova started to will the last red dot to light up, staring at the black spot on the panel. There was nothing she could do to influence it, no order she could give to make it move faster. With a smile, she walked over to the command chair, leaving Quinn to settle down to the engineering panel.

 “Everyone’s going to be holding their breath downstairs,” Nelyubov said.

 “Literally,” Quinn replied, “In about forty hours of so if this goes wrong.”

 “Stop being so pessimistic,” Grant said. “We’ll burn up long before that becomes a problem.”

 “Frank, I’ll want a full scan of the planet as soon as you've plotted our course out of here. I’ll try and raise someone on the ground, see if we can rustle up a status report.” She looked at the blank viewscreen, a shiver running through her. It was cold up here, the single chemical heater in the middle of the room woefully insufficient for the task of fighting off the chill of space. Most of the ship was only borderline-inhabitable now, and it was only going to get worse.

 “Come on, come on,” Quinn muttered. “What’s taking so damned long?”

 Everyone was ready, waiting for the lights to come back on, for the systems to activate, for Alamo herself to come back to life. Grant ran his hands over the controls, his fingers hovering over the directional thrusters, a hand down for the engine throttle. No finesse, no precisely-calculated course, just a full-power burn to throw them from the trap in which they had found themselves.

 “Stand by,” she said, sitting back in the chair. “It can’t be much longer.” 

 “We’re in!” Quinn yelled. “File upload complete. I am beginning start-up sequence, now.”

 The engineer frantically began to manipulate the controls on his panel, furiously entering commands, the status boards briefly flashing into the life, power relay links locking into place, before the screens went dark again.

 “No, no, no,” he said. “Manual override. Grant, try an override on the helm. There might be some residual power.”

 “Jack, what’s happening?” Orlova asked.

 “Override does not respond,” Grant said with a sigh. “Helm is not responding to control. All lights dark.”

 Reaching under the panel, Quinn pulled a pair of levers, but the status displays remained resolutely blank, the lights still dark. Somehow, it felt far colder on the bridge than it did a second ago, and Orlova tugged her jacket still tighter as she walked over to the engineering station.

 “Well, Jack?”

 “It didn’t work. Either there was an error in the upload process, or we lost control again an instant after bringing everything back on-line. I never even managed to start routing power to the engines.” He glared back at his board. “This should have worked.”

 “By now we’d be on our way out of the system,” Grant said, with a sigh. “Can we try again?”

 Glancing down at his watch, Nelyubov said, “We’ve got a date with an uncontrolled re-entry in less than five hours, and I don’t think we’re going to be permitted to miss it.”

 “It’s no good,” Quinn said. “If it’s our error, and I don’t think it is, then we don’t have anything like enough time to go through the code and fix it. If it’s still interference from the surface, then I suppose it could come back on at any time, but we’ve got no control over that from up here.”

 “I understand. Thank you, everyone. I know that you all tried your best.”

 “It just wasn’t good enough,” Grant said, shaking his head.

 “Jack, I’d like you to go down to Storage Six, and have everyone make for the Espatier barracks at once. Grant, you take Storage Two. Make sure you do a head count, I don’t want anyone to miss this.”

 Nodding, Quinn rose from his seat, stepping over to the emergency hatch, Grant following him. He looked around the bridge, shook his head, then started to climb down the ladder. 

 “There might be another answer, Maggie,” Nelyubov said.

 “I can’t see one. We’ve played our last card, and it looks like our opponent has won the pot.” Resting her hand on the arm of her chair, she said, “We’ll give them a minute to get started, then head down to the barracks.”

 With a deep sigh, he said, “I know what is coming next.”

 “There isn’t any choice,” she said. “Even now we’re going to have to trust to luck.” She stood up, walked over to the helm, and rested her hand on the console. “I remember the first time I sat there. On our way back from Ragnarok, that first mission.” She paused, then said, “I’ve let her down, Frank.”

 “You didn’t do anything wrong. We were almost certainly caught as soon as we pulled into orbit, maybe as soon as we entered this cursed system. There was no warning, no indication of trouble, no sign that the planet had anything that could threaten us.”

 “I’m in command,” she replied. “That makes it my responsibility.” The only light in the room came from the engineering console, the dull red status updates from the systems upload still glaring, as though tormenting her. “And in five hours, it’s all over.”

 “There’ll be another ship to pick us up. Enough people knew where we were headed.”

 “Which means that in a few weeks, a few months, another ship will come out this way and get trapped as well. Another crew stuck in this trap. That doesn’t make me feel better.” She glanced down at her watch, and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

 The two of them climbed down the hatch, silently making their way through the familiar passages, Orlova running over what she would say a dozen times, trying to find some way of expressing her thought that didn’t sound like a defeat, or an admission of guilt. She was failing.

 All around, they could hear noises, people talking on their way to the barracks, footsteps rattling along cold corridors. They must know that something was wrong, that her plan had failed, that there was no prospect of their ship saving them from danger. She longed for Captain Marshall, Captain Cunningham, for someone else to be here, to take this burden from her, but there was no-one. She was in command, and this was her job.

 Dropping out of the hatch, she started to walk down the corridor towards the barracks, Nelyubov right behind her. A group of life support technicians were standing outside the door, talking, and snapped to attention as she passed. She nodded, trying to force a smile, and stepped into the room, more than a hundred people waiting for her next move. Quinn, at the lectern, saw her arrive and signaled for silence.

 She stepped through the crowd, puzzled, disappointed, silent faces watching her as she took the lectern, Quinn moving to stand on her right, Nelyubov on her left. As she looked across the sea of crewmen, the words just wouldn’t come. Her mind flashed back to the final seconds of her first command, the Hercules, the ship tearing itself apart all around her, the crew having to force her into the last shuttle. Not this time. She took a deep breath, glanced down at the panel for a moment, and began.

 “You are all aware of our plan to conduct a full systems wipe in an attempt to remove the alien influence on our ship, to regain control. About ten minutes ago, the process was completed, and we attempted to bring ship functions back on-line. You can see from the current condition of the vessel that we failed.” Shaking her head, she continued, “We don’t know what happened, but the end result is the same. In just under five hours, this ship will burn up in the atmosphere of Thule, and we now have no way of altering her course.”

 She looked around the room, the words somehow flowing freely now, and continued, “I know that everyone in this room did their absolute best, and I am only sorry that I cannot report that your efforts were not met with success. Nevertheless, I am proud to have served with you, with each and every one of you.” Taking another breath, she said, “The time has come for me to give the order to abandon ship.”

 A gasp filled the room. Realistically, everyone had known what the outcome of failure would be, but putting it into words felt as though she was issuing a death sentence for Alamo.

 “How do we know the escape pods will work?” one of the communications technicians at the back asked.

 “We don’t,” Quinn replied. “We know that the last shuttle did make a safe landing, and that it was essentially brought down under automatic control. Our belief is that the crash only took place because the pilot attempted to regain helm functions.”

 “Spaceman, we have no answers for you,” Orlova said. “Whatever force that has taken control of our ship doesn’t seem to have any interest in killing us. With total control, if it had wanted us dead, it could have made that happen in an instant. Nevertheless, I agree that there is a risk here, but it is a risk against a certainty. Unless something unexpected happens, this ship will be destroyed in just under five hours, and we have no means of correcting its course.”

 A murmuring filled the room, and she continued, “According to our calculations, if you launch in eight minutes from now, you’ll come down in or near the crater. As long as you get within a hundred miles of it, you can cover the rest of the way in your suits. You have equipment to survive for a month if you don’t, as long as you are careful.”

 “What about the thrusters?” a woman at the back asked. “We could try a manual fuel bypass…”

 “I already ruled that one out,” Quinn said. “Take it from me that we are at last resort territory.”

 “Upon reaching the surface, you will make contact with Captain Marshall,” Orlova said, addressing the crowd once again. “We expect that help will be on the way in reasonably short order. You aren’t going down for life. In a few months, a Triplanetary ship will be coming this way. Your mission is to survive until that happens, whatever means necessary.” She glanced at her watch, then said, “You have seven minutes, forty seconds to get to your designated escape pod. Good luck, and I’ll see you on the other side. Dismissed.”

 The crew began to disperse, a low hum of anxious conversation filling the room, dividing up in small clumps to find their destination. A few of them would scurry to their cabins, defying regulations to retrieve some cherished possession, but everyone would be there in time.

 Grant remained, arms folded, and said, “You aren’t going, are you, ma’am?”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Commanding officer's privilege. Even if she's only on a dog watch.”

 “Wait a minute,” Quinn said.

 “You said it yourself, up on the bridge,” Orlova said. “Something might happen down on the surface. If we get a miracle, I want to be there to take advantage of it, and I’m going to be sitting at the helm until the end.”

 “I’m not going either, then,” Quinn replied. “You’ll need me to get the systems back up. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you aren’t that good an engineer.”

 Before Grant could say anything, Nelyubov added, “I still remember just enough astrogation to plot a course out of here.”

 Looking around, Grant said, “I haven’t got any excuse. I just don’t want to run out on a battle.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “One of you needs to be on an escape pod. We don’t know what the situation is down there, and they’re going to need a senior officer to take command.”

 “You could go,” Nelyubov said. “With your hand the way it is, I’m a better pilot anyway.”

 “I’m staying,” she said. “And I suppose I can’t argue with Jack, either.”

 “Good,” Quinn replied.

 She reached into her pockets, and came out with her hands as balled fists. “One has a data crystal, one doesn’t. Winner gets to stay. Grant, you pick first.”

 “Left hand.”

 Smiling, she opened the selected hand, and said, “Nothing. Get to your escape pod, Lieutenant, and thank you. I mean that.”

 Nodding, he looked around the darkened room, and said, “I never get any of the lucky breaks, do I. Good luck, to all of you.” He walked quietly out of the room, leaving the three of them behind.

 “How about that,” Quinn said. “Maybe he might make a human being yet.”

 “Sometimes, miracles can happen. Let’s go back up to the bridge. We’re no use down here.”

 The three of them made their way up through the maintenance hatches, Orlova’s heart lighter this time, a heavy burden removed from her soul. Her crew were going to safety, and if she couldn’t save her ship, at least she could protect them. When she opened the final hatch, a dark hand reached down to help her up.

 “Joe?” she asked, and Kibaki smiled.

 “You aren’t the only one that gets to be noble today. Besides, I don’t much like the look of that planet.”

 “I gave you an order.”

 He shrugged, then said, “Feel free to throw me in the brig. If you can get the locks to work, that is.”

  She climbed up to the bridge, and looked at the rear stations, Spinelli and Weitzman in their customary posts. They turned, smiled, then returned to their work, still trying to restore ship functions, setting up their panels so that they could activate them at a second’s notice.

 As she settled into the command chair, the ship started to rock, the sound of dozens of explosions from the side of the vessel. She counted thirty-one, and smiled. All the escape pods were clear, their passengers on their way down to the surface. Leaning back in the chair, she settled down, her crew at their stations, all waiting for the end.

Chapter 21

 A hundred flickering flames lit up the sky, smoke trickling up to the stars as the gathering army huddled for warmth, waiting for the dawn. Cooper looked out across the plateau at the force he would be leading into battle in the morning, walking from one group to another, giving words of encouragement, advice, and in a few cases sympathy as he toured the impromptu camp, Corporal Vaughan in tow.

 Over in one corner, Lance-Corporal Goodman was conducting a quick class in marksmanship, teaching a dozen of the Neander how to use their surplus service revolvers, lecturing them on the effects of recoil. From the Stone Age to the Industrial Age in one swift leap, but they were going to need all the advantages they could get when they launched their attack.

 He’d only dared a couple of brief scouting missions, Corporal Max taking two of his compatriots part-way down the pass to probe the enemy defenses. They’d be charging into four machine gun nests, and around a hundred and fifty prepared riflemen. If the plasma carbines had been working, this wouldn’t have been a fair contest. Half a dozen well placed shots would have brought the battle to a hasty conclusion.

 Over to his right, he glanced at Corporal Hunt, dismantling his weapon for the tenth time, trying and failing to find anything wrong with it. By all appearances, it should work, all systems functioning, the power pack well charged, but they just refused to fire, the safeties locked resolutely in place, and nothing any of them had tried worked. Everyone else had given up hours ago, Hunt still hoping against hope that he could conjure a miracle and change the tactical picture.

 They’d covered a lot of things during his basic training, how to fight in a wide variety of artificial environments with a wide selection of weapons. Old-fashioned bullets were nothing new to him, the low-velocity pistols they’d trained with replaced with some better suited for the new warfare, combat on planetary surfaces, that they had found themselves in. Heavier load, greater muzzle velocity, but they still felt essentially the same. Just a lot louder than he was used to.

 He held his pistol in his hand, feeling the weight. As advanced a weapon as the plasma carbine, in its own way, though designed to be as simple and rugged as possible, to last during prolonged campaigns with minimal maintenance. Something you could forget about for a month, pull out of your pocket and trust to work. Unsurprising that it had originally been designed for starship crewmen.

 “Credit for your thoughts, sir,” Vaughan asked. “Though I might be able to guess them.”

 “We’re going to be fighting a battle out of the Dark Ages, Corporal. Older. Most of this force are equipped with stone axes, knives, and our enemy has machine guns.”

 “Dead is dead, whether it is with a plasma weapon or a rock.”

 “True enough.” He looked up at the sky, looking for Alamo. “I just wish we had some better idea about what was happening up there. Or what the Captain is doing, down on the plain.”

 “Captain Marshall can take care of himself, sir.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Corporal, in a little over an hour, I’m going to be gambling the future of thousands of people on a pitched battle against desperate odds. Do you find it strange that I would like to have some sort of back-up?”

 “No, sir, but how different is this from any other battle we’ve ever fought?” He gestured around the camp, and said, “Little groups of people, sitting around and talking about any rubbish that comes into to their heads, trying to put out of their mind the fear that they might be dead by morning. The stakes for them are always the same. Life or death. That’s the way it is for any soldier, I think.”

 With a smile, Cooper said, “You should have taken up philosophy, Corporal.”

 “The philosophy of the gun, sir. We win or we die, and perhaps we die anyway. That’s not something to dwell about.” Peering down at the defense lines below, he added, “Though I wonder what is running through their little tin heads down there.”

 “A lot of ones and zeros, I suspect.” The two of them forced a laugh, and he continued, “Cost-benefit analysis. If we’re lucky, if we do enough damage, then they might cut and run if the odds get too high. They won’t necessarily stay until the end.”

 “Usually the decision when to break and run is at least taken by the soldier on the field. Are they taking that away from us as well, now?” Shaking his head, Vaughan said, “The perfect warrior, one who obeys orders, never asks questions, never gets tired, never gets sick. How long before someone decides to replace us with robots?”

 “Tomorrow, I hope,” Cooper said. “Preferably before dawn, if someone can get me a nice big consignment of combat robots. If that day does come when they decide that machines can do the dirty work for us, I won’t weep.” He gestured over to one of the fires, and said, “You’d better try and get a bit of rest. It’s going to be a hard day.”

 Nodding, the Corporal walked over to the fire, holding his hands close to keep himself warm, one of the Neander passing him a hot drink. Cooper walked over to the perimeter of the camp, off by himself, looking up at the stars blazing down from the skies, old, familiar friends in this alien world.

 He started to walk the perimeter, nodding at the posted guard as he strolled past. Over in the distance, he could see another figure, further away than he, standing well away from the rest of the camp. Cautiously quickening his pace, he relaxed when he saw Max glancing out at the plateau, at the far wall that separated the ghost of life from its extinction.

 “I’m not one of them,” he said, looking out at the camp. “I’m not one of you, either.”

 “No, you’re a Corporal in the United States Army,” Cooper replied. “It’s a strange universe, isn’t it.”

 “My ancestors roamed these plains freely, before your people arrived. This was our world.” He shook his head, and said, “A fool’s paradise. You can’t halt progress. That’s why I signed up with your Underground, rather than our Army of Liberation. The one you trusted Salazar and his friends to.”

 “Same music, different singers.”

 “Hardly. One would attempt equality, the other would simply change who is on top. And while we bicker and squabble, the crops die and our air runs out.” He paused, then said, “A lot of these people are going to die tomorrow.”

 “That’s usual in war.”

 “I’ve never fought a battle, not like this. I don’t think there has been one in the history of this planet. Little disputes, a few dozen people fighting it out, but nothing on this scale, two armies smashing into each other. I’ve read histories from Earth, from your Earth, of millions of men clashing in fields like this. I wonder what that was like?”

 Moving over to him, Cooper said, “I don’t know, and I hope I never do. This is more than enough for me, as it is.”

 A group of the Neander started to break out in song, some of the Espatiers clapping and applauding, cheering them on, and Max said, “Songs of ancient heroes, words to keep the fear at bay.” He sighed, and said, “I don’t know the words.”

 “There’s nothing to stop you learning, is there?”

 He smiled, and replied, “I’m a bit too old to go back to school. Thirty summers. In the old days, that would make me one of the elders, wise leaders of the tribe, waiting for death to claim me.” Gesturing down at the crater, he continued, “And when all of this is done, I won’t even be a soldier any more. What need will we have for an army?”

 “There will always be a need…”

 “A few troops for parades, perhaps, or to service weapons. The outposts will be abandoned, the Fort reduced to a shell, and that is the way it should be. We’ve wasted too much on this pointless conflict, but it’s been my life.” Glancing at Cooper, he said, “I was thinking about asking you for a job.”

 “In the Fleet? In the Espatiers?”

 Gesturing at the ridge on his forehead, he asked, “Is this a problem?”

 “You aren’t a citizen,” Cooper said. “That’s the problem. Are you serious about this?”

 “I’m getting there. We’ve got maybe a hundred soldiers who are going to be out of work soon, and a planet that needs to reach for the stars. This could serve both our purposes very well.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “This is way above my pay grade, Max. If we get through this, I’ll have a word with the Captain about it. You saved my life, down there on the crater, and though it seems strange to repay it by risking yours, I’ll go along with it. You realize there’s a good chance you’re signing up for a war.”

 His face breaking into a smile, he replied, “Ensign, I’ve been at war for fourteen years, since I first put on the uniform. Never any pitched battles, but lots of little skirmishes, guard duty, the occasional raid. And the waiting, waiting to see what the enemy will do, whether you will be permitted to see another dawn. None of this is exactly new to me.”

 “You think some of the others will feel the same way, then?”

 “I’m certain of it. At least a squad’s worth. We’ll need training, of course.”

 “We’re ready for that, and you’re going to have the edge on fieldcraft, ground operations.” He nodded, and continued, “Max, I’m on the way to being sold on this.”

  “I am pleased to hear it.” He shook his head, and said, “This world might have been the home of my ancestors, but I do not believe that it is truly mine. I don’t fit with my own people, or with my adopted people. Perhaps I would fit better elsewhere.” 

 “Whatever happens, I can guarantee you passage back to the Confederation. Even if it isn’t in a uniform, I’m certain that something can be arranged.”

 “It will be good to get away from this accursed place. It is a trap, I believe. We never had any chance of developing true civilization, no chance of building the industry to walk among the stars as you have done. Now we can break our shackles and return to our true home. Tell me,” he asked, “Have you ever been to Earth?”

 “Never,” Cooper replied. “Hostile territory. The closest I ever did was a single trip to Luna, back when I was a kid. It looked so beautiful, hanging there in the sky, but we never got permission to go down. They don’t like granting it to Triplanetary citizens.” 

 “A pity. I would like to see it, just once, to walk the lands of my ancestors. To see what they saw, thirty thousand years ago. Though I venture that it is all long since lost, anyway. I have read about your three World Wars.”

 “That was long ago. History, now. We’re past that.”

 “Are you? Your actions here on this planet might belie the truth of that statement.”

 “Perhaps.” He looked at the Neander, and said, "Five years ago, we thought your people extinct, dead tens of thousands of years. Now you walk among us once again, and perhaps that is the way it was always meant to be.”

 “You’re dancing with mysticism, there, Ensign.”

 “It’s always the same before a battle. The one taboo subject is the biggest one of all.”

 “Whether we will live through the dawn. We have a good battle plan, and reinforcements are on the way. I hope.”

 Glancing up at the sky, Cooper caught a glimpse of a fiery trail, racing across the horizon, heading for the crater. The two of them watched as it curved in, rapt by the sight.

 “Falling stars,” Cooper said. “They were always thought to bring good luck.”

 “There’s another one,” Max replied, pointing higher up. “Wait, two more. Your Gods appear to be truly blessing us today.”

 “Must be a meteor shower. Pretty big, as well, I think they might actually impact.”

 Bradley raced over, yelling, “Look at that!”

 “Yeah, we see it,” he replied. “Beautiful, isn’t it.”

 “And a fifth,” Max added. “A sixth.”

 A murmur of excitement raced across the camp as all eyes turned to look at the glorious display, a dozen flaming balls diving at the ground, trails of light forming an intricate pattern that seemed to be focusing on New Jamestown. A frown began to spread across Cooper’s face.

 “Are we sure this can’t be an attack?”

 “Who by?” Bradley asked.

 “We’ve got a not-man ship sitting out in the desert, looking back and watching while we do all the work,” he replied. “I wouldn’t put it past them to turn over the game.”

 “Fifteen now,” Max said. “Still more of them. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.”

 “Neither have I,” Cooper said, his eyes still fixed on the display.

 “Parachute!” Vaughan yelled, binoculars raised to the sky. “Multiple chutes from the first fireball!”

 “Escape pods. My God,” Bradley said.

 Max turned, asking, “What is the problem?”

 “Things must be even worse up there than we’d thought. Maggie’s abandoned ship. That’s our crew coming down to the surface.”

 “Looks like they’re heading for the capital. With a hostile garrison waiting for them,” Cooper said. “They’re dropping into a civil war.”

 “Sir,” Vaughan said. “Activity down at the bottom of the pass. Looks like the guardsmen are moving out.”

 “What?” Max asked.

 Nodding, Cooper said, “They’re going for the more obvious threat. Pass the word to all unit commanders to stand their men to. To hell with waiting for dawn. This attack begins now.”

Chapter 22

 Marshall sat on the bare floor of the improvised cell, looking first at Caine, then over to the locked door. Since they had been snatched from the streets and thrown into this empty room, they had seen no-one, heard nothing other than a low, rolling sound of turmoil from outside. Something was going on, and he wagered that one way or another, their stay was going to be short. They hadn’t taken them into Guard headquarters, but to an empty reservist depot, which gave the air of never having been used.

 “Do you think Pavel got away?” Caine asked.

 Nodding, Marshall replied, “He had enough of a head-start. I’m more worried about Foster, though if they’d captured her, she’d probably be in here with us.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Running right for us. Crazy.”

 “She didn’t know, Deadeye. Just bad luck, that’s all. Two infiltration schemes crashing into each other.”

 A key rattled in the lock, and Mason stepped in, holding a chair. He placed it on the ground and sat on it as the door slammed shut again, looking at them sitting on the ground, shaking his head.

 “You two present me with quite a problem.”

 “I’m glad to hear it,” Caine replied.

 “I will accept your unconditional surrender.”

 Frowning, Marshall said, “We’re in your prison. I don’t think you need anything more than that.”

 “No, I mean the surrender of you, your crew, your ship, to our authority.”

 Breaking out in laughter, Marshall said, “You have to be out of your mind to think that I would consider that for a second.”

 “Your men are scattered, dispersed across the habitable area of the planet, and your ship is stranded in orbit, unable to flee the system. I offer you all a chance of life. After a brief period of re-education, you could make a living as farmers in the outer settlements, or perhaps in the military. Otherwise, you will die, and so will they, Captain. It is a mathematical certainty.”

 “Mathematical?” Caine asked.

 “Your Ensign Cooper is preparing to lead his Neander army in an attack upon the Guard. It will fail, and I will have no choice but to order the execution of your men. I do not want to waste resources of such caliber, Captain, but I will, if you force it.”

 “I’d wait until the battle is over to start taking advantage of your victory,” Marshall said. “Ensign Cooper is a highly experienced combat officer, and I have every confidence that he will triumph.”

 “The odds against him are far too great for that. Not to mention the fate of the rest of your crew.”

 “Then you are responsible for trapping Alamo in orbit,” Caine said.

 Standing up, Mason walked towards the window, and said, “Children. That’s all they are. They have to be protected, nurtured, until the day when they can fulfill their destiny and reach for the stars. Until then such influences as you bring are destructive to good order.”

 “What about the dead men in the gully?” Marshall asked. “Where does that fit in to your order, your glorious new world. You’re nothing but a murderer.”

 “None of those people are dead,” he replied. “I cannot expect you to understand. Still too primitive, to savage to comprehend.” Shaking his head, he continued, “I have assembled a firing squad in the courtyard. You will be executed in five minutes. There is no time for a last meal, or any significant last request, I am afraid. I know such things are the custom on your world.”

 “We gave up firing squads a long time ago,” Marshall said.

 “Of course, you are far more civilized now.”

 “What is the charge? Out of purely academic curiosity.”

 With a shrug, Mason replied, “Disturbing the peace, perhaps, or disrupting the public order. I have filed no charges, Captain, and I have no wish or need to camouflage what I am doing with legalistic mummery. You must surrender, or you must die, to serve the greater good. That is the God I serve, and there are times when He requires such a sacrifice.”

 Rising to his feet, Marshall said, “There will be a time, very soon, when you will learn the magnitude of the mistake you have made. My people will triumph here, will build a better world than you could ever have dreamed of. I don’t have to live to see it, I already can.”

 “Perhaps it is so, and perhaps I am wrong. In any event, if they labor to build such a world, they will find me their staunchest supporter. The guard will be here in a moment to take you to the place of execution. I grant you that time to prepare to face your end.”

 He pulled the door open, stepped out, and left them alone in the room. Marshall looked after him for a moment, shaking his head.

 “I don’t know,” he said. “Any last thoughts, Deadeye?”

 She smiled, then said, “Don’t worry too much, Danny. I knew when I signed up that this might be the way it ended up. To be fair, I didn’t expect to die in this specific way, but I always knew what the price might be.”

 “Still,” he said. “I’m sorry. We can try to get away if you want.”

 “Out into a hostile city, with a salvo of shots ringing after us? We’re out of options this time.”

 A guard appeared at the door, a rifle in his hand, ready to cover them should they try any sudden moves. Marshall briefly contemplated trying to jump him anyway, at worst advancing their death by a few moments, but there was nowhere to run, even if he had made the attempt. Instead, he walked calmly forward, Caine behind him, as the guard silently lead him into the courtyard outside.

 It looked like the set of a movie. A pair of posts raised, to which the two of them were ushered, and a line of six men at the far side, checking and preparing their rifles, ready to take the shot. Mason himself was standing to the left of them.

 “I haven’t changed my mind,” Marshall said, in response to the unasked question. “Nor will I, not under any circumstances.”

 “So be it,” the politician replied with a sigh. “This is your choice, not mine.”

 Their escort tied Marshall’s hands to the pole, leaving him facing the firing squad up ahead. He looked up at the sky, hoping for one last glimpse of Alamo, and instead was rewarded with the sight of a beautiful falling star, racing across the heavens, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Then a second, flying behind it.

 “Would you like a blindfold?” the guard asked, in a cold, emotionless voice.

 “No, thank you,” Marshall replied. “I’m enjoying the show far too much for that.”

 With a curt nod, the guard stepped away, well out of the line of fire. As the firing squad stood to attention, Marshall looked up, watching the fireballs multiplying. The display occupied him as the guardsman lined their rifles, ready to take the shots that would end their lives.

 “Any last words, Captain?” Mason asked.

 As he spoke, there was a loud roar from above, and Marshall saw a parachute opening from the nearest fireball, forming into the blackened lines of one of Alamo’s spherical escape pods. There were more, dozens of them, opening up all across the town, coming down all around them, even into the parade ground itself.

 The guardsmen scrambled into cover, Mason leading the way, leaving Marshall and Caine tied to their posts. Belatedly, two of them turned, lining up their rifles to take the shot, but before they could fire a loud roar erupted from above them, a pod using its landing jets to slow itself, dropping down between the two of them. A hatch cracked open, and a pair of cracks echoed around the parade ground, Marshall briefly wondering if they had managed to kill him after all before he looked up to see the two guardsmen collapsing to the ground, dead in their tracks.

 Grant jumped out of the pod, pistol in hand, followed by a pair of communications technicians who raced across to free them, looking around with an air of disbelief.

 “Good morning, Captain. I hadn’t expected the pleasure.”

 “I’ll be damned,” Marshall replied, rubbing his wrists as the technician cut him free. “Can you give me any sort of status report, Lieutenant? How did you know we were in trouble?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I’m afraid this is just a very well-timed evacuation, sir. Alamo’s trapped in an orbit that will lead to a burn-up in,” he glanced down at his watch, “less than three hours from now. All systems failed, and Senior Lieutenant Orlova gave the order to take to the escape pods.”

 “Where is she?”

 He sighed, then said, “Back up on Alamo, Captain. She refused to leave. As did Quinn and Nelyubov. I lost the draw.”

 “I see,” Marshall said, trying to mask his feelings. “Was there nothing that could be done to save the ship, Lieutenant?”

 “We tried everything we could think of, sir. With the last of our power we attempted an escape orbit, but something down on the planet is knocking everything out. Almost everything, anyway. It’s oddly selective.”

 “Explain.”

 “The escape pods launched, sir, and we were able to guide them down towards the crater with excellent accuracy. I decided it was best for us to stick together, and aim for the town. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

 Caine smiled, stepping over to Marshall, and said, “Oh, it was, Lieutenant.”

 “Everything stopped working just before touchdown, and I mean everything. Communications, sensors, tracking, guidance, the whole system. I presume it was the same for the other pods, sir. Certainly I haven’t heard anything from anyone since then.” He pulled out his communicator, shaking his head. “Completely dead again.” 

 One of the technicians raced over, and said, “Looks like the rest of those bastards have run off, sir. There’s no-one in the barracks that I can find.”

 “Consolidating,” Marshall said. “How many stayed behind, Grant?”

 “Six, sir.”

 “That means a hundred-plus people are descending into the town.” A rattle of gunfire punctuated his words, and he continued, “We’ve got to try and bring some order into this chaos, and we’ve got to do it now. The Territorial Guard,” he gestured at one of the corpses, “will try and pull into a defensive line and wipe us out.”

 “Everyone’s armed, sir, with standard sidearms,” Grant said. “We saw to that before we left. Not much ammunition, though.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Deadeye, take Anders,” he gestured at one of the technicians, “and make for the Fort. Try and make contact with whoever is in charge, and tell him that we’re going to need support. If you can get in touch with General Daniels, so much the better. It would be nice to at least but a veneer of legitimacy on this takeover.”

 Another rattle of gunfire came from the far side of town, and Marshall continued, “Grant, secure this building. Gather as many as you can, find whatever weapons are around, and put together a reserve force. I’ll send a runner if needed. If you don’t hear from me in twenty minutes, use your judgment. Guardsmen are legitimate targets, soldiers are not, and you will know the difference.”

 “Understood, Captain.”

 “Danny, you ought to stay here and organize that yourself.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “Those are my men under attack out there, Deadeye. I can’t just sit here and watch while they are attacked.” Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed a pistol from the other technician and sprinted for the gate, racing out into the street.

 There were already a couple of fires towards the center of town, billowing clouds of smoke rising, the sound of sirens as people hurried to respond. A pair of empty escape pods rested by the side of the road, bullet marks running by the hatch, but mercifully, no sign of bodies.

 “Captain!” a voice yelled, and he saw a pair of Alamo crewmen racing towards him, one of them carrying a captured rifle. “We’re under fire, sir!”

 “I know, Bartlett. Go back to the compound and report to Lieutenant Grant. He’s organizing reinforcements.”

 “Aye, sir,” they said, and Marshall raced on, heading for the heart of town, where the bulk of escape pods had come down. Another crewman waved at him, climbing out of one of the last pods to descend, and he gestured for her to follow Bartlett while he pressed on. It seemed strange to see Triplanetary uniforms down here, mingling with the local population. One of his paramedics was performing first aid on the side of the road, a civilian caught in the crossfire, and he left him to his work.

 The main street was a war-zone, six pods dragged into a rough barricade, the rattle of machine guns everywhere, single shots from Triplanetary pistols in response. Ducking down low, Marshall headed for the stout, gray-haired man in the middle, tapping him on the shoulder.

 “Report, Kowalski!”

 “Captain?” The chief paused for a second, then gestured at the pods, “They got us right after we landed. I lost Hammond and MacDonald, wounded, I think, I’m not sure. A couple of other casualties, nothing serious, Garland’s working on it.” Another burst of fire raced overhead as he continued, “I managed to get the pods into a barricade, and we’ve got about twenty effectives here. What we don’t have is much ammunition, not for a full-scale firefight.”

 “Then we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t last that long, Chief,” Marshall replied.

 “Excuse me,” a soft voice said, and he turned to see an old woman walking towards the barricade, seemingly deaf to the battle raging around her, limping on a stick. “You must be Captain Marshall. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 “Ma’am, you’d better get back into cover.” Looking around, Marshall said, “Grogan, get this lady…”

 “There’s no need for that, young man,” she said. “There is an alley over there on the left. It’s a dead-end, but the fire-escape at the end will lead you to a spot that overlooks the position of the guardsmen. You’ll have a better chance than if you stay here.”

 “Who the hell are you?” Kowalski asked.

 “Manners, please.”

 “Excuse him, he’s a senior petty officer. Far too used to shouting at people,” Marshall said with a smile.

 “I am Mrs Schneider, Ginger, to my friends, and Pavel was most complimentary about you. Among other things, I’m with the Army of Liberation.”

 Shaking his head, Kowalski said, “Might want to do what she says, skipper. I think we’re running out of options. And bullets.”

 “Hooke, Winslow, Evans, to me,” Marshall said. “Take a spare clip each, and for God’s sake keep down low.” Turning back to the old woman, he said, “Stay here with Kowalski. If this works, I’m going to need to talk to you again in a few moments.”

 “Of course it will work. No reason to think otherwise.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a pair of beer bottles, and said, “Try these. Home-made.”

 “I don’t think we’ve got time…”

 “Light the fuse and throw them.”

 “I like the way you think, lady,” Kowalski said.

 Taking the Molotov cocktails, Marshall ran down the alleyway, the three crewmen he had named chasing after him. A line of bullets smashed into the ground on either side of him, kicking dust and rubble into the air, before he made it to the safety of the buildings. A guardsman stepped around the corner, rifle raised, but Evans was quicker to the draw, the engineer making short work of him.

 “You’ve missed your calling on the bridge,” Marshall said. “I’ll have to speak to Cooper about a transfer.”

 “Please don’t, sir. I very much prefer to work sitting down. When the Espatiers get tanks, I’ll be interested.”

 The impromptu commandos raced to the fire-escape, Marshall leading the way up the ladder while the quick-minded Winslow stopped to snatch the rifle from the corpse, rifling through its pockets for ammunition.

 “Sir?” he said in disgust. “This is a robot!”

 Turning back on the ladder, Marshall said, “What?”

 “The face comes right off.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “Nothing would surprise me on this planet. Leave it and come on, Spaceman. Our people can’t hold out for much longer.”

 Scrambling up the ladder, the four of them raced for the roof, Marshall sprinting into cover behind a low wall. There were a dozen guardsmen laying down suppressing fire, a couple of them setting up mortars from an improvised blockade. People were looking down out of every window, curiosity overwhelming common sense, waiting to see what would happen next.

 “Winslow, start making holes in some of those robots. Hooke, Evans, suppressing fire on those mortars. Slow them down as much as you can.”

 Ripping open his survival kit, the contents tumbling out onto the roof, he found a bundle of kindling, dropped it onto the instruction booklet, the only paper manual the Fleet provided, and cracked a canister over the lot, the chemicals mixing to provide immediate flame. He lit the first fuse, then the second, and hurled them as far as he could, reaching for the mortar crews.

 They’d already been caught by surprise by Evans, who was turning out to be a surprisingly good shot, but they weren’t expecting the flaming death that enveloped them, billowing fire sweeping all around them. Marshall pulled out his pistol, starting to take shots at the enemy below, but one of the machine guns was trained in their direction, spitting bursts of bullets at them, sending them ducking for cover.

 “They can get us whenever they want,” Hooke said.

 “Company!” Winslow said, gesturing to the end of the road, a trio of jeeps driving towards them. A figure in one of them rose from her seat, waving, and Marshall smiled as their machine guns opened up, slamming into the surprised guardsmen.

 “The Army’s here,” he said. “That’s Caine!”

Chapter 23

 “Quiet,” Salazar said, raising his hand. “I think I hear something.”

 The three of them paused in the corridor, straining to listen, the only reward for their silence the occasional drip of water from the ceiling. Harper shook her head, stepping forward, but Salazar stopped her with his arm.

 “There is something,” Foster said. “From behind.”

 “Footsteps. Someone’s coming after us.”

 Harper shook her head, and replied, “We knew that already. Come on, we’ve got to keep moving.” She shone her torch up, revealing a complicated series of pictographs carved into the wall.

 “Those look familiar,” Salazar said. “Too familiar.”

 “We’ve been here before, haven’t we,” Foster said with a sigh. “Do you think we made a double turn back there without realizing it?”

 “I lost track a quarter-hour ago,” Harper admitted. “Does it matter?”

 “It does if we ever want to get out of here again,” Foster said.

 With a shrug, the hacker said, “If you’re that desperate to get out, sit down and wait. Someone will be along to show you the way out before too long, with the finest accommodation the local jail can offer at the exit.”

 “Come on,” Salazar said, but Foster shook her head.

 “She’s right.”

 “Midshipman…”

 “Look, we’re lost. Completely lost. If we can capture one of the androids, we might be able to work out where we’re going.”

 Frowning, Harper said, “They’re robots. They won’t react to torture.”

 Turning to face her, Foster replied, “I thought you were supposed to be some sort of top-rated hacker. Are you telling me that you can’t think of some way to work out where the signals that command those damn things are coming from?”

 Harper paused, and Salazar asked, “Well?”

 “Actually, that isn’t a bad idea. I’ve got a full toolkit, and there’s plenty of power left in my datapad. If I can…,” she smiled, then continued, “Get me one, and make sure it is intact. As undamaged as possible. It won’t even take that long.”

 Nodding, Salazar gestured at Foster, and they took up positions on opposite sides of the corridor, pistols in hand, dousing their torches. They stood in total darkness, listening to the perpetual dripping and the approaching footsteps, now clearly audible. Two sets, by the sound of it, marching in time.

 “Shoot the first one in the head, the second in the legs and arms,” Salazar whispered. “I don’t care whether it is a machine or not, it can’t do anything with its limbs blown off.”

 “Got it,” she replied, and they waited in the darkness. Their vigil did not last long, as a pair of dark shadows walked around a corner, heading in their direction, weapons raised and ready for action. The figures moved closer, drawing within range, and Salazar raised his pistol, kneeling on the ground in precisely the position described in the training manual.

 “Now!” he yelled, the crack from his pistol echoing around the corridor, the figure collapsing to the ground. A pair of shots replied, blasting into the darkness, and the two of them fired again, Harper turning on her torch, pointing it towards the remaining guardsman. Legs first, then the arms, and it dropped by its companion, limbs jerking in a strange series of spasms.

 Salazar raced forward, emptying another bullet into the first, ruined guard, while the others followed up, Harper already beginning to unpack her toolkit. As he gasped for breath, Foster hurled herself at him, sending them both tumbling, as another pair of shots opened up at them. He could feel blood dripping onto him, Foster’s face turning white, as Harper drew her pistol and fired a pair of shots, dropping the two androids with practiced skill.

 “Damn,” she said. “Why weren’t you paying attention?” she gasped.

 “Always my fault,” Salazar said, tugging his medikit from his pocket. “Hold still.” The bullet had caught her shoulder, and blood was running down her side, down her uniform and onto the floor. “Harper, get to work.”

 “You might need…,”

 Turning to her sharply, he said, “I need you to do your job. I’ve got this.”

 “Slave-driver,” Foster whispered, her voice growing weaker.

 Shaking his head, Salazar injected an anticoagulant, then tugged off her jacket, exposing the wound. “Don’t you dare faint on me.”

 “Not my boss,” she whispered, her eyes drifting in and out of focus. “Can’t give me orders.”

 “Watch me,” he said, wrapping bandages around the wound. The blood flow was slowing, though the sterilized fabric was staining crimson as he watched. He continued to bind, tighter and tighter, cutting off the flow as best he could. He shone his torch into her face, and she struggled a faint smile back at him, nodding her head.

 “That’ll hold it until we get you up to Alamo,” he said, wrapping her jacket back over her shoulders. He rummaged through the medikit, finding the strongest painkiller he was authorized to give, and stuffed the pill into her mouth, following up with a drink of water from her canteen, much of which dribbled down her chin.

 “Thanks,” she said, her breathing growing more steady.

 “Just sit there,” he replied. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

 Resting her gently against the wall, he raced over to Harper, who appeared to be ripping at the guts of the android with a knife, pulling out components, her torch resting on a ledge. She glanced up at him, then looked back at her work.

 “Can you do it?”

 “I think so. There’s only so many ways you can design a transmitter, and the power system is pretty obvious. Actually, that’s the strange thing. I noticed it with the first one I looked at.”

 “What?”

 “This doesn’t look that alien. Not all of it, anyway. A lot of this looks pretty old, last-century tech. The relay booster, some of these circuits. This is all familiar stuff.” She pulled out a wire, sending a spark shooting through the air. “See. I knew that would happen.”

 “Of course you did,” he replied. “How long?”

 “A couple of minutes. You realize that they’ll have alerted everyone to our location.”

 “I figured that would be a part of it.”

 “Which means that more company is on the way.”

 “Yeah. Where did you learn to shoot like that?” 

 She rested her datapad next to the android, connecting cables, and replied, “I learned from the best. I offer lessons at very reasonable rates.”

 “I might have to take you up on that.”

 A faint groan came from Foster, and Harper asked, “How is she?”

 “I think I’ve got the wound patched, but she’s going to need real medical attention, and fairly soon. She’s going into shock.”

 Looking up, Harper said, “You know what I’m going to say.”

 “I don’t want to hear it.”

 “We’re going to have to move fast, and the odds are we’re going to be in another firefight.”

 “I’m not listening, Harper. Get on with your work.”

 The hacker paused for a second, words seeming to press to her lips, before shaking her head and looking down at the remains of the android again. Salazar watched her assembling components, running cabling into the datapad, then reassembling some of the components, pulling what had to be an aerial out of the guts of the machine and running it against the floor.

 “Pavel,” Foster said, and he went back to her.

 “I’m here, Val. What’s the story?”

 “She’s right, and you know it.”

 “Look…”

 “You’ve got to leave me.”

 “No,” he said. “No, I don’t have to leave you, and no, I won’t. I will carry you on my back, for as many miles as it is going to take to get this done, and as soon as we’ve knocked out the computer, I will get you out of here and to a doctor. Under no circumstances will I abandon you to the tender mercies of those robots. You will not be left here alone in the dark to die, and that is the end of this discussion.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “You don’t even like me.”

 Closing his eyes, he sighed, and replied, “I rather thought it was the other way around. Besides, that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with this. You are under my command, and I am responsible for you. That’s not something I mean to abandon, not ever, and if that means I’m a lousy officer because I can’t make the tough decisions, then that’s fine by me.”

 Harper plugged in the last component, and said, “Do you might keeping it down? They’re not going to need to home in on signals if you keep on shouting like that. I’m getting a trace now.”

 “What will it give us?”

 “Not a treasure map, if that’s what you are hoping for, but I’ll get a direction and distance. We’re still going to have to pick our way through this maze. Just give me one more minute.”

 “Right,” Salazar said, gently sliding his arms under Foster, struggling to his feet. Her eyes were sliding shut, her breath softening, as she drifted away into unconsciousness. She shook her head, struggling for a brief second, before relaxing into his arms.

 “Don’t worry, Midshipman. You’ll get home,” he said. Harper packed up her toolkit, sliding it into the pouch on her belt, then retrieved her datapad from the jumble of components.

 “A quarter-mile, north-north-east. Not that either of the tunnels go in that direction.”

 “You take point,” he said. “I’ll trust your homing instincts.”

 “More than I would.” She turned to the corridor, and replied, “I’ll say this, Pavel. You might not be much of an officer, but you’re a good man. Let’s move.”

 With a curt nod, he followed her down the corridor, his ears straining for any sign of pursuit. As it stood, there was no chance that he could reach his pistol in time to do any good, leaving them dependent on the quick instincts of Harper while he held his burden, sweat already forming on his forehead from the load.

 Her datapad held in front of her with one hand, her pistol in the other, Harper led the way as Salazar trudged behind her, struggling to keep up. He could hear footsteps again, moving quickly after them, and knew that their pursuers would not pause for breath or fatigue, but would remorselessly track them down until they had reached their prey. Unless, of course, they could knock them out first.

 Down a long slope they walked, past intricately carved drawings, depictions of things long dead, at least on this world, of stylized starships flying through surrealistic space, racing for all eternity in the rock. He could have stared at them for hours, but the torch only brushed across them for seconds, only long enough for him to get the faintest impression of the work.

 His boots started to ring on the floor, and he realized that they were no longer walking on stone, but on metal, and the walls were a dull, burnished brown, seems where plates had been fused together. Harper’s pace was quickening as she homed in on her target, the signal strength growing stronger as they approached the source of the control transmissions. Surely it would be protected, defended. They wouldn’t be able to just walk into the room, would they?

 Salazar’s suspicions were confirmed when he saw a pair of guardsman standing at the door, but Harper’s gun cracked twice before they reacted, sending them toppling like puppets with cut strings. She stepped up to them, then looked back at Salazar with a smile.

 “Why did they hesitate?” he asked.

 “They think that this transponder is one of them,” she replied. “I was hoping that would happen.” She looked at the door, and her smile evaporated. “Tell me you have some explosives with you.”

 “Even if I had them, I wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

 “We’ve got a new problem. This door is locked, sealed tight as a drum.” She pulled out a datapad and a series of connectors, and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

 The footsteps had increased their pace, and began to rattle the metal floor as they grew closer. There was no point disturbing Harper with exhortations to work faster. She knew what she was doing, what was at stake, and reminding her of that would only distract her.

 Foster began to groan, and he adjusted his posture, trying to support her better. They needed a stretcher, really, and two men to carry her rather than one, though if he was wishing, a fully-equipped trauma center would be more immediately useful. Or a battering ram to bring that door down.

 “Damn it,” Harper said, yanking a connector away.

 “Are we heading for last stand territory?” he asked.

 “Not yet we’re not. I’ve told you before, I don’t do one-way missions.” She pulled out a different connector and slotted it in, a complicated series of numbers and letters flashing on the datapad. “That’s more like it.”

 Salazar turned around, looking at the end of the corridor, less than a hundred meters away. He looked down at the pistol at his belt, but it didn’t seem likely that it would be enough not this time. There were at least six different sets of footprints, and after hearing the noise ahead of them, they would shoot first and ask questions later. A glance around revealed no cover here, no places to hide.

 Harper’s hand was a blur as she frantically attempted to open the door, using every trick she knew, and inventing a few on the spot as she improvised. Salazar looked back at her, trying and failing to follow her work, but finally, a series of green lights slowly began to wink on, one after another.

 A figure turned the corridor as the door slid open, and they unceremoniously raced through, Harper stepping aside to allow Salazar to take the lead, carefully guiding Foster through the door. With a quick tug, the cables came free, and the door slammed shut again.

 “They won’t open that in a hurry. Though neither will we.” She gestured down the last corridor, another few meters ahead, and said, “One more door to open, and this time I have plenty of time.”

 Glancing down at his watch, Salazar replied, “Not that much time. God knows what’s happening up on the surface.”

Chapter 24

 Cooper glanced to his left and right, looking at the army that had grown overnight. His own Espatiers on the left, under Corporal Vaughan in the absence of Sergeant Gurung, with Corporal Max standing beside him. On the right, and behind him, the mass of Neander troops, a few riflemen at the head.

 At the base of the plateau, the Guardsman had instantly realized that an attack was imminent, and had turned their formation to cover them, preparing for a fighting withdrawal. A part of him was tempted to call off the attack, to let this be a bluff rather than an actual engagement, but one glance at the Neander leaders convinced him that they would give the order themselves if he did not. Alone, they stood no chance at all against the massed fire of the enemy, and they knew that. He couldn't leave them to fight alone.

 Nor was there any way that he could conceal this attack. All the tactical options had melted down to none. One charge down the slope, supported by suppressing fire, and the hope that they would get sufficient mass of troops into melee combat to break the enemy lines.

 “Sir,” Max said. “To the rear.” He pointed, and Cooper saw more dust trails heading in their direction. Reinforcements. If there were doubts left in his mind, that solitary cloud of dust dispelled them, and he took a deep breath, pulling his gun from his holster. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it right.

 “All forces,” he said, raising his gun to the air. “Charge!”

 He pulled the trigger, and as the crack of the bullet resounded across the plateau, he began to race forward, down the hill, a massive surge of troops at his back. Below, the guardsmen held their fire, their four machine guns taking careful aim, waiting for them to get close enough to be sure of their shots.

 Vaughan led the Espatiers on a charge to selected positions on the slope, moving into whatever cover they could find to make maximum use of their range advantage. They dashed ahead of the Neander, sliding into position, and beginning to open up with carefully aimed shots before the enemy could respond. Simply attempting to keep the enemy’s heads down wasn’t going to work, not fighting a foe that had no care for the lives of individual soldiers. They had to kill them, kill them all, or die in the attempt.

 Logically, rationally, Cooper should have been with his own men, but as he felt the surge of excitement swell within him, the force of hundreds of warriors at his back with their weapons raised and ready, he knew that he had made the right decision. The commander had to lead from the front, and if there was to be any hope of restoring peace between the two races on this planet, someone had to make the first gesture. If it earned him a bullet in the belly, so be it.

 The ground was rough and unstable underfoot, and he saw an unlucky Neander tumble, rolling down the hill in a heap, causing one behind him to trip over him, making it worse. The force surged around them, narrowing their attack still further, and the ferocious blast of fire from the machine guns opened up at that point, bullets ripping into the front line of the attack, warriors dropping all around him.

 For a second, the heart began to seep out of the attacking force, and there was a chance that it might all have ended there and then in a desperate rout, but Max turned, screamed a fierce battle yell, and raced on down the hill at Cooper’s side, the pistol in his hand firing wildly, more to prove a point than with any expectation of killing one of the enemy.

 The covering fire was beginning to have an effect, the machine gunners falling at their posts, their comrades moving to take their place, but the delay buying them a few more meters of advance. The air smelled of cordite and blood, and was filled with the screams of the dead or the dying, punctuated with the rattle of the machine guns and the cracks of fire from the Espatier riflemen above.

 As the line drew close, Cooper reached into his pocket and hurled a grenade clear, one of the last they had left, and a ball of fire ripped into the right of the enemy lines, fragments of molten metal tearing into synthetic flesh. On the far side of the formation, another exploded, Private Martinez filling her role as grenadier.

 If androids could panic, he was seeing it now. Dozens of Neander lay behind them, their life’s blood scattered on the rocks, but they had died to give them this chance, and a wave of tribal warriors surged over the defenses, axes and clubs tearing into steel and plastic, savage fury erupting against an implacable line of metal.

 Cooper took a step back, allowing others to make the final charge, using his pistol to pick off any target that present itself. His spent clip dropped to the ground, his last replacement sliding into place as he fired his last remaining shots at any opportunity, watching one of the guardsmen drop to the ground, curling back over the barricade.

 Somehow, astonishingly, the androids were holding their line, switching from rifles to knives with barely a pause, ripping into the attacking Neander, ignoring wounds that would have sent any human screaming for mercy, for relief. As Cooper fired the last of his rounds, he tossed his pistol aside, reaching for his dagger, and dived over the barricade with the second wave of Neander, another hundred warriors surging into the fray.

 Up above, he could hear Vaughan calling for a charge of his own, the situation so confused that any shots from outside the melee were more likely to do harm than good. His world had shrunk from overall command of the battle to the knife in his hand and the opponent to his front, moving more rapidly than he could but with a predictability that he could exploit to his advantage, trading parry for riposte, before a stone axe from his neighbor caught the android by surprise, sending him crashing to the ground.

 He stepped forward, pushing into the reducing lines. If they escaped and were able to reform, none of this would be of any use. Any attack against prepared defenses was bound to fail, though to his right, he saw some of the Neander breaking and running, the androids shortening their own defensive lines to compensate, forming into a square.

 The battle was balanced on a knife-edge, and he yelled for more troops to come forward, pushing in, two Neander for every android, though their losses were greater than that fearful toll. Reaching forward to stab, he cut a gash down the side of one of their foes, only to leave himself momentarily overexposed when the enemy refused to fall, only saved by one of his allies pushing him to the side, sending him rolling behind a mound of sandbags.

 Suddenly, everything seemed to change, as the androids started to move away, and he heard a round of shots echoing from the walls of the canyon, then a second, and a third, well-organized gunfire hammering into the rear of the enemy. It could not be the Espatiers, bereft of ammunition as they were. He could see Hunt out of the corner of his eye, his rifle turned into an improvised spear with a knife strapped to the barrel, already stained with blood. Nor were the Neander the target, the androids instead collapsing by the dozen, breaks beginning to open up in their lines.

 “Come on!” he yelled. “We’ve almost got them!”

 With one last burst of strength, he charged forward, slamming into the nearest android and sending him toppling to the ground, severing its head with a savage slash of his knife while one of the Neander looked on approvingly. The weight of numbers was now overwhelmingly in their favor, and the pocket of androids grew smaller and smaller, until the Neander had them completely surrounded, with no way for them to escape.

 A rage born of decades of frustration and brutality was unleashed upon them, Cooper taking a step back to allow them to release their fury on the cold machines that had overseen their exile into the harsh, wild lands beyond the crater, the dense air energizing them and driving them onward, the fight degenerating into a dozen vicious melees, each ending one by one as the androids at their heart collapsed into a pile of broken parts.

 Looking beyond, Cooper saw a long, thin line of soldiers, rifles and machine guns trained at the firefight, a pair of officers at their head, a general and a lieutenant. He stepped forward, a group of furious Neander behind him, holding them back with a look. Whatever happened now and in the future, he had fought beside them and in their way, and was one of them in a way that could never be broken.

 “What are your intentions?” he barked, his knife still clutched in his hand, purple fluid dripping from the point. “I still have a battle force.”

 “Most certainly you do,” one of the officers said. “We haven’t met, but I’ve heard a lot about you. I presume you are Ensign Cooper.”

 “I am.”

 “This is a trick,” Wolpis said, eyeing them warily.

 “It’s no trick,” the officer replied. “I am General Blaine, and I’d like to return something I’ve borrowed from you.”

 From the end of the line, a familiar figure stepped out, waving his gun in the air, and Sergeant Gurung raced towards Cooper, hand outstretched.

 “Sorry it took me so long to get here, sir. I’ll try and do better next time.”

 “This man is your brother?” Wolpis asked, peering at Gurung. “He is one of your tribe?”

 Nodding, Cooper said, “He is my right hand.”

 “So be it.” Stepping forward, he said, “I welcome you to our war.”

 The sounds of battle were fading now, many of the Neander racing up the hill, remembering the friends and comrades they had left behind up there, hurrying to see if there was any chance that their lives could be saved, no matter how belatedly. Blaine was lying just short of the barricade, motionless on the ground, faint gasps wracking his body. With a quick nod from Cooper, Corporal Vaughan led the Espatiers after them, medical kits in hand, to offer what aid they could.

 “You didn’t answer my question, General,” Cooper asked. “What are your intentions today?”

 “We came to wipe out the Territorial Guard, Ensign,” he replied. As the Neander dispersed, he looked at the scattered remains, and said, “What the hell?”

 “Androids, controlled by some force in the city,” Cooper answered, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

 Bluntly, Wolpis, his eyes narrowed, looked at Daniels and asked, “Are you on our side?”

 “Why are you here?”

 “Food for our starving children,” he replied. “Those aliens have four times our number waiting up on the plateau, waiting for I don’t know what.”

 “We haven’t got enough food for our own,” Daniels said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to have to fight you here today, but if that is what you came for, I’m not going to have a choice.”

 “You’ll lose,” Wolpis said, and both sides began to move closer, weapons hefted in their hands, the fury of battle beginning to rise once again to the surface.”

 “Stop this!” Cooper yelled. “If you fight here, then both sides lose. It’s obvious what is happening, the not-men are building up an army to conquer this planet. They pointed us at you in the hopes that we’d weaken both sides, and all you are doing is playing into their hands. General, do you want your people to be massacred? Wolpis, would you trade away the freedom you have sought for so long?”

 “What do you propose, then?”

 “Alamo can produce supplies for all of you, and materials that can triple, quadruple your food production. Hydroponic plants, carniculture vats, we can manufacture all of these with our fabricators.” He gestured towards town, and asked, “What’s happening in New Jamestown?”

 “Your people have landed in force,” Daniels said. “There’s heavy fighting all over the place, the Guard against a few of my people and all of yours. I got a radio message before the jamming got heavy, Captain Marshall is commanding the operation.”

 “Any word of Ensign Salazar?” Bradley asked, stepping forward.

 “Nothing, I’m afraid. What little we know is garbled.”

 “Then we’ve got to get to town, right now, and come to their assistance. Our forces will be lightly armed, and the Guard will overwhelm them.” He looked at the jeeps, and asked, “How many can you take on those?”

 “Maybe fifty, at a pinch.”

 “Right. Corporal Hunt, you will remain behind with ten men to supervise the casualty operations. We’ll take whatever medics you have as well, General.”

 “Who put you in charge?” the lieutenant asked.

 Turning to face him, Cooper said, “Well, frankly, I did, Lieutenant, and if you have a problem with that, you are free to take it to the proper authorities. We’re trying to save everyone on this planet. Your call.”

 “Be quiet, Franks,” Bradley said.

 “My people must come as well,” Wolpis said. “I trust you, Cooper, but I do not trust the rest of your people. I dare not, for the future of mine hangs in the balance, and that is a treasure I will not yield easily.”

 “Twenty from each side,” Cooper said, in an air that brooked no criticism. “We’re going to need rifles and ammunition for all.”

 Franks turned to Bradley, and said, “Sir, in all good conscience I cannot permit weapons to be handed over to these savages. They’ll just stab us in the back when they get a chance!”

 His tirade was interrupted by a bullet smashing into the ground at his feet, Max pointing his pistol at the hotheaded officer.

 “If I shoot you, it will not be in the back,” he said. “I could have killed you in a second, the rest of my people could overwhelm you in a heartbeat, tear you limb from limb, but all that will lead to is the slavery and death of us all. If you haven’t got the wit to see that, then get out of the damn way for those of us who can!”

 “I’ll have you court-martialled,” Franks said.

 “Lieutenant, I’ll have you shot myself if you don’t shut up,” Daniels replied. “We’re going to have to trust each other sooner or later, I guess, and we might as well make a start now.” He turned to his men, and said, “Let’s get this show on the road. We move out in five minutes!”

Chapter 25

 Clouds of smoke still filled the street as Marshall picked his way over the battered barricades, a group of soldiers racing past him to deal with a remaining pocket of resistance in a bar, the staccato rattle of a machine gun intermittently audible in the background. His crewmen were starting to deal with the aftermath of the battle, small teams working on clearing the road, sorting the bodies, helping the wounded. Caine jumped out of the jeep followed by Lieutenant Higgins, who snapped a sharp salute.

 “Thanks for coming, Lieutenant,” Marshall said.

 “I read in a book that the cavalry always turns up at the last minute, sir.” Looking around, he said, “I’m afraid there isn’t much of it this time, though. I’ve got less than a platoon here, but I did bring additional rifles and ammunition for your men.” He smiled, then said, “I think we’re getting close to using up every round on the planet. I don't care as long as they end up in those red-uniformed bastards.”

 Chief Kowalski ran up to his side, shaking his head, and said, “Nasty mess, sir. Three of ours dead, twelve wounded. Doctor Duquesne is on her way to the hospital with the worst of them, and Garland is setting up a triage facility in the barber’s shop over the road.”

 “There’s fighting in half a dozen other streets, Danny,” Caine said. “The Guard seem to be withdrawing to their headquarters, as well as the power station. My guess is that they’re getting ready for a counterattack.” She looked at Higgins, and said, “You going to tell him?”

 With a sigh, Higgins said, “There’s a lot more of them than we were expecting. Their stated strength was a little under two hundred, but there must be that many here in New Jamestown, and I know that there are as many again on their way out to Patton Outpost.” 

 “With luck, Cooper will have dealt with them by now,” Marshall said.

 “We know that there has been a battle, sir, but we haven’t any idea who won. All our radios are jammed, from the Territorial headquarters,” Higgins continued.

 “The critical point is that we’re weakening, they’re strengthening,” Caine said. “This is only temporary unless we can knock them out. We know that Salazar managed to infiltrate the headquarters with Harper…”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Potentially, all that means is that they are trapped down there. The Guard can’t have infinite resources, so they need to prioritize. Which means that we’ve got to hit them now, and hit them hard, and draw them away. How much transport do we have?”

 “Not enough,” Higgins said. “We’re beginning to run into power problems, as well. They’ve turned off all our charging stations.” Slapping the side of the jeep, he said, “This baby’s only good for about another ten miles before we have to get out and walk.”

 “That’ll do for what I have in mind.” He looked downtown, at the columns of smoke that were still rising. “Lieutenant Grant is assembling a strike force at the Reserve Depot. Arm them, and with the transport you’ve got, attack the power station. We’ve got to take that back at all costs.”

 “Any risk of damage…” Higgins said.

 “You’ve got a hundred trained technicians on hand to fix anything that breaks, Lieutenant. I think we’ll be able to work out something for you, even without logistic support from upstairs. While you attack the power station, we’re going to launch a strike on Territorial Guard headquarters, try and pin them down. That’ll support Salazar and divert attention from you.” Glancing at his watch, he continued, “Get your force together, and launch your attack in fifteen minutes.”

 Nodding, Higgins said, “We’ll be there.” He hopped back into his jeep, yelling orders as it drove off down the road, a cloud of dust in its wake. A huge explosion ripped through the air from an adjacent street, sending a curl of flame racing for the sky.

 “Chief, stand as many men to as you can, right now. Force march to the power station. Tell Lieutenant Race he has the command, and that he is to follow up as fast as possible.” Glancing around, he yelled, “Winslow, Hooke, with me!”

 “Danny, forward scout isn’t a job for the commanding officer,” Caine said.

 “It is when he’s the only one around to do it,” Marshall snapped in response, as the two crewmen raced up, newly acquired rifles in their hands.

 “Are you sure about this, sir?” Hooke asked, glancing around the streets. A loud burst of machine gun fire echoed from ahead, a warning of things to come.

 “Whatever happens, just stick with me. We’ve got to see what the situation is up ahead.”

 “Sir, get down!” Winslow said, raising his rifle and firing through the space where Marshall’s head had been an instant before, felling an android with a shot right between the eyes.

 “It’s dangerous out here,” Hooke complained.

 “Hell, at least they die like we do,” Winslow replied.

 Waving his arm forward, Marshall drew his pistol, and said, “Let’s go.”

 He raced to the side of the street, running as close to the wall as he could, periodically jumping over pieces of crumbling wreckage, watching for any more android snipers. Hooke snapped a shot over his shoulder, sending one of the red-uniformed figures crashing to the ground before Marshall could react.

 Turning a corner, the next street was surprisingly quiet, no people out on the road, windows and doors closed and boarded up. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Marshall jogged down the pavement, the rest of his impromptu fire team behind him. He could make out the looming shadow of Territorial Guard headquarters just ahead, only another side street to go, but the rattle of machine gun fire sent him crashing to the ground, dragging himself into the only cover he could find, a signboard advertising job vacancies.

 Winslow raced up, bullets tearing all around him, slamming into the board beside Marshall.

 “Caine and Hooke are holed up on the other side of the street,” he said. “I make two guns, in the hotel at the end of the street, top floor.”

 “Agreed,” Marshall replied, nodding, “but I’m not sure that does us any good. We don’t have any heavy equipment to deal with it.”

 “The Army will,” Winslow replied.

 Glancing back, Marshall said, “Spaceman, I’m not sending you back out there.”

 With a resigned shrug, the technician replied, “There isn’t any choice, sir. Someone’s got to go back and warn the follow-up force, or we could lose a dozen people before they can react. I’m volunteering.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Give me your rifle, Spaceman. I’ll give you covering fire. When I open up, run like hell, and don’t forget to zigzag.”

 “Don’t worry, sir, I’m too much in love with myself to take any unnecessary risks.”

 Pausing for a second, Marshall took the rifle, glanced up at the hotel, then ran out into the open, firing three quick shots before racing back towards the signboard. Winslow glanced at him with a look of shock before sprinting for the end of the street, towards the advancing Triplanetary forces, hardly a single bullet coming anywhere near him as all attention focused on Marshall.

 In an instant, Marshall realized that he would never make the signboard, and riddled with bullet holes as it already was, it would do him little good if he did. Instead he made for the single open door along the entire street, and as bullets crashed into the ground all around him, he dived inside, looking up at the figure of Secretary Mason, a pistol leveled at his head.

 “You have sought sanctuary in the wrong place, Captain,” he said.

 “No, Kirk,” the Governor said. “Not here.”

 Looking up, Marshall realized that he was in the Museum of Earth. In front of him was a huge, slowly spinning model of the planet as it looked in the mid-21st century, when the Thule colonists launched, and lovingly prepared glass cases held a collection of carefully preserved artifacts from those days, posters from long-forgotten political campaigns, pieces of electronic equipment, even an astronaut’s helmet. A model of the Mayflower II hung poised from the ceiling, its tip pointing down at Marshall on the floor.

 Gesturing at the helmet, Mason said, “You realize that was used by one of the astronauts on Ares Three. One of the first four men to walk on Mars wore that. This is history.”

 “And cannot be destroyed in a firefight,” the Governor protested. “All of this is far too precious for that. None of these pieces can be repaired, restored. Once they are gone, the memory will fade, forever.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “The memories have already faded. Look out there, Governor. Your people are fighting for their freedom!”

 “They are killing themselves,” Mason said, sighing. “The reconstruction process will take far longer than it might have without your intervention. Still, your people will all be dead shortly, and we can begin to rebuild.”

 “Rebuild what?” Marshall asked. “This planet is dying, and its people with it.”

 “Unless the population was drastically thinned.”

 “My God. You wanted this, didn’t you? To trim down the population so that the survivors would be able to live, and to hell with the fact that tens of thousands of people would have to die to bring that about.”

 “The preservation of the human race is my sole goal. Understand that.”

 Looking down at the ground, Marshall said, “The human race is under no threat of extinction! We’re on a hundred worlds, scattered across thirty, forty light-years, and spreading still further. Our numbers haven’t been this great since the Third World War, eight billion human beings strong.”

 “I know of such colonies, others that were scattered like seeds during the Diaspora. All of them struggle, and the not-men are the greatest threat of all. My analysis is that they are likely to defeat your kind, and that before long, the truth that the colonists believed will be reality. That this will be one of the few outposts left of mankind.”

 “Your kind?” the Governor asked.

 “He’s an android,” Marshall replied with a snort. “Just like the rest of his Territorial Guard. Those bodies,” he said, “the ones we found. Recruits.”

 “They pledged to give their lives in the defense of good order.”

 “That didn’t mean they were willing to be shot and abandoned in the desert, replaced by machines that stole their faces, their lives!”

 “Is this true, Kirk?” the Governor asked.

 “It’s your dream, damn it!” Mason yelled. “You wanted this to be the last haven for mankind, a sanctuary where all humanity could survive the end of everything, and one day return to reclaim the stars. There are still opportunities remaining for such work. With proper exploitation of our labor force and an adjustment to our standard of living index…”

 “Turn everyone on this planet into a slave of your android masters, and work towards a goal that they may never see, that might never happen,” Marshall replied. “That utopia can be here today, Mason! Or whatever you are! That ship up there in orbit…”

 “Will turn this planet into a battlefield, Captain. Where the last war will be fought, one that will lead to the extermination of all humanity. Our only chance is to sit this one out.”

 “So you will annihilate the Neander, enslave everyone who is left, and hope that the great, glorious master plan that you have concocted will work out.”

 Shaking his head, Mason said, “It is a last resort, I grant you. Since we learned what had befallen humanity, we see it as the only path to salvation. As for the Neander, weep no tears for them. Their ancestors almost destroyed yours, in a thousand savage battles among the stars. This was a repository for the worst of them.”

 “A prison,” Marshall said, nodding. “It makes a strange sort of sense, now. A borderline-inhabitable world, one with no real potential.” Frowning, he continued, “Those wars took place ten thousand years ago.”

 “A blink of an eye for a machine, Captain. Our original purpose was to prevent the development of a technological civilization by the Neander, but now we must foster one, and allow the descendants of our masters to retake what was theirs. When we were discovered by Mr. Mason, he gave us the information we needed to begin the work.”

 “I can’t imagine how anyone would sell out their children’s future to the care of a machine that is still fighting a long-dead war.”

 Shaking his head, the Governor said, “You don’t know what it was like, forty years ago, Captain. All was chaos, with factions struggling for dominance while the Neander launched their raids, and our people starved as the crops failed. It turned around when the Guard was formed, and I begin to see why.”

 “We provided the location of aquifers, sites of accessible resources, and even some technological bootstrapping. A starfaring civilization can arise from this brutal soil, Captain, given time, sacrifice, and proper control.” He looked down at Marshall, shaking his head, and added, “Any thought I had about trusting the future of humanity to you was dispelled when I saw how you treated the Neander. They were your enemies, and you make common cause with them when you should be wiping them out.”

 “We’re all one species, damn it,” Marshall replied. “And we are not in the business of genocide.”

 “Or survival, it would appear.” A torrent of shouting came from outside, gunfire and explosions from the street. “Our mutual reinforcements have arrived.”

 “Wait a minute,” the Governor said. “Kirk, you can’t kill him.” 

 “I must,” he replied. “And you know it.”

 “Yet you hesitate,” Marshall said. “I wonder why?”

 “Even a machine can lament fate, Captain.” He smiled, then said, “And for everything we do, there is a good and logical reason.”

 He leveled his pistol, but the Governor jumped at Mason’s hand, trying to slap it away. Mason turned, pushing the Governor into the model of Earth, sending it crashing to the ground and rolling away, buying Marshall the time he needed to tackle the android, bringing them both to the floor. Mason kicked out, pushing him away, and he snatched his gun from where it had fallen, pulling the trigger just as the Governor dived towards him, the force pushing him back to the ground. Marshall retrieved his pistol and fired before the android could react, drilling a neat hole in his forehead with the bullet.

 “Too late,” the Governor said, blood pouring from a wound on his chest. “Too late.”

 “We’ll get you out of here,” Marshall said.

 “No point, no need.” The Governor looked into his eyes, and said, “Look after them. Don’t let the dream end.”

 “I won’t,” Marshall said, as the Governor breathed his last. The doors burst opened, and Cooper raced in, Caine on his heels, looking at the scene.

 “What happened?” Caine asked.

 “I made a promise I do not intend to break,” he replied. “Ensign, how did you get here?”

 “We smashed through the Guard out in the desert, and hooked up with General Daniels and some of his men. I have fifty effectives ready to attack, and we’re pushing the androids back on three fronts now.”

 Nodding, Marshall rose to his feet, and said, “Let’s finish it, then.” He looked down at the Governor’s body, lying on the floor, and quietly said, “You’ll not be forgotten, sir. You saved your people. Both of them.” Taking a deep breath, he walked to the door, and said, “Let’s go.”

Chapter 26

 A rhythmic crashing echoed from the sealed door, the sound of a gaggle of androids attempting to break it down. Salazar stood in front of it, pistol in hand, watching the dust and debris of centuries fall from the ceiling, hoping that it would hold. Ultimately, they would bring up the equipment they needed to smash their way inside, and it would come down to the four bullets he had left in his gun.

 “Harper, now would be a good time to get that second door open,” he said, looking up the corridor.

 With a frustrated snarl, she replied, “I’m working on it, I’m working on it.”

 “Hurry. This door won’t hold forever.” He looked down at Foster, gently propped against the wall, her head drooping down onto her chest. “You still with us, Midshipman?”

 “Not going anywhere,” she mumbled.

 “Keep it that way.”

 The noise abruptly stopped, which filled him with a greater sense of dread. It didn’t seem likely that they would just give up, and he feared that they were going to deploy something more effective. Unless this was simply a matter of psychological warfare, trying to unnerve him. Which was succeeding.

 He glanced at Harper, who had almost dismantled the lock in a vain effort to open it. If she couldn’t open the second hatch, then they would have little choice but to surrender. They had no food, and only a few mouthfuls of water left in their canteen, and next to no ammunition. Even if supplies had been plentiful, Foster needed medical attention in a hurry.

 A high whine began to sound, and the door began to grow warm. They were cutting their way through, increasing the level of brute force at their disposal. Unlike almost everything else, the door was a conventional enough alloy, and wouldn’t last for very long.

 “Harper, now would be a good time.”

 “Hold on. I’m getting somewhere.”

 Holstering his pistol, Salazar knelt down on the floor and picked up the groaning Foster, carefully rising to his feet with her in his arms, his aching muscles protesting at the load. He walked down towards Harper, who glanced up at his approach.

 “Don’t rush me.”

 “The androids are rushing you. They’re cutting through the door.” 

 She tapped the hatch she was working on with her fist, and said, “They won’t get through this one, but I will. Three more connections.” Her nimble fingers pulled components back into position, and the battery discharge light on her datapad started to wink as though sending some sort of secret signal. With a rumbling, grinding noise, the door began to slide open, Harper racing through without a word.

 Salazar began to ease Foster through, and as he stepped across the threshold there was a loud report from the other end of the corridor as the door gave way, bullets cracking all around him as the androids charged through after him. Harper began to work controls again, and just as Salazar stepped in with his precious burden, the door slammed shut behind them, sealing the androids off once again.

 “You sure we’re safe here?” he asked.

 With a shrug, the hacker replied, “Safe is a relative term, but I think we’ve got a little while.” She turned to the far side of the room, and said, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

 Carefully placing the now-unconscious Foster on the floor, Salazar followed Harper to a huge computer bank on the far wall. Even to his untrained eye, he picked out strange, alien equipment, crudely merged with long-obsolete computer components bearing the name of defunct companies from the 21st century. All of it was tangled together with a complicated series of cables and improvised connections, fiber-optic traces everywhere in a spider’s web of data.

 “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Harper said in awe, entering commands on the keyboard. “Really old programming language, but I can use it. Lots of security safeguards. Whoever designed this was a genius.”

 “Never mind complementing the designer, can you destroy it?”

 Looking up at Salazar, she said, “Pavel, this computer is ten thousand years old, and it’s operational. We can’t just smash it, tear it to pieces. What we could learn from it could advance our own technology by centuries. The data preservation technology alone would be extraordinarily valuable.”

 The rhythmic pounding resumed, and Salazar said, “We don’t have time for this. In a matter of minutes all of us are going to be captured.” He looked at the computer, and said, “This is a seek-and-destroy mission, not an archaeological expedition.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Give me time. I think I can shut it down, preserve it for future study.” Her fingers moved across the keyboard, terminals lighting up to display data, some of it in strange pictographs, other in formats he recognized from his archeotechnology classes at the Academy. “The security measures, most of them will be easy to get past.”

 “How long?”

 “Half an hour.”

 “We don’t have anything like that much time. Find out where the control circuits are, and I’ll destroy them. Either with the last bullets in my gun or with my bare hands if I must. We’ve got to shut down those damn androids.”

 Pointing at a menu, she said, “I can take control of them, given time. Someone else did this with a lot less to work with…”

 “But a lot more time at their disposal,” Salazar interrupted.

 “I won’t do it,” she said. “Go back to the door, and buy me some time.”

 “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I am the senior officer here.”

 Her eyes rapt by the computer, she pulled out her identification card, and said, “Actually, I am. So, Sub-Lieutenant, you will go to the door, and hold them off as long as you can, while I prioritize the neutralization of the androids.”

 He snatched the card, scanned it, and said, “This is fake.”

 “My commission was classified. I’m declaring this a sufficient emergency to inform you.” Her hands still racing across the controls, she continued, “This is too important to the future of the Confederation.”

 “What about the future of this planet, or Foster. She’s hurt, badly.”

 “You’d better get back to the door.”

 Nodding, Salazar turned back to Foster, and said, “I’d better give her something else for the pain.” He opened his medikit, flicking through the painkillers, and found what he was looking for. Something with the happy side effect of temporary unconsciousness. In one quick, deliberate move, he pulled out the hypodermic, quietly stepped behind Harper, and injected her in the neck.

 She jerked as the needle pierced her skin, turned, and muttered, “You bastard,” as she slumped to the ground. He grabbed her, gently lowering her to the ground.

 “Sorry, Lieutenant,” he said, “but I can’t take the chance. You can court-martial me as soon as you wake up. I need to make sure we’re both here for you to have the chance.”

 As the hacker began to snore, he looked more closely at the control computers, trying to bring back the memories of long-ago classes in computer design. He’d never intended to specialize in engineering, his eyes always on fighter pilot training, and he was paying the price for that now.

 Ignoring the blinking cursor on the screen, he looked at the cables, trying to find something that looked like a transmitter. The unit appeared self-contained, reliant on internal power, so the broadcast unit had to be built into the device. For a second, he paused. Harper was right about the potential value of the computer. The sound of low grinding from the door, the androids deploying their cutters one again, brought him back to reality.

 If he’d had one single grenade, this would be easy. Four bullets were worthless, unless he knew precisely what he was aiming at. He looked down at Harper, cursing under his breath, but there was no way he would have been able to convince her in the time. Gently, he took her toolkit out from her hands, and unscrewed one of the inspection ports at random, placing the plate on the floor. His reward was another tangle of wires, and he pondered simply pulling them out at random, hoping for the best.

 With a shrug, he reached in, tugged at one, and a shock raced down his arm and through his body, snapping him to with a jolt as he released it. He took a deep breath, wiping his hand across his forehead to clear the sweat. That wasn’t an answer.

 Dropping to his knees, he peered inside, holding his torch to get a better look. There was something inside, something strangely familiar, something that he recalled from Yeager Station. A fragment of crystal nestled at the rear, engulfed in a forest of components and readouts. He glanced down at Harper and shook his head. It couldn’t be that simple.

 Trying to reach in, he realized that it wasn’t. Trying to force past all the components was too difficult, the gap between the cables too tight. He could almost swear that it got tighter the harder he pushed, as though something was actively trying to prevent him from withdrawing it. His fingers brushed the edges of the crystal, but he couldn’t get a grip on it.

 The whining from the door was growing louder the longer he worked, and he swore he could see steam rising from it, the heat building. No matter how tough the alloy, sooner or later they were bound to get through.

 He reached in again, leaning as far forward as he could, his hand brushing up against cables and connectors, small, short shocks running through him. He paused for a second, his eyes widening. No device would be build so badly as to cause such shocks by accident. This was some sort of a defense mechanism, and he was triggering it. If he pulled out the crystal, anything might happen.

 Shaking his head, he pressed on. He knew what would happen if he didn’t withdraw the crystal, and a lot of people were counting on him. With one last effort, he managed to get his hand around the base, his fingers starting to work the clips that held it in position. The first one came off easily, the second less so. The rattling from the door grew louder and louder, a gap appearing by the wall. Smoke was billowing into the room now, settling around the ceiling, an ever-growing cloud.

 As his numb fingers worked the third clip, he felt rather than saw the door bursting open, the reverberations running through the floor, and he heard the sound of marching boots heading towards him. They wouldn’t shoot indiscriminately, and he knew that he only had seconds left, the clip stuck. The crystal rocked back and forth on his housing, slowly coming loose, and as the first bullet ripped into his flesh, he yanked it clear, waves of pain running through his body.

 He waited for the sound of more cracks flying through the air, more bullets smashing into him, but nothing happened. Gasping for breath, he looked at the androids at the door, all of them standing motionless, rifles fixed in their hands, facing forwards. With an intense effort, he struggled to his feet, the crystal still in his hand, and staggered forward, pushing at one of the red-uniformed machines.

 It dropped to the floor with a clatter, and he breathed a sigh of relief, before toppling back to the floor, crying out in pain as he landed on his wounded arm. The medikit was on the far side of the room where he had left it, well out of reach, and he struggled to remember how long the sedative he had given Harper would last. Hours, more than likely, and even when she woke up, she’d have to pick her way out of the tunnels before she could return with help.

 His breathing grew shallower as blood trickled down his arm. He reached over with his other arm, trying to improvise a tourniquet, something to stop the bleeding, but the effort was too much for him, and he gasped with exhaustion. Struggling to focus across the room, he saw Foster, her breathing steadier than his now. She was more likely to live through all of this than he was.

 With no other choice, he settled back on the floor, trying to make himself as comfortable as he could. If the price of ending all of this, of defeating the androids and saving the ship, was his life, that seemed like a reasonable trade. He looked at Harper with a pang of regret, then up at the computer, now cold and silent, wires tangled out where his hand had forced his way through. Maybe she could put it together again, get the salvaged information she craved. Maybe, one day, she’d forgive him.

 His eyes began to close, drifting in and out of focus, and the room seemed to fade in and out of reality. He felt cold, shivers racking his body, and every breath became difficult. A pounding noise began to echo around in his skull, and it took him a few minutes to realize that it was footsteps approaching, disappointment filling his soul. After everything he had down, more of the machines were coming.

 Wrapping his hand around his pistol, he raised it to limply cover the door. Four bullets, four androids. Assuming he could muster the strength to pull the trigger. Figures moved into the room, blurry and indistinct, but before he could even twitch his finger, a firm hand took the gun from him.

 “Sub-Lieutenant?” an oddly familiar voice said.

 “He’s shot,” another, harsher voice added. “Foster as well, but she looks a lot more stable. Garland, you look at her, I’ll take Salazar.”

 “What about Harper?” a different voice asked.

 “Out cold. She can wait.” Rough hands took his arm, the pin-prick of injections in his side. “It’s bad, but loss of blood is the major problem. I’ll start transfusions, until we can get him up to the hospital.”

 “Will he live?”

 “If we’d been another fifteen minutes, there wouldn’t have been a chance.”

 A tall figure loomed forward, and said, “Salazar, this is Captain Marshall. You did it. All the androids are shut down, all across the planet, as far as we can tell. You stopped them.”

 “I’m not sure he can hear you.”

 “I hear,” Salazar said, his voice a spluttering ruin. “I hear. Harper, Foster…”

 “Our problem now, Sub-Lieutenant. Try and rest.”

 “Aye…,” he replied, finally letting the black clouds that had been fighting for him win their war, slipping into slumber.

 “Sweet dreams, Sub-Lieutenant,” Marshall said. “I think you've earned them.”

Chapter 27

 “How long, Frank?” Orlova asked.

 Glancing at his watch, Nelyubov replied, “I’d say we’ll be coming into atmospheric interface in about three minutes. Depending on the breaks, we burn up in six to eight.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Even if by some miracle we don’t, we’d only crash a couple of minutes later.”

 “Think any bits will make it to the surface?” Kibaki asked.

 “Probably,” Quinn replied. “We’re certainly large enough. It’s even possible that some of them will be recognizable as being part of the ship. Some archaeologist in a few thousand years will have a great time rifling through our remains.”

 “There’s still time for you to head down to the surface,” Orlova said. “It’ll be wild ride down, but the escape pod shielding should be up to the job.”

 “Are you going?” Nelyubov asked.

 “No.”

 “Then I’m not either.”

 “Waiting for a miracle?”

 “Maybe.”

 Settling down in the chair, Orlova looked forward at the viewscreen, her hands on her arm rests. She glanced around the bridge, crewmen ready at their posts, then looked back to watch the stars on the screen.

 The stars on the screen.

 “Jack, something’s happening!”

 “I’m on it!” he said. “Power distribution just snapped back on. I have systems access again. Main computer is back on-line, as of five second ago!”

 “The helm is answering controls!” Nelyubov said. “Thrusters working, fuel transfer systems coming back.” A dull glow filled the lower section of the screen, growing stronger by the second. “I need engines.”

 “Working,” Quinn said. “I need to cross-feed the power from the laser cannon to the engine bank. Thirty seconds at most.”

 “Sensors coming back,” Spinelli said. “I have first report. I think Lieutenant Nelyubov was being somewhat optimistic. We’re already in the upper limits of the atmosphere, estimated burn-up in three minutes.” On cue, alarms started to resound across the bridge, systems coming back up to find the dire situation their inaction had placed them in.

 “Deploy ballute,” Orlova ordered. “We’ll need all the help we can get. Jack, where are my engines?”

 “Heat shield deploying,” Kibaki said.

 “Coming now. Frank, try your control, you should have some power. I can give you two minutes at full thrust. Any more and we won’t have enough to carry over the ship systems to reactor start.”

 “Course computed,” Nelyubov said. “Nothing complicated, just a full-power burn for high orbit. I can’t make the hendecaspace point…”

 “Punch it!” Orlova said, and a dull, welcoming roar began to sound as Nelyubov ran the engines up to full power, bypassing half a dozen safety controls to speed their way through the upper atmosphere, adjusting the angle for maximum advantage. A series of loud reports echoed through the hull, and she turned to Quinn with alarm. 

 “Ballute deployment,” he said. “It’ll help, but it won’t save us. Not enough time to get it fully deployed.”

 “Right now I’ll settle for minimizing the damage to the hull. Weitzman, what’s the story with communications?”

 “Internal systems working fine, and external was just coming back before we entered the plasma sheath. We’ll have to wait until we pull out of it, one way or another.”

 “Maggie,” Nelyubov said. “I need a decision. I think we’ve got a chance of pulling out of this dive, but I know that I can manage a survivable landing. It’ll wreck the ship, but with the ballute in position we can make it down to the deck.”

 “Go for orbit,” she said, the decision taking a fraction of a second. “We won’t do any good scattered on the ground.”

 “I thought you’d say that,” he replied. “Course settling in. Ninety-five seconds remaining in the burn. Apogee rising steadily, perigee coming up.”

 Kibaki flicked a switch, and the viewscreen divided into two, one portion showing the view of the planet below, the ground now beginning to race past, the screen enveloped in flickering flame, the other showing the course projection, the ellipse slowly rising, pulling away from the planet. Nelyubov slowly turned the ship, dipping the nose to gain speed, to kick the ship back up to orbital velocity.

 “Eighty seconds remaining,” he said.

 “First systems report,” Quinn said. “Everything’s coming back, slowly. Outer hull temperature is beyond tolerances, we’re sustaining a lot of damage to the sensor and communication arrays, but nothing we can’t fix ourselves if we have to. Electronic defense systems are operative, but as far as I can see, nothing’s attacking us.”

 “That’s a nice change,” Kibaki replied.

 Orlova watched the display, Alamo’s course slowly curving up, alarms still echoing around the bridge. Her systems monitor was giving her happier news, everything flicking from red to amber, one after another. With a loud whir, the air recirculators began to kick in, and a blast of warm air hit her in the face, the cold fading away as she shrugged out of her heavy jacket.

 Nelyubov rode his console, making second-by-second tweaks, keeping the ship on the best possible course, every ounce of thrust taking them further and further from destruction. The ballute was taking the brunt of the damage, ripped and torn, tatters of the fabric falling away, leaving a blue-black trail as they ascended back to the heavens.

 “Threat warning!” Spinelli said. “Not-man vessel has left the surface, and is on an intercept course. Five minutes until closest contact.”

 “Weitzman?” Orlova asked, but he shook his head.

 “Not yet, ma’am.”

 “Initiating reactor start-up,” Quinn said. “Half an hour, and I’ll have the emergency reactors back on line.”

 “I just checked shuttle systems,” Kibaki added. “Shuttle One is good to go, all systems green.”

 Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “I don’t have news that good. We’re falling short. Ten more seconds of thrust would do it. Jack, can you spare anything?”

 “If we lose power again, I’m not sure we can get it back. Not with the batteries drained to nothing.”

 “Fifteen seconds of thrust, then. We’re gaining altitude, but unless we can do something, all that will happen is that we’ll crash into a different part of the planet.”

 “Before you ask,” Quinn said, “There’s no way I can advance reactor start-up. I’m tearing the manual in two as it is, and your message queue is full of safety waivers for you to countersign when you get a moment.”

 Shaking his head, Kibaki said, “So damn close.”

 “Wait a minute,” Orlova said. “You said Shuttle One was ready to go. How ready?”

 “All systems nominal.”

 “Does that include the reactor?”

 Nodding, he replied, “It's designed for a fast start-up. I thought we might need it.”

 “And it’s hooked into Alamo’s systems?”

 Turning to face her, Quinn said, “I see what you are getting it. The yield is a thousandth of Alamo’s power, though.”

 “All we need is ten seconds.”

 “There’s a good chance we’ll burn it out trying.”

 “What difference will that make? We’ll have all the time we need to fix it when we punch back into orbit.”

 His hands running across his controls, Quinn replied, “Reversing umbilicals. Frank, you’re going to get some instability, so watch for it.”

 “Five seconds,” he said. “Cutting engine thrust to half. I’ll find it easier to ride it that way.”

 “Signal!” Weitzman said. “From the surface! I have the Captain!”

 Turning with a smile, Orlova said, “Tell him I’ll call again in a few minutes, and give him a status report.”

 “On it, ma’am,” the communications technician joyously said, returning to his station.

 “Connection established,” Quinn said. “Power feed running now. I’ve got the shuttle reactor running a hundred and fifty percent, and I’m riding it manually.” He glanced across at a console, and said, “Running true, all nominal.”

 “I’m getting the extra thrust here,” Nelyubov said. “Gaining altitude again, coming up to orbital velocity.” Glancing at Kibaki, he added, “Attitude stable. Detaching ballute.”

 On the screen, the planet was a visible disc once again, the fires of re-entry a thing of the past as Alamo returned to the cool of space. Orlova watched the power feed, Quinn frantically switching overrides in and out in an attempt to keep the power flow stable, to give the engines as much thrust as they could. The clock ticked past the original deadline, and the acceleration rising.

 They didn’t need to pull completely clear, not on this burn. In half-an-hour, less, they’d have the power to maintain thrust indefinitely, enough to take them anywhere in the system. They could circularize their orbit then, as long as they had enough time beyond the atmosphere to do it.

 “Problems,” Quinn said. “Lots of red lights.”

 “Almost there,” Nelyubov said. “Two seconds. Please.”

 Each seemed to last for a century as the clock counted down, and as the engines stuttered and faltered, Kibaki turned with a beaming smile on his face. “Second burn in twenty-nine minutes, at which time we will be at an altitude of seventy-one miles. Well clear of the atmosphere.”

 “The not-man ship is still on an intercept course,” Spinelli said. “Three minutes, ten seconds to contact. They’re stepping on the acceleration pretty quickly.” He glanced to his right, then added, “Firing range for ninety seconds, estimated.”

 “Are they preparing to fire?”

 “I haven’t got the bandwidth to tell, ma’am. Too much damage in the early stages of the burn.”

 Nelyubov moved over to Tactical, sliding into the chair and looking up at the displays, saying, “Nothing’s working here.”

 Quinn shook his head, and replied, “Non-critical system. I’ve got to get the reactor on-line, and that’s taking everything I’ve got. You get life support, communications, sensors, and that’s about it for the next half-hour.”

 “Try and hail them, Weitzman,” Orlova said.

 The communications technician worked his console, then replied, “Nothing, ma’am. I know they’re receiving me, but I’m not getting any response to our messages.”

 “Two minutes, fifty seconds,” Spinelli said. “Still closing at full speed.”

 “We can’t even throw rocks at them,” Nelyubov replied.

 “What about the shuttle?” Kibaki asked.

 Quinn barked a laugh, and replied, “Until I take a good look at the reactor, it isn’t going anywhere. My guess is that we’re looking at eight man-hours work to get it operational again.”

 The course track popped into view on the main screen, two lines intersecting. The enemy ship didn’t seem to have any of the problems Alamo was experiencing, positioning itself on an escape trajectory to take it out of the system. Understandable enough, but they were going out of their way to go to close rendezvous. This wasn’t just a ballistic coincidence, it had to be intentional.

 “Get me the Captain,” she said.

 “He’s hanging on,” Weitzman said with a smile.

 Sliding a headset on, Orlova said, “Alamo to Marshall, do you read?”

 “Loud and clear, Maggie,” Marshall said.

 “We’re clear of the atmosphere, and ready for a full-power burn to stabilize our orbit in a little less than thirty minutes. Ship systems are coming back on, and the auxiliary reactor should be working in plenty of time.”

 “You don’t sound that happy about it.”

 With a sigh, she said, “The not-man ship launched about when our systems came back. They’re on an intercept course, and we don’t have any defensive systems functioning. We’re going to be in the firing line for,” she glanced up at the screen, “forty-one seconds, and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.”

 Marshall paused, then said, “If you want to abandon ship…”

 “I’d have done it already. Shuttle Three ought to be operational now, sir. Can you get a damage control team ready?”

 “Lieutenant Grant is finishing up preflight right now, should be with you in about ten minutes. Do the best you can, Maggie.”

 “The surface?”

 “Is secured for the moment. Don’t worry about us, we’re fine down here. I know you’re about to get busy, so call me back when it’s over. Understood?”

 “Aye, sir. Alamo out.”

 “Two minutes dead,” Spinelli said.

 “Great choice of words, Spaceman,” Kibaki replied.

 Orlova sat back, glancing ruefully at the weapons readouts before switching her attention back to the display. As it approached, the not-man ship that they had come all this way to find grew larger and larger, more information gathering into the databanks. Two missile tubes, no sign of any other armament. There was a limit to how much damage it could do.

 She tensed herself for a course change, waiting for the announcement that it had altered its trajectory in a bid to gain more time for the battle. Alamo was a wide-open target, easy pickings. The seconds ran down, racing past, and her frustration mounted. By all rights, they ought to be able to wipe them from the sky.

 “Thirty seconds to firing,” Spinelli said. “Still no sign of change to target aspect.”

 “No response to signals,” Weitzman added.

 “What would we say if they did reply?” Kibaki asked.

 With a smile, Orlova replied, “I’d tell them to surrender.”

 She looked around the bridge, watched the crew continue with their work, calm as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. At least they had to luxury of doing something. All she could do was wait, as the few remaining seconds trickled away.

 “Firing range,” Spinelli said. “No change to target aspect.”

 “Are you sure?” Orlova asked.

 “As sure as I can be,” he replied. “They’re maintaining course and speed, and I’m not picking up any energy spikes.”

 “A signal,” Weitzman said.

 “About time,” Orlova said. “Put them on.”

 A blurred image appeared on the screen, distortion blurring any detail. Orlova turned with a questioning stare at Weitzman, who shrugged in response. Their work, then, to keep their secrets.

 “Alamo, today we are choosing to spare your lives, as a token of appreciation for the efforts of your crew in freeing our ship. Know this, though. Thule is ours, a part of our territory, with people who have willingly submitted to our rule. Any further interference will be taken as an act of war.”

 Orlova replied, “Unidentified ship, I will simply tell you this. The Triplanetary Confederation does not respond well to threats, and does not abandon its allies. I recommend you tell your leaders that we are more than ready to defend ourselves against any provocation, and cite our last two encounters with your people as proof.”

 Was there a trace of a smile, there? “I would not expect any other response. May your journey home be swift.”

 “Likewise. Alamo out.” She looked at Nelyubov, and said, “They’ve drawn a line in the sand.”

 “One that we’ve already committed ourselves to crossing. This is going to make for some interesting times.”

 “Out of firing range, ma’am,” Spinelli said. “They’re on course for the hendecaspace point. I have Shuttle Three now, on positive track for docking in five minutes.”

 “Thank you, Spaceman. Secure from alert conditions.” With a deep sigh, she said, “Looks like the danger is over, at least for now.”

Chapter 28

 Salazar forced his eyes open, struggling to focus as he looked around the room. There was something strangely familiar about it, recognizable equipment scattered about, but the view from the window was new to him, looking out across a hive of activity, a building being constructed across the street. Marching past him he could see a group of Espatiers, led by Corporal Vaughan, and he did a double-take when he saw that most of them were Neander, wearing Triplanetary uniforms.

 The door opened, and Harper walked in, clutching a datapad in her hands. She turned, said something quietly to a guard standing outside, then made her way over to his bed, sitting carefully by his side. He tried to move, to sit up, but his movements were restricted by a tangle of cables.

 “Don’t try,” she said. “Doctor Duquesne went to a lot of work to patch you up.” He squinted at the rank insignia on her lapel, and she glanced down at it, adding, “Yes, it’s official now. Lieutenant Harper, and let the world know. It doesn’t matter, I guess. Captain Marshall ordered it as a punishment.”

 “Your promotion is a punishment?” he croaked.

 “Hell yeah. They might start asking me to take responsibility for something. Fate worse than death. I’d rather leave that to people like you and Foster.”

 “How,” he spluttered, and she handed him a glass of water, pouring a quick swig down his throat. “How is she?”

 “Better than you, actually. They sent her up to Alamo yesterday. The Doc was reluctant to expose you to the acceleration until the last minute, but that’s almost here.” She gestured at the window, and said, “You missed quite a show. Captain Marshall promising to bring back transports loaded with supplies, the Acting Governor pledging brotherhood, lots of marching and parades.”

 Forcing a smile, he said, “Sounds boring as hell.”

 “That about sums it up.” She looked at the floor, and said, “About what happened in the tunnels…”

 “I’m sorry,” he said. “I probably wrecked the damn thing, but…”

 “It was the right thing to do. I’d got a little too close to the problem.” She shook her head, and said, “I’ve spent most of the last week…,”

 “I’ve been in here a week?”

 “Yes, and kindly stop interrupting. I’ve spent most of the last week trying to untangle the mess, without much luck. At least we’ve got the crystal, and we know that it matches the fragment we’ve already got.” Shaking her head, she said, “We’ve got to come back here, anyway. There are a lot of unanswered questions.”

 “I’m sorry too,” Salazar said. “I shouldn’t have knocked you out.”

 With a smile, she replied, “Don’t worry about it. I’d probably have done something similar in your circumstances. Surprised the hell out of the rescue party, trying to work out what had happened to me. Downright embarrassing when I woke up.” There was a knock on the door, and Captain Marshall stepped in.

 “He’s awake?”

 “And talking. Looks like the Doc did a good job.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Shuttle Three’s heading back up to Alamo in thirty minutes, if you want to supervise the unloading of the computer equipment yourself.”

 Rising to her feet, she replied, “I probably should. Catch you upstairs, Pavel.”

 She walked out of the room, and Marshall took her seat, asking, “How are you feeling?”

 “Everything itches.”

 “That’s pretty normal. We’ll be unhooking you from all of this stuff in a little while, then plugging you back into everything on Alamo. I’m afraid you’re going to be riding home in sickbay.”

 “I’m just glad to be here, sir.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “You lost a hell of a lot of blood, Sub-Lieutenant. It was pretty touch and go, but I thought you should know that I’m putting you up for a Shield.” He pulled a box out of his pocket, and said, “Acting Governor Daniels has awarded you a Medal of Merit, as well.”

 “Thanks, sir.”

 “I understand it is pretty prestigious.”

 “Harper said we were coming back, sir.”

 “We’ve got to, Sub-Lieutenant. Far too much unfinished business down here.” He pointed at the construction site, and said, “In two weeks, with luck, that will be a hydroponics plant. We’ve given them all the equipment, the plans, and got them started. Long-term, that’s the only answer to their problems, but it’s just the start of what they need.”

 “And the not-men?” 

 “Their ship left the system eight days ago. I can guess why.”

 “Reinforcements,” Salazar replied with a painful nod.

 Sighing, Marshall replied, “Which means we’re going to have to bring up reinforcements of our own. Not to mention try and get Alamo back into some sort of fighting condition. We’re racing home, one jump back to Yeager Station, and I’ve got to get a relief force organized. Then there is the problem of the androids.”

 Frowning, he said, “I thought we’d knocked them out, sir?”

 “We did, but despite having teams searching the plateau with a fine tooth-comb, we can’t find where the hell they came from. Harper’s gone over the tunnels twice, and we can’t find where they were manufactured. The implications of that worry the hell out of me.”

 Looking out of the window, Salazar asked, “Will the Combined Chiefs authorize all of this, sir? I mean, if we’re going to make a full effort, that means an orbiting station, a garrison, technological transfer.”

 “Lots of paperwork,” Marshall replied, “but what choice do they have? We can’t just cede this planet to the not-men, and if there is another group out there wielding humaniform androids, we’ve got something else to worry about. The only place to gather the intelligence we’re going to need is right here.”

 With a thin smile, Salazar said, “By the way, sir, I’m sorry for getting you captured.”

 Chuckling, Marshall said, “Don’t worry, Sub-Lieutenant. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make a habit of it, but it all worked out for the best in the end. Your mission was more important than mine. Though you should have heard Foster when she woke up. I’ve never seen someone that embarrassed.”

 “She did fine, sir. They both did.”

 “I know. Harper’s after-action report was quite comprehensive. Rather surprised me, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her.” He looked out of the window, and said, “We’re going to be coming back to a war, Sub-Lieutenant. It won’t just be a relief expedition. There are still tribes up in the hills, and our orbital reconnaissance shows them massing, and some worrying signs that they’ve been bootstrapped by the not-men. They’re determined to fight a war for this planet.”

 “Do you need a volunteer to stay behind, sir?”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “I wouldn’t be picking one still in hospital. Lieutenant Race is remaining behind as liaison, as well as a squad of Espatiers.”

 “I saw…”

 “Ah, our new recruits. Ensign Cooper and General, sorry, Governor Daniels’ idea. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I’m pretty sure the Senate will agree. This planet’s going to have to join the Confederation anyway. We’ve got about thirty or forty of the colonists coming back with us as well, going for technical training.”

 “Then we did some good, sir.”

 “Yes we did,” Marshall replied. “Try and relax, Sub-Lieutenant. Doctor Duquesne will be along in a few minutes to arrange your transfer up to the ship. You’ve done your job for the moment.” He paused, then said, “One more thing. We’re making a few changes to the command structure on Alamo. I’m expecting some new officers when we reach Yeager Station. You’re no longer Alpha Watch Officer.”

 Nodding, Salazar said, “I was expecting that, sir. You’ll want someone more experienced for the post.”

 “You are Security Officer, effective from when you resume your duties. I’m bumping Frank Nelyubov to Assistant Tactical.”

 “You’re giving me a department, sir? I’m not that good a hacker.”

 “I know,” he replied. “I saw what was left of that computer.” As Salazar’s face reddened, he continued, “We’re redefining the role, somewhat. Protecting our hardware is going back under Systems, and you’ve met our official Intelligence Officer.”

 “Harper? She’s going to love that.”

 He shrugged, and said, “She’s been doing the job for the last four months. The only difference is now I’m able to make it official.”

 “You might have a point. What will my job be, then, sir?”

 “Since you’ve joined the crew, you’ve demonstrated something of a talent for dealing with, shall we say, unorthodox situations. I think it makes sense to make use of that. You’ll be taking the lead on liaison work, boarding parties, landing team duties. Wherever you are needed, really.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “Sounds like a true opportunity to excel, sir.” The two of them laughed, “Thank you, sir. I’m honored.”

 “It’ll be a lot of high-risk missions, Sub-Lieutenant. You don’t have to accept if you don’t want to. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding a good posting anywhere in the Fleet.”

 Nodding, he replied, “I like to keep life interesting, sir. I’d like to take the job.”

 “Good. We’ll work out the details of how it will work when you get back up to Alamo. Duquesne said that she wouldn’t object to visitors, so we might as well make them working visits. As long as you are up to it.”

 “I’m fine, sir.”

 Looking at the array of medical equipment filling the room, Marshall said, “I think you might be a little delirious, Sub-Lieutenant.” Rising to his feet, he added, “Start thinking about your team. We’re piloting a new concept, and I want to make sure we get it right. Within reason, I’ll go along with your recommendations.”

 “I will, sir.”

 “Good.” He glanced at the door, then said, “I’d better get out of here before the medics arrive. Not a word to the good Doctor about this, I promised I wouldn’t bother you with it.”

 “I’m glad you did, Captain. Something to look forward to.”

 “Any time,” he replied, walking out of the room. Salazar looked out across the street, watching the workers swarming around the building site. Already it was advanced enough that he could recognize the familiar lines of Triplanetary architecture, like some sort of alien structure implanted here on the desert, surrounded by decaying structures.

 He looked across at his table and saw a pair of flowers in a vase, bright blue and red, with a note attached, simply saying, “Thanks for the ride, Ginger.” He smiled, and settled back into his bed. Already his head was swimming, trying to cut through the fog to run down the list of personnel he was going to need. A hacker, certainly, though Harper was out of the question. A paramedic, an engineer, a second pilot. The possibilities swam in his mind.

 Four months on Alamo, and he’d gone from disgraced midshipman to department head. Not a bad outcome to his cadet cruise.

 “I know that look!” Duquesne said, storming in, a trio of nurses behind her. “Stop thinking, Sub-Lieutenant, it is very bad for your blood pressure. I went to a lot of trouble to put you back together, and you’ve got some of my own personal blood in your veins, as it happens.”

 “Sorry, Doctor,” he replied with a smile. “An occupational hazard.”

 “I’m guessing that the Captain decided to get you all excited about your promotion?”

 “He thought I could do with some good news.”

 “Good news?” she said. “A chance for you to wander around on alien worlds and abandoned starships, where all manner of hostile enemies, noxious environments and mutant pathogens can wreak havoc with you? I’m the one who’ll have to magic a way to fix you up, Sub-Lieutenant. Remember that.”

 The smile spreading across his face, he replied, “Naturally, ma’am. When I’m being mutilated by strange other-dimensional aliens. I’ll be sure to ask them not to leave you with too much work to do.”

 She returned the smile, gave him a quick wink, then turned back to one of the nurses. “Stephen, start unplugging the monitors. We’ve got to get this kid home, before he can get into more trouble.”

Thank you for reading 'Cage of Gold'. 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 Battlecruiser Alamo: Malware Blues, coming in January 2016...

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

Table of Contents

All the world over, nursing their scars,Si

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8 Cooper

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

Thank you for reading '

Table of ContentsChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4