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

FINAL TESTAMENT

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 19

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #19: Final Testament

Copyright © 2016 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: May 2016

Cover By Keith Draws

With thanks to Ellen Clarke and Rene Douville

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

Join the Triplanetary Universe Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/A9MdX

And when I come to the dim trail-end,

I who have been Life's rover,

This is all I would ask, my friend,

Over and over and over:

A little space on a stony hill

With never another near me,

Sky o' the North that's vast and still,

With a single star to cheer me;

Star that gleams on a moss-gray stone

Graven by those who love me --

There would I lie alone, alone,

With a single pine above me;

Pine that the north wind whinneys through --

Oh, I have been Life's lover!

But there I'd lie and listen to

Eternity passing over.

Robert Service

Chapter 1

 The bullet cracked through the air, slamming into the bulkhead where scant seconds ago, Ensign Gabriel Cooper had been standing. Snatching his pistol free of its holster, he rolled behind the nearest cover he could find, looking to his right at the dead Neander lying next to him, his erstwhile guide through the lower levels of the salvaged transport. His would-be assassin was in the shadows beyond, careful to stay out of sight. With only eight shots, he didn't dare waste any.

 He reached down for his communicator, trying to get a signal through, but only static answered his urgent calls for help. Another bullet flew over his head, no attempt to kill him this time, just to keep him pinned in position. For all he knew, there were reinforcements on the way, cutting him off. Whatever he planned to do, he had to move quickly.

 The problem was that he had only a vague idea of his current location. The tour of the lower decks had been intended to familiarize him with the layout of this cavernous spacecraft, in the event that his unit would be called upon to reinforce the Neander in the event of a boarding action. There had been no sign of trouble, but he still cursed himself for going alone. He glanced again at his dead companion, wondering whether he had drawn him into a trap, or whether someone had lured them both to their doom. Not that it mattered now.

 With a wild roar, he jumped over the tangle of concealing cables, weaving from side to side and unleashing a precious shot in a bid to distract his opponent. All a show, theater intended to make an inexperienced opponent panic, to buy him the crucial second he needed to get within visual range. For a heartbeat, his foeman stood, silhouetted on the wall, and he brought him down with a single, well-placed shot to the arm, knocking his weapon from his hand.

 The Neander, an unfamiliar figure wearing a plain tunic, looked up at him, panic in his eyes, doubtless expecting the next shot to be placed between his eyes. Instead, Cooper reached down into his belt medikit, pulling out a tranq patch and slapping it on his neck. Instantly, the drugs took effect, buying him six hours to get him into custody. The bullet wound was nice and clean, easily bandaged. He wasn't going to die, not when he had such important questions to answer.

 Picking up the spare pistol, he tried his communicator again, but still all he could receive was a blast of static. Someone was jamming his signal. A quick rifle through the unconscious figure's pockets confirmed that he had another assailant on board, likely more. He looked around the corridors, trying to recall the layout of the deck. With no connection to a database, his datapad would be useless as a navigational aid. He was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.

 Glancing at his watch, he frowned. In thirty minutes, he had an appointment with Kelot, the head of Ship's Security. As soon as he missed it, someone would try to contact him, and when that failed, a search would be instituted. All of which would take time, time he didn't have. He hoisted the unconscious attacker onto his back, grimacing at the load, a trickle of blood splattering down onto the carpet.

 At random, he walked down a corridor, gambling that he would find his way to an elevator before long. His hopes of using one of the wall-mounted comm units quickly evaporated as he reached the nearest, now a mess of tangled cables dropping down to the floor. Whoever did this, they'd planned it well. Far too well for his liking.

 The crack and the cry came together, as a second bullet slammed into the man he was carrying, the force of the impact sending them both tumbling to the ground. He was fast on the draw this time, aiming and firing with one smooth motion, the figure falling back lifelessly to the deck with blood spilling out of a wound on the side of his neck, his reply slamming into a light fitting, a shower of sparks cascading through the air.

 Rising slowly to his feet, Cooper looked at the dead man, his last breath a curse, before turning back to his erstwhile captive, killed by accident. Or perhaps the idea was to rob him of a prisoner, prevent an interrogation that might have solved the mystery.

 Gasping for breath, he pulled out his datapad and ran it over some writing on the wall. At least now he had some idea where he was, close to the primary fuel tank. He looked down at his pistol again, sliding it into his holster. This was a lousy place for a firefight. Leaving the bodies where they lay, he walked down the corridor, tugging out his communicator and setting it to continuous transmission.

 If he remembered correctly, there was a control room less than a hundred meters along the corridor, and though most of the crew were upstairs watching the trial of the traitor Lostok, there would be someone on duty. He moved with caution, hugging the walls, his eyes ranging through every potential ambush point. Two lives, three, had already been spent in a bid to kill him. It didn't seem reasonable that someone would give up so easily, and he couldn't risk assuming that he'd already ended the conspiracy.

 As he approached the room, sirens began to sound, and he raced along the carpet to the hatch, the door opening at a touch of the control to reveal a pair of panicking crewmen frantically working equipment. One of them turned to him, screaming at his sight, and he only belatedly realized that his uniform was covered in scarlet blood.

 “It isn't mine,” he said, stepping into the room. “Two people tried to kill me. I need you to contact...”
 “There isn't time,” the calmer one replied. “You're Cooper, aren't you?”

 “Yes.”

 “We've got a leak in the primary fuel tank. Growing by the second. Neither of us are experienced in EVA...”

 “I'm not an engineer,” he protested.

 “This isn't a maintenance job,” the technician replied. “It's sabotage. Must be.”

 Grimly nodding, Cooper said, “Where's the airlock?”

 “Second on the left.” Gesturing at the shaken colleague, he added, “Leuka will show you and help you on with your suit. I'll need to monitor the controls from here.” He paused, then said, “And I'll alert the bridge about what happened. We've already got a security team coming, but they'll be too long. The damage is on this level.”

 “I'm on my way,” he replied, stepping through the door, Leuka uncertainly following him while her companion turned back to his controls. She doubled her pace to take the lead, shaking her head.

 “Those two people...”

 “You don't need to worry about them,” Cooper replied. “That's already taken care of.”

 “You killed them?”

 “Only one of them. The other was killed by his friend.” They stepped over to the airlock, Leuka tapping a release to send the door sliding open. Inside a rack of Neander spacesuits hung, and Cooper picked out the one that looked closest to fitting him, Leuka expertly tugging it apart, sliding it on a piece at a time.

 “Have you ever worn one of our suits before?”

 “Not in space,” Cooper said.

 She stopped, looked up, and replied, “This is crazy. Do you even understand our language?”

 “Maybe ten, twenty words. Most of them obscene.”

 “You won't even be able to follow the readouts!”

 With a shrug, he said, “Then I'll have to trust you to warn me if anything goes wrong. Come on, we've got to move, and quickly.”

 Shaking her head, she finished locking the pieces into position, then slid the helmet onto his head, clamping it in place. A series of blue and purple lights flashed up on either side of the readout, before all the text flashed out, leaving the heads-up display blank.

 “I turned it off,” Leuka said. “No point distracting you with a lot of gibberish. Can you activate the airlock.” At Cooper's nod, she added, “Get outside, and I'll guide you to the target, and watch your readouts.”

 “Thanks. Set up a communications patch with Kelot, and with Captain Orlova on Alamo.”

 “Will do,” she replied, tapping him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

 Turning, he stepped into the airlock, the inner door sliding shut behind him, the air pressure dropping away as the atmosphere was sucked out of the room. He hefted his pistol in his hand, fumbling the trigger guard away. The weapon would work in space, designed for all environments, but he still longed for a plasma weapon, something with real firepower.

 Then he remembered where he was planning to fight, and shivered inside at the thought of the damage a large hull breach would do. He stepped out onto the hull, snapping a safety line into position on a convenient hold-point by the airlock, the gently began to move forward. Without thruster controls, this was going to be difficult. Looking up across the long expanse of the ship, he spotted something up ahead, a figure maneuvering close to the hull. Leaning forward, he kicked out to send himself towards his prey, swinging from any handhold he could find to speed his progress, the cable at his belt reeling out.

 “Cooper, this is Leuka, do you read?”

 “I read you,” he said. “I have visual contact on target. I should be on him in ninety seconds.” He could just picked out a narrow stream of particles seeping out into space, and added, “I see the fuel leak as well. You'll need an engineering team.”

 “Already on the way,” a familiar voice said. “Orlova to Cooper, do you read?”

 “Loud, clear and relieved,” he said.

 “Kelot has a party heading your way right now, and Pavel Salazar is on his way on Shuttle Two with a combined engineering and Espatier team. Reinforcements will be with you in eight minutes. I recommend you monitor the situation and wait for the help before you engage.”

 “Not sure we have time for that, Captain,” he said. “Even without augmentation, I can see the leak getting bigger.”

 “There's a lot of spare capacity, Ensign.” She paused, then said, “Just be careful. We don't need any heroes today.”

 “Understood, ma'am,” he said. The figure looked up, facing in his direction, then continued with his work. Cooper was drifting down under him, and pushed back to try and correct his course. Without a guidance computer to help, this was next to impossible. His pistol would help, but only when he got close. The recoil was going to send him flying, especially without fine thruster control to compensate.

 “Sixty seconds to intercept, Ensign,” Leuka said. “All suit systems are green.”

 “Can you throw on a magnification filter?”

 She paused, then said, “On the target? Wait one.”

 The image on his screen abruptly jumped, as if he had instantly been thrown forward, giving him a close shot of the saboteur on the hull. Who was busily fitting some sort of box to the side, underneath the exposed outer hull. As far as he could tell, he was almost finished sealing it up again.

 “It's a bomb,” Cooper said.

 “An explosion in that part of the hull...”

 “Thrusters. I've got to get close to him.”

 “Ensign,” Leuka began, but he interrupted her.

 “Full power on the thrusters. Get me closer.”

 “Your suit doesn't have any!”

 “What?”

 “It's a light work-suit. Just for maintenance work.”

 “Fine,” he said. “Then give me a targeting solution.”

 A long, thin line flashed onto his resurgent display, running directly towards the target. He was drifting a little to the side, out of position, and corrected himself with a trio of kicks, lining up as smoothly as he could. Then, unclipping the safety line, he turned around, waiting until he was facing in the opposite direction, raising his pistol and pointing it in position. Taking a deep breath, he fired, the recoil from the explosion sending him hurtling forward.

 By a miracle, his unorthodox course correction was on target, only a couple of degrees out, and he dragged his leg briefly along the hull to compensate. He didn't dare turn to look at his prey, had no idea what he might do to stop him, but at least he'd reduced the waiting time down to a matter of seconds.

 The impact sent them both flying from the hull, the saboteur diving over him. Cooper swung around, taking a wild shot that caught him on the armor. It wasn't enough to puncture his suit, but it was more than enough to send him racing away from the ship. With a loud report, Cooper crashed into the hull, desperately reaching out for an antenna, swinging wildly around as he held himself alongside the ship.

 “Amber warning on your backpack,” Leuka said. “You're down to ninety minutes of oxygen. Main tank is jammed.”

 “Help will be here long before then, I hope,” he replied. He looked down, only a few meters from the bomb site, and started to crawl towards it. “Find someone who knows about bombs.”

 Orlova interrupted, “The engineering team...”

 “Will be too late. He was almost finished, and I'd bet that he was about to set the damn thing off.”

 He moved over to the device, almost completely buried in the hull. There was no obvious wire to cut, just a confusing tangle of buttons and controls, and a readout display flashing symbols he couldn't recognize. It didn't look as if it had been cobbled together, obviously purposely built for the job.

 “That's a shaped charge, a blasting charge, for mining,” Leuka's voice screamed. “Counting down to detonation.”

 “How do I stop it?”

 “Controls, fifth from left, third from right, second from top-left.”

 Nodding, Cooper poked the combination in place, fumbling in the unfamiliar gloves. Nothing seemed to change, the symbols flashing with greater frequency, and he shook his head.

 “What's next?”

 “That should have worked!” she replied. “Get out of there. Detonation in fifteen seconds.”

 “Not yet,” he said, reaching for an abandoned tool, ripping at the hull, trying to pull some of the plates clear. Even if he couldn't stop the explosion, he might be able to mitigate it a little. “Warn me at five seconds.”

 “Get out of there,” Leuka said.

 “Count!” he yelled.

 “Nine seconds.”

 The saboteur had already done most of the work for him, freeing the antiquated outer skin, and he quickly ripped through the connections, dragging pieces away. The bomb seemed so small, the size of its outstretched hands, but that wasn't going to do the damage. The shrapnel would do that, erupting into space.

 “Five!”

 He fired his pistol, wildly, not caring where the bullets went, only the effect they would have on his speed. Tossing the empty weapon away for one final boost, he soared clear of the ship, well out of the danger area, but close enough to give him a perfect view. There was a brief flash, and a huge gash appeared in the ship, precious fuel erupting into space in a rapidly frozen fountain, the hulk falling away as the titanic vessel was thrown off trajectory.

 “Cooper to Alamo,” he said with a sigh. “Better get Shuttle Two to pick me up on its way in. Then we can start clearing up the mess.” He looked around, then saw a blue flash in the distance. A burst of Cerenkov radiation, from a ship entering the system. The Xandari had arrived.

 “Belay that pick-up, Alamo,” he said. “You've got bigger problems.” Shaking his head, he tried to relax. At least he'd have the best seat in the house to watch the battle.

Chapter 2

 “Battle stations!” ordered Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova, commander of the Battlecruiser Alamo, as her bridge crew hurried to prepare the ship for combat. A tactical display flickered into position over the holotable at the heart of the command deck, her three ships hovering close to the hendecaspace point, two enemy vessels closing on them rapidly.

 “We can't wait here,” her second-in-command, Senior Lieutenant Nelyubov, said. “We'll be a sitting target for a salvo.”

 “Nor can we abandon the refugees, and with a hole that big in their side, they can't maneuver worth a damn.” Turning behind her, she said, “Weitzman, get me a damage report from the Ausori. I need to know how bad they've been hit.” 

 “Trying, ma'am,” the harried communications technician replied. “Everything's confused as hell. Whoever's on the bridge doesn't want to talk to us.” He glanced across at a second screen, and said, “I have Lieutenant Harper on the Daedalus, ma'am, requesting combat instructions.”

 Nodding, she replied, “Have her pull in close to the Neander and run interference. Hopefully she can keep some fire off their backs. Helm, slow acceleration, towards the enemy ships. If they're shooting at us, they aren't shooting at the civilians.”

 “Missile tubes on-line,” her tactical officer, Lieutenant Cantrell, reported. “Laser radiators deploying, Captain. I'll have a firing solution in a few seconds, and my readouts show us in firing range in a hundred and thirty seconds.”

 “Come on,” Nelyubov said, muttering at the status display. “When we've cleaned up this party, I'm going to have some words with Elevator Control.” With a curt nod, he said, “All decks cleared for action, ma'am.” 

 “Engines at one-quarter power,” Midshipman Armstrong said, turning from the helm. “Course computed and engaged, random walk pattern ready for deployment on your command.”

 “At ten seconds before firing range,” Orlova said.

 Leaning close to her, Nelyubov whispered, “If Jack Quinn wasn't running around below decks putting out fires, I know he'd be telling you that the ship can't withstand a serious battle. We took too much damage getting the refugees away.” Looking up at the tactical display, he added, “Two against one isn't great odds.”

 “I have a match with the Neander warbook,” the sensor technician, Spaceman Spinelli said. “Bravo-class, about the size of our frigates. Listed here as scout-destroyers, whatever that means. Four missile tubes, light armament only.”

 “Recon,” Orlova said. “They don't know where we are.”

 “They'll not live to report,” Armstrong said with a confident smile.

 “They don't have to,” Nelyubov replied. “Knowing the Xandari, I'd guess they'll just assume any ship that doesn't make it home will have found us, and act accordingly.”

 “Orders, ma'am?” Cantrell asked.

 “Fire at will, Lieutenant. Take them down.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” she replied, running her hands across the controls, snapping firing solutions into position, preparing her missiles for launch as the laser cannon charged, seeping energy from the rest of the ship to unleash as one devastating bolt.

 The enemy commander might not have strength on his side, but he was using what he had well. One of the ships was diving towards Alamo, the other moving over to the left, hoping to get around him for a firing run at the civilian vessel. Orlova could already see Harper moving Daedalus into an intercept course, and smiled at the audacious bravery of the hacker. She was completely outclassed, and gambling that the enemy didn't realize that. Exactly what she would have done in her place.

 “Firing range in sixty seconds,” Spinelli said.

 “I have the Ausori!” Weitzman said, shaking his head. “Captain Ghewon's reached their bridge, and wants to talk to you.”

 “He damn well should have been there in the first place,” Nelyubov muttered, as Orlova slid on a headset.

 “Orlova here. I need a damage report.”

 “We've lost more than five-sixths of our fuel, and have sustained serious damage to the outer hull. Molpa says that he can fix the damage, but not for at least ninety-six hours.” The Neander paused, and said, “Captain, where are you going? We need your protection!”

 “Leaving you behind is not an option, Ghewon,” she said. “Take any damage control procedures you can, and try and get some maneuvering thrusters working. We'll do everything we can to keep the heat off you, but I can't guarantee those bastards won't manage to get a couple of shots off.”

 “Will do,” he replied. “I've got one of our shuttles out to pick up Ensign Cooper, and arrange for any medical attention.”

 Nodding, she said, “Shuttle Two is still en route. Use them where you need them.” She looked across at the display, then said, “Things are about to get busy over here.”

 “Understood. Good luck. Ausori out.”

 Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “You shouldn't have had to tell him to get his ship ready for battle, Maggie.”

 “He's new to the job,” she replied.

 “That's no excuse. Unless they get their act together over there, they'll get us all killed at this rate.” Running his eyes over the tactical display, he added, “One of them is liable to get past us, no matter what we do. We could split our fire?”

 “No, we need to focus. One at a time,” Orlova said. “Caldwell, I want you to make the maximum possible mess of Target Alpha. We need to try and cripple it with the first salvo. Understood?”

 Nodding, she replied, “Firing range in ten seconds. Midshipman, I need a good shot as soon as we enter range.”

 “Initiating random walk,” the helmsman said. “Setting up firing pass for,” she glanced up at a monitor, “nine seconds mark.”

 Orlova took a step forward, looking at the viewscreen, columns of information spilling down the side as they approached their pray. No longer were the Xandari a mysterious, unknown enemy, but that didn't make them any less deadly. She looked around the bridge, her crew working furiously at their stations, leaving her with nothing to do but wait and watch.

 They'd have an easy five minutes in the firing range. Plenty of time, at least, with the velocity differential so low. The missiles would have an easy time finding their target, but the same would be distressingly true of the enemy.

 “Sergeant Gurung has the platoon ready on the hangar deck,” Nelyubov said. “Shuttles One and Three are ready for launch.”

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli reported. “Three missiles, heading right for us, bearing directly.”

 “Midshipman, where's my pass?” Cantrell snapped. 

 “Coming around,” Armstrong replied, and Alamo danced to silent music as she swung around on her thrusters, pivoting to line up on her target for a scant millisecond, long enough for the laser to pump its stored energy into the enemy vessel, a brief burst of light too fast for the eye to see, leaving an angry black gouge running down the side of the destroyer. Alamo rocked as her missile salvo raced into space, three of them heading to eliminate their counterparts, the remainder pressing the attack.

 “Heavy damage,” Erickson reported from the engineering station. “I'd say we've breached their atmospheric reservoir, as well as wiping out most of their thrusters. They can't maneuver.”

 “Keep the missiles on target,” Orlova said. “Armstrong, forget random walk and bring us about. I want an extended firing solution on the second enemy vessel.”

 “Target Two is on a direct collision course with Ausori, ma'am,” Spinelli reported. “They're faster than we are.”

 “Initiating course change,” the midshipman said, struggling with the thrusters, guiding the computer onto the optimum path. Orlova frowned as she looked at the young cadet, for an instant contemplated taking the helm herself, but Armstrong quickly recovered, reaching down to ramp the engines up to full power, harnessing all the acceleration Alamo could muster in its pursuit.

 “Laser charging,” Cantrell said. “Missile salvo ready to fire in thirty seconds.”

 “They'll be in firing range of the Neander in forty,” Nelyubov said. “Not a bad safety margin.”

 “Daedalus energy spike!” Spinelli said.

 “What?” Armstrong replied. “They've only got dumb-shot. They can't possibly...”

 “It's a shot across the bows,” Nelyubov replied. “They don't know what Harper's firing, and they can't take the risk. With a little luck, that'll divert a good portion of the salvo.”

 “No,” Orlova said, shaking her head. “If this were a normal enemy, I'd agree with you, but we're fighting dead men. They knew, as soon as they saw Alamo, that they weren't going to live through this battle. They'll press the attack.” With a sigh, she said, “Lieutenant, you're only going to get one shot at this. Make it count.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” she replied, holding her hands poised over the controls. No need to set up a special firing arc this time, Alamo already pointed directly at its prey. Behind them, six missiles exploded together, removing most of the trajectories from the screen, leaving only the remaining half of Alamo's first salvo, still heading towards their target.

 “Ten seconds,” Nelyubov said, and Orlova caught herself holding her breath. Alamo was slowly creeping into range, sliding towards the optimum firing window despite the greater acceleration of the enemy, the trajectory tracks moving into position. At the exact instant, Cantrell fired, a second pulse of energy that flared the radiators white as the heat escaped into space. No long gauge on the hull this time, only a surge of power into the rear of the craft, burning out its primary engine in a fraction of a second, sending the vessel tumbling forward, on a course that would take it soaring just past the Neander vessel. The salvo of missiles was almost an afterthought, a second wave of death.

 “Three impacts on the first ship, ma'am,” Spinelli said. He paused, then said, “Energy spike! Four of them, moving faster than anything I've ever seen.”

 “Details, spaceman,” Nelyubov said.

 “Nothing in the warbook, sir. Whatever they are, they're on a direct intercept course with the Ausori, impact in fifty seconds.”

 Orlova shook her head, and said, “Contact Ghewon. Now would be a good time for them to get their thrusters working. Midshipman, put us on an intercept course.”

 Armstrong gulped, then replied, “Aye, ma'am.”

 “Target One has been destroyed,” Spinelli said. “That last salvo did it. Target Two is dropping escape pods.”

 “Thank you, Spaceman,” Orlova said.

 “I have Ghewon,” Weitzman reported.

 Glancing at Nelyubov, she said, “Captain, can you alter course? Those missiles will be on you in seconds.”

 “Negative, Captain,” the Neander replied. “We're still making repairs. In three minutes...”

 “Too long,” she replied. “Evacuate the areas of the ship they are targeting, and get your damage control teams in position in case we get this wrong. Alamo out.”

 “I can take out one of them with the laser,” Cantrell said. “No missile we've got can catch them.”

 “Can you take out more than one of them?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Not from our current position, and not from anywhere we can get to. And we've only got time for a single shot.”

 Closing her eyes, Orlova said, “Try and work out which of them is going to do the most damage. Frank, contact sickbay and alert Doctor Duquesne to expect casualties. Prepare the shuttles for medical evacuation.”

 “On it,” he said, reaching down for a headset. He paused, looked up, then said, “There wasn't anything more you could do. We were always going to get hurt if we ended up in a battle.”

 “They're civilians, Frank, and people we were supposed to protect.”

 “Daedalus is on the move!” Spinelli said. “Full speed towards the missiles, and they're on the right side of them!”

 “If they hadn't fired their salvo,” Cantrell said, shaking her head. She froze, then said, “Spaceman, is that crazy fool putting her ship on a direct intercept course?”

 Spinelli looked at Orlova, shocked, before replying, “No, ma'am. The missile tracks are too far apart. She could only block one of them.” He frowned, then said, “I think she's heading in between them, to equidistant points.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “She's got something in mind, and I think I can guess what. Salazar's decoys.”

 A smile crossed Nelyubov's face, and he said, “Of course.”

 “For the benefit of those not exposed to the wit and wisdom of Lieutenant Salazar...” Cantrell began.

 “She's going to use escape pods to target the warheads. Weitzman, hook our security suite up to the launch mechanism, and tell Harper we'll do the shooting. Our targeting computers are an order of magnitude better than hers. Cantrell, make sure you shoot the missile that Daedalus is going to miss.” Clapping her hands together, she said, “We're going to beat the bastards yet.”

 “There goes Target Two!” Spinelli reported. “All six missiles caught her amidships. The debris field is well clear of the Ausori.”

 “Almost there,” Orlova muttered. “Almost there.”

 Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “I wish Harper had bothered to tell us what she was planning.”

 “Probably the last thing on her mind,” Orlova replied. “As long as it works, I'll forgive her.”

 “Daedalus is in position, ma'am,” Spinelli said, and the command officers turned back to the tactical display. Alamo was going to kill one of the missiles, the laser pulse saved for the surviving warhead. Assuming this plan worked.

 “Now!” Nelyubov yelled, as two more targets appeared on the screen, moving away from Daedalus with astounding speed, sliding smoothly into the track of the enemy warheads. The targets vanished from the screen, leaving only a single warhead as a threat. A heartbeat later, Alamo's laser fired for the third time, blotting the last enemy missile from the screen.

 Running a hand through her hair, Orlova said, “Let's try not to cut things so close next time. Any other sign of activity, Spaceman?”

 Spinelli shook his head, a smile on his face, “No, ma'am. Both enemy warships are destroyed, and the escape pods are slowing to a halt.”

 The blood drained from her face as she stepped towards him, saying, “Where are they going, Spaceman? I need a course projection, right now!”

 Rattling his fingers across the controls, he replied, “Towards the Ausori. The nearest spacecraft, I assume. Our pods are triggered to make their way to the nearest friendly vessel.”

 Looking at Nelyubov, she said, “The Xandari haven't suddenly decided to give their crew a chance to live through a defeat. This whole battle has been nothing but a decoy. Those aren't survivors, they're marines!”

 Stepping over to the sensor station, Nelyubov said, “Fine-tune the sensors, Spaceman. Let's see if we can work out exactly where they are going.”

 “Weitzman, contact Captain Ghewon. Tell him to prepare to repel boarders.”

Chapter 3

 Lieutenant Pavel Salazar looked down at his sensor display, shaking his head with a smile on his face, while his co-pilot, Midshipman Maqua, the first Neander officer in the Triplanetary Fleet, looked on with a frown.

 “Something wrong, sir?” he asked.

 “Other than having to complain to Kris about stealing my best ideas, nothing at all.” He turned back to the passenger cabin, and said, “Sidearms, people. We're….”

 “Alamo to Shuttle Two,” the speaker barked. “Come in, urgent.”

 “Shuttle Two here,” Salazar replied. “What's wrong, Captain? The view out here looks just great at the moment.” 

 “We have possibly one hundred hostiles inbound to Ausori right now, most of them heading right for the bridge. I've got the other transfer shuttles loaded with the rest of the platoon, but you're the first one on the scene.”

 “I'll liaise with Captain Ghewon, find out...”

 “Negative,” Nelyubov's voice replied. “They've evacuated the bridge. We can't get hold of anyone over there.”

 Maqua's eyes widened, and he said, “What do we do?”

 “Lieutenant, take command of whatever forces you can mobilize, and push the Xandari out. We've got to keep that ship if we've got any hope of getting the refugees home. Sergeant Gurung will be with you in six minutes minus, but with Ensign Cooper out of the picture...”

 “Gabe?”

 “Will be picked up by a Neander shuttle, but he's going to miss this one,” Orlova said. “Take charge, win the battle, and we'll worry about the details later. Understood?”

 “Yes, ma'am,” he said, shaking his head.

 “Alamo's ready to accept casualties. I don't know what condition the medical facilities will be over there. I can't even get a damn damage report.” Frustration laced her words, and she continued, “Do what you can. Alamo out.”

 “Aye,” he said, shaking his head. He rose from his seat, looking down at the co-pilot, and added, “Take her in. Nearest docking bay to the action. Then grab a gun and come along.”

 Looking at the Neander ship in the viewscreen, Maqua turned pale, then said, “Can't I guard the shuttle, sir?”

 “If you're not willing to face action...”

 “It isn't that, sir.” He shook his head, “It's just...”

 “That you don't know what sort of reception you're going to face on that ship. Trust me, Midshipmen, they're going to have bigger problems on their minds when we arrive, and if anyone give you any trouble, feel free to refer them to me. Or to the rather scary Espatiers we've got with us. Your score on the firing range was good enough.” He clapped the young cadet on the shoulder, and said, “We'll get through. My word on it.” 

 “Yes, sir.”

 Stepping back to the passenger compartment, Salazar walked over to Lance-Sergeant Hunt, the grizzled veteran already pulling on his combat armor, the rest of the troopers preparing their equipment.

 “I guess you got the message, Sergeant.”

 “Loud and clear, sir.” He gestured at Lance-Corporal Rhodes, who flashed a smile at Salazar while he loaded his rifle. “We're armed for bear, and ready for battle.”

 “We all know the Xandari don't allow themselves to be captured, and we all know what they do to any prisoners they capture, so we can't afford to give them any sort of a break. My intention is to take the bridge and work our way into the ship from there.” Shaking his head, he said, “As well as finding someone who can guide us through.”

 “Docking in twenty seconds, sir,” Maqua said. “Final approach programmed, hatch clear. We'll be in about thirty seconds ahead of the first wave of troopers.”

 “You heard the Midshipman,” Hunt said. “When that light flashes green, go right through and run like hell for the bridge. Watch your shots, but don't take any risks either.”

 “Good, Sarge,” Rhodes said. “I'll just take the shuttle back, then.”

 “I wouldn't get to attached to that new stripe of yours, Rhodes,” Hunt replied. “I don't think you'll have it long.”

 Salazar suppressed a smile at the two old adversaries sparring. It was almost a warm-up routine for them now, a way of psyching themselves up before a battle. The engineers at the rear looked rather less sanguine as they fumbled with their weapons, anxiously looking at the hatch.

 “Don't worry,” Salazar said. “I don't expect any of you to have to fight a real battle. Fitzroy, you're the senior here, right?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Come with us to the bridge. I'll be wanting you to take charge over there and make sure systems are transferred to wherever the hell Auxiliary Control is. Unless we can get a real crew rustled up from somewhere. Once we've done that, join one of the damage control teams.”

 “Should we take our toolkits then, sir?”

 “As long as they won't slow you down.”

 “Five seconds!” Maqua called.

 “Here we go,” Salazar said, pulling on a spare set of combat armor, tossing his jacket onto an empty couch in the corner. Hunt stood next to him, rifle in hand, the rest of the fire team in position to follow. The light flashed green, and the door slid open to reveal a bare, empty corridor before them. Without a word, they sprinted from the shuttle, their boots pounding on the hard metal floor.

 If he remembered the layout of this level correctly, they were only a hundred meters from the bridge, though with a few twists and turns along the way. Sirens blared through the air, and the walls were bathed in red light from the panels, warning of the imminent arrival of the enemy. As they raced past a junction, Private Lopez dropped to the ground, taking position behind a pile of scattered ration boxes to cover their advance. Or, if things went wrong, their retreat.

 Maqua was the last out of the shuttle, locking the hatch behind him, but quickly began to outpace the technicians to move to the lead. As they charged past another junction, Martinez ready to take cover, a series of shots rang out, sending the advancing party diving behind anything they could find.

 “I thought we were ahead of them!” Rhodes said. “Damn it, they're here already. Maybe they already had scouts on board.”

 “Wait, is that you?” a familiar voice said. Salazar looked around the corner to see a group of Neander, shook his head and climbed to his feet.

 “Aussketi, next time, look before you shoot.”

 “We didn't know anyone was coming,” the Neander officer replied. “I've got a crew together to secure the bridge.” She glared at Maqua at the rear, but said nothing, though the midshipman looked down at the deck, his face reddening.

 “I thought Ghewon had evacuated,” Rhodes said.

 Shaking his head, Salazar raced down the corridor, yelling, “I suggest we discuss this later. We're ten seconds to company! Maqua, tell Alamo to bring the reinforcements in right here.”

 Aussketi, hefting a fearsome-looking rifle, jogged alongside him, saying, “We've got a reserve force assembling in the Recreation Deck. Kelot's waiting to see where they come in before he commits his forces.”

 “We might not have time for that,” Hunt said. “If we let them get a foothold...”

 “And if we guess wrong, Sergeant, they might take the ship. Those pods are coming in on a vector that gives them more than two hundred access points, and that's assuming they don't decide to just cut their way in.” Shaking her head, she added, “Further, they've got to take this ship or die in the attempt. They've got nowhere else to go.”

 As they sprinted into the bridge, Salazar said, “Key areas. They'll be after...”

 “Don't worry about that. Kelot and I worked out a list days ago. Every critical section of the ship is defended.” With a scowl, she added, “Though we thought that was the case with the fuel tanks, to be fair.”

 One of the other Neander walked over to a sensor display, turned, and said, “Ma'am, they're coming in on the Third Deck.”

 Aussketi frowned, then said, “Why there? There's nothing important in that area. It's mostly food production down there. Carniculture vats, hydroponic bays.” Her eyes widened, and she looked at Salazar. “Damn. I was expecting ship functions, but if they take out the food supplies...”

 “A lot of hungry people out here.”

 “Elevator at the end of the corridor. I'll get Kelot moving,” she said, racing to a communications terminal. With a nod, Salazar led Hunt and the Espatiers back out of the room, collecting their rear guard as they went, and the six crewmen crowded into the elevator with their equipment, the engineers remaining behind to help the Neander on the bridge.

 “He shouldn't have evacuated,” Salazar said, shaking his head. “Ghewon left the damn bridge empty with no one to guard it. One grenade...” He looked at Maqua, and said, “Sorry.”

 “No, sir, you were right.” He sighed, and said, “It's been a long time since we've had to think of things like this. I guess we're out of practice.”

 “Better let me take point, sir,” Hunt said, pushing past Salazar. “Rhodes, with me!”

 Nodding, the trooper said, “Burke, Lopez, rear guard. Watch the junctions, and fire discipline. Every smashed piece of equipment hurts us down here.”

 The door opened, and the group sprinted forward into a field of fire, a pair of Xandari wildly shooting all around them, scattering them to the deck. Burke caught a bullet full on his front and cursed as he tumbled back, Lopez reaching out to drag him behind cover. They had opened out into a huge room, bathed in light from the ceiling, green and brown vats full of what would at some point be a passable imitation of food. Up ahead, figures moved, disgorged from their escape pods, all of them armed and armored for battle.

 “We move, we're dead,” Rhodes said, matter-of-factly. “They've got us in three places.” He reached out and took a quick shot, three bullets slamming into the pipe in front of him in response, spilling purple liquid across the metal deck. “See what I mean?” 

 “Setting charges,” Hunt added, gesturing at some of the figures at the back. “Best guess is that they'll rig the place to blow, then bug out to somewhere else. Plenty of targets for them if they don't care whether they live through it or not.”

 Salazar shook his head, and said, “We can't let them destroy these tanks. It's the only food supply for four thousand people.”

 “Reinforcements won't be long,” Rhodes said.

 “And what makes you think they'll be any better off than we are,” Salazar replied, looking out at the largest cluster of enemy troops, hustled around a huge carniculture vat. “Hmm. Who's the best shot here?”

 “I am,” Lopez said, moving forward.

 “Can you put me a pair of holes in that tank?”

 “I thought we were supposed to be stopping them damaging this stuff,” Rhodes protested.

 Nodding, Lopez replied, “I can do that from here.”

 “One at the top, one at the bottom. Once the fun starts, run right for them and start shooting at anything that isn't food.”

 The trooper lined up the shot, Rhodes offering his shoulder as a rest. As a pair of Xandari moved up on either side, trying to flank them, the sniper gently eased the trigger back twice, twitching down his aim with the second shot. Yells and screams sounded from the far end of the hall as a thick, viscous brown liquid shot out of the tank, running over the floor, sending a couple of dozen troopers slipping and sliding around.

 Taking that as their cue, the Triplanetary force moved forward, scattering across the room, shots ringing out all around them as they moved to new positions, deep into the forest of vats and domes. Salazar took an easy shot at a struggling Xandari warrior, who quickly grew still as a red stain drained across his chest, and Rhodes slid in beside him, shaking his head.

 “What a mess!”

 “Remind me to tell you about the first time I did this someday,” Salazar said with a smile. Up ahead, the Xandari were moving around, out to new cover, forming themselves into firing positions, leaving half a dozen corpses behind. He glanced behind him, and saw a group of Neander fanning inside, taking advantage of their toehold in the room to fill in the gaps.

 “Kelot sent us,” the nearest yelled. “More coming, all directions.”

 “Nice and stealthy,” Rhodes muttered, shaking his head. “You realize that sooner or later...”

 “They're going to blow the place anyway, whether they've managed to get out or not,” Salazar replied. “Way ahead of you, Corporal.” He looked across at Hunt, and flashed a quick series of hand signals, directing the troopers around on both sides. They were going to have to take them quickly, or risk losing everything they had gained. Looking back at the eager Neander filing into the room, he sighed quietly, hoping that they would follow up the assault, or at least not do too much damage to their advance.

 On the silent count of three, he moved out of cover, keeping down low, a shot smashing into the vat behind him, smothering him in a flood of green slime. Rhodes moved past him, firing a series of shots to pin down the enemy, and the two of them raced through the room. On the left, Hunt and the rest of the squad followed, leading the eager Neander who started to surge ahead, threatening to move past the trained troops in their urge for battle.

 The Xandari had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and were surrounded. A sane commander would have surrendered, but the word could not be found in their vocabulary. Shots rang out through the room, the Neander taking the brunt of the damage, Burke falling over again, knocked unconscious this time, blood from a wound on his side. Salazar cursed under his breath, and pushed on, taking a shot at a careless enemy who made the mistake of leaving his arm out of cover for a split second, long enough for Salazar to make the most of the advantage.

 All around, the battle raged, Neander ignoring tactical wisdom to take revenge on their former captors, charging into gunfire, willing to spend their lives to end theirs. As he watched, one of them was thrown backwards into the wall, his front riddled with bullet marks, the corpse sliding down to the deck underneath a blue-green algae vat, the strange light shining on his dead eyes.

 A beeping sound rang out beside him, and he turned to look at a pair of small black boxes, covered in winking lights, the noise seeming to grow louder and louder. With a glance at Rhodes, he snatched up the charges, then ran forward, ducking and rolling to snatch another one. The Neander could cope with the battle now. He had to make sure they won the war.

 Rhodes was right behind him, and Lopez only a pace before that, picking up the abandoned bombs as they ran towards what he hoped was a refuse airlock, a long shaft with a half-open hatch. Unceremoniously, he bundled his deadly payload down the hatch, the others adding to the package, and desperately looked around for a release lever, finally gambling on a long, thin switch. The outer hatch slammed shut, and there was a loud thud as the atmosphere escaped, taking the bombs with them.

 A roar filled the air, and the battle grew silent, the Xandari clustered around the few charges Salazar hadn't been able to reach in time. The smell of raw meat filled the air, and the floor was splattered with the residue of dozens of shattered vats, a green and brown rain that smothered everyone within range.

 As he wiped his slimy forehead with a greasy hand, Salazar looked over at the side of the room, dazed Neander slowly moving forward. Maybe a fifth of the food production was destroyed, more of it damaged, but at least they'd saved the rest. As far as he could see, all of the Xandari were dead. Certainly their bodies littered the battlefield. Behind him, Sergeant Gurung moved forward, shaking his head, leading the reinforcements.

 “Take over, Sergeant,” Salazar said, leaving a trail on the filthy floor as he moved forward. “Secure the area and get a clean-up crew in here on the double. If anyone wants me, I'll be in the shower. Probably for the next few days.”

Chapter 4

 Lieutenant Kristen Harper stepped out onto Alamo's hangar deck, a trio of technicians saluting as she formally boarded the ship. It took a second for her to respond, managing to return the salute with reasonable precision, before heading to the elevator. It felt strange to be back on board, even though she'd only been off the battlecruiser for a couple of weeks. Already, Daedalus felt like home.

 “Hold it, Kris,” Salazar said, jogging after her, stepping inside the elevator a few seconds before the doors slammed shut, sending them hurtling towards the briefing room. “Whew.”

 “Not a good idea to keep the Captain waiting.”

 “I only got back on board a few minutes before you. It's a hell of a mess over there, and I don't have much confidence in the clean-up crew.” He shrugged, and said, “I guess that's what happens when you expect people to just pick up where they left off after six, eight years in captivity.”
 “The crew of Hercules managed it.”

 “That's different. They were all military, and they'd been marooned on a starship. If nothing else, they could keep in practice.” Waving his thumb, he added, “That's a bunch of scared civilians out there, wanting nothing else than to get home as fast as they can. I can't blame them.”

 The door slid open, and Jack Quinn, Alamo's harried Systems Officer, stepped in, immediately saying, “Pavel, I haven't had the latest set of repair reports from Ausori.”

 “And you aren't likely to get them for a while, sir,” he said, shaking his head. “There are six different people over the fighting it out about who is in charge of the maintenance department, and Ghewon isn't about to make a decision any time soon.”

 With a sigh, Quinn said, “I never thought I'd be demanding paperwork, but we need to know what they're short of.”

 “Corner Ghewon and Molpa,” Harper said. “They're both coming over on the next shuttle.”

 “I will,” he said, and the doors opened at the command level. The trio walked through the bustling bridge, exchanging brief nods with the duty officer, and into the briefing room. Orlova and Nelyubov were already there, sitting at the end of the table, surrounded by empty chairs.

 “Are we early?” Salazar asked.

 “Everyone else is late,” Orlova replied. “Take a seat.”

 Quinn moved to his usual position at the far end of the table, Harper and Salazar unconsciously ignoring the sitting plan and taking chairs next to each other, Orlova and Nelyubov exchanging a brief glance as they took their places.

 “That was a hell of a stunt, Kris,” Nelyubov said.

 “It looked a bit familiar,” Salazar added with a smile.

 She shrugged, and replied, “Professionals steal. Someone taught me that a long time ago. I'm just glad it worked.”

 “Next time, warn me first,” Orlova said. “I almost had a heart attack when I saw you sliding in front of those missiles.”

 “So did I, and I gave the order,” Harper replied.

 “How's the ship?” Orlova asked.

 “About as good as we can get it short of a shipyard,” she said, pulling out a datapad and picking through the files with her finger. “There are a lot of improvements I'd like to make, but we'd need to do a complete upgrade of the power distribution network to support the load, to say nothing of modifications to the reactor. We've improved up the rearming process to something better than a slow crawl, but it still isn't up to combat specifications. As for the thrusters...”

 With a smile, Nelyubov interrupted, “Never mind the modifications. You're getting as bad as Jack.” The engineer threw him a hurt look as he continued, “Can she handle another couple of jumps without serious work?”

 “Not a problem,” Harper said. “Don't worry about my girl. She isn't the weak link in the chain here.”

 “And I think we all know who is,” Salazar added. The door opened, and Cooper stepped in, followed by Senior Lieutenant Powell, Alamo's Science Officer. “That's why I invited Aussketi to the meeting.”

 “About that,” Orlova said. “Customarily, the Captain puts the guest list together.”

 He nodded, and said, “I'm sorry, ma'am, but I had a feeling that if I went through channels someone would have blocked it. She was there during the battle, and of all the people in the senior command structure over there, she's the only one who seems to have any real idea what she is doing.”

 “I'd have to agree,” Cooper added. “That ship is being run by an ever-changing committee at the moment, and the figures at the top are changing so fast I can't keep up. I know they haven't had it easy over there...”

 “Are you about to suggest that I place a Triplanetary officer in command of the Ausori?”

 Cooper and Salazar glanced at each other, the former finally saying, “I think it would be a lot safer if you did, ma'am, and I suspect that there are people over there who would welcome a little stability.”

 Looking back at him, Orlova replied, “If our roles were reversed, Ensign, I suspect that I would be suggesting something along similar lines, but the answer has to be no. We need the support and friendship of the Interstellar Collective if we're going to complete our mission, and usurping the command of one of their ships, even under these circumstances, isn't going to win us any points. We're going to have to work with what we have.”

 “From a legal standpoint, I don't think we have the power to install our own people in any case,” Nelyubov said.

 Shaking his head, Quinn replied, “Captain, I hate to disagree with you, but I think Salazar and Cooper might be right. I'm not having any luck getting anything coherent out of them.”

 “Not to mention that there are saboteurs on board.”

 The doors opened, and Ghewon walked in, saying, “My people are united, Ensign.” Three other Neander followed him, all senior officers from Ausori.

 Looking sharply across at him, Cooper said, “Two of your people tried to kill me, sir, and another set the charges that ruptured the fuel tanks. Whether they were infiltrated agents or dissident factions, the end result is the same.”

 Molpa and Aussketi followed their commander in, taking their seats at the table, and Quinn asked, “Have you managed to put together a full damage report yet, sir?”

 “Was I summoned here for an interrogation by junior officers, Captain?” Ghewon asked, dropping down onto a chair.

 “We need more information than we've got if we're going to put together a coherent strategic plan,” Orlova said.

 “I can give you a summary,” Molpa said. “We can repair the damage to the hull in a hundred and ten hours. It's a little worse than we thought, but I've got everything I need to repair it.”

 Nodding, Quinn interrupted, “You can have four damage control teams from Alamo if you need them.”

 “I think we can manage,” Ghewon said.

 “Take the help,” the unfamiliar Neander replied. He looked around the room, and said, “I feel as though I know all of you, but I know I'm new to you. Morcos, Personnel Director.”

 “A pleasure,” Orlova said.

 Turning to Ghewon, Morcos said, “I know our skill situation a lot better than you, Ghewon, and I say that we need all the help we can get and then some. Molpa's managing with a lot of old hands who half-remember what they are doing, and kids who've only read a few technical manuals. Mr. Quinn's engineering teams would be more than welcome.”

 Molpa glanced between Morcos and Ghewon, then said, “Sir, it would be good to at least get some trained people to help supervise.”

 “If you think it truly necessary,” Ghewon said.

 “The big problem,” Molpa continued, “is the fuel tank. Again, we can repair the damage, but we can't replace the fuel. I know you've got extraction equipment on board.”

 Nodding, Powell said, “I've completed a full survey of the system, and have located several suitable sources for mining.”

 Shaking his head, Quinn replied, “It isn't as simple as that. That behemoth out there is ten times larger than Alamo. With the equipment we have, it would take the better part of two months to top up your tanks for another jump.”

 “Two months?” Ghewon asked. “Are you serious?”

 “Alamo isn't a tanker, and the fueling shuttle is an experimental backup, a supplement, not part of our primary equipment,” Nelyubov said. “What if we transferred our surplus fuel to Ausori?”

 “Even if we gave them every drop, it wouldn't be anything like enough, sir,” Quinn said.

 Ghewon looked at Morcos, and said, “We need to find other options. Waiting here for two months is out of the question. Lieutenant Salazar's robust defense of our farming deck cost us a third of our production.”

 “If I hadn't,” Salazar replied, “You'd have lost it all. My team was in position minutes before yours, and...”

 “I'm not assigning blame,” Ghewon said, looking away from the officer, “only stating a fact.”

 “The hell you….”

 “Lieutenant,” Orlova snapped. “That's enough. Ghewon, can't you feed your people?”

 “A tenth of the vats were destroyed. Which cuts down our reserve, but could be managed. The damaged equipment presents a different problem. All of the crops under production had to be scrapped, and it will be at least six weeks until we begin harvesting.” He shook his head, “Even going on two-thirds rations, people will start going hungry in two.”

 “What about Alamo?” Morcos asked.

 “Jack?” Orlova said.

 Shaking his head, the engineer replied, “I'm a quantum mechanic, not a nutritionist, but you're talking about feeding thousands of people. Alamo has the theoretical capacity to provide food for two hundred. We can help, but it'll be a drop in the ocean.” He paused, then said, “We can certainly send over all of our emergency rations.”

 “Come on, Jack, we like these people,” Harper quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

 “Anything you send will help,” Ghewon said, “but at best, it will only postpone the inevitable.”

 “Even if we had all the food we could eat,” Orlova added, “it wouldn't really make a difference. In five days, the Xandari will know exactly where we are, and we can expect a fleet to arrive as early as ten days from now. We've got to be out of here by then.” Looking around the room, she continued, “Testament Station is one jump away, and a damn short one at that.”

 Nodding, Aussketi said, “That's a major facility, and one the Xandari would never dare attack. We could get all of the fuel we need.”

 “Alamo cannot leave my people defenseless,” Ghewon said. “Or are you simply planning on running out on us, leaving us to face our enemies alone?”

 “Don't be a fool,” Morcos replied. “We'd still be stuck on that hell-hole of a world if it wasn't for this crew, and you know it.” Turning to Orlova, he said, “Captain, if you want to go for help, I trust that you will come back.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Alamo needs to stay here and defend the ship. If there is a sabotage ring on board...”

 “There isn't,” Ghewon said, bluntly.

 “Then our assessment of the tactical situation could be worse than we fear,” she pressed. “At any moment an enemy task force could jump into the system, one far larger than the last one.”

 “Ma'am,” Quinn said, “I must point out that Alamo has suffered significant damage. We're in no shape for a battle.” He looked at the glaring Ghewon, and said, “I'm not advocating pulling out, but for the record...”

 “You have to make it clear what the risks are,” Orlova said. “I understand.”

 “Then what are our options.”

 “Daedalus,” Harper said. “That's why...”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “She's ready to go, and can leave the system in thirty minutes. I want you to head for Testament Station and find the fuel we need. I don't care how you do it, and given your past performance, I think it's probably as well that I don't know how you do it, but we've got to have that fuel, and quickly.”

 Powell frowned, and said, “It's a short hop, Captain, but it will take at least nine days to get there. Even assuming there are no hold-ups obtaining the fuel. It's going to be close.”

 Turning to Harper, Ghewon said, “You are asking me to trust the safety of my people to such a junior, inexperienced officer?”

 With a smile, Harper replied, “I've spent a hell of a lot more time on the bridge of a starship than you have, sir, and I'm not in the habit of running from my bridge when the missile start flying.”

 “Why...”

 “That's enough!” Orlova said. “Ghewon, I'm not asking you to accept anything. This is the way that it is going to be, and that is my final word on the subject.” Turning to Salazar, she said, “I'm sending you along as well to bulk up the command staff. You can take one of the midshipmen, as well.”

 “Maqua,” Harper and Salazar said together, as Nelyubov attempted to hide a smile.

 Shaking his head, Ghewon replied, “Child officers and renegades. That is the team you are sending? I insist...”

 “We aren't in any position to insist on anything,” Morcos said. “Lieutenant Salazar was responsible for saving a lot of lives back on the planet, my own included. Lieutenant Harper's tactical skill allowed us to get to safety. I'm satisfied with their judgment.”

 “Then that's settled,” Orlova said.

 “One more thing,” Cooper replied. “Ghewon, I know you don't want to hear this...”

 “No,” the Neander said. “I don't.”

 “You have saboteurs on board. The explosion and the battle might have destroyed the evidence, but you've got to accept the possibility. There has to be a full investigation.”

 Looking down at him, Ghewon said, “If such is true...”

 “Ensign, can you handle such an inquiry?” Aussketi asked, looking at Ghewon. “We don't have anyone trained in such work, and there would be legitimate questions about the integrity of anyone we assigned to the task.”

 “She's right,” Morcos said with a sigh. “Let's not pretend we're one united people marching towards freedom. We need someone from outside, someone neutral, and someone everyone trusts. Frankly, I'd have suggested Lieutenant Salazar if he wasn't going to Testament Station, but Ensign Cooper would also be a good choice.”

 “I have no objections, ma'am,” Cooper said.

 “Is he trained?” Ghewon asked, a sneer on his face.

 “Top of his class in military law,” Harper replied, and Cooper snapped his head towards her. 

 “How the hell did you know about that?” he asked.

 She smiled, and said, “Intelligence Officer, remember?”

 Cooper looked at Orlova, blushing, and said, “Well, it looked like I wasn't going to OCS any time soon...”

 “So you're doing a correspondence course in Military Science from Syrtis Tech. I knew, Ensign, and no, Harper didn't tell me. Your instructor was quite eager to sing your praises before we left.”

 “I'm getting by, ma'am.”

 “You're doing a lot better than that. In any event...”

 “A correspondence course?” Ghewon said.

 “Ensign Cooper has my full confidence,” Orlova replied.

 Nodding, Morcos added, “I concur. We can assign you an aide, Ensign, one familiar with our legal code to help you through that particular minefield.”

 “You will find nothing,” Ghewon said, “but if you want to waste your time, I will allow it, provided that you do not hinder any ship operations. Is that understood?”

 “Of course, sir,” Cooper said. “For the record, I suggest that I am assigned to provide advanced training to some of your combat troops. That'll give me a good cover story. I'd also suggest that no one else know what I am up to.”

 “And if it is one of us, Ensign?” Morcos asked with a smile.

 “Then we're in real trouble, sir,” Cooper replied.

 Looking around the room, Orlova said, “I think that's about everything, then. Harper, would you stay for a moment?”

 The room emptied, a sullen Ghewon leading the Neander detachment from the room, Salazar holding back for a second to clap her gently on the shoulder, flashing her a smile of support. Within a moment, the two of them were alone, and Orlova looked carefully at her.

 “Are you sure about this, Maggie?” Harper asked.

 “Are you?” She paused, then continued, “This is your sort of job, Kris. If this was a question of sending a team down from Alamo, you'd be on it. This is no different. Just a little further to go.”

 “With Pavel as the other.”

 “Which is why he's going with you.” She leaned forward, and said, “I can't strip Alamo too far, not with the threat of an enemy task force hanging over our heads, but I'll give you a half-squad of Espatiers.” With a smile, she added, “I doubt you could fit much more on that ship of yours anyway.”

 “No, I guess not. Maggie...”

 “Kris, you know how you would play it, and this isn't the first time you've worked without a safety net. All that I'll say is that thousands of people, including children, are depending on you to pull this off.”

 “No pressure, then.”

 “About the same as always. Don't second-guess yourself, don't dwell on the problem, just trust your instincts and those of your people. You've got Scott, Salazar and the rest of your crew to help, but you have the command. The final decision is yours.”

 She nodded, and said, “I never expected anything like this.”

 “Sometimes that's just the way the dice fall.”

Chapter 5

 Orlova walked into her office, where Ghewon was sullenly waiting for her, sitting opposite her chair, Aussketi standing by his side with an exasperated look on her face. Without a word, she moved around to take her seat, sliding into position and skimming down a datapad before looking up at him.

 “If you have something to say to me, please get it over with. We've all got far too much work to do as it is, without wasting time on chest-beating exercises.”

 “I want to know whether you consider yourself in command of this fleet.”

 “Yes,” she replied. “Does that answer your question?”

 Shaking his head, he said, “It's as simple as that, is it?”

 “Hardly. My ship is responsible for the defense of the entire fleet, doubly so now that Daedalus is heading on to Testament Station, and you are unable even to protect yourselves, still less to take an active role in any battle.” Leaning back on her chair, she replied, “When the Xandari arrive, and they will, all you will be able to do is sit and watch while this ship fights and its crew dies to protect your people. So, yes, Ghewon, I do consider myself in command here.”

 “How can we fight?” he asked. “My ship is unarmed.”

 “And surrounded by the debris of two warships, with a selection of fabricators on board.” With a sigh, she added, “If you don't want our assistance, then there is still time for me to recall Lieutenant Harper, and Alamo can join them at Testament Station. But you can't have it both ways. If we're going to protect you, then we're going to do it our way.”

 “Quite right,” Aussketi said, looking down at Ghewon. “We need to be doing more to work on our own salvation. To start with, I'll organize some of our shuttles to pick up the emergency rations. That's the very least we can do.”

 “Of course,” Ghewon said, rising to his feet. “Captain, I consider that you are assuming authority you have no right to, but I don't see that I have any choice but to accede to your demands for the present. This situation is not resolved, though. Don't assume that for a moment.” Turning on his feet, he walked out of the office, leaving Aussketi behind.

 “That could have gone better,” she said, taking the vacant seat. “Don't take it personally, though. He's not trained for command, especially not for a combat command. I don't think he's ever had any independent authority, and things are getting bad over there.”

 “Should I be worried?”

 “We'll get home. I think.” The Neander shook her head, and said, “So many different factions squabbling. Ensign Cooper is going to have a hard time over there, I'm afraid.”

 Rubbing her forehead, Orlova said, “I'm too tired to be diplomatic...”

 “So I've noticed.”

 “Which means I'm going to get right to the point. None of my senior staff have any confidence in Ghewon's ability to handle himself in a battle. I've had several requests to relieve him of command and put one of my own officers in charge over there.”

 “I see.”

 “I have no intention of taking such an action...”

 “That's a pity.” Shaking her head, Aussketi said, “We don't have the people to do this, Captain. A lot of half-trained technicians and low-level bureaucrats trying to run a starship, and everyone's paranoid that there might be another Lostok on board.”

 “He's secure?”

 “Locked in solitary confinement under guard, waiting for a treason trial when we get back. There have already been half a dozen attempts on his life, and I think the odds of him getting home in one piece are lousy.” She paused, then said, “It might be as well if one of them succeeded. When we left, there was enough public unrest with the Guildmasters as it was. Finding out that one of them had sold out to the enemy might push things over the edge.”

 Her eyes widening, Orlova said, “I don't believe this. You're telling me that even if we do pull off a miracle and get your people home, we're either going to run right into a group of people desperately trying to cover everything up, or could start a civil war.”

 “That's about it, yes.” With a sigh, she continued, “It's been a long fight, Captain, and it's changed us all. Maybe sped up a few things that would have happened anyway, but the end result is the same.”

 “I can sympathize,” Orlova said. “It's a miracle the Confederation made it through the war without turning into one sort of dictatorship or another. We had a couple of narrow escapes, though you won't find any details in the history books.”

 “Wise.” She frowned, then said, “Sending Lieutenant Salazar away might be a mistake. He's a hero to the refugees, and if you were to assign anyone to command Ausori, I think he's by far the one most likely to make a success of it.” A smile curled her lips, and she added, “Which, if I am not mistaken, is one of the reasons you've sent him.”

 “If he's three light-years away, he can't be forced to do something we would all quickly end up regretting.” Leaning forward, she continued, “I'm not imposing a commander on you. If I were, it would be one of your people, not one of mine. Have you considered taking the job yourself?”

 “I'm far too junior for that.”

 “War rarely respects seniority, and it ruthlessly punishes inaction and incompetence.”

 “Are you asking me to launch a mutiny against my lawfully-appointed commanding officer?”

 “Of course not. Such an action would be a violation of countless Fleet Regulations. All I'm asking is that you carefully monitor the situation over there, and that you stand ready to take action if necessary to protect your ship and crew. As well as assuring you that I have no intention of intervening in the internal affairs of your chain of command, no matter who might request it. You can feel free to pass that on to anyone you think might profit from hearing it.”

 Standing up, she replied, “I am loyal to my people, Captain.”

 “I damn well hope so. From what I can see, right now they need all the help they can get.”

 Without another word, she walked out of the office, leaving Orlova alone. She rubbed her eyes, then pulled out a datapad, skimming over the systems reports from the last battle, smiling as she read the transcript of Nelyubov's meeting with the hapless Technical Officer in charge of the ship's elevators.  

 Dropping it down to the desk, she tapped a control, and said, “Captain to Deck Officer.”

 “Bradley here.”

 “Has anyone gone out to take a look at the debris from our friends yet?”

 “Not yet, Captain.”

 “Then have Transfer One readied for launch. I'm going to run the survey myself.”

 There was a brief pause, and she replied, “Aye, Captain. I'll sort out the pre-flight for you.”

 “Thanks. Orlova out.”

 As she walked out of her office, she caught a brief blue flash out of the corner of her eye, for a second waiting for the sirens to sound, warning of an incoming enemy armada, before she realized that it was just Daedalus on its way to Testament Station. That was the sort of mission she had thrived on, a few years ago, and a tight pang of jealously formed in her stomach as she walked through the bridge, making her way to the elevator. 

 While she drifted down to the flight line, she pulled out a datapad and started to skim through the reports, Jack Quinn managing to put in two thousand words what he had already told her in a sentence. Alamo was in no condition for a major battle, and wouldn't be until they'd had a chance to go deep into the bowels of the system and complete a refit. That meant spacedock time, at least two weeks of it. 

 And Testament Station was only three days away. All she had to do was say the word, and they'd be on their way to safety. Had Ghewon and his Merry Men been able to stop the saboteur in time, they could already have jumped. Instead they were stranded here, waiting, hoping that Harper and Salazar could concoct some sort of a miracle and find enough fuel to get them out.

 Already a range of contingency plans were forming in her head. Even if they packed the ship as full as possible, they couldn't hold more than three hundred people here. Daedalus was already full to the limits of its life support. Ferrying the Neander, even to Testament Station, would take months. The Xandari weren't going to give them weeks.

 That only made it worse. She was stuck here with the rest of them, pondering contingency plans and emergency scenarios, when all she wanted was to get back into the thick of the action.

 With a low chime, the door slid open, and she walked onto the hangar deck, heading right for the long, cylindrical transfer shuttles, rockets with a life-system pod stuck to the front. A stubby, brutal design, lacking even the utilitarian beauty of the landing shuttles, but the architect had prized function over form. Bradley waved her over to the nearest, tossing her a headset.

 “Come on. I've got her ready.”

 “I can fly her, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “I know, and you are, but you're going to need a co-pilot.” Before Orlova could protest, the deck officer pulled herself up into the cockpit, and with a last look around, she followed, sliding smoothly into the pilot's couch, the controls already positioned for launch.

 “You've covered all the bases,” she said.

 “Naturally.” Throwing a switch, Bradley replied, “We have clearance for takeoff. I may or may not have mentioned who's flying the shuttle.”

 With a smile, Orlova said, “Thanks. You can cycle the airlocks now.”

 “Cycling,” she replied, and with the throw of a switch, the shuttle began to drop through the decks, sliding out through the elevator airlock. “Don't mention it. Captain Marshall used to take a shuttle out every now and then. I suspect for the same reason as you.”

 “Did you chaperone him as well?”

 “I left that to Deadeye.”

 The shuttle dropped out into space with a brief jolt, tossed clear of the ship by the rotation, and Orlova tapped a control to plot a course to the nearest debris field. Alamo's sensors had already given them a thorough examination, but there were a few potential anomalies to examine. Under normal circumstances, debris inspection would either be an urgent priority or outright impossible, but the Xandari warships had done such a good job at matching speed that they'd be hovering next to the wreckage for weeks. Assuming Harper couldn't come up with something before them.

 “I wonder how they're doing back there,” Bradley said, tapping a series of controls to bring up the navigation display. “They might have the task force assembled at Thule by now.”

 “Let's hope,” Orlova said. “Though it will be months before we get to find out. The war could be over by then.”

 Shaking her head, Bradley replied, “You want to be everywhere at once, and you can't.”

 Turning to look at her, she said, “Not a bad guess. I'd like to be heading back home to pass on what we know, but we can't let the civilians go wandering off my themselves.”

 “Thanks, by the way, for sending my husband over there for the next week to throw himself into danger again. I was rather hoping to get a little time with him while we were waiting for Daedalus to come back.”

 “Nothing stopping you hopping a shuttle over there,” Orlova replied. “I'm sure you could put something nice and official about wanting to take a look at the Collective's technology, try and pick up some tips that could be reverse-engineered for Alamo. Kowalski can handle things while you're gone.”

 “Are you serious?” she asked.

 “Why not? I'm sure Gabe can use all the help he can get, and it'll look fine on paper if anyone asks. Not that they will. I think most of the paperwork gets thrown into someone's pet singularity at Mariner Station.”

 “That's as good an explanation as any.” She paused, then said, “I'll have the application on your desk within ten minutes of us getting back.”

 “If you want to head home now...”

 “No. I can wait for an hour or two, but you need a little time to relax, and some gentle piloting is just what the doctor ordered.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Orlova said, “Tell me you're being metaphorical.”

 “Nothing of the sort. I think this would have been prescribed to you at some point anyway.” Looking to the side, at the gleaming hull of Alamo reflecting the sunlight, she said, “That beast can be a harsh mistress.”

 “Tell me about it.”

 “Any regrets?”

 Orlova paused, then said, “No. Not really.”

 “Good answer.” Glancing down, Bradley said, “We're coming up on Object One. Looks like a tangle of alloy to me.”

 “And to me. Polished piece of hull, I guess. We've got plenty of samples already. No need for any more.”

 “Agreed.”

 Running her hands over the controls, Orlova said, “Changing course for Object Two.”

 “If things had been slightly different, if Captain Marshall had still been here, then you'd be commanding Daedalus yourself right now.”

 “Almost certainly.”

 “Then you'd have the same set of worries that you do right now. The same problem, but from another angle.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “You trying for Ship's Psychiatrist?”

 “I don't think we're going to get one of those any time soon. I just thought you might want to have a talk.” With a shrug, she said, “Unless you're worried about sharing dark secrets with the lower ranks.”

 “The only dark secret I've got is that I'm making all of this up as I go along.”

 “If it helps, it really doesn't show.” A light flashed on the panel, and she frowned, saying, “Wait a moment. I'm getting an energy reading from Object Two. Power build-up.”

 “Executing evasive course. I'm taking us back to Alamo.”

 “Energy spike!” Bradley yelled. “It's a missile, damn it! Intercept course, bearing directly, projected time-to-impact of thirty-five seconds!”

 “Contact Alamo, and get Cantrell to give us some covering fire,” Orlova said, her hands dancing across the controls. This was what she knew, what she was comfortable with. She'd been flying shuttles like this since she was fourteen, and threw every trick in the book as she rattled the helm through a series of evasive maneuvers.

 None of them did any good, but she didn't really expect them to. The dead head of the enemy tactical officer had done his job well, and the booby trap was working with perfect precision as the missile homed in on the shuttle, the seconds towards intercept counting down. To her right, Bradley was frantically calling Alamo, but they both knew that it would be next to impossible for Cantrell to get a strike together in the time. Even a laser pulse was out of the question, the shuttle and the missile in between Alamo and Ausori.

 “Wait one,” Orlova said, throwing the shuttle into a turn. “I've got an idea.”

 “Suicide?” Bradley asked. “You're taking us back into the debris field.”

 “In about ten seconds.”

 Shaking her head, Bradley reached up to the overhead locker and pulled out the hull patches, placing them on her lap where she could get to them in seconds. Should a large piece of debris hit them, it wouldn't make any difference. Especially given that the odds were that one of them would be directly hit by the impact.

 The hull rattled as the lighter debris bounced off, the sensors quickly losing resolution as the pick-ups were smashed, one after another. After only a few seconds, they were flying blind, Alamo feeding them as much information as it could, while Orlova tapped split-second corrections into the computer. She had to walk a fine line, keeping them out of the worst of the debris while luring the missile into it, keeping the acceleration down low to avoid disrupting the very shield they were hoping to use.

 “It's changing course,” Bradley said. “Moving around, as though it's trying to...” She paused, frowned, and said, “A signal! From Ausori! We just passed through a tight-beam.”

 Behind them, with a handful of seconds to go, the missile finally found a piece of debris it couldn't work around, dying in a brief flash of light that sent the field flying in all directions, a second rattle of impacts sounding from the rear of the shuttle. The engine abruptly died, red warning lights smothering the screen to alert them of serious damage, and Orlova shook her head.

 “I guess someone's going to have to get us.”

 “Someone already is,” she replied, pulling off her headset. “Bryce is on his way with Transfer Two. Don't worry, we'll fix it.”

 “That's not what I'm worrying about. Someone took manual control of that missile in the final seconds, trying to get it through the debris. And for that matter, the timing of that launch was pretty damn perfect.”

 Nodding, Bradley said, “And it had to have been concealed. If it had been floating in free space, we'd have picked it up on the first salvo.” Shaking her head, she replied, “Damn it, there have been shuttles moving back and forth for hours. Anyone could have dropped it off. Or set it off, for that matter. Someone decided to target one of our shuttles.”

 “Get someone to do a check of the flight paths, just to be sure.” Looking at the huge bulk transport hanging to the side, festooned with repair crews on the hull, she added, “There's no doubt any more, no question. There are traitors on Ausori, and ones with the technical skill to pull off an attack like this.”

 “I guess I'd better get over to Cooper as soon as I can.”

 Looking sharply at her, Orlova said, “When you get over there, don't trust anyone. Report any findings directly to me.”

 “Then what?” 

 “Then we'll do what has to be done to get us home. All of us.” Shaking her head, she pushed herself out of her chair, and added, “Come on. Let's get a start on the damage report.”

Chapter 6

 “Five names,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “I don't like this at all.”

 “I don't see why?” Morigna, his aide, asked. “The four senior officers of the ship and a computer technician from the Undercaste. As far as I am concerned, this investigation is over.”

 Bradley, sitting back on her chair, replied, “We've only been at it for three hours.”

 “Then I am happy to have completed our work so rapidly. Evidence of our efficiency.”

 “Just because this Oktu is Undercaste?” Cooper asked. “You're willing to assume he is a traitor that quickly?”

 “Think. We know that the unrest comes from those with a more limited understanding of the way in which the universe works, and those who are determined to overthrow our society...”

 “Lostok was a Guild Master,” Bradley said. “And he's sitting in a cell, waiting to be executed for treason, assuming someone doesn't get around to it before we get there.”

 Frowning, Morigna replied, “He had irrational fears about the future of our civilization, and had been imprisoned for a long time. You can't assume...”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “Neither can you. As far as I am concerned, we have five suspects, as distasteful as that sounds. And that assumes that these records are accurate, and no one else has managed to acquire the necessary skills.”

 “I'm willing to grant that possibility, but Oktu should be arrested and interrogated at once. I am aware that you have been placed in charge of the investigation, but I must warn you that if you fail to take this action, I will proceed myself.” Rising to her feet, the Neander added, “I presume you wish me to make the arrangements to confine him?” 

 Cooper looked at Bradley, then said, “No. Find out where he is, but don't alert him yet. If there is some wider conspiracy, I'd rather not alert them to our discovery until we have to.”

 Nodding, Morigna said, “Agreed. I will return in a moment.”

 As the Neander walked out of the room, Cooper turned back to the list of names, running his eyes over the search filters again. Bradley rose, moving to stand behind him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

 “It's too easy,” she said. “You think Morigna is hiding something?”

 “Maybe. It's about as likely that she can't accept that someone from the mighty higher castes could be capable of something as base as treason. You heard what she said about Lostok.” Glancing at the door, he added, “Besides, if she was working for the other side, I have a feeling that she'd be doing a better job of concealing her thoughts.”

 “Unless it's all a double bluff.”

 He sighed, then said, “I need to read more detective novels.”

 Bradley paused, then said, “What are you going to do about Oktu?”

 “Irrational prejudices aside, I don't think we have a choice but to investigate him. Though I'll be damned if I condemn an innocent man, no matter what the reason.” Frowning, he said, “We'll take him back to Alamo.”

 “That isn't going to go down well.”

 “He tried to kill you.”

 “Even so.”

 The door slid open, and Morigna stepped in, holding a datapad, a scowl on her face. Cooper rose to his feet, moving to the door.

 “He's gone missing.”

 “Missing?”

 “According to the work schedule, he was meant to be working on overhauling the access terminals on the lower support decks, but according to his supervisor, he didn't report for duty this morning.”

 Closing his eyes, Cooper said with a sigh, “You contacted his supervisor?”

 “Of course. I wanted to make sure...”

 “That anyone involved in the conspiracy would be alerted that we were on to him, perhaps? We know that whoever is involved has the ability to hack into the ship's mainframe. They can be watching everything we do, potentially.”

 Morigna took a step back, and said, “I was only acting according to procedure.”

 Shaking her head, Bradley moved to the corridor, and said, “We'll try his quarters first. If that fails, we'll have to start a search.”

 “Habitation Level Two, Dormitory Nine,” Morigna replied. “This way.”

 The three of them jogged down the corridor towards the elevator, ducking past a group of technicians in the corridor, sullen expressions flashing onto their faces as they saw the Triplanetary uniforms. Cooper shook his head as they ducked through the doors, Morigna working the controls as she pulled her pistol from its holster.

 “Put that away,” Cooper said. “We're not a group of outlaws.”

 “We're hunting a dangerous criminal,” she protested.

 “We're questioning a suspect,” he replied. Gesturing at the doors, he said, “Why did those technicians act like we were the bad guys?”

 “There are stories circulating around the lower decks that you are planning to hijack the ship, force us to return to your Confederation rather than going home.”

 Shaking her head, Bradley replied, “We're risking our lives to give you a chance to make it back to the Collective in one piece!”

 “I am aware of that, but you have to understand that those of limited intelligence cannot perceive the situation as it truly is. They listen to the demagogues, allow their fears to be roused.”

 “Where are these leaks coming from? These ideas that we're some sort of evil power?”

 “That I could not say.”

 “I bet.”

 The doors slid open, and they ran out along the deserted corridor, Cooper almost tripping over a bundle of cables on the floor. Evidently this area was a low priority for maintenance, and the condition of the equipment would have led to the deck being condemned if it was on a Triplanetary ship, the technicians responsible court-martialed for incompetence.

 “What's that?” Bradley asked, pointing at scrawled graffiti on the wall.

 “Just an obscene comment,” Morigna replied. “Don't worry about it.”

 Cooper pulled out his datapad, running it across the text to get a translation, and read, “Death to the Starborn.” He looked at the Neander, raising an eyebrow, and said, “I see your system of government is not particularly popular.”

 “There are always those who are determined to cause trouble. We were the ones who built an interstellar civilization, and it is only fair that we should reap the rewards of generations of work. Anything else would be unfair.” Tapping a door, she said, “This one.”

 His hand on his pistol, Cooper stepped into the darkened room, looking at the rows of bunks hastily placed along the wall, piles of bags and boxes scattered everywhere. More graffiti covered the walls, and a single Neander lay asleep on a bed, a thin brown blanket tossed over him.

 “Not him,” Morigna said. “Though I suspect he knows where he is.” Roughly shaking him, she ordered, “Wake up, crewman.”

 Looking at them through bleary eyes, he replied, “I did three shifts in a row. Can't I get any peace?”

 “Not when traitors roam the decks.”

 “I'm not interested in talking to the lackeys of the Starborn.”

 Taking a pace forward, Cooper said, “Then perhaps you're willing to help save the life of one of your friends. There is circumstantial evidence that suggests Oktu as the man behind an attack on the Commander of Alamo. If we can find him, we might be able to clear his name.”

 “Don't make me laugh. You don't have any interest in what is really going on down here, or you wouldn't be propping up a tyrant like Ghewon, or creatures like her.” He looked venom at Morigna, and added, “An illustrious Security Legate, bound to keep the peace, and beat anyone she thinks threatens it.”

 “Do you want to get home?” Bradley asked. “Someone tried to destroy this ship yesterday, and whoever it is doesn't seem to care about how many people die in the process. If the Xandari attack, do you think they'll show you any mercy?”

 “No, I think they'll take us back to an extraction camp. And if we get home, I'll be put to work back in the mines again, so what's the damn difference?” He looked up at Cooper again, and said, “Some said that you were different, that you were bringing some sort of new ideals with you. I haven't seen any sign of them yet.”

 “Morigna, leave the room,” Cooper said.

 “I beg your pardon?”

 Turning to her, he said, “Get out. Now. I'll talk to this man alone.”

 With a furious glare, she replied, “I will be summoning security forces to take this man into custody. Obviously he is in league with the traitors.”

 “No, you won't.”

 “I'll make sure of that,” Bradley said, leading the Neander out.

 As the door closed, the worker said, “Once you go back to that fancy starship of yours, she'll have me arrested. I just don't care any more, not about that. Or anything.”

 “The Triplanetary Confederation will give you amnesty. In exchange for information.”

 “I won't sell out my friends.”

 Sitting on an adjacent bunk, he replied, “I wouldn't ask you to. What I need to know is what is going on down here? What do the refugees think is happening?” 

 “We're being taken back home, where we will have a tearful reunion with our families, assuming they haven't long-since written us off for dead or been transferred to other worlds, and end up going back to our old jobs a few days later. Those who aren't taken for loyalty screenings.” With a smile, he added, “Nice allies you've found.”

 “Can you prove all of this?” Cooper asked.

 “Not until it happens.” He shrugged, and added, “Maybe I'm out of date, and the revolution happened while we were away. The Starborn control everything, all the starships, all the corporations, the whole government. With a few puppets from the lower orders to make it look good, a few idealists allowed to get on board starships. Who are then worked to death and used for cannon fodder in their wars.”

 “And Oktu?”

 “Has been calling for us to act now, to strike back against our oppressors, but that doesn't make him a traitor, and he isn't stupid enough to attack the only ship that's defending us from attack. As soon as we reach Testament Station...”

 “Let me guess,” Cooper said. “Just to put the pieces together. Grab some shuttles, get over there, hide in the population. Hundreds of you?”

 “Maybe more.” Sitting up, the Neander said, “The last thing any of us want is to delay our trip. There are a lot of Neander over there, many of my people, and it's the only hope we have for a new life.”

 Nodding, Cooper said, “You'll get there. My word on that. I'll have you transferred to Alamo on the next shuttle, and you can either stay with us or head over to the station as soon as we get there. Your choice.”

 “I have a wife.”

 “Her as well. Where is she?”

 “Dormitory Twenty-Four, on the far side of the ship.” Shaking his head, he said, “I think they prefer to keep us separated. Makes it easier for them to control us.”

 The door slid open, and Bradley stepped in, saying, “She ran off. Down the corridor. I couldn't stop her.” She clutched at her side, and blood was beginning to run into her uniform. “Pulled a knife on me.”

 “We've got to get you to a medical facility,” Cooper said. “Shuttle bay, right now. You...”

 “You'll never make it,” the Neander replied. “They'll have the whole area on lock-down, and I bet you'll find your communicators aren't working either.” He rose to his feet, warily looking at them, and said, “If this is some sort of trick...”

 “My wife needs a doctor,” Cooper pressed.

 “Your wife?” the Neander asked. “Very well. Follow me, and hurry. Can you walk?”
 “For a moment,” Bradley said.

 Wrapping his arm around her, Cooper led his wife after the Neander as they made their way down the corridor. He fished out his communicator, but as he'd expected, the signal was being jammed. Probably the internal systems working against him, which meant that the conspiracy was higher up than he had hoped.

 They staggered to a small elevator, and the Neander entered a twenty-digit code from memory, frowning over the final three numbers, but the doors slammed shut as they lurched to the side. Pulling open a hidden hatch, he tossed Cooper a small pouch.

 “Medical kit. I guess it will suit your people as well as it does ours.”

 As Cooper ripped open the packet, pulling out the bandages, he said, “I don't even know your name.”

 “Segna. I'm a communications technician.” He glanced at the door, and said, “And one of the Brotherhood.”

 “Which is?”

 “I suppose the closest analogy would be a union. We're fighting for the rights of the oppressed, back home. There were dozens of us at the facility.” Shaking his head, he added, “I think they made sure to put anyone they suspected at the greatest possible risk. Too many of us ended up assigned to dangerous operations.”

 Pulling open his wife's uniform, Cooper started to work on the wound, injecting an anticoagulant before applying the synthskin patch on top. He looked up at Bradley's pale face, her breath growing more rapid.

 “I've had worse than this,” he said.

 “Trust me, I'm happy to let you win that particular competition,” she gasped.

 “That red one is a painkiller,” Segna offered, and Cooper applied the injection, his wife's breathing rapidly calming, color returning to her face.

 “Thanks,” Bradley said.

 He shrugged, and replied, “I'm not going to watch you suffer for protecting me. Violence is not our way. Though we've certainly suffered enough.” The doors opened on a dark deck, and Segna led them out onto the corridor. “Lower maintenance level, close to the waste reclamation system.”

 Cooper wrinkled his nose, and said, “So I smell.”

 “None of the officers ever come down here. Beneath their dignity to get their hands in the muck.” Looking worriedly at Bradley, he added, “If you can manage a few more paces, we're almost there.”

 “I'll make it,” she said.

 The group staggered around a corner and through an open door, Bradley and Cooper collapsing onto a worn couch. Segna looked around, then ran back out into the corridor, the door closing behind them.

 “Here, let me see if I can do anything else,” Cooper said.

 “You should leave,” she replied. “Go and find your way back to Alamo.”

 “Not without you.”

 “Gabe, this looks a lot like a trap to me.”

 Patting his sidearm, he said, “Not much of one, though. We'll get through it. Besides, I trust him. So far he's shown more interest in our welfare than our so-called friends from the upper hierarchy.”

 “You believe his story?”

 “I believe there are two sides to every picture, and we've only been given a good look at one of them up till now. If this gives us a chance to see what lies under the surface here, so much the better.” He tugged out his communicator, and shook his head, “Still jammed. Might as well ditch the damn thing.”

 Pointing at a long tube in the corner, Bradley said, “Is that what I think it is?”

 Cooper moved over to the far side of the room, and smiled, “A refuse shaft. Airlock type, so it must lead outside the ship. They've got them scattered all over the place.” He pulled out his communicator, and started to tap out a brief message, his fingers quickly working the keys, and slid it down the tube. With a loud rip, the hatch cycled, tossing the device out into space.

 The door opened, and he turned to see a group of Neander standing at the threshold, all of them armed except Segna. A flash of recognition passed as he recognized Oinos, one of the men he had fought beside during the escape, who lowered his weapon and nodded.

 “I'll vouch for him.”

 Glancing to the side, the leader replied, “We don't dare take a risk. Not with so much at stake. Not now they know about our plan.”

 “Do you plan to keep us here?” Cooper asked.

 “I have a medic on the way to look at your wife,” he said. “I suggest any decision about your future disposition be delayed until she's had a look at her.” With a smile, he added, “And to answer your next question, I am Oktu, and no, I didn't knock out the fuel tank, nor did I send the assassins after you. Why would I? That scout was bringing you to meet me.”

 “I thought...”

 “As I said, we don't dare take a risk, Ensign.” A female Neander in a white tunic stepped in, carrying a large case, and pushed forward towards Bradley.

 “Can this wait?” she asked. “I've got work to do.”

 “Certainly. We will talk later, Ensign. I hope you forgive the guards. Food and water will be provided shortly.”

 “Then we are prisoners.”

 “Ensign, take my word for it, you'd never live to reach a shuttle. Not now. We will talk, and soon.”

Chapter 7

 “Where the hell are they?” Orlova said, glowering at the viewscreen, Ghewon looking sheepishly at her. “Two of my officers go missing, and I'm not informed for nine hours?”

 “I'm sorry, Captain, but it is not my responsibility to keep track of your wayward personnel. If you recall, they were stationed here against my explicit wishes. I accept no blame for this incident.” Shaking his head, he said, “The representative I assigned to assist Ensign Cooper and his wife informed me that they had ventured into the lower levels by themselves, and had insisted they conduct the investigation alone.”

 “I don't believe that for a second.”

 “What you believe does not concern me. I am simply reporting the facts. They are missing, and I think it certain that the traitors have captured them. It would not surprise me to receive demands for their release in the near future, assuming of course that they are not dead already. Something I fear is all too likely.”

 “Ma'am,” Cantrell said, looking at her, “We can have a search team over there in five minutes. The entire platoon is standing by on the hangar deck.”

 “You most certainly will not!” Ghewon said. “This is a vessel of the Interstellar Collective, Captain, and though we might for the moment be allies, I will not permit you to send troops on board. My decision is final. We will conduct the search, and I will keep you informed of our findings.”

 “Not enough,” Orlova said. 

 “It'll have to be.”

 “Fine.” She turned to the helm and said, “Midshipman Armstrong, plot a course to the hendecaspace point, and inform Senior Lieutenant Powell that I wish a fastest-time dimensional track to Testament Station. We'll be conducting our repairs ahead of schedule.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” Armstrong replied, turning back to her controls.”

 “You can't do that!” Ghewon protested. “You're leaving your own people behind, as well as ours!”

 “Neither of them would hesitate for a second before offering their lives for those of their shipmates. You seem of the opinion that they are dead, and if that is so, we have nothing further to do here.”

 “The Xandari...”

 “I suggest you prepare some sort of protest-based defense for their arrival. Alamo...”

 “Wait!”

 She paused, smiled, and said, “Very well.”

 Looking to his right, Ghewon said, “I cannot allow Triplanetary troops on this vessel. Feelings are already running high over here, and there have been protests. A platoon of Espatiers would only exacerbate the problem. The radicals would assume that I had called you in to fight them.”

 “If they're capturing my people, they'd be right about that.”

 “Captain, I'm walking a tight-rope here. We're holding on until we can get back to our space, but you need to understand the delicacy of our situation.”

 She sighed, then said, “I'm coming over. Myself. With one other officer. I want to take a look at the crime scene, and gather information to be processed in our laboratories. We're built for detailed analysis. You aren't.”

 Ghewon paused, then asked, “No troops?”

 “No.”

 “Then I agree. Come in at Docking Bay Nine, and I'll have an escort standing by to meet you.”

 “Very well. One final thing, Ghewon. Not that I don't trust you, but I think it should be very clear that should I experience any hostility while I am over there, the results will be most unpleasant for both of us. I'll have an open communications channel back to Alamo for the entire duration of my visit, and should it be interrupted for a second, Sergeant Gurung and his team will be over before you can say 'hostage rescue'. Is that understood?”

 “I must...” 

 “Is that understood?”

 He nodded, and said, “I understand. We'll do everything we can to keep you safe, Captain. My word on that. Ausori out.”

 Nelyubov, silent throughout the conversation, said, “I wouldn't give you a bent centicred for his word, skipper. I'd bet my next month's pay that he's hiding something.”

 “I really hope you aren't expecting me to take that bet, Frank,” she replied. “Of course there are things he isn't telling us, but he doesn't know where Cooper is.”

 Cantrell nodded, and said, “I agree. He doesn't fit the profile, and the guilty parties will be wanting to maintain their cover.” Turning to Orlova, she said, “Request permission to go in your place, Captain.”

 “Denied.”

 Nelyubov shook his head, and said, “Going over there is risky, and potentially handing over our commanding officer to a group of people we can't trust...”

 “I'm going, Frank. He isn't going to let anything happen to me, not knowing what would happen if it did. Foster can go with me as my assistant and shuttle pilot.” With a smile, she turned to Cantrell, and said, “Tell Sergeant Gurung I need a volunteer from the Neander contingent of the Espatiers. I want them in work clothes to match those used on Ausori, ready in my shuttle.”

 Cantrell beamed, and said, “Clever, Captain. I doubt you'll have any trouble finding someone to take that assignment.”

 “Nor do I. Frank, you have the bridge.”

 “Actually, I'd like to accompany you to the hangar deck.”

 Stepping over to the elevator, she replied, “Very well. Cantrell, the bridge is yours. Keep monitoring for any sign of activity, and inform me immediately if there is any trouble.” She paused, then said, “Once I've left the ship, I want Sergeant Gurung on one minute's notice for departure, and the ship brought to alert status. Make it as obvious as you can, and if you feel like conducting weapons drills, go right ahead.”

 “I'll put on a good show for them, ma'am.”

 The two of them stepped into the elevator, and as she punched for the hangar, she said, “Go on, Frank, get it out of your system.”

 “You know what I'm going to say already.”

 “Almost down to the word.”

 “I would never disagree with you in front of the crew, Maggie, but this is a foolish risk.”

 She looked up at him, and replied, “It is a risk, but a calculated one. We've got to get someone on board that craft, and I'll provide the best possible distraction to sneak an agent on board.”

 “Another risk. If he gets caught...”

 “I'm certain that Corporal Walpis will know the odds.” She smiled, then said, “It'll be him. Rank has a few privileges, after all. I trust him to be careful.” She paused, adding, “What would you do?”

 “At this point? I'd have Sergeant Gurung boarding Ausori now, with a prize crew under Lieutenant Cantrell to assume command of the ship while we tore it apart. Then we install a competent commander, maybe Aussketi, and wait for Daedalus to get back.”

 “Ruining any potential alliance with the Collective.”

 “That's ship's sailing, Maggie, and it's taking some of our people with it. If Ghewon is at all representative of what we'll be dealing with when we get there, I'm not sure it's worth the trip.” He paused, smiled, then said, “You asked me what I'd do. I suppose if I really was in your position, I'd be doing the same as you.” 

 “Feel better getting it out of your system?” she asked.

 “Much. Tell me you don't feel the same way.”

 “I wish I could.” She sighed, then said, “If I thought it would do any good, I'd lead the boarding parties myself. I owe Cooper and Bradley my life, several times over.”

 The doors slid open, and they walked out onto the deck, Sub-Lieutenant Foster snapping to attention as they approached. Nelyubov waited at the elevator, shook his head, then followed as she walked towards the waiting shuttle. Corporal Walpis was standing next to the hatch, tugging on a badly-fitting jumpsuit of indeterminate origin.

 “All ready, ma'am. I've got a Republic communicator hidden in a false pocket, but that's about all.”

 “Republic?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Lieutenant Cantrell's idea, sir. She thought it would be more likely to escape detection and jamming. They might have had plenty of chances to take a look at our kit, but they've yet to meet any of the other interstellar governments.”

 “Good thinking,” she said.

 Nelyubov stepped over to him, and said, “Corporal, you are aware of the risks you are running? That in the event something goes wrong, the odds of us being able to get you back will be low at best.”

 “I know all that, sir. Sergeant Gurung made it quite clear what was at stake. If it means getting Ensign Cooper back, I'm willing to take the risk.”

 “Pre-flight is ready, ma'am,” Foster volunteered. “We have clearance for launch at our discretion.”

 “You take her,” Orlova said. “We'd better make this look good.”

 “Be careful, Captain,” Nelyubov said as she climbed aboard, following Walpis. “If anything goes wrong, I'll send in the cavalry.”

 “See that you do.”

 She stepped into the cabin, Walpis moving to the rear, close to the emergency hatch on the floor, and took a position by the window. As the shuttle dropped down through the airlock, she pulled out a datapad and started to skim through the scanty information they had. Numerous failed attempts to contact Cooper or Bradley in the last few hours, no knowledge of their location, no details on their investigation.

 The engine roared, and she looked out of the window at the hulk, the gaping hole over their primary fuel tank gouged out of the lower section, tiny figures moving about, fitting temporary patches and sealant. Enough that they might at least limp home, though it would be hard to avoid some leakage. That sabotage meant that Ausori's days as a starship were numbered.

 Assuming Daedalus managed to get back with the fuel they needed. They'd be more than halfway there by now. With almost no useful information about what they would find when they arrived.

 Smoothly, Foster guided the shuttle towards the named docking port, well away from the populated areas of the ship. A tinge of paranoia grabbed at her, and she looked down at her pistol, resting comfortably in its holster. She wasn't worried for herself, not at all, but the consequences of anything going wrong were dreadful. The Confederation had enough enemies lurking out here in the dark, without adding any more to the roster.

 With a loud clang, the shuttle locked itself in position, and Orlova stepped to the door while Walpis ducked into the escape hatch, out of sight. The hatch swung open, Ghewon on the far side, flanked by Kelot and a pair of uniformed Neander, both of them carrying rifles.

 “I see you picked the most deserted spot you could find,” she said, stepping out onto the deck.

 “Not only do I believe it better that few people know of your visit, this is the nearest docking port to the site of Ensign Cooper's disappearance.”

 Kelot shook his head, and said, “I can't believe he was here to spy on us.”

 “To find out who was betraying your people to their enemies,” Orlova said.  

 “It seems he was successful in that,” one of the riflemen said. “My name is Morigna. I was with your people before they were captured.” She shook her head, and said, “He was so insistent on investigating the lower levels without me. Ordered me away from the crime scene. As though he had something to hide.”

 “What are you implying?” Foster asked, stepping out of the airlock.

 Turning to her, his eyes wide, Kelot said, “I fought beside that man as he risked his life to save our people on the surface, while you were sitting on your backside up here. He is no traitor.”

 “I'm not making any accusations,” Morigna said, shrinking back. “All I'm saying is that it seemed suspicious.”

 “Shall we get on with this?” Ghewon asked. “I've arranged for a guard on the shuttle.”

 “Good,” she replied, cursing inside, as she and Foster followed the others down the corridor. Morigna was silent, exchanging occasional glances with Ghewon, while Kelot led the way, pistol in hand. Even in this area of the ship, she would have expected to see someone, technicians repairing the obvious damage, refugees making their way around, but they reached the barracks without spotting a soul.

 “In here,” Ghewon said, stepping through.

 “Who lives here?” Foster asked.

 “Maintenance technicians. All of them have been dispersed to other parts of the ship, and their movements are being monitored,” Morigna said. “We are taking steps to find your people, Captain.”

 “Blood,” Foster said, kneeling on the floor. She pulled out a testing kit, and after a moment, said, “Bradley's. Not that much of it, maybe a minor wound.”

 “More traces here,” Kelot said, standing by the door. “There was nothing about this in the report.”

 “Maybe they missed it,” Ghewon said, shrugging.

 “Or maybe your conspiracy has reached the forensic team,” Orlova replied.

 “Impossible,” he said. “All of them are Starborn. Experts. Their loyalty is beyond question.”

 “But not their competence,” Foster said. “We need to investigate this further, Captain.”

 “We cannot waste any more time on theories that cannot possibly be proven. There is a conspiracy among the lower orders on this ship, and as distasteful as it seems, some of our people must be working with the enemy.” Ghewon shook his head, and said, “They will be dealt with, Captain. I assure you of that. Your people will be avenged.”

 “I'm not convinced they are dead,” Foster said. “Why kill them?”

 “Perhaps they found the traitors here,” Morigna suggested. “It was more than half an hour before we came looking for them. More than enough time for the bodies to be disposed of, the evidence removed.”

 Looking up, Foster said, “Captain, I can have a full forensic team over here in ten minutes. We've got all of the equipment we need ready to go.”

 “I forbid it,” Ghewon replied. “I think we've tolerated enough for now. You might bluster on your bridge, Captain, but we both know that you aren't planning on leaving while there is a chance your people are still alive.”

 “What are you trying to hide?” Foster asked.

 “That's an excellent question,” Kelot said. “I can guarantee a cordon that will prevent anyone from even knowing they were here.”

 “I can have them in and out in less than an hour.”

 “Captain Ghewon has made his position clear,” Morigna said. “I believe we have already been more than cooperative, and I can't see the point in repeating tests we have already completed.”

 “Tests so badly conducted that they missed smears of blood on the floor,” Orlova raged, her patience finally exhausted. “There are exactly two possibilities, Ghewon. Whoever conducted the investigation of this room is either incompetent or a traitor. Which is it?”

 Before Ghewon could reply, Kelot's communicator chirped, and the soldier raised it to his ear, shaking his head as he received his report.

 “What is it?” Ghewon asked, seizing the distraction.

 “A report from Perimeter Security. The guard outside the shuttle has been found unconscious. Tranquilized, apparently. There's no sign of sabotage. Everything appears exactly as it was left.”

 Shaking his head, Ghewon said, “They know you are here, Captain. I think it's time for you to leave.”

 “How's the guard?” Orlova asked.

 “Already coming around,” Kelot replied, “and thank you for asking.” He shot a glare at Ghewon, before continuing, “He felt a brief pressure on the back of the neck, and remembered nothing more until he was found.”

 “If the people know you are here...”

 “We're leaving, Ghewon. I expect hourly reports on the progress of the investigation.”

 “It isn't my job...”

 “I'll see to that,” Morigna said, extending her arm to the door. “I will also arrange for a repeat of the forensic tests. It occurs to me that your crewman might have returned here after the first check.”

 “Without being seen by the guards?” Kelot asked, shaking his head. “Not likely.”

 “Anything is possible.”

 “Come on,” the gruff Kelot said. “I'll walk you back to your shuttle. There's a three-man guard keeping an eye on it. I'd recommend conducting a full systems check before you leave.”

 “I was planning to,” Orlova said, following the soldier from the room, leaving Ghewon muttering to Morigna as they left. The trio quietly made their way back to the shuttle, this time passing a few obvious guards, all of them saluting Kelot as he walked past them in what looked suspiciously like Triplanetary practice. Outside the shuttle lock, three guards stood at parade rest, rifles at the ready.

 “Mind if I come in and take a look?” Kelot asked, in a tone that suggested he was not making a request. At Orlova's curt nod, he stepped into the passenger cabin, loitering by the door controls and locking the hatch shut as the others boarded the craft.

 “You can cut the pretense, Captain,” he said. “One of your people, a Neander, is on board.”

 “That would be…,” she began, before shaking her head. “No, you're right. I knew that Ghewon wouldn't allow a proper search. This way I have someone I trust looking for Cooper and Bradley, and I'm afraid that's all I'm going to tell you.”

 “Are you going to tell Ghewon?” Foster asked.

 “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I don't trust that snake as far as I could throw him. Morcos and Aussketi are right about him. There's nothing worse than a weak man trying to be strong, especially one in command. If it was a normal cruise it wouldn't matter, but there are a lot of lives at stake.”

 “I agree.”

 Taking a deep breath, he said, “I owe Cooper my life. I'll do my best to find him, and get him back to Alamo without drawing any attention. You have my word on that.” Looking at the hatch, he added, “The last thing we need right now are more enemies.”

 “I was thinking the same thing on the ride over,” Orlova said.

 “Well, whatever happens, I'm not one of them, and I can assure you that neither I or any of the men under my command will obey any order to attack your ship.”

 “It's gone that far?”

 “Possibly. There's certainly some agitation, though it isn't as bad as Ghewon's claiming. All I know is that someone is stirring the pot, and Ghewon's too busy playing political games to deal with it. I guess it's left to the infantry.”

 “If there's anything we can do to help,” Orlova began, but he shook his head.

 “Don't take this the wrong way, but you people stand out like a beacon over here. We'll handle it. Somehow.” He snapped a salute, then said, “I'd better get back out there before someone notices where I am.”

 Returning the salute, Orlova said, “Good luck, Kelot.”

 “To both of us.”

Chapter 8

 Harper sat in her command chair, looking around the bridge as she waited for Daedalus to emerge from hendecaspace. Midshipman Maqua had the helm, with Salazar peering over his shoulder, periodically making suggestions and orders to smooth their passage into normal space, while Sub-Lieutenant Scott rode shotgun at Tactical, bringing the ship to a combat stance. They all hoped that Testament Station would prove to be a safe harbor, but long experience had warned Harper never to enter a new system without weapons at the ready.

 Not that they had many options. Their ship had enough fuel for two jumps, one out to the station and one right back. Even without the sabotage to Ausori, they would have been in trouble. Everything was riding on success here, and that all of that depended on what she did sat on her shoulders like a hundred crushing lead weights.

 As though reading her mind, Salazar turned and flashed her a reassuring smile, before returning to the helm. They weren't in any real danger, not seriously. Daedalus was fast and agile, enough to get out of the way of any conceivable threat they might face ahead. Short of a full Xandari fleet in battle formation.

 “Emergence in sixty seconds,” Maqua said.

 “Very good, Midshipman. You have the call.” The words came easily, probably because they weren't hers. Time and time again, sitting on Alamo's bridge, she'd heard Captain Marshall or Captain Orlova give those words, nonchalantly ordering the duty helmsman to rip a hole in the fabric of the universe and send the ship hurtling through. The enormity of what they were doing had never occurred to her before.

 Sixty seconds. Sixty little eternities for her to live through. At least the rest of the bridge crew seemed happy enough, working at their stations to get everything ready. She was the only one with nothing to do except sit and weight. For a second, a little voice at the back of her head whispered that this wasn't necessary, that she could turn command over to Salazar, or to Scott. Both of them would be better at it than she was, her doubts warned. They were trained, seasoned officers, ready for this. She was just a hacker with an honorary rank.

 “Twenty seconds, ma'am.”

 “Sensors, I want a full readout on the system as soon as we emerge.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” Spaceman Arkhipov said, running his hands over his controls. All part of the usual, expected script, a litany of orders to issue before they could progress, the words of a prayer to the twin gods of efficiency and caution. Strange that she'd somehow absorbed all of this over the years, that at least on one level she'd been learning how to do this job, if only by observation.

 The viewscreen flashed on as the heads-up display flickered into life, bringing up a strategic view of the system ahead, a dozen planets rotating around an orange sun, the image quickly switching its focus onto their target. Long-range observations had given them a reasonable idea of what to expect, but they were about to gather more data on this system in a second than the Confederation had managed in decades.

 “Egress!” Maqua yelled, redundantly manipulating the controls a half-second after the computer had already initiated the dimensional transition. The starfield flicked back on the screen, and Harper sat back in her seat, attempting to project a calm placidity she didn't feel.

 “Station ahead,” Salazar said, tapping a control to bring up the image. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it was far larger than anything she'd ever seen before. A station five, six miles long, more than a mile wide, slowly revolving on its axis and festooned with equipment on the outside. Hundreds of ships were docked at the lower level, from small shuttles to ships as large as Alamo, and at the rear, two vessels that had to be of alien origin were moored.

 “Nothing in our records,” Scott said. “This is a potential first contact situation.”

 “To hell with the potential,” Salazar added. “They're out there.”

 “The system's swamped, ma'am,” Arkhipov said. “I'm detecting small installations on every planetary body, none of them of any significant size. Best guess is that they are prospecting stations, though some of them could be for power projection.”

 “Or simply to make sure that no one decides to stake a claim,” Salazar said.

 “More than a thousand ships are in-transit, most of them small.” Shaking his head, Arkhipov added, “Most of them don't match anything in our databanks, ma'am. There are several that I think are derived from United Nations designs, and a couple that could easily be Xandari...”

 “Are you sure?” Harper snapped.

 “No, ma'am, I'm not.” He looked across, and said, “It's going to take days for me to go through all of the ship designs, and even then, I'm not sure if I can identify most of them.”

 Pointing at a pair of long, cylindrical ships, Salazar said, “I don't need detailed analysis to tell me what they are. Size, Spaceman?”

 “Assuming they are tankers, sir, one of them would be enough to fill Ausori's tanks with enough to spare for Alamo,” Arkhipov replied.

 “Then we've found what we are looking for. Any signals yet, Ingram?”

 “There's a navigation beacon by the hendecaspace point, and a lot of comm traffic, but nothing directed at us.” His eyes widened as he said, “The computer has already identified a couple of dozen languages, as well as several civilian and military codes. I've got all of the data going into the translation banks, but realistically...”

 “Months of complicated work lie ahead for Alamo's linguistics experts,” Harper finished.

 “Unbelievable,” Scott said. “That station could have a million people on it. Easily.”

 “It's old, though,” Salazar added. “Power distribution is all over the place. I wouldn't be surprised if only a portion of it is inhabited.” He paused, then said, “The same is probably true of the ships docked at the station. I've taken a look at four of them so far at close magnification, and only one of them appears to be in full working order.”

 “Tactical assessment, Scott?” Harper asked.

 Glancing at the screen, she replied, “Paper tiger, ma'am. My guess is that we're looking at the trade hub of a fallen empire. This station is strategically positioned, so I can see someone wanting it, but the only military equipment I'm picking up is defensive. Bottom line, I think they could put up a pretty powerful fleet, but they aren't invulnerable.”

 “I'd love to see the look on Cooper's face if you told him to take it, though,” Salazar said.

 “They're safe from that, I think,” Scott said. “Destruction would be well within our capabilities, though. Alamo might be able to do some serious damage, and a task force could wipe it out.”

 “We're being hailed, ma'am,” Ingram said. “Station Traffic Control, asking us to clear the hendecaspace point.”

 “Midshipman, slow ahead,” Harper ordered. “Put us in a position close enough for easy shuttle access.” Turning back to the communications station, she said, “Ingram, I want to speak to someone in authority. State that I am a representative of the Triplanetary Confederation, and that I have business with the commanding officer.”

 “Aye, ma'am.”

 “Time for you to go, Pavel,” Harper continued. “I don't what him to see what all of us look like straight away.”

 With one last glance at the screen, he said, “Yes, ma'am,” and made his way to the rear, the doors closing behind him. She looked after him for a moment, then turned her attention back to the viewscreen.

 “We're going to play the situation straight, then, ma'am?” Scott asked.

 “Surprised?”

 “Well, frankly, yes. I was expecting something a little more devious.”

 Shaking her head, Harper said, “We're a ship of the Triplanetary Confederation, and we're exploring in this direction with the intention of expanding out here. If your theory that this facility has seen its best days is correct, than that ought to be music to the ears of whoever is running the place. I never saw a civilian spaceport yet that didn't take its best profits from the military.”

 “Unless they consider us a threat, or have already formed an alliance with the Xandari.”

 “If they had, we'd know about it by now. How are you doing, Spaceman?”

 “Slowly, ma'am,” Ingram replied. “I'm on hold.”

 Shaking her head, Scott said, “You'd think they encountered new interstellar governments every day.” 

 “Maybe they do,” Harper replied, “but more likely someone is attempting to demonstrate their superiority. Or they're trying to work out who is going to deal with us. We don't even know who runs this station.” Running a hand through her hair, she added, “Arkhipov, start looking for sensor blind spots.”

 “I don't think there are any. There's a network of sensor satellites around here tighter than anything I've ever seen, as bad as Low Mars Orbit. I don't think we could get a microsat through, never mind a shuttle. Or a spacesuit.”

 “Keep looking, Spaceman.”

 “Shuttle launch, ma'am,” Arkhipov reported. “Heading right for us. Projected docking in five minutes minus.”

 Turning from his station, Ingram said, “I've got a message at last, ma'am. The Minister of External Relations is on his way, to speak to the commanding officer and plenipotentiary of the Triplanetary Confederation.”

 “I guess that's me,” Harper said, pushing off from her chair. “Scott, you'd better come with me. We might as well make it look good. Midshipman, you have the conn.”

 His face pale, Maqua replied, “Me?”

 “Unless we've had a stowaway, I don't think we've got any other Midshipmen on board. Maintain station-keeping and call Lieutenant Salazar if you have any problems.”

 “Shall I call the Espatiers?” Scott asked.

 Shaking her head, Harper replied, “Better not overplay our hand. I'd like them to think we're nothing more than a lightly armed exploration vessel. A couple of missile tubes fits that well enough, but having some marines on board won't.” Turning to the sensor station, she said, “Track that shuttle in carefully, Spaceman, and look out for any sudden moves.”

 “Aye, ma'am.”

 The two of them floated from the bridge, drifting down the main corridor to the docking port. At the half-way point, Harper tapped a control and swung into her cabin, tossing her uniform jacket into a corner and sliding the top half of her dress uniform on in its place. With a quick tug, it settled in position, and she ran her hand over the neat row of medals over the top pocket.

 “I think that'll do.”

 “When was the last time you wore that?” Scott asked, hurriedly diving into her quarters to change.

 “Never, actually. Frank Nelyubov had it run off for me before we left, just in case.” Shaking her arms, she added, “And by some strange miracle of technology, it actually seems to fit properly.”

 “Will wonders never cease.”

 “Bridge to Captain,” Maqua's shaky voice echoed. “Shuttle docking in ninety seconds.”

 “I hope he doesn't make any reports while we're meeting the Minister,” Scott said, “or they'll soon figure out what sort of a shoestring operation we've got.”

 As they pushed on down the corridor, Harper said, “Remember, we tell as much of the truth as we can, but no mention of Ausori. Alamo is our mother ship, and this is a carefully planned exploration of this area.”

 “Could you tell me where the truth element of that statement is?”

 “Perhaps wish-fulfillment is a better term.”

 The two officers moved into position opposite the hatch as the shuttle docked, a loud report as the clamps slid into place, one after another, securing the vessel in position. A series of green lights ran down the telltales, the two ships secured.

 “Universal docking port,” Scott said. “There must have been some contact, then.”

 “Nothing I've heard about, but that doesn't necessarily mean a thing.”

 The hatch opened, and a tall, pink-skinned man drifted out, hair a startling white, eyes a blend of pink and red, wearing a green formal jumpsuit. Behind him, another, similar man followed, carrying a datapad, scribbling notes with a stylus.

 Holding out her hand, Harper said, “Welcome to the Triplanetary Starship Daedalus, gentlemen. I'm Lieutenant Kristen Harper, commanding officer of this ship, and this is my second-in-command, Sub-Lieutenant Katherine Scott.”

 The albino tentatively took her hand, eyes narrowed, as he replied, “You seem very young to have a command of your own, Lieutenant.”

 “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she replied. “We Harpers have always looked a lot younger than our years.”

 “I see. I am Quaice, Minister for External Affairs of Testament Station, and this is my Senior Aide, Xydic.”

 “My pleasure,” Xydic added, barely looking up for a second.

 “As you will infer from my knowledge of English, this is not our first encounter with a ship from Sol,” Quaice said. “Nevertheless, as far as I am aware, this is the first visit of a vessel from the Triplanetary Confederation. Regardless of your request to meet a senior official, I would have been paying you a visit in any case to make the formalities clear.”

 “Naturally, we are happy to obey all of the local regulations and laws,” Harper replied. “Our mission is one of exploration, part of an organized sweep of this area of space. We have a base ship nearby, though at the moment I am not at liberty to tell you where.”

 “A reasonable precaution,” Quaice said. “I presume you knew of our station before your arrival?”

 “As soon as we learned of its existence, making contact became a high priority.” Gesturing down the corridor, she pushed towards her office, and continued, “The Confederation has interests in opening up diplomatic and trade relations with governments in this reason.”

 “In competition with your United Nations and Lunar Republic, no doubt,” Xydic said. “We are well informed of affairs at Sol.”

 “Tell me,” Scott asked, “are there any UN representatives on the station?”

 “We are not at liberty...,” Xydic began, before his superior cut him off.

 “Not at present,” he said. “The last visit was some years ago, and I am willing to consider that the information they gave us was inaccurate. Certainly, your presence here suggests that their estimation of your interstellar capability was in error, especially if you are planning to establish a permanent facility here.”

 Nodding, Harper said, “In time, we would wish to open an embassy, or at least to maintain a presence of some sort here. This station, if our information is correct, is the trading hub of this part of space.”

 “Hundreds of starships pass through here in a year, from all of the local governments. The Collective, Imperium, even the Consortium. And as you will have seen, we have nonhuman visitors from the Outer Ring as well, though our rules on contact are extremely complicated.”

 “My government would wish me to gather as much information as possible.”

 Reaching into a pocket, Quaice pulled out a thin datarod, one that betrayed its Terran ancestry, and said, “This contains our usual briefing to arriving starships, as well as some additional information about potential trade relations with local governments. We are a free port, Lieutenant, and as such an ideal place for the establishment of mercantile relations. Our shipyards are of high quality, and our prices reasonable.”

 Glancing at the Minister, Xydic said, “Naturally, any such relationship would have to be ratified by the Council before it could come to any determination. We are not empowered to simply open relations at a single meeting.”

 “Of course not, and I am not empowered to make any long-term arrangements either,” Harper said. “As I said, my mission is one of exploration, and I have superior officers nearby to report to. They would make the final decision on whether we would wish to utilize the facilities of Testament Station, or potentially would pass the knowledge back to the Senate.”

 Nodding, Quaice said, “Quite so. Perhaps we were getting ahead of ourselves. Certainly I can assist you with intelligence-gathering, Lieutenant. Tours of our shipyards can easily be arranged, as well as of our other attractions. This station prides itself on providing a good time to all who visit her.”

 Scott added, “We would like to send some of our people across for shore leave, Minister. We've been in space a long time.”

 With a smile, he replied, “I will have tourist visas assigned to your crew upon my return, as well as a copy of the local regulations.”

 “There is one matter that I would like to resolve quickly,” Harper said. “You will understand that we are operating on the outer limits of our logistics capability. Our explorations in this area would be made far simpler if we could procure some fuel supplies, and I am empowered to sign contracts for delivery.”

 “Interesting,” Quaice said. “And slightly unexpected.”

 Nodding, Scott said, “I know the top brass would be a lot happier about our expedition if we were less dependent on tankers. That could speed up our movement into this area by months.”

 “Assuming the Xandari had no objection,” Xydic replied.

 “That will do,” Quaice snapped.

 “While our mission is peaceful, we are ready and willing to defend ourselves if attacked,” Harper said. “Many of the vessels in our task force are warships, not scouts such as this. We decided to use this vessel as a demonstration of our intentions.”

 “One that I certainly appreciate,” the Minister replied. “Having a fully-armed warship appear in our territory uninvited would have been problematic at best. Though we are also ready to defend ourselves from attack.” Puffing out his chest, he added, “During its history, Testament Station has stood as a bastion of freedom on many occasions, and has always been up to any challenge it had to face.”

 “Minister, we have provided our information,” Xydic said, “and we should report back to the Cabinet.”

 “I'm happy to provide you with a tour of the ship,” Harper offered.

 “Perhaps another time, Lieutenant, but my irritating assistant is quite correct. Perhaps I could invite you to dine with me tomorrow. I will ensure that those you need to meet regarding the fuel situation are present.”

 “I accept.”

 “Wonderful. Make the arrangements, Xydic,” he said, turning back to the shuttle. As the two of them stepped back inside, the hatch slamming shut, Harper released a breath she hadn't quite realized she was holding.

 “Gruesome,” Scott said, speaking for both of them.

 “They want us,” Harper replied. “At least, Quaice does. They need our trade, our links with the rest of the galaxy, and are willing to jump through at least a few hoops to get it.”

 “And the aide?”

 “Is someone to watch very carefully. Assuming that wasn't a very well-planned double-act.” Shaking her head, Harper said, “We'd better go back to the bridge and take Maqua off the hook.”

Chapter 9

 Salazar breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped through the airlock, looking at the people around him. More than three-quarters of them were homo sapiens sapiens, though in all shapes and sizes, with a leavening of Neander, albinos like the minister, a few others he'd only seen in museums. One glance had told him enough to rewrite the history books, and even though he was no scientist, he longed for the chance to spend some time just soaking it all in, gathering material.

 One day, soon, there would be a chance for Alamo's science team to come over here. For the moment, it was more important that he wouldn't have any difficulty blending into the local population. Had he been attempting to infiltrate a Neander station, he wouldn't have made it very far without being caught. Here, he had a chance of completing his mission.

 The crowd surged towards an elevator, and he followed the pack, trying to stay clear of the rest of the Daedalus crew. He and Harper had picked the shore leave party with more than usual care. All of the Espatiers, of course, with locating some sort of weapons their most urgent priority, as well as Petty Officer Lombardo to come up with an engineering assessment of the station.

 Just thinking about the scale of the place daunted him, but as he reached the top of the platform, the enormity of the station finally hit home. He was on the inside of a huge cylinder, miles long, a mass of green, brown and blue. A space station large enough to have a lake inside it, wrapped around the far side of the cylinder. Despite a lifetime of experience in space, he couldn't quite get past the fear that it would all fall on him.

 In the early days of the Space Age, men had dreamed of constructing stations like this, colonies suspended in the void, floating free throughout the solar system. In reality, none had ever been built, the largest station at Sol just under a mile across, and most of that consisted of unmanned manufacturing plants. no one had ever quite dared to build something so big, to put so many eggs in one basket.

 The place was large enough to have individual towns scattered about the surface, connected with long expressways, conveyor belts to take travelers to their destination. A wide brown spot at the other end of the cylinder had what could only be ruins, scattered in a brown wasteland, the relic of some long-ago catastrophe. 

 Trying to settle himself down, he looked around with an engineering eye, attempting to put together some sort of assessment. This station was old, no doubt about it, all of the equipment he could see worn from extended use. Few new components were in evidence, that much was certain, and where he did see new construction, the writing didn't match the original design.

 One look at the wall told him something of the history of the place, scrawled graffiti in a hundred languages, a strange Rosetta Stone for the linguists to play with when he got back. Not wanting to stand out, he started to step forward, letting himself be carried along with the crowd, drifting towards what he presumed was the spacer's quarter, a series of low buildings, all prefabricated construction, occupied by a leavening of drunks and reprobates. Bars, restaurants, shops selling all manner of tourist rubbish, and eyes watching from every quarter, the local security force keeping a careful check on the visitors.

 A small boy, white-haired and pink-eyed, ambled over to him with a smile on his face, holding a datapad in his hands with a surprisingly businesslike air. He looked Salazar up and down, then gestured towards a rolling road.

 “You don't want the usual stuff, do you?” he said. “You're looking for something else.”

 “I want to go outside the normal tourist areas,” Salazar replied. Gesturing at the collection of seedy shacks, he added, “I can go to a bar any time I make planetfall, but this station is different. Unique. I want a proper look at it.”

 Nodding, the boy said, “I'm Urquot, and you are in luck. I'm the best guide on the Ring, and I think I know what you are looking for. It'll cost, though.”

 “I can pay.”

 “In advance, please.”

 With a thin smile, Salazar reached into his pocket, and handed him a hundred credit chit, saying, “I hope Triplanetary currency is good.”

 “I looked at the projected conversion rates. This is a little high, but I'm taking a risk on it. You people come out here in strength, I get my money and then some, and you tell all your friends about this little tour.” He started towards the road, and added, “Come on. I can promise you something unique.”

 Following the boy, Salazar said, “How come you speak English?”

 “I don't,” he replied, tapping his ear. “Automatic translation of a hundred languages, including yours. Works on brain patterns. Picks up what you say, tells me what it means, and lets me know the sounds to make back.”

 “How much to buy one?”

 “More than you've got. It's one of our little local trade secrets.” Frowning, he said, “Well, I might be able to arrange something, at some point. Though I'd need something a lot more concrete than a currency I may or may not be able to do anything with.”

 They stepped onto the rolling road, surging away from the docking terminal and out into an open field, the smell of grass filling Salazar's nostrils, deep, clean air he had rarely known in the past.

 “Amazing, isn't it. A lot of people just go for a walk when they arrive. I hear it's almost as good as being on a habitable planet.”

 “Maybe better. Less chance of rain.”

 The boy looked up at him, squinting, and asked, “You've been on an inhabitable world?”

 “More than one. But that's a long story. Where are we going?”

 “Flying,” he replied, gesturing to a spindle up ahead. Salazar followed it with his eyes, all the way to the heart of the cylinder, the zero-gravity area at the top. He could just make out small dots flying around, and realized those were people.

 “Doesn't it take training?”

 “No,” Urquot replied. “Just guts. You'll see when we get up there.” He glanced over at the lake, and said, “Of course, if you aren't interested, there's always a boat ride, or even a quick drop underwater. We've got amazing creatures here, an aquatic zoo stocked from a dozen compatible worlds. Even Earth, so I was told.”

 Nodding, Salazar followed him as they reached the spindle, an open elevator with loose straps to anchor himself to a platform. Urquot helped him on, tugging at the straps to make sure they were firm before throwing a lever. Instantly, he could see the appeal of the view as the ground fell away before him, the landscape opening up all around. His stomach churned as the gravity dropped, but the distraction soon settled him.

 As they moved into no-weight, a shape flashed in front of him, one of the fliers dipping down, spiraling around the elevator before pulling back up with a loop, flapping back towards the heart as Urquot looked on with despair.

 “Too low, really. They're safe to one-eighth gravity, with a little safety margin, but that doesn't mean you should take any chances. Every month someone gets too confident and ends up crashing into the dirt.”

 “Let's hope I'm not one of them.”

 Evidently the guide had signaled ahead somehow, as a taller man with a familial resemblance waited for them at the top of the spindle, preparing a pair of wings. It was all Salazar could do to avoid floating away as the man unclipped him, then strapping the wings to his back and wrapping a control membrane around his wrists.

 “How do I guide it?” he asked.

 “You don't,” Urquot said. “Just soar like a bird, and the computer will compensate and keep you in the air. There's a tutorial course built in for the first four minutes, and if you don't move for sixty seconds, it's programmed to bring you back home again.” Gesturing at the wing-tips, he said, “There's a series of servo-motors built in. Theoretically, they can fly themselves quite happily. You're just there to make it look good, but you'll have full control.”

 Pointing at a patch above his hand, he said, “Slap that when you want to come back, and it'll guide you in the right direction. And don't worry. These wings are perfectly safe, unless you decide to do something stupid. Even then, it won't let you get into a situation you can't recover from unless you use the override.”

 “Where's that?” Salazar asked.

 “You don't get to know, not the first time.” Shaking his head, the guide added, “My uncle told a tourist once where the override was before taking his first flight. He had a hell of a time explaining what had happened to his widow.”

 The man tugged the straps tight, the wings clipped to his arms as though they had always been there, and Salazar gave a quick, experimental flap, watching them swing back and forth under his control. Already the sensation was astonishing, but before he could say anything, Urquot unclipped him from the spindle, a grin on his face as Salazar briefly tumbled away.

 Instantly, the guidance computer started to do its work, leveling him out with a series of quick flaps before starting the tutorial process, sending him diving back and forth. No instructions were needed, not verbal ones, anyway. It was more a question of telling his muscles what to do, telling his brain what to expect, and he ran through the training program with a smile on his face as he slowly orbited the spindle, keeping well clear of the other fliers.

 Once he was given control, he moved into a long, slow roll, trying to take in the view from this vantage point. There were white clouds underneath him, the station large enough to have its own weather system, and he looked down on them, longing to dive through them but aware that it would put him in the danger zone.

 All his life, he'd wanted to be a pilot, but nothing had prepared him for the day when he could actually fly for himself, without a shuttle or a spaceship, simply swooping through the air. He took himself down a little, into the gravity field, and flapped with long, slow movements to keep his altitude, before returning to the safety of weightlessness. When there was a little gravity, he had a lot more control, and he looked down at the more experienced fliers dancing through the sky, a perfect aerobatic display, but that would require practice that he would never had the chance to acquire.

 Despite all of that, and knowing the urgency of his mission, he settled back to enjoy the ride, wondering whether he should try and drift to the far side of the cylinder. His arms were beginning to tire, muscles working in ways they were never accustomed, and after a quarter-hour he reluctantly tapped the control to send him back to the spindle.

 It didn't surprise him at all when it didn't work. Instead of directing him back to the spindle, he curved around in a long, smooth half-circle, and dived along the axis of the cylinder, the servo-motors making brief adjustments to guide him on his way. He'd expected to be picked up by someone as soon as he left the tourist areas, as soon as he passed out of the gaze of the local security forces, but this was a subtler approach than he had considered. If anyone asked questions, he was just another stupid tourist out of his depth.

 He looked down at the terrain below, wondering for a second whether he could try an override, but as though anticipating his thoughts, the computer dropped him down into the gravity field, high enough that it could keep him moving without any assistance, low enough that a split second could send him tumbling out of control.

 His unseen captor would want him alive, that much was certain, but he didn't want to gamble too much on the mercy of someone he had never met. Instead, attempting to ignore the growing ache in his arms, he tried to relax and enjoy the ride, looking down at the view as he passed over the lake, white trails of the boats racing across it, a low, simulated surf that washed on up a balmy beach.

 This place had never been built with permanent occupancy in mind. That much was obvious. From the beginning, this was a free port, established as a hub for interstellar commerce, with all the attractions and features that implied. Not that the information was of any use to him at the moment, as he gathered speed.

 Somehow, there were structures up here, small cylinders that were suspended at the heart of the weightless area. They had to be tethered in position, would have quickly drifted away without some sort of protection, but he couldn't see any sign of them. The effect was impressive, and he wasn't at all surprised when his wings began to rear up, slowing him down and guiding him towards his new perch.

 Two tall, burly men waited for him at the entrance, a Neander and a human, both wearing plain jumpsuits with pistols at their belts. Not that they needed them, as they snatched him from the sky, half-carrying him between them as he stepped into the chamber.

 Inside, another albino sat, lounging on a divan, sipping from a drink. The guards released Salazar, quickly ripping the wings free, before stepping back through the door. He glanced back, tempted for a second to make a break for it, before shaking his head and taking a seat.

 “Wise,” the albino said.

 “I've come a long way to see you,” Salazar replied. “It wouldn't make much sense to run now.”

 He raised an eyebrow, and said, “Capturing you did seem rather more straightforward than I had expected. Are you here to represent your commanding officer?” 

 “Do you really expect an answer to that question?”

 “No more than the one you have just given. I am reliably informed that you are seeking fuel.”

 “Large quantities of it. One of those tankers outside would be ideal.”

 “That would be extremely expensive.”

 “I don't know about that,” Salazar replied. “You might find we're surprisingly cheap.”

 “Are you implying I should be paying you?”

 “Certainly,” he said with a smile. “Consider. The Triplanetary Confederation is moving into this area of space, which implies increased trade, as well as military contracts. Anyone who helped us out at this time would find it easier to obtain such contracts in the future, and I'm quite certain that a man such as you would see opportunities in expanding the local trading networks.”

 “Sufficient that I have no intention of hindering your activities, true.”

 Leaning forward, Salazar said, “Let me be blunt. I see a fading station. While I don't know who built it, I know they aren't around any more.”

 “What makes you say that?”

 “If the Confederation had built a station like this, there would be a fleet permanently stationed here. You might have defenses, but they've been put together piecemeal over the years. No consistency in design.”

 The albino smiled, baring his teeth, and replied, “You aren't any ordinary crewman, are you. To answer the question that the carefully prepared data tables will not, this station was constructed by the Five Stars Syndicate, a loose confederation that fell apart in a civil war twelve centuries ago. This station was one of the key causes of the war, protests about money being wasted on a prestige project such as this.”

 “Ironic.”

 “Two of the worlds are now depopulated, one has reverted to a pre-space technological level, and the others are locked in a permanent feud. We have representatives from half a dozen nations here, many of them several jumps distant, but your assessment is essentially correct.”

 “Then you will help us.”

 With a shrug, he replied, “I'll certainly provide you with a better offer than the local corporations will, but I'm not going to give fuel to a ship that might never return. For all I know, you're lost, stranded, and there is no support ship waiting nearby. Perhaps you aren't even affiliated to any larger interstellar government at all, and this is all a confidence trick.”

 “Trust me, we'd have come up with a better story.”

 The albino laughed, and said, “If I didn't trust you, you'd be dead. I will contact your commander in due course with my offer, and I suggest you seriously consider it.”

 “Meaning that if we take someone else's offer...”

 “They might find it all but impossible to fulfill it.” He tapped a control, and said, “I regret your departure will be less scenic than your arrival, but my guards will see you back to your ship.”

 “Thank you,” he replied.

 “Oh, and fifty million Triplanetary credits.”

 “For what?”

 He tapped his ear, and said, “The translator. A relic of that era, a lost art. I think you would find it worth every credit. I know I did.”

Chapter 10

 Cooper paced back and forth, walking from one side of the room to the other, while his wife impassively looked on. After a moment, he turned back to the door, looking over the release mechanism again, trying to find some weakness, some way to get through. Tugging at the maintenance flap, he looked at the tangle of wires, pulling at one of them in a bid to break the circuit.

 “It didn't open the last time you did that,” Bradley said. “Or the twenty-seven times before that. Sit down.”

 “I can't just sit around and wait.”

 “Do we have a choice?”

 “It's been more than a day. Alamo should have picked up the signal from my communicator by now. Someone ought to be looking for us.”

 “Maybe they are. Did it occur to you that Ghewon might have been right about the traitors? Besides, we've no guarantee that it made it through. It was a bit of a long shot.”

 “In which case, we've delivered ourselves into their hands.” Shaking his head, he continued, “No, I don't buy it. Not that our new friends are so damn pure, but it doesn't seem to make any sense. Not from their point of view. They'd have questioned us by now, done something.”

 The door chimed, and slid open, revealing Oktu and Segna standing at the threshold, the latter carrying a battered metal tray with two steaming bowls on it, spoons by the side. He placed it on the bed next to Bradley then took a position by the door, Oktu perching on a chair in the corner of the room, looking across at them, an enigmatic smile on his face.

 “It's about time,” Cooper said.

 “My apologies,” Oktu replied. “We had to be sure that this wasn't a trap. False agents have been used repeatedly to infiltrate our organization. In all honesty, we couldn't quite conceive that you could be so naive about the nature of the people you were befriending.”

 “We've had plenty of signs of trouble,” Bradley said, “but nothing really conclusive. No treaty has been signed, though, and Captain Orlova hasn't made any decision yet. I know she has serious concerns about your government. I think we all do.”

 Nodding, Oktu said, “You've had a chance to think about our plan to flee to Testament Station. I want to know what your commander will do about it.”

 “That depends on whether you do any damage on the way out. If it's simply a matter of stealing some shuttles and escape pods and getting over to the station, I think I can assure you that she won't lift a finger to stop you, or to help Ghewon recapture you.”

 “Interesting.”

 “Among other things,” Bradley said, “the Triplanetary Confederation was formed when the United Nations effectively instituted slavery, though they called it an indentured workers scheme. The result was the same. Nowhere in the Confederation are such practices permitted, nor would any states operating under such principles be permitted to join.”

 “It sounds like a paradise,” Segna replied.

 “It isn't,” Cooper said. “We're not perfect, and we wouldn't pretend to be. We've got a hell of a long way to go before we make ourselves a new Eden, but we're willing to make the attempt. As far as we know, we have the only true democracy in space.”

 Pulling out a datapad, Oktu read, “Jefferson, Ragnarok, Thule. Planets that you have absorbed into your alliance over the objections of the residents.”

 “Not true. Ragnarok requested and received membership, and as far as I know, is now a full member of the Confederation.” He paused, smiled, and said, “Which makes the name a little out of date, but never mind.”

 “And the others?”

 “Thule is planning to request membership, Jefferson remains independent for the moment, but we're helping them against an invasion from a power called the Cabal, out on the other side of explored space. There are other worlds, as well, but while we're willing to admit new members, we're not willing to relax our standards to do so.”

 Segna looked at Oktu, and asked, “Could Collective worlds join the Confederation?”

 “I doubt it.”

 “Because we are Neander?”

 “There are a dozen Neander serving on Alamo,” Bradley replied. “I doubt your worlds would satisfy the humanitarian requirements.” 

 “And if they could? If they did?”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “I'm an Ensign, the commander of an Espatier platoon, not a Senator.” With a deep sigh, he added, “From what I know, in principle, I suppose you could, but that's just my opinion, and a poorly informed one at that.”

 Nodding, Oktu said, “That's all we need at the moment. I would like to seek amnesty on Alamo, and have the opportunity to return with you to your homeworld. Here I am wanted for treason and murder, and will be executed without a trial if I am caught.”

 Her eyes widening, Bradley replied, “We can't make that decision. We'll get you to Alamo, but I can't promise that you won't be sent back on the next shuttle.” She glanced at Cooper, and said, “I will promise that the Captain will give you a fair hearing. She won't just do what Ghewon asks. You'll have a chance to speak to her first, make your case.”

 Nodding, the Neander replied, “That's all I'm asking. I know the risk, and I'm willing to take it. You need to know what sort of people you are dealing with.” Glancing at Segna, he added, “I know you offered my comrade and his wife sanctuary.”

 “He isn't wanted for murder.”

 “Actually, I am,” Segna replied. “Yours.”

 “You're joking.”

 “No,” he said, shaking his head. “The announcement was made half an hour ago. I have been found guilty of the murders of the two of you, and my wife as well. She is safe, and for the present, so am I.” Looking across at the wall, he said, “It seems that I should have tucked my head under the sheets when you entered my room. Now I face either death or exile.”

 Oktu looked at them, then said, “I don't think we have a choice but to trust you. I don't like the idea, I want to make that clear, but our leader disagrees.”

 “I thought you were in charge?” Bradley asked.

 “No,” he replied. “We can discuss that when we are in a position of greater safety.”

 “Get me a secure communications link with Alamo,” Cooper said. “I'll make all the arrangements to get you both on board. Segna, I'll want a copy of that message, something that can be authenticated, and...”

 Before he could finish, the sound of heavy footsteps rattled down the corridor, charging towards them, and the two Neander drew their sidearms. Cracks echoed around the walls, the two sides exchanging shots, and Oktu collapsed on the deck, bleeding from a trio of wounds in his side. Cooper dropped beside him, cradling his head in his arms.

 “Help them,” the Neander muttered. “Don't let them be enslaved again. Let it end...” The rebel's eyes glazed over as he took his last breath, slumping to the side.

 Segna looked down, a tear in his eye, and said, “Is he?”

 “Dead,” Cooper said, running his palm over the Neander's eyes, snatching the pistol from his hand. “What's the story?”

 “Four of them, with riot shields. I think I winged one, but they're getting smarter. Bunched together and moving forward slowly.” He glanced back at Cooper, and said, “I'll be joining Oktu in a moment. Got a message for him?”

 “Not one that I want sent yet,” Cooper said. “Barbara, can you move quickly?”

 “If it comes to that, I'll have to,” she replied, rising to her feet with a wince. She pulled out her pistol, moving to the door. “Is there another way out?”

 “Only through them,” Segna said.

 “Got anything stronger than the pistols?”

 “Nothing.”

 Peering out around the door, he said, “Maybe I should just show myself. Coming back from the dead ought to give anyone a surprise they won't forget.”

 “And if they've got orders to make sure you stay that way?” Bradley said, as a bullet smashed into the bulkhead beside him.

 “You make a good point.” Cooper looked around the room, then found what he was seeking. He kicked at the bed, which moved slightly to one side, Bradley taking a surprised half-step forward to get out of the way. “Segna, give me a hand with this.”

 The mystified Neander made his way to the far side of the bed, and Cooper slid it in front of the door, ducking down behind it to take advantage of the mediocre cover, then shouldered it forward as fast as he could, a makeshift battering ram that collapsed into the approaching shieldwall.

 “Now!” Cooper said, racing over them, charging down the corridor and taking the first turning he found, Segna and Bradley following, the Neander pausing for a moment, lining up his pistol to take advantage of the prone enemies while he could.

 “Take that shot, and you're no different than they are,” Bradley warned, and he reluctantly lowered his weapon.

 “This way,” he said, turning right, pulling open an access shaft. “Right down, a hundred meters, then into the ship's reservoir.”

 “Reservoir?”

 “Two hundred thousand gallons of water. Can you swim?”

 “If I have to,” Bradley said.

 “This is crazy,” Cooper replied, sliding down the ladder. “I love it.”

 The trio dived down the ladder, the guards up above rapidly rallying and moving after them, shots firing wildly around, ricocheting from the walls. Hand over hand, Cooper led the way down, dropping at last to a hatch at the bottom. Segna kicked a hidden control, and the hatch slid open, sending him falling, desperately reaching for a handhold, before he smashed into the cold, inky-black water beneath.

 Cold rushed through him like a bitter wind as he struggled to swim, tried to remember the skills he'd picked up during his long-ago basic spacesuit drills, lessons from school and before. A pair of splashes to his right announced the arrival of the others, and Segna quickly swam away, waving for the others to follow.

 He fought his way through the icy waters, looking with envy as his wife moved ahead of him, nimbler than he despite her recent injury. There was a faint point of light in the distance, that seemed to be miles away, reflecting strangely on the rippling water. Behind them, a load roar rumbled into life, and the surface began to bubble, a current pulling at them, trying to draw them back, sucking them in.

 “They've turned on the pumps!” Segna yelled. “We've got to move! Now!”

 Shouting echoed through the chamber from behind him, the pursuers looking after them, trying to spot them in the darkness, but none of them elected to follow. Their assessment of the odds of survival in the water was little worse than his, as Cooper found his muscles seize up from the cold, every stroke a battle for life, every breath ripped from his body.

 Finally, the light grew brighter, and Segna's dripping shape emerged from the water, tugging at the hatch, the door at the far end swinging open. The Neander reached down a wet hand to help Bradley up, and as Cooper wondered if his turn would ever come, finally he managed to scramble, shivering, onto the platform, unable even to move.

 A familiar figure stood above them, looking down, wide-eyed, shaking her head. Cooper, with a mighty effort, managed to climb to his feet, dripping wet and freezing. He'd never have been able to draw his pistol, still less fire it.

 “Cooper? Is that you?” Leuka asked. “They said you were dead.”

 “They said a lot of other lies as well,” he replied. “Can I introduce you to Segna, my murderer?”

 The Neander, crumpled on the deck, jerked his head in acknowledgment, and said, “A pleasure.”

 “They want you dead,” she said. “What...”

 “A group of Ghewon's enforcers decided to try and turn the propaganda into reality. We've got to get out of here, get undercover. For right now, we need hot drinks and a change of clothes.”

 “Wait a minute,” Bradley said. “Can you get us to a shuttle? Or even an escape pod?”

 “All of the shuttles are under guard by the Proctors, and the escape pods have been locked down.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “The bastards. Locking down the escape pods in the middle of a combat zone? If this ship gets attacked, thousands of people are going to die pointlessly. We've got to do something about it.” He looked up at Leuka, and said, “Will you help us?”

 She looked down at him, freezing on the floor, and shook her head, replying, “I don't dare. They'll kill me.”

 “If your life is filled with so much fear,” Bradley replied, “then you aren't living now. Just existing. Isn't it worth taking the chance for something more?”

 Confusion reigned on the Neander's face, but after a long moment, she reached down and helped Cooper to his feet, before leading the way down the corridor, half-tripping over a cable in her anxiety to leave the scene.

 “I'll get you to my cabin,” she said. “You can have a change of clothes, a drink, and then I want you gone. And I never want to see any of you again.”

 “Fair enough,” Cooper said, shivering after her as they scampered down the corridor. Leuka paused for a moment, as though unsure which way to go, before taking a right turn to a passage with a long series of doors. Mercifully, she opened the nearest, and they stumbled into the room, leaving a dripping trail behind them.

 Segna ran the heating up to full, briefly turning the room into a furnace, while Leuka gathered drinks from the dispenser, passing them one at a time to the shivering group. She took a seat opposite them, nervously playing a metal spoon over and over in her hands as she looked at them, while Cooper took a grateful sip of the boiling liquid.

 “Thank you,” he said.

 “What next?” Bradley asked.

 “Hide,” Segna replied. “Down into the bowels of the ship, and try and get to an airlock or a communications terminal. Maybe we can hack into the primary system.” He frowned, then said, “There are some old message lasers in storage. Alamo's only a couple of miles away, so we should be able to line up manually.”

 The door burst open, and three Neander in brown uniforms walked in, led by a grinning Morigna. Leuka seemed to shrink into a corner, unwilling to look at those she had betrayed in the face.

 “I didn't have a choice,” she said.

 “Yes you did,” Cooper replied. “I guess you just didn't realize it.”

 “Enough of this,” Morigna said. “All of you are under arrest for double homicide. Charges to be formally filed immediately.”

 “Double homicide?” Segna asked. “I thought I'd killed them?”

 “An error we will be happy to admit. There are several witnesses to the murders of Oktu and, oh, Leuka.”

 “What?” she asked, but before she could move, one of the guards fired a perfectly precise shot between her eyes, her head erupting in blood as she slumped back on her chair. Cooper shook his head while Segna threw up on the floor.

 “You can't honestly think you'll get away with this, do you?” he asked.

 “I rather think we will. Now unless you want to be shot while attempting to escape, you need to move.”

Chapter 11

 “I have Captain Ghewon for you, ma'am,” Weitzman said. “Priority One.”

 “I'll take it in my office, Spaceman,” Orlova said, stepping away from the holotable, leaving Powell and Nelyubov behind. “Frank, let me know as soon as we've finished the missile deployment. I want those shuttles back on board within an hour.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” he replied, as she stepped into the office. They'd stolen a trick from the Xandari, hiding a batch of missiles in the debris fields, concealing them from easy detection. They wouldn't stand up to close observation, but hopefully they wouldn't need to. All being well, they'd have them in the air in a matter of seconds after the enemy fleet arrived.

 What did bother her was that there was no way to stop the Neander seeing what they were doing. Any traitor on board would be able to relay the position of the missiles directly to the enemy within a matter of seconds. They'd have to move fast, and trust to luck. Not something she ever wanted to depend on during a battle.

 The communication light winked urgently, but she carefully sat down behind her desk, pulling her uniform jacket into position, and taking a quick sip of water before acknowledging the message. There didn't seem any harm in letting Ghewon wait for a chance.

 “Have you made any progress in the recovery of our people?” she asked, as the scowling face of the Neander commander appeared on her screen.

 “In a manner of speaking, Captain. We have found them, both of them...”

 “Then I presume that you are calling to inform me that they will be returning to Alamo momentarily,” she interrupted.

 “And they are under arrest on two counts of murder.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “I have the testimony of more than a dozen people that they gunned down a pair of technicians in cold blood. I don't know what sort of investigation they came across to run, but I will not sit passively by while my people are murdered by your tame assassins. The trial is set for three days from now, though I do not think that there is any doubt as to the verdict.”

 “Of course not,” she replied. “I'm sure you've already made up your mind.”

 “The evidence is beyond reproach.”

 Nodding, Orlova leaned forward in her chair, and said, “I will ask once, and only once, for you to return your prisoners to my custody. If there is any evidence of wrongdoing, then they will be tried on this ship under your legal code, but with an impartial jury.”

 “Only Starborn receive jury trials.”

 “Perfect. Both Cooper and Bradley were born in space. Unless you are talking about restricting it to a small group of Neander. I have no confidence in your travesty of a justice system, and have no confidence that they will receive any sort of a fair trial. Tell me something. Do you actually believe this evidence?” 

 “I have seen the testimony myself.”

 “And you trust those giving it to you? It hasn't occurred to you, even for a second, that the traitors we've been looking for would love to see us fighting it out?”

 He paused, then said, “Justice must be done. The people are clamoring for it.”

 The door opened, and Cantrell stepped in, saying, “I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but we've had evacuation requests from our engineering teams over on Ausori. Apparently they are under attack by mobs of Neander, and Kelot is unconvinced that he can hold them back for long.”

 Nodding, she said, “They won't want to fire on their own people, and I can't blame them for that. Get them picked up and brought over to Alamo on the double. You can abandon the missile deployment for the moment.”

 “That has to have the highest priority,” Ghewon said. 

 “I'm sorry,” Orlova replied as Cantrell left the room. “Are you under the impression that I am going to respond to anything you say at this point? Do you honestly consider that I give a damn about you, or what you want?”

 He paused, shook his head, and said, “You won't do it. You won't pull out and leave us behind to die at the hands of the Xandari. I don't believe that for a second. Don't bother threatening me, Captain, not with something you have no intention of doing.”

 “What reason are you giving me to stay?”

 “Thousands of people who will die if you leave.”

 Orlova looked away from the pickup, closed her eyes, and said, “Ghewon, I'm trying to help you. Send me the evidence, all of it, and let my experts take a look at it.”

 The Neander looked off-camera, then shook his head, replying, “You would find ways to manipulate it for your advantage.”

 “Damn it all,” she yelled, “put yourself in my position. If it were two of your officers over here, you'd want all the facts at your disposal. Wouldn't you? Besides, if we're so powerless as you suggest, then what harm can we possibly cause you.”

 He frowned, and reluctantly nodded, saying, “I suppose that is a reasonable argument. I will have the information transmitted across immediately, and you will be given transcripts of the trial after it has taken place. I warn you, though, that the penalty for murder is death.”

 “I didn't doubt that for a second. Orlova out.” She flicked off the transmission, then glanced down to see the data stream pouring in, before taking another long drink of water, wishing it was something stronger. She rose to her feet, pacing back and forth for a moment.

 Ghewon was quite right. That was the worst part of it. If she pulled out on the civilians, she'd never forgive herself. Only a handful of them were playing these stupid political games, throwing their lives on the line, and it wasn't fair to make them suffer for the actions of a tiny minority. Nevertheless, she wasn't about to simply leave Cooper and Bradley to rot, either.

 Finally, she tapped a control, and said, “Nelyubov and Powell, report to my office on the double.” She took her seat, looking down at the index of the information they'd received. All verbal testimony, accounts from eyewitnesses. No forensic evidence, no camera feeds, nothing that a Triplanetary court would consider sufficient. Back home, this case would have been thrown out without a second thought, assuming a prosecutor had been made enough to bring it to trial in the first place. Here, the judge would decide exactly as Ghewon had instructed.

 The door opened, and the two officers stepped into the room, glancing at each other as they saw the expression on Orlova's face. They took seats opposite her, Powell glancing down at the readout on the desk, his eyes widening.

 “Am I reading that right?” he asked.

 “I'm afraid so,” she said. “Cooper and Bradley are facing charges of murder, and are to be tried tomorrow, and sentenced to death. I don't think we can expect a fair hearing.”

 “They've got to be out of their minds,” Nelyubov said. 

 “Ghewon's riding the wave,” she replied. “Someone is drumming up anti-Triplanetary sentiment over there, and doing an excellent job of it. If he doesn't take any action against our people, he'd likely lose his command at the very least, his life at the worst. That doesn't excuse his actions, but it does explain them.”

 “I can't believe it,” Nelyubov said. “We've got to do something about it, Captain. We can't simply leave them to die.” Shaking his head, he added, “We're going to have to intervene. Sergeant Gurung is on stand-by for immediate assault, and I'm certain that we can retrieve both of them and return to Alamo without significant risk.”

 “Without knowing where he is?” Powell asked.

 “When is the trial?”

 “Three days,” Orlova replied.

 “Then we've got time. Cantrell can contact Corporal Walpis, and get him to locate the detention area and lead our people in. Even if we just use our Neander troopers, that's a large enough strike force to complete the mission.”

 “Which, sir, is exactly what they are expecting us to do,” Powell replied. “Whether Ghewon has reasoned that far or not, those behind him certainly anticipate a military strike.” He folded his fingers together, then continued, “If I were them, I wouldn't even make an attempt to stop it. I would simply ensure that the maximum destruction was caused as a result. Some shaped charges placed along the route, perhaps, or some impostors wearing Triplanetary uniforms. They had enough opportunity to copy them.”

 “Damn it, we gave them the designs,” Nelyubov said with a sigh. “They wanted patterns for uniforms for their fabricator, to issue to their troops. I gave them an old design, but it'll be enough to fool the Neander.”

 “Who wanted them?” Orlova asked.

 “Kelot. He thought it would do his troops good if they had a proper uniform to wear, and I agreed. I used some of those abandoned designs for the Triton Militia to give them some better touches.” Shaking his head, he said, “I didn't even think twice about it.”

 “Never mind,” she replied. “Obsolete uniform designs are hardly military secrets, and I'm sure they could have got hold of them some other way. As far as it goes, Professor, I agree with you. They'll find some way to use the situation to their advantage, but I'm not going to allow our people to die in a kangaroo court. Frank, have Lieutenant Cantrell contact Corporal Walpis, and ask him to lay the ground work for an attack.”

 “I'll sit down with Sergeant Gurung and come up with an extraction plan,” he replied with a nod. “At least it'll feel good to be taking some action at last. We can worry about putting the pieces back together later.” Looking at Powell, he added, “After all, it works both ways. They can't do without us, not until we get clear of the system. If the Xandari attack, they're not going to care about the command structure of the Neander vessel. And even should the traitors somehow manage to take control...”

 “From here it looks like they have already,” Powell interrupted.

 “Then there isn't that much they can do to stop us. That ship is unarmed, and without our engineers, I don't think they're going anywhere any time soon. Quinn's teams were doing most of the intricate work. They just don't have the skilled technicians on board, not after so many years on the ground.”

 “That's an interesting point,” Powell said. “What's the end game of all of this? What are the traitors after?”

 “Ausori is an albatross around our necks,” Nelyubov said. “We're going to have to wait here to defend it, and that buys the Xandari time to assemble forces to wipe us out, and delays any potential return to our own space.” He nodded, warming to his topic, and continued, “The last thing they want is for us to form an alliance with the Collective, either. Being at war on two fronts will be difficult enough for them, worse if we're working together.”

 Shaking his head, Powell replied, “I don't think there is any realistic possibility of our forming a significant alliance with the Collective, not if the leadership we have encountered is at all representative. In my opinion we'll have a hard enough time getting them to provide us with the intelligence they promised us.” Looking at Orlova, he continued, “Note that the man who promised to provide it to us has been unmasked as a traitor, and no one from Ausori has renewed their acceptance of that obligation.”

 “Are you saying that we should demand payment for saving their lives?” Nelyubov asked, shaking his head.

 “No,” Powell replied. “Captain, can I ask you a question?”

 “Certainly.”

 “Were you considering leaving Ausori at Testament Station, and making our own way back home from there? Perhaps offering sanctuary to any of the Neander who would rather return to the Confederation than back to their own people?”

 “Yes,” she replied, turning to Nelyubov. “I hadn't said anything, Frank, because at present it was just an idea, and I was going to wait for Daedalus to report on conditions out there first. However, I think I would likely have ended up taking that option.”

 “Precisely. Going to the Collective represents a risk that might not be worth taking. Coming back out here with a task force might change the picture considerably, allow us to negotiate with their leadership from a position of strength.”

 “And your assessment is that the traitors have worked that out?” Orlova asked.

 “They're certainly doing everything they can to make that outcome a reality, in my opinion. Which returns me to my previous point. What is the goal of the traitors in all of this? If it was as simple as turning us over to the Xandari, then they had opportunities to prevent us escaping the system in the first place.”

 “Attempts were made to slow our progress,” Nelyubov reminded them. “Maybe this is Plan B.”

 “Potentially, or maybe there is a different game going on than we've realized. All I'm trying to say, Captain, is that this is a lot less simple than it looks.” He shook his head, and continued, “Working on the assumption that we're going to be rescuing our people, one way or another, we have to work out where things move from there. You may have no choice but to choose a side.”

 “And if we pick the wrong side, we may find ourselves at war with the Collective.”

 “At this stage I'm forced to consider that a realistic possibility, though given their current strategic position, I doubt they would represent much of a threat,” Powell replied.

 Rising to her feet, Orlova said, “Frank, get the troops ready for an assault, and to hell with the subtlety. Non-lethal weapons only, and I want them to consider the probability that there will be imposter troops in position. Maybe we can capture a few of them. John, I want you to go over the evidence and look for any flaws you can find. Put together a potential case for the defense, in case we need it.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” they replied.

 “I want to make it clear that we will not move until Corporal Walpis has reported back, but I want to be ready for anything if the situation changes.” Looking around, she added “That's all,” and the others stood up, saluted, and walked out of the room, leaving her alone. She looked out at the starfield, watching as the Neander vessel drifted into view, almost close enough for her to touch. Thousands of civilians over there, helpless against attack, and the only defense they had was her ship. She couldn't abandon them to their fate, not and ever sleep at night again, but that didn't mean she was going to let the traitors win. One way or another, she was going to stop them. Somehow.

Chapter 12

 Harper walked down the street, allowing herself to be directed by the assigned guide, only a part of her listening to the endless prattle she was being told about the ancient heritage of Testament Station, while most of her attention remained on the enormity of the station itself. When she'd been told it was only a short walk to the Conference Center, she had assumed they meant a few meters, not a mile. Her feet ached, and she made a mental note to write a letter of complaint to the designer of the dress uniform once they got back. To be fair, no one had ever considered they might been needed for any long walks, but that was no excuse.

 Behind her, Maqua openly gawped at the view, and she couldn't blame him. The station was impressive, even without the semi-automatic advertisement the guide was providing. There was certainly nothing like it in Triplanetary space, but from what she could tell of the current state of the maintenance, it wouldn't be here for much longer. There was a time-honored rule about a station or an outpost lasting for only three generations before it fell to pieces, and Testament Station was proving the proof of that. The builders had designed it to last, and it had, for centuries, but the current owners were visibly running it into the ground.

 Not that there was anything they could do about it. The Triplanetary Corps of Engineers as one collective body would be insufficient for the task. An overhaul would be a project lasting years, maybe decades, and a smaller station could probably do the same job far more easily and efficiently. Nevertheless, when the station finally died, it would be a great shame.

 “Here we are,” the guide said, pointing at a tall tower, more than two hundred meters high, soaring far above the other buildings. “Biggest building on the station, as well as the oldest. Since she first went on-line, the Control Cabinet has occupied this facility, for more than a thousand years of constant use.”

 “Thank you,” Harper said, stepping over to where Quaice was waiting for them, resplendent in a long crimson cloak that had been carefully crafted to match the color of his eyes, a wide-brimmed hat perched on his head to shelter him from the light. His ubiquitous aide stood next to him, holding his datapad, and two other figures stepped out of the building as she watched, another albino and a Neander, both wearing almost identical formal suits. She looked down at her dress uniform, feeling out of place.

 “This is Lieutenant Kristen Harper, commander of the Triplanetary Starship Daedalus,” the Minister said, turning to the others. “The President of Alpha-Prime, Kilquan,” he said, indicating the albino, and the Staff Manager of Solar-Plus, Skeuros.”

 “A pleasure,” Kilquan said. “I see you've brought your servant with you?” Skeuros looked at his rival with a snarl, then across at Harper with eyes filled with cold fire.

 “Midshipman Maqua is my aide,” she replied. “An officer in the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 Immediately, Skeuros' expression softened, and he said, “I didn't know the Triplanetary Confederation was a multi-species alliance. Are there many Neander in your fleet?”

 “A few,” she replied. “Our contact with your people was recent, within this decade, but there are already several serving in various capacities, and more in training. We don't discriminate based on origin.” She looked at Kilquan, who shook his head.

 “Certainly an intriguing idea. Shall we dine? My time is valuable.”

 “And mine isn't?” Skeuros replied.

 “According to latest estimation of our two companies' worth, I would say not.”

 “Gentlemen,” Quaice said. “Let us not devolve into needless argument at this stage of the proceedings. These are our guests, and I request that you comport yourselves accordingly.” He turned back to the steps, climbing up to the entrance, and said, “I have arranged for our meal to be prepared in the roof garden. I always find the view a perfect complement to a fine lunch.”

 Harper followed him, Maqua in tow, and after a brief exchange of stares, the two businessmen came after them. Through the double doors was a large foyer, filled with formally-dressed individuals, mostly either albino or Neander. Such humans as were present seemed to be in inferior roles, as assistants or servants, rather than the decision-makers. She glanced back at Maqua, grateful that she had brought him along for the ride. The experience would do him good, and by the looks of it, having a Neander as an assistant would provide her with additional status.

 The elevator was crowded with the six of them on-board, rapidly rising through the levels to the top. Aside from sharing glances, the two businessmen remained quiet, Quaice mumbling something to Xydic, who obediently noted the words down in a language Harper couldn't read. With a loud chime, the doors rolled open, and they stepped out into a luxurious flower-filled garden, the trickling of a fountain in the background. All around, they could see the station, the rich green fields reaching towards the soft, cool blue lake beyond.

 “Those ruined areas,” Maqua said, gesturing at one of the brown patches. “Is there something wrong with them?” 

 Xydic looked at Quaice, who replied, “Simply areas that we have deemed it unnecessary to maintain. We have more than enough space for our current population as it is, and those areas aren't worth the cost of repair.”

 “What happened there?” Harper asked.

 “I don't think that need concern us at the moment,” Quaice replied curtly, gesturing them over to a table laden with delicacies. Harper's plate was obvious, and rather disappointing, mostly consisting of old United Nations rations that had been decorated with salad. Maqua had a far more impressive array of food on his plate, and looked up with a smile. 

 “Can we work while we eat?” Kilquan said, dropping down next to Quaice. “I think we can come right to the point. My company is the only one capable of providing you with the fuel you need, and...”

 “What?” Skeuros replied, sending fragments of lettuce showing across the table. “I have tankers too, remember. I'm more than capable of fulfilling your order.”

 Looking between the two of them with an exasperated frown on his face, Quaice said, “I invited the leaders of the only two businesses that are capable of satisfying your needs, Lieutenant. I must say that I was surprised of the scope of the order in question. How many ships are you needing to supply?”

 “Two,” she replied, “but there's more to it than that. My commander wants to establish a supply depot for extended operations in this area. We're expecting more ships in the near future, and they're going to need to refuel as soon as they arrive.” Her cover story had been very carefully prepared, to the extent of forged operations orders waiting on her datapad, with a good imitation of Commodore Marshall's signature attached.

 “More ships, then,” Skeuros said. “Sounds like you're building up quite a sizable presence out here. You're fighting the Xandari, aren't you?”

 Glancing at Maqua, Harper nodded, and said, “We are aware of their existence, and we have fought a few battles with them in the past.” Sighing, she added, “I wasn't going to bring that up here, but I anticipate that a state of war will exist between the Confederation and the Xandari Empire in a matter of months. Our mission is more reconnaissance than exploration.”

 “And you decided not to tell us this for what reason?” Kilquan asked.

 “Hell, she'd expect you to ramp the prices up,” Skeuros answered. “More, I know the local peace-lovers would hate the idea of a nasty little war making a mess. For myself, I'll be glad to see those smug bastards smashed out of existence.”

 “Then you'll still tender?” Harper asked.

 “Damn right, and you can bet that I'll win.” He looked across at Kilquan, and added, “My crews aren't strangers to fighting, and we've dealt with combat situations before.”

 “Certainly they are,” Kilquan replied. “The pirates and looters you count among your crews have had ample experience in warfare, usually against my own people. I promise that you will find them far tougher prey in future.” Turning to Harper, he continued, “We would be willing to tender on this basis, Lieutenant, though there would be certain conditions mandated in any contract that we would sign.”

 “Are you calling me a thief?” the Neander asked.

 “I didn't think you considered it much of a secret. Your people have been scavenging at the fringes of our space for years.” Pursing his lips, the albino added, “Have you considered the possibility of a wider-ranging trade pact?”

 Skeuros barked with laughter, and said, “What he means is that he'll give you good terms if you agree to route all future trade with his people through him, no doubt with a sizable profit for his company.”

 “And your motives are, of course, so very pure,” his rival replied.

 “No, but at least I'm honest. You've got a fleet coming in, Lieutenant, and I'm more than happy to supply any ships you want to bring in. On the condition that I get an exclusive contract for, shall we say, five years.” Turning to Kilquan, he added, “I think that should be enough to finish you for good.”

 “Gentlemen,” Quaice said, “Can we not come to some understanding?”

 “Indeed,” Xydic added, “If my information is accurate, both of you will struggle to satisfy this first shipment with your current stocks. Between you, however, matters would be different.”

 “I will not, will never, make an agreement that includes this pirate,” Kilquan said. “I am happy to deal with the Confederation, Lieutenant, more than happy, and I can provide you with information about this area of space that you will find most useful.”

 “Information is only as useful as your ability to exploit it,” Skeuros said. “My people can give you protection, guard your convoys, leave your ships free for the battles against the Xandari. From my experience, that's going to require all the firepower at your disposal, and more besides. You won't find them easy to defeat.”

 “And if they lose, your people are in a position to strip their convoys bare for their own profit, then slink back to that shambolic collection of asteroids you call home.”

 Harper sighed, and said, “I didn't come here to listen to this collection of invective. If you have specific questions about our needs, I'm happy to answer them, but other than that, I would simply appreciate your tender. For this single, specific contract, though I will grant that it might well lead to others.” She looked at the two businessmen, and added, “I have no authority to grant any of the concessions you are asking for, and frankly, some of the terms would have to be relayed to the President. We don't have that kind of time.”

 “How long have you got?” Skeuros asked.

 “I want to leave the system in forty-nine hours, local time.”

 The Neander's eyes opened wide, and he took a deep swig of his wine before replying, “For once I agree with you, Xydic.”

 “Such a request is unrealistic,” Kilquan added. “We have other orders to fulfill, and I cannot in all good conscience leave established customers short of fuel for such a tentative arrangement. Not without some commitment to future shipments, in any case.”

 “Another possibility suggests itself,” Xydic said. “This station is more than capable of providing protection to any ships stationed here. Why not make this your operational headquarters, at least for your reconnaissance.”

 “Come on, Xydic,” Quaice said. “You know the Cabinet would never consider this station being used as the headquarters for a war. The Collective tried that, and we had to expel their representatives.”

 “At this time, are we talking about war?” the aide replied. “Lieutenant Harper wishes to refuel her ships, and to use them to scout out the local area. Likely our businesses would be more than happy with the additional trade that such a large expedition could provide, and your commanding officer would be able to negotiate commercial deals with greater leisure.”

 Shaking her head, Harper replied, “That isn't an option.”

 “May I ask why?”

 “I am not authorized to pass on such information.”

 Leaning forward, Skeuros said, “You've had an accident, haven't you. Main ship out of fuel, enough to send you out to scavenge some from wherever you can.” There was an eager gleam in his eye as he continued, “That's the answer. Or perhaps you've found something, captured an enemy ship you want to get home, something large enough that you don't have the ability to fuel it up.”

 “If that is the case,” Kilquan replied, “Then perhaps we could do business after all. For a share in the salvage rights, or equal access to any information that you have gathered. Knowledge is valuable, and I'd risk a tanker for that.”

 “My commanding officer,” Harper said, “has instructed me to obtain fuel, and transport it to a location one jump from here. She doesn't wish to commit us to the security of this station, not without knowing a lot more about the current situation. Can you blame her for that?”

 “Not at all,” Quaice said. “Moreover, such a move would require the permission of the Cabinet, and I do not share my aide's optimism.” Shaking his head, he said, “Given the security implications, I myself would vote against such a move.”

 Glaring at him, Kilquan replied, “I think you would change your mind, and I suspect that others in the Cabinet could be induced to support such an action. Lieutenant, I can give you my personal assurance that your fleet will be welcome here.”

 Harper glanced at Quaice, who looked down at the table, picking at his food with a fork. He was a bought man, a puppet of the corporations, and doubtless the rest of the Cabinet was also for sale to the highest bidder. She looked across at the eager Neander, who was noting something down on a datapad.

 “I think that the best option at present is to give the Lieutenant some time to consider her position. Speaking purely for myself, I will begin to assemble the fuel, as well as a suitable escort to ensure its safety.”

 “As will I,” Kilquan added. “Though in the time required, I'm not sure it can be assembled. And I stress again that without a suitably lucrative deal, I will not disrupt the supply lines of my regular customers. I would like to do business with the Confederation, Lieutenant, and would eagerly seek new markets for my people's traders, but I cannot take unnecessary risks.”

 “Very well,” Quaice said. “I will consult the Cabinet over the possibility of a Triplanetary fleet being permitted into our territory.” 

 “There's no need,” Harper said, as the others rose from the table. “My orders were extremely clear on this issue, and...”

 “It harms nothing,” Xydic said. “And perhaps gives your superiors options that they might not otherwise have considered. While certainly we cannot provide you with classified information about our defenses, some demonstration of its effectiveness is well within our power.”

 “Xydic, will you see the officers back to ground level?” Quaice asked.

 “Certainly,” he said, moving over to the elevator. Regretfully leaving his half-finished meal behind him, Maqua followed, Harper more slowly making her way after them, taking a last look at the view before the elevator doors closed.

 “You should consider their position,” Xydic said as they dropped through the levels. “You are asking more of our infrastructure than perhaps you know.”

 “I have my orders, as do you,” she replied. “All of this is pointless.”

 A moment later, the doors opened onto an empty foyer, and the aide said, “Regardless, I will see that the bids are delivered to your ship by the end of the day, though I venture the expense will be higher than you were hoping.” Looking around with a thin smile on his face, he said, “Good day.”

 As they stepped out, the doors slid shut, and Harper quickly made her way to the exit, looking around, reaching for her communicator. Maqua followed, a frown on his face, and she urged him on.

 “What's the rush, ma'am?”

 “Think, Midshipman. This place was full twenty minutes ago. Where have all the people gone?”

 Before she could leave the building, half a dozen Neander stepped forward, all with the same stern expression on their faces. Her only surprise was that Kilquan hadn't managed to call in his people as well.

 “You have been invited to a tour of our local offices,” the leader said. “Skeuros is very eager to receive your input on a potential bid.”

 “I bet he is,” she replied, tapping a control on her communicator, a distress signal instantly pulsing to every Triplanetary installation within range.

 “What do we do?” Maqua asked, looking at her.

 “Go with them, of course,” she replied. “How can we turn down such a gracious invitation?”

Chapter 13

 Salazar's hidden communicator chimed as he jogged along the concourse, racing towards the docking area, and he immediately snatched it out of his secret pocket, ripping open the lining of his jacket along the concealed seam, jamming it to his ear.

 “Salazar here. What's happened?”

 Scott replied, “We don't know much. Harper's been kidnapped, and we have a partial trace on her location, over by the far side of the commercial distract.” There was a brief pause, and she continued, “About half a mile from your current location.”

 “Have the others checked in yet?”

 “Rhodes and the rest of the fire team are already on their way.”

 “Good. Vector them in towards me. We're going to get her out.”

 “Is that a good idea, sir?”

 “Probably not,” another voice said, and he turned to see the Neander guard from earlier. “We have some important matters to discuss with your commander, and I don't think any distractions are required.” A thin cylinder appeared in his hand, and Salazar smiled, shaking his head.

 “You aren't going to shoot me. Not out in the open.”

 “Are you truly willing to wager your life on that presumption?”

 Shaking his head, Salazar slid the communicator into his pocket, and asked, “So what happens now?”

 “I think we need to pay a visit to somewhere nice and quiet, and we can sit and have a little chat of our own.”

 “And then only one of us comes back from there?” He looked around at the crowd, already thinning out around him. There was no sign of any of the security from before. If they were watching, they had decided to keep a low profile.

 “Maybe. Maybe not. That depends on how talkative you are likely to be. I think my boss would be very eager to learn what your people have discovered out there, and perhaps would be willing to pay for the information.”

 “I don't think you could afford me,” he replied.

 “We have deeper pockets than you realize. If you look to your left, you'll see a low building, advertising excellent prices on local produce. As well as good deals, it serves as one of our safe-houses.  We can have a nice conversation there. Move.”

 Salazar glanced over at the shop, on the edges of a small cluster of houses, the same design as hundreds of other buildings he had seen, and started to walk towards it, making a brisk pace that forced the Neander to run to catch up. He continued to speed up, and then hurled himself to the ground, rolling to the left as a fountain of dirt erupted all around him.

 He hadn't brought a pistol into the station. No way of getting it through the detectors, not without too great a risk. A blowgun was another matter, however, and he slid one quickly out of his sleeve, a knock-out dart already in position, and fired it in one smooth motion, the puzzled Neander crumpling to the ground.

 “Nice work,” Rhodes said, jogging over. “You've been spending too much time with the grunts.”

 “An old Squadron Sergeant-Major at the Academy taught me,” he replied, snatching up the unfamiliar weapon. There were no sights, and no visible means reloading it, just a single button at the bottom of the wand that evidently served as a trigger, and a series of notches that indicated direction. Stuffing into a pocket, he turned back towards the docking bay, Rhodes behind him.

 “The others are heading for Harper,” he said. “When your signal stopped so quickly, I figured you might be having some problems.”

 “Good guess,” Salazar replied.

 “Don't take this badly, sir, but you usually seem to find any trouble that's going around.”

 “How are you deployed?”

 “One moving to every entrance, hiding in the crowd. And to answer your next question, sir, we're only armed with close melee weapons. I wasn't able to find any firearms.” Sliding a shining blade from his sleeve, he added, “Steak knives, though, I could buy in some numbers. And we've got our blowguns as well, of course.”

 Pulling out his communicator, Salazar said, “Sorry about the interruption, Kat. Anything new?”

 “Only that I'm now sitting on Shuttle One, on final approach for docking, with Spaceman Garland back in the passenger compartment with a medical kit on standby.”

 “I'm scared to ask who you left in command.”

 “Lieutenant, why would I need to? Leaving the ship would be a court-martial offense.”

 With a smile, he replied, “Don't worry, I won't talk.”

 “Just up ahead,” Rhodes said. “Higgins and Medodkis are in position.”

 Frowning, Salazar replied, “Storming a building with a few blowguns is going to be entertaining.”

 “I don't think we'll be doing a matinee performance, sir.”

 “No.” He looked around, then smiled, saying, “We don't have to.”

 Harper and Maqua were walking down the concourse, flanked on all sides by obviously armed guards. The other troopers had seen the hostage on their way to the building, less than a moment before they would be locked away, impossible to access.

 “What do we do, sir?” Rhodes asked.

 For a split-second, Salazar searched his brain, trying to come up with some sort of a plan. They had next to nothing to work with, no real cover, no sign of any allies on the way, no armament, and facing superior opposition. No matter how hard he tried, he could only come up with one option.

 “Charge!” he yelled, racing forward, pulling his blowgun free. The Neander guards paused for a moment, shock rippling across their faces as though they were unable to comprehend the audacity, or insanity, of the lone figure sprinting down the street towards them. Maqua acted first, hurling himself at the nearest of his captors, sending the two of them rolling into the dust, a trio of shots flying into the air as the Neander caught the trigger.

 The burst of noise seemed to bring everyone to life, and the crowd ran for cover, sprinting in all directions in a bid to flee the upcoming melee. If local security wasn't planning to intervene before, they didn't have much of a choice now, and they only had a matter of a few minutes to work in.

 Wave of fire smashed into the ground all around him as Salazar raced forward, weaving from side to side in precisely the way described by the manual. Belatedly, he remembered his stolen weapon, and pulled it from his pocket, lining up roughly on one of the Neander, hoping that he was pointing it in the right direction.

 A burst of flame erupted from the end of the tube, a ruffian tumbling to the ground to avoid the bullet. Behind him, Rhodes and the others were kneeling, providing a low-technology suppressing fire with the blowguns, one of the Neander collapsing to the ground with a dart in his neck.

 Harper was moving now, snatching a pistol from one of her captors and firing it into his foot with a single action before charging out of the clutches of the enemy. Maqua, scrambling up, was right behind her, the Neander diving to the side to aim their shots, heedless of the public display they were providing.

 A siren blared over the landscape, long and loud, echoing from the buildings as the street emptied, only the combatants remaining on the field. To the left, a stream of Neander boiled out of the office block, all of them wearing armor and carrying rifles in their hands, taking advantage of some well-placed ornamental bushes to provide cover.

 “Come on, come on!” Salazar said as Harper raced past him, grabbing Maqua and pushing him forward as more bullets rang out all around. Rhodes and the others had sensibly abandoned their position, and the group was sprinting for the presumed safety of the docking port, forming a loose clump to avoid being hit by enemy fire. Somehow, so far, none of them had been wounded, though Higgins was sporting a lovely black eye from diving too abruptly into cover. no one could be that lucky, and hopefully that meant that the leader of their would-be captors was reluctant to use deadly force.

 “Oh, crap,” Rhodes said, and Salazar turned to see half a dozen albinos running towards them, weapons at the ready, in between them and the safety of the docking terminal. Swearing under his breath, he charged towards them, pointing his weapon at the approaching enemy. Pulling the trigger only yielded an empty, hollow click, and after the second failed attempt he threw the useless device away.

 “Keep moving!” Harper yelled, taking the lead, charging for the airlock, and the rest followed her as bullets rang out all around them.,A pair of local security enforcers cowered in terror behind their barricade, content to let this battle play out rather than intervene. They knew when they were over-matched, and if nothing else, Salazar admired their common sense.

 A loud scream from behind brought a brief smile to Salazar's face as he realized that the two enemies were just as interested in fighting each other as they were the Daedalus crew, though his smile soon turned sour as he thought through the implications, watching as the two rival gangs moved to encircle them. They'd fight to the death, and the survivors would end up with he, Harper and the rest as a prize, all chasing some nonexistent piece of salvage in an adjacent system.

 The deadlock was ended by a burst of machine-gun fire from the airlock, Scott stepping through it and firing a series of bursts, sending the albino gunmen running into cover, ducking behind trees and benches.

 “That's a hell of a beautiful sight, sir!” Rhodes yelled, leading the charge to the airlock. As Salazar made it inside, he saw Garland holding a submachine pistol on a pack of customs officials, none of them willing to be the one to learn whether or not he would use his weapon in anger. The Neander made a last attempt to bring them down, this time shooting more carefully, choosing their shots, winging Higgins in the arm. Medodkis grabbed him by the side, urging him on, while Rhodes dropped back to give his men covering fire.

 The tenor of the sirens grew, the noise more urgent. As the airlock swung shut he could see dozens of uniformed guards sweeping down the street towards them, gathered in sufficient strength to overwhelm any conceivable enemy force. Only one shuttle was docked at the bay, the welcoming lines of a Triplanetary spaceship inviting him in. Clapping Rhodes on the back as the soldier ducked inside, he watched as Garland abandoned his captives and dove through the hatch on the first try. Finally, Salazar climbed in, locking the hatch and disengaging the docking clamps manually.

 He raced up to the cockpit, sliding in beside Scott as she fired the engines, Daedalus on the move up ahead, slowly gathering speed to build some distance between the ship and the station. All around, ships crept, warships altering course in a last attempt to catch them.

 “Let me have it,” he said, and a relieved Scott transferred flight control to the co-pilot's station. Now he was back in his element, and he ran the throttles up past the red line, into the hazy space between engineering caution and certain death, firing the thrusters in spasmodic bursts to hurl them from side to side, confounding any attempt to obtain a targeting solution.

 “Signal from the station,” Scott said. “Apparently we are violating traffic regulations, and are to return to the docking terminal to be placed under arrest.”

 “I think you can tell them what they can do with their traffic regulations, Sub-Lieutenant,” he replied, as Daedalus loomed ahead, the helmsman turning to give him a clear run at the docking port. They were well over acceptable limits for link-up, but all that meant was that he had to get it right on the first try, and he gently ran his fingers over the fine thrusters to adjust their track, curving smoothly in towards their target.

 A series of welcoming clangs announced their arrival, and as soon as the two ships had engaged, the acceleration ramped up to full power, kicking them safely away from the station defense perimeter. Harper stepped forward, exchanging glances with Salazar, and shook her head.

 “That could have gone a lot better.”

 “Only you, Kris. Only you could go to a diplomatic lunch and end up starting a city-wide gunfight.” Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he said, “Not that I did much better. There's a criminal syndicate that is convinced that we've found Captain Kidd's treasure, I think.”

 “Or the Lost Prospector's Asteroid,” Harper said. “Turns out that telling the truth only seems to make people think you have something to hide. We'll have to try a different approach next time.”

 Maqua moved forward, looking from left to right, and asked, “Is it always like this, sir?”

 “No, Midshipman,” Salazar replied. “It isn't. That was tame compared to some of our missions.” With a sigh, he added, “We're stuck, aren't we. There are three people who are able to provide the fuel we need to rescue the fleet, and none of them are willing to help us.”

 “Not without signing half the Confederation to them, anyway.” Harper peered at the sensor display, and shook her head. “Judging by the course plot, they've got some pretty sharp teeth as well. Though God only knows who they all belong to.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “It's worse than that. We didn't exactly keep a low profile out there, and every two-credit hustler with a starship and a missile rack will be out for a piece of the action. If we let anyone know where Alamo is, they'll have a fleet of local warships heading their way before you can say 'collateral damage.' I'm afraid this mission is a bust.”

 “Alamo could beat them,” Maqua said.

 “What about hijacking a tanker?” Scott asked. “I know it won't be easy, but...” 

 “Can you imagine the security they'll have out there?” Salazar replied. “Besides, I'm not sure that we want to give the Confederation the reputation stealing a ship would provide.”

 “With all respect, sir, I don't think we're that well thought of at the moment.”

 “Midshipman, what did you say?” Harper asked.

 “That Alamo could beat them, ma'am. None of the ships are large, and they won't be working together. If it's like it was back there, then they'll be fighting each other as happily as they'll be fighting us.”

 A smile spread across Harper's face, and she replied, “Midshipman, you are a genius.”

 “He is?” Scott asked. 

 “Pavel, we've had some pretty good chances to take a look at those ships, haven't we? Enough to make a guess about their fuel load?”

 “Probably, but does it make much difference?” he replied. “They've only got to make two jumps. One out, and one to return.”

 “Humor me.”

 “What are you thinking, Kris?” Salazar asked.

 Looking at the sensor display again, she said, “We're not going to get a tanker from here. We'll never convince anyone to sell us the fuel, and I don't think we'd have a chance of stealing one. Even if we could ride out the consequences, security would be tight beyond belief, and we don't have enough people to properly crew Daedalus, let alone a ship with two, three times the crew requirements.”

 “So, what's the answer?”

 “We'll get the fuel another way. Out of the tanks of the ships they send to attack us.”

 His eyes widened, and he replied, “Let me get this straight. You want to leak the information about Alamo's location to, well, all of the criminal elements on the station, in the hope that there will be enough surplus fuel in their tanks after a battle that we may or may not win to top up Alamo, Ausori and Daedalus?”

 “That's the basic idea.”

 “It...might work,” Scott said. “We're borderline, but some of those ships are pretty big.” She looked up at Salazar, shaking her head, “It's quite an idea.”

 “It's ingenious,” Salazar said, a growing smile on his face.

 “Try insane,” Scott added.

Chapter 14

 The Neander cells were no different in design than any others Cooper had ever seen, though in far worse condition than most. Four cold, gray walls, the rungs of a ladder leading up to a ceiling hatch, and a dank, musty bed in the corner next to a stinking bucket. He'd spent hours going through every inch of his cage, trying to find a way out, but the designers had done their job well. Now all he could do was sit and wait.

 Over and over in his mind, he ran through his list of suspects, trying to attack the problem. It had to be one of the senior command figures, there was no question about that. Morigna was certainly involved, one way or another, but didn't have the technical skills required to hack the systems. She could have rigged the search in an attempt to conceal the true culprit, but that didn't seem likely either. Knowledge in this culture, especially critical information like that, was tightly concentrated in the hands of a few. Security access certainly was.

 Above him, the hatch rattled open, a bright beam of light shining down, designed to disconcert him. A figure dropped down the ladder, clattering down onto the deck, and the hatch closed again, locking the two of them inside.

 “Aussketi?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

 “I thought we might both benefit from a quick conversation. What's going on, Ensign?”

 “Morigna is working with the traitors, and is attempting to keep both sides off-balance. Framing my wife and I for the murder of two people ruins your relationship with Captain Orlova on Alamo, as well as playing to the mob.”

 Nodding, she said, “Someone is feeding biased information to the people. The latest idea is that you are planning to lead an army of conquest to the Collective, though I believe a significant minority thinks that all of this is some sort of Xandari trick.” She paused, then ask, “Understand that I must ask this question.”

 “I didn't do it, and neither did my wife, and neither did Segna.”

 “That was my belief, but I wanted to hear it from you.” Gesturing at the ladder, she continued, “Do you want to go for a walk?”

 “You're freeing me?” he asked.

 “Under the circumstances, it seems a logical next step. I'll take you to Ghewon, and between the two of us we might be able to convince him that you are telling the truth. I've arranged for a lie detector test to be readied, if you're willing to subject yourself to it.”

 “Will he believe the results?”

 Aussketi sighed, and said, “I can understand why you might be reluctant to trust me, Ensign, but as it stands I'm not sure you have much of a choice. I don't think any of us do. We've still got a Xandari fleet on the way, and our ship is stranded here without the help of your engineers.”

 “They've been recalled?” Cooper asked.

 “At Ghewon's insistence, though the mob had more than a little to do with it as well. The Proctors are detaining anyone they suspect, and labeling them all as traitors and saboteurs. We've got to catch the traitor, and we've got to try and get our people back together again if we're going to have a chance to live through this nightmare.”

 Nodding, Cooper said, “I don't have much to lose, do I?”

 “Unless you're determined to make your date with a firing squad, no.”

  Aussketi climbed the ladder, Cooper following behind, and the two emerged in an empty corridor, the guards absent from their posts. He looked down at the adjacent cell, knowing that his wife was down there, and made to open the hatch before the Neander stopped him.

 “There's no time for that, not now, and if I free both of you someone will get suspicious. I told the guards that I was taking you in for enhanced interrogation.”

 “Torture?”

 “I'm not proud of some of the things my people do, Ensign. Maybe we can make things better, but Ghewon will be going back on duty in a matter of moments. If we're going to move, we have to go now.”

 With a last regretful look, he followed the Neander down the corridor, stepping over the sealed hatches of a hundred cells. For a simple transport ship, this vessel was able to detain an awful lot of people. Aussketi noted his glance, and shook her head.

 “In the old days, any crewmen from the Undercastes would be confined when off-duty.”

 “You're joking,” he replied. “Your people kept their crewmen locked up?”

 “This ship was built two centuries ago, Ensign. Times change, though I fear, attitudes don't. One day we're going to pay dearly for our arrogance. Maybe we already are. Unless things improve, we're going to lose the war, and no matter what our reactionary faction believes, I don't think the Xandari will simply allow us to carry on as before. We'll all be slaves together, crushed under the heel of our enemy.”

 “I agree.”

 “And then there is you,” she continued, turning around another corner. “Your Confederation and its ideas are going to spread. There's no way of stopping it now. Too many people have had contact with you, and no matter how much the protests may scream today, tomorrow those same people will ask why they don't have a say in the running of the government, why their children can't receive the same education, why they don't get to live in the nicer districts.”

 Cooper paused, and said, “You don't want that?”

 “We can stop it no more than we can stop the tide, Ensign, but is it wrong of me that I'm scared we might smash into the rapids?” There was a sound of footsteps ahead, rattling on the deck, and Cooper's heart skipped a beat as he saw a pair of uniformed guards walking in the other direction. For a moment, he thought that they were going to stop, a brief flash of recognition on their faces, but Aussketi stopped them with a glare, urging him past them.

 “Kelot's people,” she said. “I don't know who's side he's on, but those troopers are scattered all over the ship at the moment, watching the Proctors, the protesters, and each other. Everyone's spending so much time plotting and scheming that they aren't spending any time worrying about the enemy.” Pointing down a side corridor, she added, “This way.”

 He followed her down, looking around, trying to orient himself. They'd blindfolded him on his way to the cell, but if he could work out his location he might be able to run for it. Though a combination of the thought of his wife still back in a cell and the pistol at Aussketi's belt held him back.

 She stopped at a door and pushed it open, a Neander technician standing behind a complicated assortment of machinery, electrodes connected to a life-system monitor, a chair tangled up in the twisted mess of cables. The technician stepped forward, gesturing for him to sit down, and with a reassuring glance from Aussketi, he gently lowered himself into position, careful to avoid sitting on any of the equipment. None of this looked dangerous, just useless. This form of lie detection had been rejected as useless decades ago, but if it might satisfy the Neander, he was willing to go along with the charade.

 Aussketi turned to the door, and said, “He's only two doors up. I'll go and get him. Wolmar, get him ready.”

 “Yes, ma'am,” he said, turning to Cooper and flashing a smile. “Don't worry, this won't hurt a bit.” He connected up the equipment, placing the monitors carefully in position, watching the screen and frowning as he made a series of adjustments, compensating for the different baseline readings. “I think that's got it.”

 “I hope so,” Cooper said, testing the level of restraints. He could still move freely, his movements unrestricted. “Have you done this before?”

 “All the time. Now I need to ask you a couple of control questions to make sure this is calibrated. Tell me the truth the first time, then lie the next one. What is your name and rank?”

 “Ensign Gabriel Cooper, of the Triplanetary Espatier Corps.”

 “Hmm. Lie to me. What color are your eyes?”

 “Turquoise.”

 He smiled and said, “That should be sufficient. I might have to repeat that again if Ghewon asks, but it should be sufficient for now.”

 “I'm surprised you're willing to be locked in here with me alone,” Cooper said.

 With a shrug, the technician replied, “I don't think you did it, and even if you did, you don't have anywhere to go. You aren't going to kill me.” Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Or are you?”

 “Not today, no.”

 The door slid open, and Aussketi stepped in, leading a disgusted Ghewon. When the old Neander saw Cooper in the room, he scowled at this subordinate and made for the door.

 “I don't have time for this.”

 “Sir, you must,” she said. “We've got resolve this, before you make a great mistake. If you're so convinced of his guilt, this will prove it to you.” She looked down at Cooper, a reassuring smile on her face, and said, “Though I think he is innocent.”

 “You spent too much time with those people,” he replied. “It's contaminated you. Rest assured that I shall place that in your record when we return to our people.” With a deep sigh, he added, “Still, I'm here, so we might as well get this farce over with. What good you think it will do is a mystery to me. This antique equipment is inadmissible in court.”

 Warning bells began to ring in Cooper's head. If this equipment was as useless to them as it was in the Confederation, why was Aussketi bothering with any of this?

 “It's all we've got, sir, and I had to scavenge the parts from all over the ship. At least give it a chance.

 “Very well.” Leaning over Cooper, he said, “Tell me the truth. What color is your hair?”

 “Brown.”
 “Now lie to me. How old are you?”

 “Two hundred and twenty-two.”

 “All the readings check out, sir,” the technician replied. “The responses are exactly as they should be.”

 “Of course they are,” he replied. “You can tangle those readings to tell you anything you want.” Shaking his head, he added, “Very well. Cooper, did you kill Oktu?”

 “No.”
 “Did you kill Leuka?”

 “No.”
 “Responses?” Ghewon asked, turning back to the display.

 “Consistent with the truth, sir. He's not lying.”

 “Ensign, who did kill them? The rebels? That technician, Segna?”

 “Morigna killed Oktu, leading a group of Proctors, and she stabbed by wife. Leuka was killed by one of the guards, but it was on her orders.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Bradley did have a partially-healed stab wound when we brought her in,” Aussketi said. “That much can be independently verified, if nothing else.”

 “She received treatment?” Ghewon asked. “I don't want our prisoners to die before they can face trial tomorrow.”

 “Of course,” she said.

 “Ghewon, think about it,” Cooper pressed. “What reason would I have to kill two random Neander technicians, especially when one of them had saved my life? Don't play into the paranoia they're feeding you. There is a ring of traitors on board, and they are determined to turn you over into the hands of our enemies.”

 “I don't need to hear this.”

 Taking a deep breath, Cooper said, “Damn it, Ghewon, at least think for a moment! If I'm guilty, if Barbara is guilty, then we can't do you any more harm, not any more. Others can, and they will, and you're going to have to face up to that fact.”

 “You've wasted my time, Aussketi,” Ghewon said, shaking his head as he turned to the door. “I want this man returned to his cell immediately, and if you refuse, I will have you placed in their with him! None of this so-called evidence is to be used in the trial, and I don't want it even mentioned. Do you understand.”

 “Sir, I really think that you should reconsider.”

 “For the last time...”

 “Yes,” she replied. “It is.” She pulled out her pistol and shot Ghewon in the chest, blood gushing out and down his tunic as the Neander collapsed to the ground, wracked with spasms as he forced in his last breath. The technician, knowing what was to follow, dived to the floor, a bullet smashing over him, but another rang out from down the corridor. Aussketi turned, cursed, and sprinted away, as a familiar figure charged towards her.

 “Corporal?” Cooper said, shaking his head. “What the hell?”

 “Damn, she's gone,” Walpis said. “Captain Orlova sent me in to scout for a possible rescue. I didn't expect to turn up in the middle of an assassination attempt.

 Ripping free of the worthless medical equipment, Cooper turned down to the technician, and asked, “Did she get you?”

 “No,” he replied, looking up, dazed. “She killed him. Where he stood.”

 “Wolmar, right now you are the most important person on the ship. You're the only witness to the death of Ghewon that anyone around here is going to trust.” Rising to his feet, he said, “Corporal, have you got a way out of here?”

 “Maintenance shafts are like a maze, sir. We can get clear.”

 “Good. First we need to get back to the cells and release the rest of the prisoners, and then….” He was interrupted by a loud wail, an alarm echoing through the corridors. “Tell me that isn't what I think it is.”

 “Prisoner escape,” Wolmar said. “You, I guess.” 

 Peering around the corner, Walpis said, “No sign of anyone, but that isn't going to last for long. We've got to get out of here, sir. The first place they'll look is Sub-Lieutenant Bradley's cell.”

 “She's my wife, damn it,” he replied. “I can't just leave her.”

 “If they catch you, sir, she'll be your widow. They won't harm her, not and risk losing their last hostage, but if we're going to do any good, we've got to get on the move!”

 He looked ruefully at the Neander, then raced out into the corridor, the others following. Walpis charged ahead of him, tugging open a maintenance hatch and climbing down, Wolmar following him after a dubious look into the inky blackness. Cooper followed, shouts echoing down the corridor as the guards finally arrived, just as he slammed the hatch shut.

 The three of them descended into the gloom, swinging out into a side shaft that sent them to their hands and knees as they slowly crawled their way to safety. There was no sign of pursuit, just a brief flash of light as their pursuers peered after them, before the gloom returned with the closure of the hatch.

 Wolmar collapsed to the dirty, smelly floor, and said, “Wait a minute. Just a minute.”

 “We've got to move,” Walpis said.

 “Where are we going?” the technician asked.

 “Cargo decks. No guards down there, and we've got lots of places to run and to hide.”

 “No,” Cooper replied. “We've got to either get to a communicator or a shuttle, and tell Captain Orlova what is happening over here.” Glancing back at the technician, he said, “And you need to tell your story, wherever it will do the most good.”

 “I...I'm not sure I dare.”

 “I doubt you have a choice,” the gruff Walpis said. “By now your name has been added to the list of traitors, and there will be a bullet with your name on it sitting in someone's gun out there. Only way to live through it is to make sure it's never fired. You're the only witness to the assassination of your commander.” He frowned, then said, “What I don't understand is why they let us go so easily.”

 “Fits the narrative,” Cooper said, cursing under his breath. “By running away, they can tell any story they want, and be believed. As well as using our flight as an excuse to start another series of purges.”

 “We'll never get to an airlock,” Walpis said. “They've got them all secured.” Reaching into his pocket, he said, “I do, however, have a secure communications link to Alamo.”

 “Remind me to promote you, Corporal,” he said, taking the communicator.

 “Just buy me a drink on our next leave, sir.”

 “Cooper to Alamo,” he said, playing with the controls. “Cooper to Alamo. Come in, please. Urgent.”

 “Cooper?” Weitzman's voice said. “Thank God! I'll get you...”

 In the background, alarms sounded, and Cooper asked, “What's going on?”

 “Threat warning!” the technician yelled. “Enemy ships incoming!”

Chapter 15

 Orlova's eyes jerked open, the blare of the siren waking her, and she scrambled out of bed, tugging on her uniform as she made for the door, snatching her jacket from the back of her chair. She jogged down the corridor to the waiting elevator, technicians and troopers rushing around as they raced to their battle stations.

 As soon as she passed through the doors, she tapped the control for the bridge and pulled out her datapad, calling up a tactical view. Two small contacts, smaller than the vessels they had fought earlier, on a direct intercept course. She cursed in frustration as a 'data unavailable' warning flashed up on her screen in response to her request for more information. If the Neander had a full tactical database, they had yet to share it with them.

 The doors slid open, and she tugged her jacket on as she walked onto the bridge, Nelyubov glancing up from the holotable on her entrance. Foster was sliding into the helm, displacing a visibly annoyed Armstrong, and Cantrell was calling out instructions to Spinelli, harvesting data to obtain a firing solution.

 “What have we got?” she asked.

 A grimace on his face, he replied, “Our immediate problem is two incoming Xandari vessels, I'm guessing scoutships. They're trying for a divergent course, moving out on either side.”

 “Getting into position to gather intelligence, set us up for the main fleet.”

 “Probably. We're on an intercept course.”

 “Laser charging,” Cantrell reported, “I've got a missile salvo ready to go. Combat range in ninety seconds, but we're only going to have a certain window of twenty seconds if we try for both of them.”

 “Which means that we'll have to make each shot tell.”

 “We could try for just one,” Foster said. “That would guarantee a kill.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “They've sent two for redundancy. One of them gets wiped out, and they've still got another to gather the intelligence they need.” Looking at the monitor, she said, “They're moving as fast as a fighter. We'd never catch one if it had a chance to build up some speed.”

 “Spinelli's getting data for the warbook, and I've got Quinn down below riding herd on a technical analysis team.”

 “I've tried to contact the enemy vessels on all frequencies,” Weitzman added. “No reply, not even in their own language. They're refusing to talk.”

 “Sounds like I could go back to bed,” Orlova said with a smile. “You've got everything covered. What was the other problem?”

 Taking a deep breath, Nelyubov said, “Everything seems to be going to hell on the Neander ship. We got a flash that Ghewon had been assassinated by Cooper, and Aussketi has assumed command. Then we had a signal from Cooper, just before those ships appeared.”

 “I've got him on standby, ma'am,” Weitzman said. “He reports that he is safe, at least for the moment. I can put you through as soon as you want.”

 Looking at the monitor, she asked, “Can he hold on for ten minutes?”

 After a brief exchange, the technician replied, “Yes, ma'am. He also wished us the best of luck with the battle.”

 “Tell him I'll contact him as soon as the fighting is over, and warn him to keep undercover.” Turning to Nelyubov, she added, “This isn't a coincidence. All of this has been timed to perfection, rigged so that they have maximum confusion for the attack.”

 “And no doubt someone is already putting exactly that to the Neander, though with the twist that we are working with the Xandari, and have organized the assassination,” he replied.

 “Signal from Ausori, ma'am,” Weitzman said. “I have, er, Captain Aussketi for you, top priority.”

 “Intercept in thirty seconds,” Cantrell said.

 “Put her on,” Orlova ordered, turning to the monitor, where Aussketi's face appeared. “If you're going to threaten me, make it quick. We're about to engage the enemy.”

 “No,” the Neander replied. “We do need to speak, but that can wait. I've managed to get a missile bank on-line, and we have a potential targeting solution on the enemy ships. I need you to guide our warheads to the target, though. Our fire control systems aren't working yet.”

 “You heard her, Cantrell,” Orlova said, beaming a smile. “Grab those missiles as they launch and run them up to the enemy. That'll give us the edge we were looking for.”

 “Happy to help, Captain,” Aussketi said. “Good hunting. Ausori out.”

 “That's a nice change,” Foster said, turning from the helm. “Looks like they're finally getting it together over there.”

 “I hope so,” Orlova replied. “Cantrell, fire at will. I want both of those bastards taken down.”

 “Foster, I'll need...”

 “Laser shot in five seconds,” she replied. “I'm on it, ma'am. Coming around. Random walk once the shot is away.”

 Orlova looked at Nelyubov, who smiled in satisfaction. Alamo dived down towards the nearest target, lining up for the briefest second needed, a pulse of light leaping between the ships as the radiators glowed red-hot, frantically dispersing the energy. The scanner told the story as the enemy vessel tumbled out of control, its main engine firing in brief pulses that sent it on a wild corkscrew course, easy prey for a later salvo.

 The ship rocked back for a second as her missiles raced away, ranging towards the remaining enemy vessel as it desperately began its bid to escape. Over to the right, Ausori unleashed a trio of missiles, and Cantrell reached across for a second control panel as she started to integrate them into the attack pattern, forming a wide arc of death slamming towards the enemy.

 “No sign of counter-fire,” Nelyubov said.

 “I don't see any missile tubes,” Spinelli replied. “Looks like they're unarmed.”

 Grimacing, Nelyubov said, “That puts a different complexion on this, doesn't it.”

 “Just because they don't have any weapons doesn't mean they can't do us harm, Frank,” Orlova noted.

 “I know,” he sighed. “That doesn't mean I have to like it.”

 The missiles were moving as one, locked in three attack waves, one after another diving towards their target. Cantrell had moved quickly, as had her counterpart on Ausori, and the enemy vessel didn't stand a chance. The first wave slammed into her side, ripping out her guts, the blast of escaping atmosphere rushing out into space, and the second wave finished the job, a brief flash of light as the vessel exploded.

 “Did we do that?” Foster asked.

 “Impossible to tell,” Cantrell replied. “There's a good chance they had the ship rigged to self-destruct, rather than risk being captured.”

 “Confirmed,” Spinelli said, nodding. “The other one just exploded as well, ten-second delay.” He shook his head, and said, “That wasn't even a fair fight. They never even had a chance. Why did they do it?”

 “That's not a bad question, Spaceman,” Orlova said.

 “Gathering intelligence…,” Nelyubov began, before pausing, and continuing, “They could have come in at the far hendecaspace point. With that sort of an acceleration profile, we'd never have intercepted them in time, and they could have gathered all the information they needed. This wasn't a scouting mission.”

 “No,” Orlova said. “They're pinning us in position, throwing us off. Spinelli, run a check for organic residue.”

 “I'll be lucky to get a complete view at this range, Captain. We can send a shuttle for a closer analysis.”

 “I don't need the whole picture, Spaceman. Just find me a body, if you can.”

 Shaking his head, the technician went to work, and Nelyubov said, “You aren't expecting to find one, are you?”

 “Just because they are willing to throw their lives away doesn't mean they're a race of psychotic kamikazes. No point wasting trained personnel on a suicide mission, not when robots will do.”

 “They've brainwashed crews before,” Cantrell said.

 “True, but even then they maintained overseers on board, provided direction. None of their victims seemed capable of much in the way of independent thought. Anything, Spaceman?”

 “Not a trace, Captain. There was an atmosphere on board, but the oxygen content is way down. Maybe a third of what it should have been.” Looking up from his station, he continued, “Someone left air to make it look good when we destroyed them.”

 Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “Unmanned hendecaspace craft. That's a breakthrough that scares the hell out of me.”

 Cantrell replied, “Not necessarily. We've been working on the same technology for years, and it doesn't take any sort of conceptual breakthrough to pull it off. Especially not if you aren't asking the computer to do anything much when it arrives.” Looking at the sensor display, she added, “Though I'd love to get a look at one of those ships, take it home for the technical crews to take a look at it.”

 “Assuming Jack Quinn left them anything to examine,” Orlova said. “Any further sign of dimensional activity, Spaceman?”

 “Nothing, ma'am. Everything's quiet out there.”

 Turning to Nelyubov, she ordered, “Stand down to alert status, and stay there for twenty minutes in case this is the prelude to something else.”

 “Aye, ma'am.”

 “You can get me Ensign Cooper now, Weitzman,” she said, reaching for a headset. “Make sure to keep the transmission as tight as possible. I don't want anyone else overhearing us, and if possible, we don't want to give away his position.”

 After a moment, the technician said, “I've got him, ma'am.”

 “Cooper, this is Alamo Actual. Do you read?”

 “I read you, Captain, loud and clear. I'm safe at this end, at least for the moment. What's going on out there.”

 “Nothing too serious. A brief firefight, no damage. Right now I'm more concerned about the situation on Ausori. Did you kill Ghewon?”

 “No, ma'am, I didn't. Aussketi did, after setting it up to frame me for the crime.” Shaking his head, he added, “She did a damn good job of it, as well. If Corporal Walpis hadn't found me in time, I don't think we'd be having this conversation. I have an independent witness to the crime with me.”

 “And your wife?”

 Pain crept into his voice as he replied, “She's still in detention. I couldn't get to her in time. Captain, we've got to take action at once. I can lead a strike team right to the bridge, and we can take down Aussketi and place someone else, anyone else in command. We now have ample evidence that she is the traitor.”

 Closing his eyes, Nelyubov said, “No, we can't, can we. And she just gave us a demonstration of why we can't send any shuttles over there.”

 “Sir, I think we're past the time for the diplomatic niceties,” Cooper said. “They're conducting mass arrests of anyone they suspect, and it's only a matter of time before there is a full-scale revolt.”

 “Somehow, Ausori has managed to get a missile battery operational, Ensign,” Orlova replied. “I can't send a shuttle force across without providing it with full tactical support, and that would mean launching an attack on the Neander vessel. Do you really want me to order that?” 

 He paused, then said, “No, ma'am, I don't. I thought this was going a little too well.”

 “Are you free to move?”

 “Within limits, ma'am. There are a lot of parts of the ship that no one is especially interested in. If we're careful, and keep down low, I think we can remain undetected for as long as you want. The moment we show our faces, though, we're going to have Morigna and her Proctors on our tail.”

 She paused, and said, “If you can make it to an airlock, Cooper, I'll have a shuttle standing by to get you, and if they try and launch an attack on one of our ships, I won't have any compunction in knocking them down.”

 “Thank you for the offer, ma'am, but even if I could get off this ship, I can't leave my wife behind.”

 “I understand. There's an alternative, Cooper, but I'm forced to admit it's pretty risky.”

 “That's normal procedure, isn't it, ma'am.”

 Looking at Nelyubov, she said, “I have reason to suspect that Kelot is on our side. At the very least, I think he'll give you a fair hearing. If you can find him, you might be able to convince him to overthrow the current administration.” Shaking her head, she added, “It's a long shot, but it's the best we've got at the moment.”

 Rubbing his forehead, Nelyubov said, “Captain, I must point out that you are ordering Ensign Cooper to violate several articles of Triplanetary Fleet Regulations.” Shaking his head, he replied, “Hell, I agree with you, but...”

 “Sorry, Captain,” Cooper said. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she could detect a trickle of laughter in his voice. “You faded away there for a moment. Here's my plan. I'm going to try and make contact with Kelot, and see if I can convince him to take down Aussketi and the rest of the traitors. I'm aware that this is in violation of several regulations, but I can't think of another option.” 

 “I'll be damned,” Cantrell said, shaking her head.

 “Good luck, Cooper,” she replied. “We'll be watching and waiting, standing by to provide any assistance you need at a moment's notice. Sergeant Gurung and the rest of the platoon have been on constant alert since your arrest.” 

 “Thank the lads for me,” he said. “Keep listening out. I'll try and contact Alamo at six-hour intervals. I won't make the attempt to find Kelot for a while, see if the search dies down a little. We're safe at the moment.”

 “Understood, Ensign. Alamo out.”

 “You're off the hook, at least,” Nelyubov said.

 Weitzman looked at his panel, back at Orlova, then tapped a series of controls, saying, “I'm afraid I have to report a communications system malfunction, ma'am. It looks as though we've lost the last five minutes of audio transmission.” Shaking his head, he added, “Back-up systems as well.”

 “That was damn careless of you, Spaceman,” Orlova replied with a smile. “Well, there's no need to sit around doing nothing. Cantrell, I want you to start work on those missiles. Find out where they were launched from, and whether we can grab control of them again if the need arises.”

 “Aye, ma'am.”

 “Frank, go down to Sergeant Gurung. I have a feeling he's already prepared a plan for a boarding action, but I want you to go over it with him. If someone over there calls for our assistance, I want to be able to provide it in a matter of seconds.” She paused, then added, “You can also work out a rescue plan for Cooper and Bradley, just in case all of this goes wrong.”

 “Will do, Captain.”

 Looking around the bridge, she said, “Let's go to work, people. We've got a lot to do in the next few days.” While the crew moved to follow her orders, she turned back to the holotable, tapping a control to bring up course corrections. This time they'd been lucky, the enemy easy to deal with. Deliberately so, more than likely. The next dimensional transition was likely to bring a war fleet into the system, with their sights set right at Alamo.

 And then there was Daedalus. By now, if all had gone to plan, they should be on their way back with the fuel they needed to escape the system. She glanced up at the bridge clock, working out the times in her head. The window for their return had opened an hour ago. Without the fuel they were bringing, none of this planning and scheming would be worth a damn thing.

Chapter 16

 Salazar was being watched, and he knew it. He was counting on it. As he walked through the docking port, this time with a pistol ostentatiously at his belt, a dozen eyes glared at him, tracking his every move. The customs official took a half-step back at his approach, as though wondering how he had dared to return following his previous visit to the station, but Minister Quaice had issued a full apology for what had happened, and almost seemed eager to allow him to return. Even granting him a temporary firearms license.

 Greed, as ever, had overwhelmed common sense. Testament Station needed the wealth that the Triplanetary Confederation could offer, and the Cabinet wasn't about to let anyone jeopardize that. Even the two companies would be eager for a second attempt at speaking to them. Their bids had come in, an hour after they had docked with Daedalus, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

 This time, Salazar had an advantage. He knew where he was going. Rhodes and his group had scouted out several of the nearby bars, a duty they had been only too happy to fulfill, with a focus on those that were closest to the terminal with the highest transient population. He took a sharp right turn as he entered the main heart of the station, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. 

 The smell of fresh, clean air blasted through his nostrils, and he shook his head. Under other circumstances, this would be an amazing place for shore leave, but the knowledge that he was surrounded by people who planned to do him harm took the edge off it. It wasn't the obvious watchers that bothered him, but the ones he couldn't see, lurking in the shadows.

 He stepped into the bar, a murmur of conversation rising as he approached. Doubtless the gunfight had been the subject of gossip and rumor for the last three days, and as he bought a drink from the dispenser, taking a table in the corner by himself, he knew that the other patrons were watching, wondering what would happen next.

 Two days since the firefight, two long days waiting for the right moment to make their move. The next step would require them to move quickly, to be out of the system in a hurry, and they'd had to make sure that Daedalus had completed dimensional reintegration, could make the jump to hendecaspace at a moment's notice. Then the argument about who should go, and Salazar smiled at the memory of the prolonged insistence from Harper that she was the best choice. Under other circumstances, he would have agreed, but not today. Not with her as the commanding officer of a ship, and he simply glorified supercargo.

 A pair of Neander entered the bar, taking positions on either side of the room, obviously checking for traps, for signs that anyone else had beaten them inside. Almost imperceptibly, Salazar patted the butt of his gun, and one of them nodded in silent acknowledgment. A moment later, Skeuros walked in, sitting down opposite him as though by invitation.

 “I thought you would be here first,” Salazar said.

 Nodding, the Neander said, “Kilquan suffers from an overdose of caution, one that in the past has meant that he missed opportunities.” One of his guards brought him a drink, and he added, “If you are waiting for an apology, you'll be here for a while. I moved faster than the others, but they were acting no differently. That rat Xydic would have had you held if the corporations hadn't.”

 With a smile, Salazar replied, “That's a hell of a way to open up a negotiation.”

 “Meaningless words are waste of time. I'm a businessman, and responsible for the survival of my people. We need the trade connections you can provide, and if you've found some sort of significant salvage, we need that as well. Certainly more than you do.” Shaking his head, he said, “How much do you know about this area of space?”

 “Not enough.”

 “I'll give you a little free background, then. Consider it a sample of what I might give you in the future.” He glared at the albino bartender, and said, “The Koltoc, those white-haired bastards, live in artificial environments. If they have a homeworld, I've never heard of it. I suppose this might be the nearest they have to one. They've dominated trade in this part of the galaxy for centuries.”

 “I thought the Collective was a nation of traders,” Salazar replied, taking a sip of his drink, recoiling at the sweet, syrupy taste.

 “Only within their own borders, and the Koltoc spent decades trying to work their way in.” He shook his head, and said, “Not that they ever managed it. And now the Xandari have arrived, they're fluttering away like leaves in the wind.” 

 “And your people?”

 “My grandfather didn't like the idea of being a slave to some Starborn bastard. A dozen ships rebelled, took their families, and left. I won't say where, not at the moment. Not that I don't trust you.”

 “You're escaped slaves,” Salazar said, eyes widening. “Why didn't you tell us that before?”

 “Thought you knew,” he replied, taking a huge gulp of his drink. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he replied, “What are you planning?”

 “I could ask you the same question.”

 “Are you?”

 “Yes.”

 He beamed a smile, and said, “You're going to give me the information I need. Then I'm going to go out there and pick up whatever salvage you've discovered.” Leaning forward, he continued, “My guess is that you are operating on your own, probably from a supply dump or a tanker of your own. Maybe you have other ships, but with all due respect, mine are more than a match for yours.”

 “You've never seen us in a fight,” he said, his voice beginning to slur. “Drugged?”

 “Yes.”

 “Figured.” He shook his head, trying to steady himself, and said, “I won't talk. I won't tell you what you need to know.”

 “I think you will. Don't take this personally. We're businessmen here, all of us, and we must have a competitive advantage. Besides, if we show a moment's weakness, someone will wipe us out. The Koltoc, the Collective, the Xandari. We're surrounded by enemies.”

 Slumping forward, Salazar said, “We're independent. Ship owned by me and Harper. Military surplus, bought at auction.” He shook his head, then lied, “Followed a trail of supply dumps we found, ran out of fuel early.”

 “And why do you need so much?”

 “Top up the depot.”

 “There's more to it than that,” the Neander pressed. Out of the corner of his eye, Salazar could see the bartender reaching under the counter, pushing a button. Everything he said was being recorded, and was being heard by many ears.

 “Lost colony ship,” he finally said. “Lost decades ago. We found it. Passengers dead, cargo intact. Enough to found a new world. Machinery, supplies, medical equipment, even weapons, but old ones. Had planned to take it back a bit at a time, sell it on the open market, but Harper thought we could get the lot.” He shook his head, weaving from side to side, hoping that the antidote Garland had injected him with would continue to work. “Greedy, she is. I wanted to take things slower. Was going to offer you a piece of the pie for the fuel.”

 “That equipment could mean life or death for my people. We can use some of it, sell the rest.” He smiled, and for a moment, Salazar felt a deep pang of guilt. “Where?”

 “MK-133, system...”

 “No, no, on our maps. You must have seen them.”

 He looked up at the Neander and squinted, as though trying to focus, “Torba's Star. Third Planet, Inner Hendecaspace Point.” 

 “One short jump,” he muttered. “Other ships? Defenses?”

 “Fighter squadron, ready to go. Four of them. Other surplus. Old ships, but tough. You'll have a fight on your hands, I promise.” 

 “I can assure you that we'll be ready for them,” he said, as Salazar slumped to the ground. Skeuros reached for his pistol under the table, quietly drawing it. He could hear a loud scuffle taking place and peered out to see one of the Neander knocking the barman cold, striking him across the forehead with his fist, a vicious swing that made him wince. 

 Two more Koltoc ran into the room, and Skeuros dived past them, running out onto the street, leaving his men behind to finish the fight. Doubtless he'd he launching his ships in a matter of moments, but with any luck Kilquan's cautious approach would also have paid off. There was a race on, and he had to start winning it.

 As the new arrivals jumped over the bar to join in the brawl, he ducked out of the door, running back for the docking port, keeping his pistol stuffed in his pocket. His eyes widened as he looked at the group loitering outside, mostly Neander, all of them looking dangerous. Somewhere on the other side, Rhodes was waiting to provide reinforcement, but he wouldn't risk making a move with all of those people around.

 He looked around, shaking his head, and a familiar face ran up to him, Urquot shaking his head as he approached, before gesturing for him to follow. Lacking any better ideas, Salazar raced after him, hoping that none of the Neander had seen him, letting the young boy lead him around a corner, into the dark space between a pawn shop and a brothel.

 “You've got a problem,” the boy said. “I have the solution.”

 “What's the price?” he asked.

 “The information you gave Skeuros. The information that Kilquan overheard. And the true story about what you are up to out here.” He smiled, and said, “I'll get a nice cut of anything we pick up, and can guarantee that we'll beat the others to the draw.” Glancing to the side, he said, “I didn't come alone, so don't get any ideas.”

 Now the second layer of his cover story could come into play, the result of hours of discussions back on Daedalus.

 “I'm a Lieutenant in the Triplanetary Fleet, and we're on a deep cover mission. The story about the depots is true, leftovers from the Interplanetary War, but our mission was to retrieve an experimental prototype of a new faster-than-light ship, one based on wormhole technology.”

 Urquot's face wrinkled, and he replied, “Wormhole technology? That's meant to be impossible.”

 “So was the hendecaspace drive. We found an artifact from an old war, a few years ago, and managed to get it working. Too well, as it turned out. We've been looking for it for months.”

 “And now you need the fuel to get it home.”

 Nodding, he said, “We're pretty sure we've got it worked out this time, but it consumes a lot of fuel. More than ten other starships, but with a thirty light-year range...”

 “Thirty!” the boy said.

 “We think it's worth it.” He shook his head, and said, “If you provide us with the fuel, we'll give you our data. Everything we've gathered so far.”

 “Data first.”

 “I don't have it here. Not even on Daedalus. Security. You'd have to collect it from the Icarus.” 

 “Data, then fuel. Which means we'll be sending a ship, a very well-armed ship, to follow you.” Shaking his head, he said, “I assure you that we're more than ready to deal with Skeuros and Kilquan. My men are experts, and I have operatives on their vessels. We've been waiting for an opportunity like this for years.”

 Frowning, Salazar asked, “That isn't you in there, is it?”

 With a smile, the boy said, “The translator has certain other functions, ones that are not made commonly known to the public. With the right equipment, it is possible to override the neural networks of a target. To copy yourself into another mind. Having a spare body has proven extremely useful in the past, and naturally, I am not likely to betray myself, am I.” At the disgust on Salazar's face, he continued, “Spare me the sentiment. Your people must have similar technologies.”

 Remembering the memory wipe Scott had experienced, he said, “That doesn't mean I can condone them.”

 “Do we have a deal, or not?” Maintaining the grin, he added, “I assure you that only one answer will allow you to leave this station alive.” 

 “Conditionally,” he replied. “I'll give you the information you're looking for as soon as I've safely returned to my ship, and not before. I presume that you already have one of your warships covering us?”

 “Correct,” Urquot said. “If you feel that you need the illusion of security, I have no objection. As a symbol of my good faith. Follow me.”

 The two of them walked down the alley, Salazar aware of eyes boring into his back, rifles pointed at him, ready to move should be so much as twitch. The young boy, whatever monstrosity he was, led the way, and he couldn't help but glance down at him.

 “It's quite interesting, really. Downloading myself into a younger body. The adjustment period is somewhat brutal, and not always survivable.” Looking up, he said, “And to answer your next question, this isn't the first time I've done it. Transferring this way, I have lived for more than three hundred years.”

 “Surely it isn't you, though. Just a copy of yourself, and an imperfect one at that.”

 “Meaning that I still will die?” he replied. “Metaphysics doesn't interest me. If it helps, I will know as I die that I am immortal, and that I will live on forever. Be honest and tell me that you wouldn't take the same option, to live forever in one form or another.”

 “Not as a frozen pattern of thought, the fading memories of a long-dead murderer.”

 “And yet you seem willing to make a deal with me.”

 “Do I have a choice?”

 “No. And I already know that you will attempt to find some way to betray me, and that there is something other than the bounty you have reported at the other end of this journey.” He smiled, and said, “Three hundred years has taught me a lot about human nature. The opportunity this accords me is, I feel, more than worth the risk that I am running. It isn't as if I intend to go myself, after all. At least, not this version of me.” He pointed at a door in the wall, a series of buttons along the side, and added, “You will find a United Nations spacesuit waiting for you inside. An older model, I fear, but I trust you will still be familiar with it. The thruster pack has been charged, and should be more than up to the task of getting you safely back to your ship.”

 “What assurance do I have that the suit is safe?”

 “Only my self-interest, and I can promise you that there is no stronger force in the galaxy.”

 Without a backward glance, Salazar stepped into the airlock, where the promised suit was waiting for him, hanging in front of the locker. He quickly gave it a visual check, then started to put it on, a piece at a time, making sure each system light flashed green before he continued. Once he was half-way through, he pulled out his communicator.

 “Rhodes, go home. I've got another ticket back.”

 “Roger, sir, I'm leaving. Too many people interested in me at the moment.”

 That done, he lowered the helmet into position, watching as the start-up sequence fired up, a long list of checks flashing into view on his heads-up display. The suit was almost primitive, and he looked down with a smile to see that it had the flash of Daedalus on the side. Either the crime boss had a sense of humor, or this suit was scavenged from his ship long ago.

 His eyes widened as the implications of that ran through his mind. There was a connection between Urquot and the Xandari, and even if he wasn't actually working with them, he must have some sort of contact. And Scott had reported that there were ships in the system that looked Xandari, even if they didn't match anything in their database, back when they had first arrived.

 He couldn't panic. Didn't dare let any sign that he knew enter his thoughts. With an effort, he took deep breaths to calm himself down, knowing that his suit telemetry would be carefully monitored and checked. The initial burst of excitement would be written off, but nothing else would be. Nor could he report his suspicions, not until he was face to face with Harper.

 The outer door opened, and he took a step out into space, unsurprised that his on-board system immediately plotted a course for Daedalus, his thrusters firing to put it into effect. For a second, it threw him into a disorienting spin, ramming home the knowledge that for this trip, he was simply a passenger, nothing more than that. Glancing to the left, he saw the shuttle departing, Scott taking Rhodes back to the ship, diving ahead of him. 

 All around, the stars were moving as the three fleets moved into position. They'd planned it to near-perfection, arranging for all of the power groups to know where to go, even if the antidote to the truth serum was giving him a raging headache. He felt a light tap on his arm, an injection of painkillers calming him down. Some of the automatic systems still working, at least.

 Up ahead, a single point of light quickly grew, resolving itself into a comforting shape. If they'd got this right, Harper would be sitting on the bridge right now, worrying as he approached, their hendecaspace course already plotted and ready to go. The transit seemed to drag into an eternity as he continued his approach, firing spinning round as the suit slowed him for entry, an airlock opening to admit him.

 Suited hands grabbed at him, tugging him inside, and he saw the face of Harper through the other faceplate, a mask of concern. The outer door slid shut, and the pressure built up, slowly rising. He reached up to remove his helmet, but the lock was jammed in position.

 “We had a deal, Lieutenant,” Urquot said, screaming over the speaker. “Where?”

 “Torba's Star. Third Planet, Inner Hendecaspace Point.”

 “That's all I need to know,” he said, and the clamps released, allowing him to remove his helmet. He ripped off the suit, urging Harper outside, then closed the inner door before she could even remove her helmet, rushing to the nearest wall communicator.

 “Get us out of here,” he said. “Maximum speed to the hendecaspace point.”

 “Aye, sir,” Maqua said, confused, while Harper glared at him.

 “I thought I gave the orders around here.”

 “Xandari.”

 “What?”

 “That criminal syndicate is working with the Xandari.”

 Her eyes widened, and she said, “Which means…”

 “It means that we've just given them an easy path, right to the Neander refugees. We've got to get there first.”

 Leaving the parts of her suit trailing in the air behind her as she went, Harper led the way to the bridge, Salazar following. Scott looked across from the tactical station as they entered, her sensor display a mass of confusing images, a tangle of course projections that seemed to make little sense.

 “We've got fourteen ships on the move,” she reported, as Salazar relieved Maqua at the helm. “All heading right for the hendecaspace point at maximum speed. I've got energy spikes from eight of them, but whether they are planning on attacking us or each other I can't say. Did it work?” 

 “Too well,” Harper said. “How are we doing, Pavel?”

 “Full acceleration burn, and unless I'm missing something, we're going to reach the egress point first, by at least eighty seconds.”

 “Time enough for Alamo to get to battle stations,” she replied, shaking her head. “Anything from the station, Ingram?”

 “I don't think we're popular, ma'am,” he replied. “I did get something though, from Minister Quaice. We have permission to bring other Triplanetary ships into this system.”

 “Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” she said.

 “Never say never, Kris,” Salazar said.

 “Energy spike!” Arkhipov reported from the sensor station. “Two incoming missiles, bearing directly!”

 “Can we outrun them, Pavel?” Harper asked.

 “I'd love to try,” he replied, reaching down to the controls, pushing the ship past the danger line, alarms sounding all around him as the hull stress readouts erupted in text, the reactor alarm sounding as he drew more and more power from it. There was no point trying evasive maneuvers. That was exactly what their aggressor wanted them to do, to waste time they could use getting to their objective first.

 “Who launched it?” Harper asked, turning back to a red-faced Arkhipov.

 “I don't know, ma'am,” he replied. “I mean, I know, but I've got no idea whose ship it is.”

 “Record it for later,” she said. “Maybe we can work it out on the road.”

 “Perry to bridge,” the engineer called up from the lower decks. “What are you doing to my ship? The reactor's at a hundred and fifteen percent! She isn't designed for this, or anything like it!”
 “Hold it together,” Harper said. “Just for a minute.”

 “That's all we'll need,” Salazar said. “Hendecaspace course computed and laid in. I'm running right for the point. Time to departure twenty-two seconds.”

 “Funny,” Scott said. “That's about the time to impact.”

 “Pavel, you have the call,” Harper ordered, and he rested his hand on the emergency manual control. It was a redundant move at best. If they missed the window of opportunity at this speed, it wasn't possible to react in time. All he could do was trust to luck. The ship screamed in protest as it continued to accelerate, the force pushing him back in his seat.

 “Five seconds!” he said. “Hang on!”

 Just as the missile lunged in for the kill, the familiar blue flash erupted all around them, and Daedalus disappeared into hendecaspace, the warning alarms fading away as the engines died down, power readings rapidly returning to normal.

 “We actually gained a little time,” he said. “We're eighty-six seconds ahead of our nearest rival.”

 “Good,” Harper replied. “We're going to need every one of them.”

Chapter 17

 The corridor was deserted, exactly as Cooper had hoped. Hours of careful observation had identified the best way to Kelot's quarters, and there were some obvious holes in the deployment of the guards. Too obvious. Kelot might not have vast military experience, but he'd had time to study the Triplanetary doctrine manuals he'd given him, and wasn't foolish enough to give a potential enemy an opportunity to sneak up on him. He knew he was being watched. All he could do was trust to luck, or the willingness of the Guard Commander to listen.

 Walpis and Wolmar were waiting in a safe hiding place a few corridors away, one he had no knowledge of beyond the vaguest details. The Corporal was experienced enough to find his own place, and the less he knew, the better. He still rated it as likely that he would end up back in a cell at the end of this enterprise. Or worse.

 He saw his first guard as he turned a corner, standing at attention outside a door. At least he was getting a good opportunity to test their training, and he pulled out a ball bearing from his pocket, nimbly tossing it down the corridor, while reaching for his blowgun with the other hand. As he had hoped, the guard's eyes tracked the shining object along the floor for the split second he needed to get down into firing position and take the shot.

 Just like he'd learned in basic training, the Neander's eyes rolled back and he collapsed softly to the ground. Getting a gun through a half-confident security screen was next to impossible, but a long piece of thin tubing could be explained away in a hundred different ways, and a few small feathered darts were easy enough to conceal.

 He sprinted forward, glancing down to get a look at the guard so he could report him later, before hearing the sound of rifle bolts being pulled back behind him, an ostentatious noise deliberately designed to freeze him in his tracks. With a sigh, he raised his hands, turned around, and saw Kelot walking towards him, flanked by a pair of guards.

 “Somehow I'd expected better from you, Ensign,” Kelot said.

 Taking a deep breath, Cooper replied, “How is this conversation going to go? Are you going to give me a chance to give my side of the story, or are you just going to hand me back to the traitors on the Command Deck?”

 Shaking his head, Kelot gestured for the guards to leave, and the two Neander snapped to attention and walked back down the corridor, returning to their guard station. Tapping a button to open a door, Kelot led the way into an empty room, a trio of sleeping bags dropped into a corner, a supply crate serving as a table in the middle. He stepped over to a drinks dispenser on the wall and threw a switch.

 “I'm sure you could do with a cup of coffee,” he said. “Those maintenance conduits are cold, and as I understand it, you had a bath yesterday.”

 Shivering at the memory of the icy water, Cooper accepted the drink, taking an experimental sip. He looked around the room, opting to lean on the wall out of sight of the door, while Kelot sat down on the crate, brushing a couple of empty ration packets away.

 “This was Molpa's idea of acceptable barracks for my men,” he said. “What do you think?”

 “I think he should be forced to live in this hole, and you should commandeer his cabin.”

 A beaming smile on hits face, the Neander replied, “Your sense of humor is intact, at least. I'm going to guess that you didn't kill Oktu or Leuka. Unless they were Xandari agents, I can't think of any reason why you would murder them, and if they were, you'd have said something about it at the time.”

 “They weren't. Oktu was a member of the Brotherhood...”

 “I see,” he interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

 “And Leuka sold us out to Morigna and her death squad. They rewarded her with a bullet in the brain.” Shaking his head, he replied, “I guess they don't want any witnesses. They still have my wife, and another man who helped us, Segna. I'd like to get them out.”

 “Man,” Kelot said. “That's an interesting word. Is that how you consider us?”

 “We've fought side by side. Under the skin, our genetic codes are damn near the same.” Rubbing his forehead, he added, “Swap our clothes and give you a haircut and shave, and you'd be able to walk down a corridor on Alamo without drawing attention. Aside from a few minor internal differences, we're the same.” Pausing, he added, “That isn't the main reason, though.”

 “And what is?”

 “We think alike. We're soldiers, Kelot, and we're both trying to do the best damn job we can to protect our people from those who would do them harm.”

 “Aussketi and her lackeys claim that is you.”

 “Aussketi killed Ghewon.”

 His eyes widened, and he said, “What?” 

 “In cold blood, having framed me for the crime, luring me out of my cell with promises of a fair hearing, a fair trial.” Shaking his head, he replied, “I don't think I really believed her, but any chance of freedom was better than sitting in the cell and waiting to be executed.”

 Frowning, he said, “Have you got proof of this?”

 “I have an independent witness, a medical technician named Wolmar.”

 Shaking his head, Kelot replied, “I was going to ask you about him. According to the latest version of the charges, you killed him in your desperate bid for escape. I suppose you will tell me that Morigna will make sure his death becomes a reality as soon as she catches him.”

 “I am.”

 “This doesn't make any sense. Morigna is a brutal, savage thug, but her one redeeming feature is her loyalty to her people. I don't see her working with the Xandari. As for Aussketi, she damn near died because of Lostok. Unless that was a really bold gamble, I don't buy that she was part of the same conspiracy.”

 “Maybe there's something else going on. The Brotherhood...”

 “Renegades and troublemakers, all of them.” 

 “They are convinced that there is a plan to force them back to work upon our arrival, to disperse them around the worlds so that they can't talk about the Confederation.” He paused, then said, “And I have proof that they aren't behind the sabotage, either.”

 “Go on.”

 “They're planning a mass escape. When the ship reaches Testament Station, hundreds of them will steal shuttles and spacesuits and get away.”

 Kelot paused, then nodded, rising to his feet and walking to the wall, replying, “I'm not surprised. I've thought about it myself.”

 “You have?”

 “Of course I have. I had a wife, Ensign...”

 “Gabe, for God's sake.”

 “Fine. I had a family, but they died. We were being sent to establish a new colony, a strategic outpost, so they sent whole families out.” He smiled, then said, “To be honest, the eventual outcome was essentially the same. I ended up on a desolate planet, struggling to establish a civilized foothold. The only difference was that my wife died during the attack, and our daughter didn't last six months down on the planet.”

 “I'm sorry.”

 “Our people would have given them medical attention, proper shelter, decent food.” Staring at Cooper, or perhaps beyond him, he added, “I'll hate the Xandari until the day I die, and I will make them pay for what they have done. That doesn't mean I have any delusions about my own government.” He smiled, then said, “If I was twenty years younger, I'd probably have asked you for a job.”

 “You would?”

 “My people are just holding their own against the enemy, and have been doing little else for so long that I fear it is becoming a habit, that the idea of launching an offensive is an alien concept, something they would never risk. You're out to beat them, Gabe, and from what I've seen of you, I wouldn't bet on the Xandari in a million years. I don't just want them to die, I want them to be defeated, their empire smashed, their power broken, our flag flying over their homeworld. You might be able to give me that. My own people certainly won't.”

 He shook his head, turning to face Cooper, and said, “What exactly are you asking me to do? If it is just a question of getting you and these others to an airlock, get you back to Alamo, that won't be a problem.” Pausing for a second, he continued, “As for the others, I might be able to get them out as well, or at least put you into a position where you can do the job for yourself without interference.”

 “We're going to need more than that.”

 As if he hadn't heard him, Kelot continued, “We can run interference for you, organize a few distractions to divert the Proctors away. With a little luck, all of you will be safely over onto your ship in a matter of minutes.” He smiled, then said, “And if Aussketi thinks my troops are going to stop anyone from leaving the ship at Testament Station, she's going to be disappointed.”

 “That isn't enough,” Cooper said, “and you know it. We can't leave a traitor in command of this ship, no matter what her motives may be. And Morigna is rounding up everyone looking at her the wrong way, throwing them into detention. The whole ship will be put on lock-down. No one will escape.” He sighed, and said, “The Brotherhood are right. Somehow I doubt that anyone on this ship who isn't Starborn will ever be permitted to return home. They'll see it as too much of a risk to the social order.”

 Closing his eyes, Kelot suddenly looked decades older as he replied, “I thought you were going to ask me this.”

 “Nothing has to be done today,” Cooper said. “You've got time to get everything ready, position your forces for the assault, sound out others in the officer ranks. As well has having a chance to speak to Wolmar. I'd like you to hear his testimony.”

 With a long, deep sigh, the old Neander said, “It isn't that. You're asking me to go against my own people, to lead a revolt against the Starborn. Do you know what you are asking?”

 “I'm asking you to save your people, and lead them to safety.”

 “No,” he said. “You're making me the figurehead of a revolution. You don't seriously think that it will stop there, do you? Even if we end our journey at Testament Station, enough people will return home with news of what has happened to start an uprising back home. Maybe it's justified, maybe it's needed, but not now. Not in the middle of a war for our very survival as a species.”

 “Dreams of liberty have their own timetable,” Cooper replied. “Sometimes you can't hold them back.” He stepped over to Kelot, and said, “There must have been revolts before.”

 “A few. Either they were brutally suppressed, or the rebels fled into deep space. Set themselves up as raiders in alien territory.” Glancing up at Cooper, he said, “I was told not to mention any of that, but I don't suppose it matters.”

 “What are the alternatives? Let your people be thrown into prison for crimes they didn't commit, so that they have no chance of ever seeing their family again, or watch as they are handed over to the Xandari. That's it. That's all that's on the table.”

 “I never wanted this. None of it. I was a hydroponic farmer, Gabe. Oh, I did my time in the militia, everyone did, and when we were imprisoned I joined the underground, dreamed of the day we could free ourselves and return home.” He looked up at Cooper, tears forming in the old man's eyes, and continued, “It was meant to be so damn simple. Steal a starship, break through the lines, return home to a hero's welcome and a comfortable retirement. To hell with the party, I'd settle for the retirement.”

 Placing his hand on Kelot's shoulder, Cooper said, “I don't think people like us get to retire.”

 “You're a young man, Gabe. The Dark One hasn't touched you yet.”

 “I'm a soldier. I'm on first-name terms with the bastard.” Closing his eyes, he said, “I can still see their faces. All of them. During my first combat assignment, almost my entire platoon was wiped out or captured, and the few survivors died in the next battle. Thirty-two people, and I was the only one left. Then a year later I went back, this time with a company, troops too green to know what they were doing, and they dropped like files, died by the dozen, and there was nothing I could do to save them.”

 Kelot watched, horror on his face, as Cooper continued, “And the body count grows, higher and higher. My first commanding officer died as I watched, meters away, and I couldn't get to her in time. All my friends wiped out, killed.” With a sigh, he added, “When we left on this mission, I was back to thirty-two people. I'm down to twenty-one. Not just freeing you, but on other operations.” A thin smile on his face, he added, “I guess I'm in a high-risk occupation.” 

 “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

 “After that first mission, they gave me the chance to leave the service.” He held up his right hand, flexing the fingers, and said, “This isn't the hand I was born with. We've got excellent prosthetics, and it's almost as good as the original. Not quite, but almost. Losing a hand made me eligible for retirement, a disability pension.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Barbara and I talked about it. We were going to set up as free traders, in-system transports out at Saturn. My uncle owns an interstellar freighter, and we've got enough money saved up to give us a start.”

 “What happened?” Kelot asked.

 “Captain Marshall, Alamo's commander before Maggie Orlova, offered me a commission, an officer's rank, and I took it. Trained a new platoon, then went out again, put myself through it all over again, and I knew exactly what would happen when I agreed.”

 “Then why the hell did you do it? If I'd been offered that sort of a life, I'd have taken it without a second thought.”

 Cooper tugged at his worn, grimy jacket, and said, “This uniform means something. It means that I go out and face the darkness so that the people back home don't have to. I swore an oath that I would defend and protect them, and if that means I must keep going out into the night, keep watching my friends die, then that's the price I have to pay. I know, deep inside, that every soldier I have seen fall has defended a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand people back home.”

 With a deep sigh, he continued, “Some of us aren't destined to die in our beds, Kelot. I'm living on borrowed time, and I know it. Odds are that some day a bullet, a blade, a suit malfunction, a hull breach will get me as well. I'll die, but I'll die knowing that I lived my life to protect and defend my people. I think that's worth it.”

 “You're a stronger man than me, Gabe.”

 “I've been through the fire more times. Either it burns you, or it hardens you.” Looking down at the Neander, sitting on the crate, he said, “We could go with the evacuation. Get Barbara and Segna away, and all of us could make our way over to Alamo. Senior Lieutenant Quinn has already made preparations to take at least a hundred and fifty evacuees, so we could probably take out your troops and their families as well.” Looking into his eyes, he asked, “Can you do it? Leave everyone behind, knowing what will happen? I can't, and I'm not one of your people.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “Of course I can't. You know that.”

 “I just wanted to make sure that you knew it as well. It's easy to forget, sometimes.”

 “You'll have to forgive me,” Kelot said, once again rising to his feet. “I'm an old man, and I know I can be a little inflexible at times. You're right, of course. We've got to do something, got to stop them.”

 “Alamo will help,” Cooper said. “And so will I.”

 “I hope so. This is going to be a bloody, messy, ugly business, and it isn't going to end with the retaking of this ship. Once we start this, we're committed to a course that might be the end of us all.”

 “You aren't the one who chose this. Aussketi and Morigna did.”

 “That doesn't help.”

 “No.”

 Stepping to the door, Kelot said, “Come on. I want to meet Wolmar, record his testimony. Then we can get something to eat. I'll be damned if I plot mutiny on an empty stomach.” 

 As the Neander walked away, Cooper paused and watched him for a moment. Kelot was back to his usual self, tall and proud, ready to face the nightmare that lay ahead. Maybe one day Cooper would forgive himself for putting him through it. One day.

Chapter 18

 Orlova looked at the tactical display again, then across at the countdown clock. The scheduled arrival of Daedalus from Testament Station had come and gone. A thousand thoughts were running though her head, Nelyubov silently sharing them all as he looked at her over the holodesk. They'd only had limited intelligence to work with, had no way of scouting ahead. Sending such a small ship off on the mission had been an act of desperation in itself.

 Not that disaster was the only possibility. The quantity of fuel they had needed would have daunted any Triplanetary shipyard, and it might simply be taking longer than they had hoped to make the arrangement. She glanced back up at the clock as it remorselessly ticked away the seconds, knowing that every one brought the Xandari closer. By now, she'd bet her year's pay that there was an enemy fleet transiting hendecaspace, silently moving in towards Alamo, ready to wipe them out.

 Ausori was in no position to stop them. Cooper and Kelot were preparing to launch their attack, but that was still hours away, and even if the operation went perfectly, chaos would reign on the transport for days. That was preferable to the alternative, a ship actively working against them, but it still was far from helpful.

 “Can I see you in your office, Captain?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Of course,” she replied, frowning. “Cantrell, you have the bridge.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” the tactical officer replied, repeating the liturgy. “I have the bridge.” The two of them walked through the side door, sitting on their respective sides of the desk, and Nelyubov leaned back in his chair. 

 “What is it?” she asked.

 With a smile, he replied, “Actually, I don't have a thing to talk to you about. I just wanted to get you off the bridge. You were making everyone nervous.”

 “Did it show that badly?”

 “Like a beacon,” he said. “We're all going through the same things in our heads, though. I wouldn't reproach yourself for that.”

 “I always used to wonder why Captain Marshall spent so much time in his office,” she said. “It was only when I got a command of my own that I realized. Better to sit and worry in here than to infect the rest of the senior staff.”

 “And usually, you seem to remember that pretty well,” he said.

 “This is worse than usual,” she replied with a sigh. “Never mind the current situation. I have faith in Salazar and Harper. They'll find some way to get out whatever trouble they are in, and if there is any fuel to find, they'll bring it.”

 “And if there isn't?”

 “Then we start refueling here,” she said. “We've managed to top up our tanks for an additional jump while we've been waiting, and we just finish the job. If Testament Station will welcome the Neander, then we drop them off there.” 

 Nodding, Nelyubov added, “Then we start our trip home, with the intelligence we've managed to gather so far, and come back with reinforcements.”

 “Will we?” she replied. “So far our expedition can hardly be called a success, Frank. We've learned the location of one world that we drove them from, a minor extraction facility, and have managed to comprehensively botch first contact with the Interstellar Collective.” Shaking her head, she said, “Aside from that, we aren't bringing much back.”

 “Anything is better than nothing, Maggie,” he said. “We knew going in that we were rolling the dice, and so did Captain, I mean Commodore, Marshall. Success on the first try was always uncertain, but we've got the location of several potential forward outposts. So we move on. Set up a fuel depot closer to the frontier, and explore from there.”

 “Someone,” she said. “Not us. Next time it will be Gorski on Gilgamesh, or another battlecruiser. We've had our shot, Frank, and we've failed.”

 “There's no shame in that, Maggie. To hell with those bastards in the Collective. I don't think there was a realistic chance they were ever going to be more than temporary allies of convenience. They're just another Cabal, with a different human sub-species in charge.” With a smile, he added, “We've made a difference there, as well.”

 “Yes,” she said. “We've probably doomed them all. What sort of a defense can they put against the Xandari when they're fighting an insurrection at home?”

 “Maybe we can get the Task Force into position in time.”

 “To fight the wrong war,” she said. “That wasn't what we came out here to do.”

 “That doesn't mean it doesn't need doing,” he replied. With a sigh, he added, “This isn't like you, Maggie. You don't usually second-guess yourself, not like this.”

 “What else do I have to do?” she asked, tapping a control, bringing up a projection of local space. “We've done all the repairs we can to Alamo without a shipyard, and the Neander won't let us do anything on Ausori. The missile screen is ready to go, and we've got picket sensor probes in position. Aside from catching up on the paperwork, what's left?”

 “Nothing,” he replied. “The curse of a competent crew. Those who weren't veterans when they left certainly are now. They've not had much choice but to learn, and quickly. The same for the officers.” Shaking his head, he said, “Hard to believe that Pavel Salazar was a Midshipman a year ago.”

 “He's grown up fast,” she replied. “So have they all. I'm thinking of a reason to promote Foster, as well. We're still weaker than I like in the middle ranks.” Shaking her head, she said, “And we need more midshipmen, as well. Once we get into hendecaspace, I want every department to put together a list, and we'll arrange for some examinations. Armstrong and Maqua are a good start, but I think we can get up to four.”

 “I'll see to it,” Nelyubov replied. “Though if we're going home so quickly, is that necessary?”

 She paused, then said, “Perhaps not, but I don't think it does any harm to be prepared.” With a smile, she said, “Damn it, you got me.”

 “There's plenty of little administrative stuff to worry about. You're getting trapped in the bigger picture, and that's an occupational hazard for a commanding officer. Grand strategy will take care of itself, at least for the moment.” He pulled out a datapad, and said, “Have you seen Powell's latest? A new route home from Testament Station, four jumps to take us back to explored space.”

 “I saw it,” she replied. “I'm not happy with the idea of refueling in UN territory.”

 “I don't know, I hear good things about the nightclubs on Sutter's World,” he replied. “It might be something to consider to maximize our return. From Sutter's, it's only three jumps to Thule, and we're in safe grounds for the last one of those in any case.”

 Nodding, she said, “Have Armstrong take a look at the data and provide a full report for presentation to the senior staff. It'll be good practice for her in any case.”

 “Will do,” he replied.

 A chime sounded on her desk, and she picked up a headset, saying, “Captain here.”

 “Cantrell, ma'am. We're picking up some unusual activity over on Ausori. Lots of people out on the hull, dozens of them, and I think they're running some tests on the primary engine. Spinelli's picked up half a dozen energy spikes in the last two minutes, and Senior Lieutenant Quinn is going over the numbers now.”

 “Your guess, Lieutenant?” she asked.

 “I'd say they're getting ready to move out, ma'am. Putting some final stress patches on the hull to keep it together for maximum acceleration.” She paused, and said, “Even at full power, overriding the usual safeguards, we wouldn't have any trouble catching them. They aren't trying to get away from us.”

 “They're trying to get themselves ready for battle,” Orlova finished. “Have you tracked down that missile launch site yet?”

 With a sigh, Cantrell replied, “I have, ma'am, but taking it out isn't going to be an option, not from our end. The bastards have placed it two compartments away from the primary nursery. I can't guarantee destroying it without collateral damage.”

 Closing his eyes, Nelyubov said, “My God, to use their own children as human shields.”

 “They're safe enough, Frank,” Orlova said, with a deep sigh. “They know we'd never consider launching a surgical strike, not at that location.”

 “I was thinking of the Xandari,” he replied. “If we can trace those missiles back to their source, so can they, and I don't think they'd have any compunction about destroying them.”

 “Ma'am,” Weitzman said, breaking in. “I have Captain Aussketi for you. Should I patch you though?”

 “Wait one, Spaceman,” she replied, turning to Nelyubov. “I don't imagine this is going to be good news.” Rubbing her forehead, she said, “Put her through.”

 The face of the Neander appeared on the wall display, looming down at her. Orlova fought the urge to accuse her of treachery, to tell her everything she had learned, but the time to act had not yet arrived.

 “Captain Orlova, I thought I would tell you that the trial of Sub-Lieutenant Bradley and her accomplice is over.”

 Her eyes widened, and she replied, “When did it start?”

 “An hour ago. Her statements were read, as were those of the witnesses. The testimony was very compelling.” She paused, then added, “In absentia, Ensign Cooper was convicted on three counts of murder. Sub-Lieutenant Bradley and the renegade Segna were convicted of conspiracy to commit. The penalty is death.”

 Closing her eyes, Orlova said, “I want both of them transferred to Alamo immediately.”

 “They have been found guilty of extremely serious crimes,” Aussketi said. 

 “In a sham trial,” Nelyubov barked.

 Taking a deep breath, Aussketi continued, “I was contacting you to arrange for the disposition of her body.”

 Orlova's face grew pale as she asked, “Is she dead?”

 “Not yet. The execution is scheduled for fifteen minutes from now. I have recorded a final message from her to the crew, which will be transmitted shortly. Normally, the bodies of convicted murderers are simply cremated and scattered into space, but in the interest of normalizing relations between our peoples, I am willing to simply transfer it to Alamo, so that you can undertake whatever customs are normal.”

 Aussketi was goading her. The look in her eyes left no room for doubt. She knew that Orlova would act, that she had no choice, and for some reason, she was fighting to bring that about. There was a trap buried here, somewhere. Not that it mattered.

 “For one final time, I will ask you to transfer Sub-Lieutenant Bradley and Segna to our custody.”

 “And again, I say no.”

 Taking a deep breath, Orlova said, “Then I see no further point in this conversation. Or in any other. Alamo out.” She paused for a moment, looking out at the starfield, her eyes distant while Nelyubov waited patiently by her side. Finally, taking a deep breath, she rose to her feet and wordlessly stepped out onto the bridge.

 “Ausori is continuing to maneuver,” Cantrell reported, turning from the holotable. “I've prepared a firing solution if you want to take out the main engines. I think we can do it without causing anything other than superficial damage with the laser.”

 “Never mind that now. Resume your station.” She looked around the bridge, and said, “Battle stations.”

 Nelyubov glanced at Cantrell, who flicked a switch and said, “Tactical to all hands. Report to your battle stations. I say again, all hands to battle stations. This is no drill. Department heads to transmit system reports to the bridge on the double.”

 “Warming up main engines,” Armstrong said, glancing back at the elevator doors as though expecting someone to usurp her role at any moment. “Preparing random walk evasion pattern.”

 “Laser radiators deployed,” Cantrell added. “Charging cycle under way. Missile fabricators coming on-line, salvo ready in thirty seconds.”

 “Contact Ensign Cooper,” she said, turning to Weitzman. “No scramble, full broadcast transmission. Tell him that his wife is to be executed in fifteen minutes, and report Alamo's current status.”

 “Any orders for him?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Do I need to give him any?”

 “Probably not,” he said, glancing down at his station. “Spinelli, full sensor lock on the hendecaspace points. Someone will be entering the system in a matter of moments, I suspect.”

 “Take us about,” Orlova ordered. “I want a firing solution on the hendecaspace point, Lieutenant, and if you see any Xandari vessels emerging, don't wait for my order, but fire at will.”

 “Coming around, ma'am,” Armstrong said, her hands dancing across the controls. “Eight minutes to the hendecaspace point. Six minutes to firing range. Building up speed to reduce our window in the firing line.”

 “Have Senior Lieutenant Powell prepare a course to Testament Station,” Orlova ordered, and Cantrell turned from her work to look at her.

 “We can't leave Cooper and Bradley behind,” she insisted. “They'll be killed.”

 Taking a deep breath, Orlova replied, “We've got to cover all the bases, Lieutenant. Neither of them would expect the rest of the crew to give their lives in a futile attempt to save theirs, and you know it. Return to your station.”

 Cantrell stared at her for a moment, as though she was about to reply, before shaking her head and turning back to the console, aggressively flicking switches and tapping buttons to bring the tactical computers on-line.

 “All decks reporting in, Captain,” Nelyubov said, peering at the status reports as they flooded in. “Alamo is cleared for action.”

 “Cooper has acknowledged our transmission,” Weitzman said. “He reports that they are proceeding with operations as planned.”

 “Thank you, Spaceman,” she replied. It was too soon, hours too soon, and with enemy ships entering the system, the worst possible time. Probably why Aussketi had chosen to force the issue now.

 “Weapons systems ready,” Cantrell reported. “Electronic warfare suite engaged.”

 “Now we wait,” Orlova said, looking at the strategic view. “And if I'm right, we won't be waiting for long.”

 “Dimensional instability!” Spinelli yelled. “Something's coming through, ma'am! Multiple contacts!”

 “Here we go again,” Nelyubov said, shaking his head, as Alamo surged towards the approaching vessels. Orlova looked around the bridge, her staff cool and competent, her ship ready for the battle to come. When everything else in the universe fell apart, at least she could count on that.

 “Emergence, ma'am!” Spinelli yelled, and Orlova looked up as the images on the display resolved themselves, forming a familiar pattern, a smile spreading across her face.

 “Daedalus,” she said, sighing with relief. “Contact...”

 “Ma'am,” Spinelli added, the color drained from his face. “I've still got multiple contacts incoming. They aren't alone.”

Chapter 19

 Harper watched as the starfield reappeared on the screen, the tactical display snapping into view to display Alamo diving towards the hendecaspace point, radiators extended. Ausori was moving slowly away, lumbering for safety, making for a series of scattered debris cloud. Salazar, at the helm, glanced back towards her with a frown on his face.

 “I've got Captain Orlova, ma'am,” Ingram reported.

 “Engines to full power,” Salazar said. “Thirty seconds at full thrust, and I'll start evasive sequences.” Looking across at a display, he added, “Enemy forces will be on us in forty-one.”

 Orlova's face flickered onto the screen, but before she could say anything, Harper began, “We've got fourteen enemy vessels in three groups coming right on our tail, Captain. With a little luck they'll be about as interested in attacking each other as they will in attacking Alamo. Whatever you do, try not to damage their fuel tanks.”

 Confusion flashed across Orlova's face as she replied, “We're getting your tactical data in now. Get out of the firing line as fast as you can. We've got a few tricks up our sleeve. Did the Xandari ambush you at Testament Station?”

 “No, we're being chased by a criminal syndicate working with the Xandari, a group of renegades from the Collective, and five Koltoc gunboats.”

 “Good god, Harper,” Nelyubov said. “You really know how to make friends, don't you.”

 “It's a skill, sir.”

 “Dimensional instability!” Arkhipov said. “Big, really big, coming in now!”

 “It can't be,” Salazar protested, pushing the protesting engines to the outer limits of their acceleration profile. “They're twenty seconds too soon. No one can accelerate in hendecaspace.”

 His eyes wide, Arkhipov said, “It's a Xandari Battlecruiser! Bearing directly on Alamo!” 

 “How the hell?” Scott asked.

 “We were so damn smart,” Harper said, smashing her fist on the arm of her chair in frustration. “So damn focused on playing off the opposition back at Testament Station that we didn't realize they were playing us.”

 “The suit ride?” Salazar asked. “They couldn't have timed it that precisely.”

 “Plenty of systems one jump from both systems,” Scott said with a sigh. “And with traitors on Ausori to relay information before we left the original colony...”

 “Later, people,” Harper said. “We've got a battle to win. Pavel, bring us about. Right down the nose of the enemy ship. Scott, I want a firing solution on that bastard, targeting engines and weapons.”

 “We're going to attack them?” Ingram said, shaking his head.

 “Why not?” Salazar replied. “We sure as hell can't outrun them, not without a lot more lead time. I'd rather go down fighting.”

 “I'd rather not go down at all, if you don't mind,” Scott said. “Firing solution coming up, combat range in three seconds.”

 “Three seconds,” Ingram repeated, wide-eyed.

 “Bringing her around,” Salazar said.

 “Harper,” Orlova said. “Hold on. We're coming.”

 “Hang back, Maggie,” Harper said. “You've got a lot more hell coming your way, and you can't get to us in time.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied with a half-smile, “For once, trust that someone else knows what they are doing. Good hunting. Alamo out.”

 “Firing solution locked into the computer, missiles loaded,” Scott said. “Want me to fire them all? One salvo?”

 “Damn right,” Harper said. “I want you to smash some chunks out of that bastard. Try and time it so the first wave of ships sees what we're doing. Let's put on a show.”

 “Energy spike!” Arkhipov said. “Two laser-missiles launching, heading our way.”

 Nodding, Harper stepped forward to Salazar, and said, “Get us close, as close as you can.”

 “Fifty meters distance suit?”

 “Twenty would be better.”

 Salazar whistled, and rattled instructions into the helm, warning lights blaring all around as the small ship dived towards the behemoth before them. Daedalus rocked back on its thrusters as Scott fired their single missile salvo, seven tiny darts racing towards their target, scattering in multiple directions as they dived to the targeted subsystems. On either side, the laser-missiles moved into position, carefully positioning themselves to get a shot.

 The Xandari might have managed to arrange an ambush, but they hadn't been able to coordinate it properly, that much was certain. One pulse of those laser-missiles would rip a battlecruiser to shreds, and against a small ship such as Daedalus, they represented unnecessary overkill. They'd been expecting to attack Alamo as their first target.

 “Dimensional instability!” a resigned Arkhipov reported with a sigh. “Fourteen ships entering the system, just as we expected. Three waves, two seconds apart. I'm surprised they didn't cause a quantum fissure.”

 For a second, Harper thought the tactical display would crash, the new course projections stuttering into view on the screen as the new arrivals jostled for position. They'd had three days to get used to the idea that they would be fighting each other upon their exit from hendecaspace, but most of them wouldn't have been expecting to see a Xandari capital ship directly ahead. On cue, Daedalus' missile spread smashed into the enemy vessel, burning holes in their hull in seven places, the ship drifting slightly to the side from atmosphere leak before correcting its course.

 “Damage to their aft thrusters, long-range communicators, one launch tube, lots of minor systems,” Arkhipov read from his screen. “We've made a mess of them, ma'am, but I think we've just made them angry.”

 “Coming up on closest approach,” Salazar said, frantically making adjustments to throw them clear, a rattle on the hull as they slammed into the debris field their missile impacts had created. The enemy ship raced past in a second, all eyes focused on the viewscreen as the gray blur of the enemy vessel briefly came into view. All around them, chaos reigned, as the Syndicate ships, the only ones who knew what they were up against, moved into an attack formation on Daedalus, the trajectory lines crossing barely seconds into the future.

 The rest of the ships were spiraling away in all directions, the Koltoc vessels attempting to get into a formation while the rest of the Neander ships moved towards the Syndicate ships, heading to defend the lumbering Ausori. Alamo was still heading for them, and as she watched, another twelve missile tracks appeared on the screen, gliding towards the Xandari warship.

 “Energy spikes! Everywhere!” Arkhipov said, as Salazar struggled to navigate through the mess, missile tracks forming up all around them. The two laser-missiles were out on the perimeter, moving away, the enemy tactical officer obviously as confused by the situation as everyone else. Two of the Neander missiles were heading in their direction, too late as the Xandari warheads exploded, sending their laser pulses smashing through space, destroying two ships, one Koltoc, one Neander.

 “That was a mistake,” Salazar said, swerving to the side.

 “Incoming missiles!” Arkhipov added. “Three of them, bearing directly. Thirty-one seconds to impact.”

 “Evasive, Pavel,” Harper unnecessarily ordered, leaning forward in her chair, urging the ship onward. Salazar frantically worked the controls on his console, sending the ship lurching around in a desperate bid to confuse them, but there was nothing he could do as the missiles remorselessly swept towards their target.  

 The heads-up display threw up an image of the projected yield, and it didn't take too much imagination to see the result of an impact. A tangled piece of metal drifting through the stars, that once was a Triplanetary warship. There wasn't even time to get to the escape pods.

 “Well, everyone,” Harper began, but Arkhipov turned from his station, a smile on his face.

 “The Neander are coming in!”

 Five missiles appeared on the screen, Skeuros' formation swinging around towards Daedalus like an avenging angel, the course tracks homing in on the Xandari warheads as they raced towards their destiny. Warning alarms flashed on and off as the projected impact times switched from seconds to infinity, and she held her breath as she watched all of the tracks converge.

 Alarms sounded on the bridge as the missiles exploded, the status board lighting up with a series of pulses, Lombardo throwing controls to bring up a damage report. Salazar shook his head in disbelief as he tapped a second selection of controls, swinging the ship in to join the Neander formation, recklessly burning fuel to match course and relative speed.

 “Minor outer hull breaches on every deck from close-range shrapnel,” Lombardo reported. “Nothing serious, no casualties reported. Damage control teams are on the way.”

 “Koltoc ships moving in!” Arkhipov said, gesturing at the display. The surviving ships had formed a delta formation, and launched eight missiles simultaneously, diving towards the scattered Xandari craft. Explosions rippled across the screen as warheads smashed into each other, the Syndicate vessels responding in kind.

 “We're being hailed,” Ingram said, “Skeuros for you, ma'am.”

 “Put him on. Pavel, keep us in their formation and follow their lead. I feel safer with some friends close by.”

 “Friends?” Scott asked, shaking her head. “Let's hope they've got short memories.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” he said with a smile, as the Neander flashed onto the screen.

 “It's a bit busier here than you said,” he replied, shaking his head. “That's a Collective ship up there.”

 “With several thousand refugees on board,” Harper said in response.

 Turning to the side, he barked a series of orders in an unfamiliar language, before fixing his gaze back on Harper. “And the ship heading our way?”

 “The Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo, our mothership. She was waiting here to protect them while we went to get fuel for the transport. She was damaged in an earlier firefight with the enemy.”

 “Damn it all, why didn't you tell me! You'd have had all the fuel you needed, and reinforcements as well!”

 “Would you have trusted us, if the roles were reversed? I couldn't take the risk.”

 “No, I suppose not,” he said with a sigh. “Head to the rear of the formation. I'm going to go full-burn towards the Ausori, try and put together a screen.” A second wave of missiles flashed into view, the Neander launching a partial strike towards the enemy battlecruiser. More contacts lit up as the Xandari ship responded, and another Neander ship dived to the side, wracked by impacts along its starboard hull, tumbling away into space.

 Kilquan appeared on the screen, calm and implacable as figures moved behind him on the bridge. He shook his head, as though the whole situation was somehow beneath his dignity.

 “My complements, Lieutenant,” he said. “You have played this all very well. We have no choice but to assist you in this fight, but I warn you that there will be a reckoning later. I assure you of that. Skeuros, if my readings are correct, you are committing to a defensive role.”

 “I've got a few thousand people to save,” he replied, bluntly.

 Alamo's first missile salvo, the hidden warheads launched less than a minute ago, hove into view on the close-range sensor display, and two of the Syndicate ships swung forward, moving between them and the larger ship, taking the hits meant for the battlecruiser, their images replaced on the display with slowly expanding clouds of debris.

 “Then we will deal with the Syndicate vessels. By the looks of it, the odds are improving rather rapidly in any case. Kilquan out.”

 Shaking her head, Harper said, “How are we doing, Pavel?”

 “Coming out of the combat area now, heading for the Neander vessel.” He glanced across at the sensor display, shaking his head, “Everything seems to be forming up now, but I've seen better strategic planning from first-year cadets.”

 As Daedalus withdrew from the area, the enemy battlecruiser launched another pair of laser-missiles, but Kilquan's squadron was on alert, knocking them out of the sky long before they could find a target. Gradually, the battle was resolving into three fronts. The Koltoc forces were lingering at the hendecaspace point, dueling with the ever-dwindling Syndicate vessels, and Alamo was moving in to face off against the battlecruiser, two leviathans ready to fight it out. The remaining vessels, gathered into a loose clump, ranged towards Ausori, and Harper watched with satisfaction as they smoothed onto their course. At last things were swinging their way.

 “Hail Ausori,” she said, turning to Ingram. “Let's see if they have any sort of defensive capability yet. We might be able to integrate our missile screens.” Pausing, she added, “And I definitely want their electronic warfare suite up and running. That ship's got more processing power than the rest of this squadron put together.”

 After a moment, Ingram replied, “I can't raise them, ma'am. I'm not getting any signal from the transport, not on any frequency.”

 “They're still moving away,” Arkhipov added. “Gaining speed, but not enough to give us any trouble.”

 “What's the idea?” Salazar asked. “We've got to try and establish some sort of tactical formation.”

 “Energy spike!” Arkhipov said. “Three missiles launched by Ausori.”

 “What the hell?” Scott said. “They won't be in range of the Xandari vessels for three, four minutes yet.”

 “They aren't aimed at the Xandari, ma'am,” the technician replied. “They're heading right for us! Impact in one minute, five seconds.”

 “Our new friends have launched missiles to counter their strike,” Scott said. “We're safe, at least from this salvo. Interception in twenty seconds, well short of us.”

 “That isn't what's worrying me,” Harper said, her eyes fixed on the approaching craft. “What the hell is going on over there?”

Chapter 20

 “Come on, we've got to move!” Cooper said, racing down the corridor with Walpis in tow. Kelot froze in front of his status screen, the four officers with him glancing up at their commander with concern on their faces.

 “What's happened?” Kelot asked.

 “They're going to execute the prisoners in ten minutes, and an enemy fleet just jumped into the system.”

 “Then that's the last time...”

 “Damn it, Kelot, what do you think their next move is going to be? They aren't going to just sit up on the bridge and wait for it to be over, they're going to move against Alamo.” Alarms wailed down the corridor, the crew being summoned to their battle stations. “Besides, this is the perfect time. Everyone's distracted, everyone's panicking.”

 Kelot shook his head, turned to the nearest subordinate, and said, “Assemble the men, and inform them that we will be initiating Operation Plan Bravo in five minutes. Wish them all the best of luck for me.” Drawing a pistol from his belt, he glanced at Cooper, and gestured down the corridor, adding, “Come on. Let's go.”

 “Aren't you needed here?” Walpis asked.

 “Ensign, Plan Bravo calls for one hundred and nine separate engagements on eighty-four decks. I just ordered total chaos to envelop this ship, and right now, it doesn't really matter which battle I take part in. My staff can handle anything that needs to be done.”

 “Debate later,” Cooper said, moving into the lead. “Let's go.”

 The trio raced down the corridor, turning a corner and pushing past a quintet of startled technicians, one of whom pointed and yelled something at them as they moved along, heading to a wall communicator. Walpis glanced at Cooper, who shook his head. Stealth was out of the question now, substituted by speed. The enemy would know of their approach soon enough, regardless of whether they wasted time to silence over-inquisitive civilians.

 Skidding into an elevator, Walpis slammed onto the controls, sending it racing down through the decks, while Kelot entered a twenty-digit override sequence into the keypad, ensuring that they would not be diverted from their objective. The alarm abruptly changed in tenor, the whine growing more urgent, almost desperate, and Kelot shook his head.

 “Intruder alert,” he said, responding to Cooper's questioning look. “They're going to be ready for us.” He moved to the side of the door, pistol at the ready, and said, “We kill only if we must, not that I expect the Proctors to yield to such ethical considerations.”

 “Understood,” Cooper replied. “I just wish I knew what was going on outside. If Alamo losses the battle, so do we.”

 “And if we lose our battle, so do they,” Walpis noted.

 “True.”

 The doors slid open, a shot slamming into the wall behind them. Kelot calmly returned fire, dropping the single guard with a bullet to the leg, sending the Proctor tumbling to the floor with blood spilling onto the carpet, splatters of red on beige. The Neander looked up, eyes wide with terror, waiting for the bullet that would end his life, but Kelot simply shook his head and stepped over him, waving the others on.

 “We've got to keep moving. They'll be using Airlock One, and they'll have heavy guards. You two head down the main corridor. I'm taking a side route.” A grin on his face, he added, “It'll take longer, but they won't be expecting it.” He raced down a side passage, Cooper glancing after him for a moment before charging ahead, leaping over the wounded Neander, Walpis right behind him.

 “Do you think we can trust him, sir?” Walpis asked.

 “I don't think we have much of a choice,” he replied. Cooper felt a blow on his back, sending him crashing to the floor, and on instinct he rolled to the side, drawing his weapon and firing a snap shot at the figures moving into position ahead. He glanced back and saw Walpis, ducked into a compartment, an apologetic smile on his face.

 “Faster than telling you to duck, sir.”

 “But rather more painful,” he replied, scampering forward into another compartment, surprising a pair of half-dressed Neander lying together on a couch. He shrugged, shook his head, and peered back out into the corridors as the lovers took hasty cover, still wrapped in each other's arms. For a second, he felt a pang of jealously, knowing that his wife was somewhere down there, and that she would be dead in a matter of moments. Unless she already was, killed as soon as they began their assault. That had always been a risk, but one he had no choice but to take.

 The guards at the far end of the corridor were doing their job well. Two of them were providing covering fire while the others moved forward to set up a barricade. Doubtless reinforcements were already on the way, and in a matter of moments they would find themselves surrounded. Not that they had moments to spare.

 With a wild scream, Cooper rose to his feet and sprinted down the corridor, firing a snap shot that brought down one of the gunmen. Walpis followed, a look of grim despair on his face, the two of them weaving from side to side in a desperate attempt to avoid the incoming fire. Reaching into his pocket, Cooper hurled a lump of metal forward, and the Neander scattered to avoid what they presumed was a grenade.

 That gave them the chance they were looking for, and three quick shots opened up the corridor once more, allowing them to proceed. He glanced forward, shaking his head. It was a long run to the airlock, down a good portion of the length of the ship, and he redoubled his pace, panting as Walpis drew level with him.

 They sprinted past doors and turnings, heedless of the usual combat procedure, not even glancing aside to make sure that no enemy forces were sneaking up around them. They were deep in hostile territory, their options for escape dwindling by the second. As they passed an open elevator shaft, Cooper heard the rattle of machine-gun fire from the lower deck, the scream of a wounded man crying for his mother. There was at least one more battle taking place out here, though he had no way of knowing who was winning.

 Another Neander strayed out into the corridor, then stared wide-eyed in panic at the advancing group. He wore a technician's jumpsuit, and froze in terror as they approached, Walpis unable to avoid colliding with him, sending the two of them tumbling to the ground. Unable to pause for even a minute, Cooper jumped over the tangle and continued his desperate race against time, while the Corporal attempted to disentangle himself and follow.

 Finally reaching the end of the corridor, he turned to the airlock, where he saw his wife kneeling on the floor, flanked by Neander on either side, with Morigna standing over her, a pistol pointed directly at her head. Cooper rose his pistol to cover the group, locking eyes with the leader of the Proctors.

 “One more step, and she dies,” Morigna said.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Let her go.”

 “She has been found...”

 “You killed them,” Cooper said, coldly. “You might not have pulled the trigger, but you gave the order.”

 “Drop your weapon, or she dies.”

 “If she dies, so do you, a heartbeat later. And a hundred, a thousand others will come forward to take my place. You've lost, Morigna. You can't win, and you know it.”

 “It isn't too late.” The Neander gestured at the airlock, and said, “There's an escape pod waiting on the other side of that door.  Here's how this plays out. Call your friends, tell them to stand down and return to their quarters. Then you can leave, right now, and allow us to finish tidying up the mess you have made.”

 “And Segna?” Cooper asked. Morigna stepped aside to see an unconscious form on the floor, his face a mass of bruises and cuts.

 “He stays here. Put down your weapon, Ensign, and I will allow you both to live. For the present, anyway. The Xandari have arrived, and will destroy your ship in a matter of moments.”

 “Don't do it, Gabe!” Bradley said. “There's too much at stake.”

 “I'm sorry,” Cooper said with a sigh, keeping his pistol level. “Stand down, Morigna, and I will spare your life. Though I suspect the judge won't.”

 “Bad call, Ensign,” she retorted.

 Behind him, Cooper head a loud click, and turned to see another Neander moving behind him, weapon at the ready. For an instant, Morigna had a triumphant look on her face, certain that she had lured Cooper into a trap, but a single shot rang out and the infiltrator dropped to the ground, a red stain spreading across his face, as Walpis moved up to cover the group.

 “Sorry I got held up, sir,” he said.

 “Don't mention it, Corporal,” Cooper replied.

 Taking a deep breath, Morigna said, “Last chance, Ensign. I warn you now. There's nothing you can do to prevent me from pulling the trigger. One twitch, one move, and she's dead.”

 Before Cooper could reply, Morigna's hand exploded, the pistol flying away from the bloody mess at the end of her arm, the Neander wailing in agony. Behind her, Kelot stood in gunfighter's pose, his face a grim mask. Bradley swung around with her legs, sending her tumbling to the deck, and Walpis dropped the other Proctors in two quick shots as Cooper ran forward to his wife, slipping a knife out of his pocket and slashing free her bonds with three smooth moves. He turned to look at the leader of the Proctors, now lying still on the floor, and shook his head.

 Bradley rose to her feet, rubbing her wrists, and said, “Thanks.”

 “Nice shooting,” Kelot said, walking slowly down the corridor, his pistol in his hand.

 “You didn't do so badly yourself,” Cooper replied.

 Walpis knelt down beside the badly beaten Segna, and said, “He's in a bad way. Broken ribs, broken arms, and he's getting awfully pale.”

 “They took turns kicking him, after Morigna had knocked him out,” Bradley replied. “He took a blow that was meant for me, and I think they wanted to take it out on him.”

 “We can't move him,” Walpis said.

 “No need. I already have a medical team on the way. Turns out a lot of the population are switching sides now that they know they have a choice.” Waving his communicator, Kelot said, “We now control more than a third of the ship, and we've drawn away most of the guards from the bridge.” He looked at Bradley, and said, “If you can move, we've got a chance to get this over with quickly.”

 “Where?”

 “Two decks down, right below us. There's an accessway that should drop us right onto the bridge, and one of my parties is launching a distraction attack on the door right now.”

 “I can move,” Bradley said. “You'll need me to operate the systems, anyway.”

 Walpis nodded, and added, “There's nothing much we can do for the wounded up here.”

 “Come on,” Cooper said, moving over to the hatch, Kelot stepping in front of him.

 “My privilege, sir.”

 “The first one down that hatch is the one that will face the greatest risk.”

 “I know,” the Neander replied. “That's why I said it was my privilege to face the risk.”

 “If you get killed…”

 “To hell with the pair of you,” Bradley said, snatching Morigna's discarded pistol from the floor, before stepping through the shaft. “Follow me.”

 Cooper quickly swung after her, while Kelot paused for a second, chuckling as he said, “I think I see why you married her, Gabe.”

 “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

 Walpis was the last one onto the shaft, closing the hatch as he climbed through, in case the others on the scene meant them harm. Cooper followed Bradley down the tunnel as close as he dared, keeping his hand on his pistol, the gun rattling against the rails as he descended. A foul stink filled the air, and he climbed past the relic of a long-dead rodent leering at him, a skeletal smile briefly illuminated by their flashlights. No surprise that this tunnel was unused.

 Bradley reached the bottom hatch, standing next to it, and waited for a brief second while the others moved into position, pointing their guns at the floor. At the count of three, she kicked open the hatch, swinging her foot into the control, and it dropped away to reveal a startled Neander sitting in the command chair, who barely had a chance to look up before Kelot shot her in the shoulder, sending her toppling forward.

 The action moved in a blur as the four of them dropped down to the deck below, rolling behind cover as they hastily moved to disable the guards on the bridge. Bullets rattled around, smashing into vital equipment, sending sparks flying everywhere, the traitor crew making what they knew was a last, desperate stand.

 With a loud grinding sound, the main hatch opened, Bradley managing to sprint across to the release mechanism, knocking aside the guard with a swing of her elbow, reinforced by a bullet from Walpis. The rest of Kelot's guards stormed in, and the remaining traitors raised their hands, staring at each other, expecting to be shot out of hand.

 “Take them to detention,” Kelot ordered, as Bradley moved over to the master control panel, quickly scanning the unfamiliar equipment, Cooper walking to her side.

 “I'm trying to get a status report,” she said, gingerly tapping controls.

 “Life support nominal,” one of the Neander reported from the rear.

 “No surprise,” Kelot said. “That's the first section we secured.”

 “Communications are out,” Bradley said, shaking her head. “We don't have helm control, astrogation, or power systems management. All critical systems have been re-routed to somewhere else.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “A decoy. They've set up shop somewhere else.” He looked around at the dead and the captured, and added, “None of these are bridge technicians, just guards.”

 “I've got sensors!” another of the Neander said. “Tactical display coming up on the main viewscreen.”

 The image flashed into life, and Cooper got his first view of the battle beyond, a series of flashing readings that filled him with dread. Alamo and another, larger vessel were closing on each other, with a host of smaller craft dashing around, moving in all directions. As he watched, three new dots appeared on the screen, tracking away from Ausori, heading right for Alamo. Missile tracks.

 Kelot shook his head, and said, “We can't get down there. Not in the time. There are six decks of enemy-controlled territory in the way.”

 “We'll have to think of something,” Cooper said. “Alamo can't send in reinforcements until that missile bank is knocked out.” He gestured at the status panel, and added, “By the looks of that, the Proctors are beginning to rally, and if the Xandari get close, they'll have all the help they need to retake the ship.”

 “I've found auxiliary control!” Bradley said, a smile on her face that quickly broke into a frown. “There's a level underneath the ship's reservoir.”

 “That's only storage,” Kelot protested.

 “All the power and control relays lead down there.” Shaking her head, she continued, “If we want to end this, that's where we have to go.”

 “No point wasting time here, then,” Cooper said. “Let's move.”

Chapter 21

 Orlova wiped the sweat from her forehead, looking at the tactical display, flicking controls in a desperate bid to concoct some sort of order from the strategic chaos of the battlespace. None of them had proper transponders, and the designs were so different that even the computer was having difficulty of deciding which side the various vessels were on.

 The Neander, at least, weren't a problem. Daedalus had swung into the lead, driving them into a long, low arc that took them into position to protect the huge, helpless transport. She turned to the communications station, Nelyubov yelling into a microphone in a desperate attempt to get some sort of status report from the refugee ship, and by the sounds of it, failing.

 By the hendecaspace point, the other two waves of ships were canceling each other out, the squadron identified by Harper as the Syndicate battling with the Koltoc ships, the latter just about winning but at a grave cost. Dozens of missiles filled the air, swinging around the warring vessels, a tangle of trajectory tracks so confusing that she had all but given up on working out which ships were under threat.

 This wasn't a fleet, and even if it was, she didn't have the time or the staff to handle one. The conflict had broken down into a series of individual battles, and Alamo had a fight of its own to worry about, the two largest vessels about to enter firing range.

 “I can't get anyone over there,” Nelyubov said, tearing his headset free in frustration. “Someone just told me to hold the line, that he'd try to find someone.”

 “Any information at all?” Orlova asked.

 “Nothing that makes any sense. Cooper managed to rescue Bradley, I did get that much, but I've got no idea whether or not they've managed to take control, or what the situation is across the rest of the ship.” He paused, then added, “There was gunfire in the background, though. A lot of gunfire.”

 “They're still launching missiles at the Neander squadron,” Spinelli added. “One wave every thirty seconds. We're getting some energy spikes from one deck below, as well. I think they're about to bring a second bank of missiles into play.”

 “None of them are any threat to us,” Nelyubov added, “but we don't dare launch any shuttles in their direction until they've been dealt with. Not that the Xandari will face that restriction.”

 “Firing range in thirty seconds,” Cantrell said. “All weapons systems ready to go. I have a data-link established with Daedalus, and Harper's taking over our electronic warfare suite.” Shaking her head, she added, “Not that it's going to make a damn bit of difference.”

 Orlova tapped a control, the display focusing on Alamo and its opponent, slowly gliding towards each other. Armstrong had done an excellent job at the helm, giving them a nice eighty-second window of opportunity for the two ships to tear themselves to pieces, but despite the damage it had already suffered, the Xandari battlecruiser was going to have more endurance on the firing line than Alamo. A few hits in the right place, and they'd lose the ship.

 “It's a mess,” Nelyubov said, returning to his position at the holodesk, standing opposite Orlova. “A huge, scrambled mess.” He looked up at the display, and said, “Orders, Captain?”

 “Missiles on counter-measure alert, laser for offensive action. Let's play this one safe. Try and focus on their shuttle bays and weapon systems, Lieutenant.”

 “Aye, ma'am. Midshipman, stand by to give me a line-of-sight pass in twenty seconds.”

 “Stopping a boarding action?” Nelyubov said.

 “If they get their shuttles into the air, we'll have a pretty nightmarish decision waiting for us. Right now any outside intervention could decide the fighting on Ausori, and I want it to be our side that wins.”

 “They'll go anyway, you know. Sergeant Gurung's called up to the bridge five times since Daedalus jumped into the system, demanding permission to launch.” He paused, smiled, and added, “Don't worry. I've made sure that they can only take off if one of us authorizes it.”

 “We don't dare. One close range salvo and we'd lose every shuttle, without a chance to do anything about it.” She looked up at the clock, shook her head, and said, “Five seconds to contact.”

 This time, Alamo had the advantage, and Armstrong swung the ship around, the laser unleashing its powerful pulse of energy at the enemy vessel, burning a black swathe down the side of the hull, atmosphere spilling out into space. At the same instant, Alamo rocked back as a salvo of missiles spilled out into space, but rather than racing towards their ever-nearer target, they moved into a loose formation moving ahead, ready to react to any enemy launches.

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli said. “Eight contacts inbound, multiple vectors, estimated thirty-five seconds to contact.” 

 “Ranging missiles to intercept,” Cantrell added. “Second salvo coming into the tubes.”

 Orlova watched as Alamo's missiles suddenly burned their engines at full, hurtling forward into the void, the trajectory plots interlocking with the incoming Xandari warheads. Eight against six were sad odds, but Cantrell was racing to get a second defensive spread up into the air, battling for time. Up ahead, one by one, the enemy missiles winked out, leaving only two heading for them. At the last second, Cantrell tapped a control, and the remaining missiles faded from the screen, far too close to Alamo for comfort.

 “Not so good,” Nelyubov said, as the enemy vessel launched another salvo. “They're going to wear us down at this rate.”

 “Third salvo coming,” Cantrell reported, frantically working her controls. “Harper's having no luck with the countermeasures.”

 “We didn't expect anything else,” Orlova said. She watched as the enemy battlecruiser swung towards them, aiming for a near miss, the trajectory ultimately passing far over the Neander transport. Reaching down to her console, while the bridge crew worked all around her, she hastily set up a tactical projection, assuming that the enemy vessel would start to decelerate as soon as it flew past Alamo.

 “Right to Ausori,” she said, looking up at Nelyubov. “We aren't the target today.”

 “There goes another Koltoc ship!” Spinelli said, as one of their allies exploded at the fringes of the battlespace.

 “They'll have to deal with us sooner or later,” Nelyubov replied, shaking his head.

 “And if they have the missile banks on Ausori, they'll overwhelm us quickly enough.” Turning to Cantrell, she said. “Will you get the third salvo up in time, Lieutenant?”

 “Just about, ma'am, but the fourth...”

 “Switch the remaining missiles of the second salvo to attack the enemy. Hurt them, Lieutenant, and badly.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” Cantrell said, shaking her head. “Midshipman, I want another line-of-sight on the enemy ship in three seconds. Try for the aft section this time. Maybe we can smash up their primary engines.”

 “Coming around,” Armstrong said, playing with her thrusters, her fingers dancing over the controls to silent music as the lumbering battlecruiser sang to her tune, lining up with the enemy vessel for the millisecond needed to take this shot. This time, a vast cloud of air raced from the gash the laser tore into her hull, sending her briefly spiraling out of control, the course projection quickly updating. A second later, four missiles rained into the enemy hull, ripping new breaches through the armor, exposing the compartments beneath.

 Still the enemy vessel came on, and now it was Alamo's turn. The new salvo dived towards them, and while Cantrell frantically labored at her controls, it was soon obvious that it wasn't going to be enough. The third salvo rocketed from the launch tubes, arcing up towards the incoming missiles, six canceling out six. Leaving two remaining.

 A low, dull whine rippled through the ship as the enemy warheads smashed home, the status boards drowned in red as warning alarms sounded. Nelyubov raced over to the rear section, running his eyes across the panel as he absorbed the information, Cantrell cursing at her unresponsive tactical controls.

 “I'm having trouble building power in the laser capacitors,” she said, shaking her head. “More damage to the power distribution nodes.”

 “They played it perfectly,” Erickson reported, shaking her head. “Damage to the laser transfer coils, as well as the forward dimensional sensor array. We can't leave the system now, even if we wanted to.”

 “We've still got plenty of business here,” Orlova said.

 “Some damage to sensor arrays on the under-hull,” Nelyubov added. “Nothing to worry about. I think we dodged the worst of the hits.”

 Smashing her hands on the controls, Cantrell said, “Laser's useless. It'll take five minutes to get it to anything like the required charge.” Glancing across at another control, she added, “Fourth salvo in the tubes, ready to fire in ten seconds.”

 “Get it moving,” Orlova said, looking at the enemy vessel. By now it should have launched its next wave of missiles, unless the damage had been more extensive that she had thought. Shaking her head, she glanced at the readouts, closest approach coming up in five seconds. After that, it would get harder and harder to put shots into the enemy, and they'd have accomplished their goal of taking the Neander vessel.

 “Course change,” she said, turning to Armstrong. With a deep breath, she ordered, “Give me ramming speed.”

 “Maggie?” Nelyubov said, his face pale.

 “We're playing chicken,” she replied. “Let's see who blinks first.”

 “Collision course implemented,” Armstrong said, her fingers shaking. Warning alerts streamed down the side of the viewscreen as the two vessels hurtled towards each other, neither commander willing to take the risk first. Nelyubov looked at Orlova as she took a step forward towards the helm, waiting to give the order to change course.

 The ship rocked, both tactical officers having the same idea, Alamo's warheads smashing into the Xandari missiles as they attempted to take advantage of the minimal range. At the final second, just as Orlova thought it would be too late, the enemy vessel fired a long pulse with its thrusters, sending them on a wildly divergent course, out of the battlespace.

 “You took a hell of a risk,” Nelyubov said with a sigh. “If they'd stuck to their usual battle tactics, sacrificing one ship to take out another would have seemed like a good trade for them.”

 “Not today,” she replied. “They still have a lot of work to do, and for that matter, so do we. Helm, bring us about. I want another interception course on that vessel as fast as we can. Can we get another salvo into the air?”

 “Aye, ma'am,” Cantrell replied, a smile on her face. “Sixth salvo will be ready in thirty seconds. Just within firing range if I optimize them for maximum boost.”

 “See to it,” Orlova ordered. Nelyubov was looking down at the status monitor, frowning at the reports flooding onto the screen.

 “Lots of secondary damage from those two hits, and we've got several hundred outer hull breaches from debris,” he reported. “Only two internal hull breaches, though. No deaths, but half a dozen casualties, all from the ship's outer areas. Could have been a lot worse, Captain.”

 “For them it was,” she replied, flicking a switch to take a look at the wider picture. The battle around the hendecaspace point was opening up as the combatants had a chance to build up speed, and the Neander were forming a loose clump, biased in the direction of the enemy battlecruiser, ready to take another salvo in the defense of their people. As she watched, Ausori put up another three missiles, the defenders knocking them down quickly, before they could pose a threat.

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli said, looking up at his console. “Six warheads, bearing directly.”

 “Only six,” Nelyubov replied. “We must have done some damage.”

 “Salvo launching now, ma'am,” Cantrell said. “Coming onto an intercept course.”

 “Course change completed,” Armstrong reported, turning from the helm. “Second combat window in nine minutes, ten seconds.”

 “Enough time to get the laser back on-line,” Erickson said.

 Orlova frowned as she watched the sensor display, watching the missiles range towards each other, an act of silent inevitability. It didn't make any sense. The last shot was bound to be intercepted, and they'd delayed long enough to give Alamo plenty of time to reload. As a rule, the Xandari were a lot smarter than that.

 The realization hit her a second too late, as the missiles exploded in a silent wave of death, a new cloud of debris filling the crowded battlespace. She cursed under her breath as she stepped over to Cantrell, looking down at the tactical systems monitor.

 “How long for another salvo?”

 “Forty-five seconds,” she replied. “We're running the fabricators pretty hard.”

 “Too late,” she said.

 “What is it?”

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli said.

 Nodding, Orlova said, “Shuttles, launching towards Ausori.”

 “There's nothing we can do,” Nelyubov replied, shaking his head, looking up at the status panel. “They'll be out of range in seconds.”

 “Contact Harper,” she said. “Let's see if Daedalus can get back into the dance.”

Chapter 22

 Harper looked silently at the sensor display, watching as the situation worsened with each second. The curse of it was that they were winning, overall. Their ships were outmatching those of the enemy, and the few reports she was getting from Cooper on the Neander transport suggested that they were turning the tide over there, as well.

 None of that would matter if those shuttles made it in. Daedalus and the rest of the squadron looked pitifully small in comparison to the incoming vehicles, the enemy battlecruiser now descending back down upon them, ready to unleash the full force of its missile loads. She glanced across at Salazar, busily working the helm, then across at the frustrated Scott, her job for the battle concluded with the expenditure of their ordnance during the first strike on the enemy vessel.

 “Options, people,” she said. “We can't let those shuttles get on board Ausori.” Turning to Scott, she asked, “How many troops on board?”

 “Anywhere between eighty and a hundred and forty,” she replied. “Presumably trained and experienced combat veterans, and equipped better than anything they are liable to face when they land.”

 Nodding, Salazar said, “They'll hook up with the Proctors, and between them overwhelm the loyalist forces under Kelot. Then either massacre the civilians or return them to slavery. Even if we win the rest of the battle, we've lost the war if we lose control of that ship.”

 “Signal from Skeuros, ma'am,” Ingram reported. “He wants to know our intentions.”

 “So do I,” Harper muttered, looking at the scrambled images on the monitor. None of the options were good. They could knock down the shuttles, but that would leave them vulnerable to an attack from the very ship they were meant to be defending, and certainly Daedalus would not survive a full-scale assault. The battlecruiser closing on them complicated matters still further, and though Alamo had delayed them, they'd still be facing them alone for a devastating sixty seconds.

 “We've got to change the picture,” she said, shaking her head. “We've got eight launch tubes between us. If we can add six more into the fight, then we've got a chance of bringing the bastard down. Smash the shuttles to pieces before they can launch.”

 “I know what you are thinking, ma'am, but if Cooper and his forces could have taken control of the missiles by now, they would have.”

 “No,” she replied. “They might not be able to grab them, but we can.”

 Her eyes widening, Scott replied, “We'd never get a shuttle across in the time.”

 “Pavel, take us in as close as you dare to the missile tubes. Ingram, contact Skeuros and the rest of the Neander squadron, and have them cover our backs. Then get Rhodes and the rest of the Espatier force to Airlock One, suited and ready for battle. Assure them that I have no objection if they bring their plasma rifles along, on the condition that they bring an extra one for me.”

 Turning from the helm, Salazar said, “As the commanding officer...”

 “I'm the best hacker we've got, and they're using stolen United Nations hardware. If it was just a question of destroying those missiles, I'd leave it to you, but I'm the only one who might be able to suborn them in the time. Besides,” she added with a smile, “the last time I checked, I was in command, and what I say goes.” She rose from her chair, taking cautious steps back towards the door in the variable gravity, while Salazar struggled to bring them in towards the Neander vessel. A warning light flashed on, another half-salvo reaching up towards them, but Skeuros easily managed to knock them down in time.

 “They're not going to be able to keep that up for much longer,” Salazar warned.

 “Then we'll have to get this over with quickly. As soon as we make the jump, take the ship to a safe distance and prepare to engage the enemy. Leave the shuttles to us. Your job is to keep the enemy battlecruiser busy for long enough for Alamo to close and finish them off.” She paused at the door, glancing around the bridge, and added, “You have the deck, Pavel.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” he replied. “I have the deck.”

 She jogged down the corridor towards the airlock, Rhodes, Higgins and Medodkis waiting for her at the far end, already half-into their suits. With a curt nod, they stepped into the airlock while she hurriedly donned her suit, strapping the plasma rifle to her back and running up the charge cycle as her helmet computer booted up, running through an abbreviated version of the initialization checklist.  

 “Closest approach!” Salazar yelled, his voice echoing along the corridor, and the first group stepped out, the airlock cycling in record time to allow the second group to follow, only a handful of heartbeats later. Scott had taken control of the suit navigation from the bridge, guiding the group across the void between the two ships with liberal use of the on-board thrusters, a series of quick blasts sending them curving towards their target.

 She looked around, gasping as a brief collision alert flashed onto her screen, another missile launched from their target, the counter-missile sweeping past her close enough to see before the two of them collided. Patches of debris registered on her computer, amber alerts constantly flashing faster than she could dismiss them, the suit protesting at the insanity of their current course of action.

 Matters quickly worsened as they continued their approach. Despite their fuel tanks emptying with alarming rapidity, none of them were able to properly match speed with the lumbering Ausori ahead of them. One mistake would send her tumbling back out into space, unable to correct her course, gambling that she would be picked up by her own side before the enemy. Assuming her side won the battle.

 She could see the airlock, and reached out her hands to snatch at it, the rest of the boarding party doing likewise. Glancing at her sensor display, she smiled in satisfaction as she watched Daedalus nimbly dance around, swinging into position to intercept the incoming warship. At least she knew that she'd left her ship in good hands.

 The vessel rushed towards her, clouds of thruster fuel preceding her as the computer struggled to slow her to a safe level, but before she was quite ready, she slammed into the hull, just under her target, the airlock an inch out of reach. Desperately, she snatched at an antenna complex as she rebounded back, the last of her thruster fuel spent as she hung next to the freighter, taking a deep breath.

 Two suits were heading back out, their occupants unable to stop in time, thrown back out into the void. Only one other had made it, swinging carefully towards her, and she saw the irrepressible smile of Rhodes gleaming at her through the faceplate as he pointed down towards the airlock.

 “Three minutes, ten seconds,” he said, gesturing out towards the approaching shuttles.

 “Right,” she said. “Let's move.”

 Carefully but quickly making their way down the side of the ship, plasma rifles in hand, the two of them swung down to the sealed airlock, the control failing to respond at the first push. Rhodes lowered his gun into position, but Harper shook her head, pulling out a control rod and jamming it in, gambling that it would work, that the limited exposure she'd had with Neander software would have paid off.

 The outer hatch slid open, and the two of them dropped in, but the inner hatch stayed resolutely closed. This time, she motioned for Rhodes to position his weapon, reducing the power as low as possible to minimize the risk. She jabbed her hand on the override control, maintaining the vacuum. If there was anyone waiting outside for them, they were about to have a very bad day.

 A slender trickle of green flame soared from the barrel of the plasma rifle, splashing against the door, the pressure differential rupturing it with a loud report. Something had been standing on the far side of the airlock, but aside from a few tattered fragments of bone, there was nothing left of them as they walked into the ship.

 Quickly tugging free their helmets, they raced down the corridor, heading for the missile control room beyond. The internal layout of the ship was still hazy to them, but there was no mistaking the location of the weapons facility, and it could only be a few meters away. The pair of guards standing outside provided additional proof that they were in the right place, and they dived for cover as they saw the two heavily armed troopers racing towards them, firing a pair of shots that crashed worthlessly into their suits.

 Rhodes fired a second pulse of energy before Harper could stop him, the ball diving down the corridor, splashing on the wall at the far end, exposing a storage room beyond. Sprinklers began to drip from the ceiling, responding to the registration of the sudden increase in heat, and in the confusion, the two guards raced away, fleeing down a corridor.

 Placing the rifle back on her back, Harper pulled out a pistol and walked towards the door, counting down the seconds. She looked at Rhodes, now similarly armed, standing behind her, and ducked into the missile control room, firing at anyone standing around, each of them taking down a technician with well-aimed gunfire.

 The response was immediate, the rattle of a machine-gun sending bullets slamming into the hull all around them, Rhodes catching half a dozen shots in the side, grimacing with pain from the deep dents in his armor. Leveling her weapon, Harper fired twice, two precise shots that caught both the gunners in the forehead, sending them sprawling over their weapon. Rhodes looked at her gun, then at the bodies, shaking his head.

 “Lieutenant, I won the last ship's competition for marksmanship, but I'm an amateur compared to you.”

 With a smile, she tipped the pistol back, exposing a customized grip, and said, “I cheated. Experimental model, on-board guidance system that tracks the bullets in.”

 “I want one.”

 “No, you don't,” she said. “Any hacker worth a damn can send them anywhere they want. Fortunately, they don't have many over here. Keep an eye on the door, and watch your shots. Remember there are friendlies running around outside.”

 “I'm on it,” Rhodes replied, stepping back out into the corridor. Harper turned back to the controls, racing towards the main panel, scanning it for any sign of damage or disruption. Everything seemed intact, the targeting computers focused on Daedalus, the combat fabricator over on the side functional. The actual launch controls would be elsewhere, buried deep in the bowels of the ship, but with a little creative work she should be able to re-target the missiles from here.

 Placing her datapad on top of the panel, she quickly spliced a pair of cables into what she hoped was a maintenance panel, nodding as the start-up sequence flashed onto the screen. As she had hoped, this was Xandari technology, not Collective, and that meant that it had been stolen from elsewhere. In this case, the United Nations, though the controls and readouts were all in an unfamiliar language.

 The scanners showed the shuttles racing in, closing for their final approach, burning for a host of airlocks selected for the greatest strategic advantage. Someone was about to be sorely disappointed when their allies failed to arrive on time. Or at all.

 A hail of gunfire resounded from the corridor, Rhodes swearing as another bullet bounced off his battered armor. He looked longingly at his plasma rifle, but at a glare from Harper stayed with his conventional pistol. There was too much important equipment in this room for them to take a risk of damaging it.

 On the monitor, a row of numbers danced across the screen, and Harper tried to shut out the distractions of the battle around her, focusing tightly on the task at hand, her hands finding their positions on the panel as her hacking datapad, a distillation of all she knew, launched wave after wave of aggressive programs into the system, hunting down anything that it recognized and disrupting it, changing it, bringing it under her control.

 Given time, this would have been easy. No one on board had her skills, or had the training to match her in an electronic duel, but time was her most precious commodity, and with the shuttles closing towards their target, the one she could not afford to waste.

 She tapped her fingers impatiently on the console, watching as the monitor lights flicked on, periodically making manual overrides to the programming, until finally all of the lights flashed green, and the text flashed into English, the control surfaces gliding smoothly into position. A scream echoed around the corridor outside, followed by a series of loud reports as bullets crashed into the room, but none of that mattered.

 Harper had never had any formal tactical training, but the task at hand wasn't difficult. All she had to do was line up six missiles on six incoming targets, the computer doing all of the hard work for her. A light tap, and a loud roar reverberated around the room as her missiles launched, almost deafening her for a moment. The new tracks appeared on the screen, swinging into position towards the shuttles.

 The six pilots had only a handful of seconds to act, and there was nothing they could do to stop them. Perhaps with a little more time, they might have come up with a way out, some last-second miracle, but Harper had no intention of granting them such a chance. One by one, the lights flashed from the display, the shuttles destroyed along with the troops they carried.

 She sat back in the chair, sighing with relief as the missiles automatically reloaded, before leaning forward to find another target. Rhodes turned to her, his face covered in grime and smoke, shaking his head.

 “Can we get out of here now?”

 “Not on your life,” she replied. “We've got a fully-operational missile emplacement at our disposal, and I intend to make good use of it.” Tossing him her communicator, she added, “See if you can contact Cooper and get us some reinforcements.”

 “Yes, ma'am,” he said, doubtfully.

 “Relax, Corporal. This will all be over in a few minutes.”

 “I was just hoping to live long enough to make the victory party,” he replied, turning back to the corridor. Harper ran her hands across the controls, engrossed in her work, her sensors seeking out another target. Up ahead, any second now, Daedalus would be in battle with the enemy capital ship, and if there was anything she could do to help them, she would, no matter what the cost. The renewed rattling of gunfire from outside suggested just what that cost might be.

Chapter 23

 Salazar managed to restrain himself from glancing back at the empty command chair, inwardly cursing Harper for leaving him behind. He'd temporarily inherited command of an unarmed ship, on course to intercept one of the most heavily armed warships in space, with a group of warships following that were at least temporarily allies, but which may or may not do as he asked, and certainly weren't in even a semblance of battle formation.

 Rank aside, he'd never sought command, and the concept of commanding his own ship was still an alien one. Nelyubov had quietly sounded him out after Harper had been given command of Daedalus, and he had passed on the honest truth, that he was pleased she was getting the opportunity, and that he wasn't a little jealous. The concept that he might end up commanding a ship of his own had dawned on him in recent months, but it was always in the context of something he might do a decade from now, not something he would have to worry about for a long time.

 Nevertheless, all eyes on the bridge were upon him, calling on him to find some way through the current crisis. He looked up at the sensor display, hoping for a flash of inspiration, but all the readings provided was increased cause for despair. Alamo was a critical seventy seconds behind the enemy ship, just too distant to provide any help during the thirty seconds they would be in weapons range.

 “One minute, thirty seconds to contact,” Arkhipov reported, and Salazar trimmed his heading, trying to gain time. He glanced across at the Neander vessel, now with a sting in its tail for as long as Harper could keep control of the weapons systems, and a smile spread across his head as he changed course, swinging her back around towards Ausori.

 “Contact Skeuros,” he said, glancing back towards the communications station. “Tell him that I want him to continue on his formation, but to increase speed and make it look as though he is making for the far hendecaspace point. Tell him that he must get at least one salvo, preferably two, away.”

 Nodding, the technician got to work, and a few seconds later reported, “The squadron is proceeding as you request, sir, but I'm informed that they only have seven missiles left.”

 “Against that beast?” Scott asked.

 “They assure me that all of them will be dispatched, sir.”

 “Fine. Scott, get the command codes from the Neander. I want them to think that we're holding the missiles back for point-defense, while setting up for a time-on-target strike on their aft session. We've got to slow the bastards down to give Alamo a chance to finish it off.” Belatedly, he fished a communicator out of his pocket, dropping it on the helm and flicking open the channel. “Kris, you read me?”

 “That's Captain Kris to you, Pavel. What's wrong? We're a little busy here.”

 He heard the sound of a gunfight behind her, worry stabbing into his mind as he replied, “I'm not exactly having a ball out here. Can you get another salvo into the air in seventy seconds?”

 “Not a problem.”

 “Good. I want to show those Xandari bastards the proper welcome, and we're about out of party favors. We'll swing around after this pass and give you a hand. Help's on the way. I hope.”

 “You hope?”

 “I've never done this before.”

 “Sir, I've got the controls lined up,” Scott said, “but there's a lot of jamming out there, and we've only got a superficial link-up with the Neander missiles. If they weren't using pirated Republic software...”

 “The Lunar Republic has had a ship out here?” Salazar said. “One for the intelligence boys when we get back home.”

 “Anyway, if it wasn't for that, this wouldn't work at all.”

 “What's the problem?”

 “We need to be close if we don't want to risk losing control. Within fifty miles.”

 Lombardo whistled, shaking his head, and said, “We're going to be doing another close pass, aren't we, sir.”

 “Whatever the situation demands,” Salazar replied, flexing his fingers as he began to program the attack run. The trajectory track soared forward, reaching out to infinity, and the ship pivoted around, dropping back from the rest of the formation, slowing to allow it a chance to draw both sets of missiles into it.

 Precisely on time, the Neander launched their missiles, then roared their engines to full thrust in a bid to escape the oncoming vessel, swinging in a wide parabola that the Xandari vessel ignored. They were after greater prey, the unarmed Triplanetary vessel and the civilian ship it guarded. Without any more soldiers to dispatch or shuttles for reinforcement, only a single option remained. Obliteration.

 He glanced at the clock, counting down the seconds, as the ship slid into position between the battlecruiser and the transport, a lone guard holding the celestial pass. His hand rested on the engine controls, preparing to unleash the full acceleration of Daedalus. The ship might be old, but it was certainly fast.

 Harper's missiles surged from the Neander vessel, Scott frantically working her controls to bring them into formation, trying to make the different designs mesh into one unit. Finally, Salazar could get to work, and the force of the engines pushed him back into his couch as he drove the ship as hard as he dared, ignoring the conservative precautionary warnings, focusing instead on the more critical alerts that would herald the imminent destruction of the ship.

 “Energy spike!” Arkhipov said. “Two missiles launching from the Xandari vessel, taking positions on either side of the transport. I think they're laser-missiles, sir.”

 “They've given up taking the ship, then,” Scott said. “I wonder if that might give the traitors a change of heart.” Flicking a switch, she said, “I've sent two of Ausori's missiles to intercept. Five seconds.”

 “Going to be close,” Ingram said.

 Salazar watched the screen, his eyes widening as the tracks tangled together. Even under normal circumstances, that transport couldn't move quickly, but as they had almost willfully failed to complete their repairs, there was almost nothing they could do to protect themselves. Other than to launch a defensive salvo, but he'd already ruled out that possibility.

 Focusing on the task at hand, he trimmed his course as tightly as he could, guiding Daedalus to a close approach that would have had him thrown out of the Academy as a wild maniac if any of his old instructors had seen him. It had to be close, had to be quick. They'd be loading another salvo right now, and inevitably some of their missiles would fail to reach their target. Scott sent them dancing around in front of the scoutship, waving back and forth, ready should the Xandari decide to swat them out of the sky.

 Once again, he could see it, large and looming on the main screen, a malignant gray mass that grew by the second, bearing down on the Neander vessel. Another half-dozen targets clicked into view, Scott reacting before they had even been reported by the sensor operator, more of their precious missiles driving ahead to clear a path for the remaining five.

 Now it was up to him, and the enemy ship began to twist and turn, complicating his final trajectory. He looked down at the guidance computer, setting up for a return to Ausori, shaking his head. It felt as though they were rocketing through space a tremendous speed, but they'd built up precious little velocity with all the course changes over the last few minutes. Getting to their target wasn't going to be difficult, assuming they lived through the pass.

 In the blink of an eye, they swept past the ship, and Scott waved a triumphant hand in the air, whooping as her missiles rammed home, smashing into the rear section of the vessel and sending it tumbling. Alamo, up ahead, surged toward its target, all of the maneuvering edge now hers, the combat advantage well and truly established.

 “Threat warning!” Arkhipov reported as the cheer dissipated. “Two missiles launched at closest approach, on a direct collision course.”

 “Setting evasive pattern,” Salazar said, throwing the ship around in a desperate, futile hope to evade the computers. One glance up at the warbook told him everything he needed to know. These were normal, conventional missiles, nothing special about them, nothing out of the ordinary. They didn't have to be. Two hits to their rear section would kill half the crew, send them tumbling out of control through the cosmos, and that was the best-case scenario. More likely, they'd be wiped from the map in a single spasm of destruction.

 “Out of range of Ausori,” Scott reported. “Even if Harper could get a salvo up, they wouldn't be in time to help us.”

 A flash of inspiration raced across Salazar's mind, and he leveled off the ship, turning towards the approaching Alamo, ignoring the alarms and the warnings once again as he drove the vessel beyond the engineering limits, drawing every ounce of power from the reactor that he could drain. They had to go faster, faster, faster, had to close the range with their mother ship as quickly as they could, buy themselves at least a chance of survival.

 “Alamo reports they have a salvo ready to go,” Arkhipov said. “Thirty seconds, if we can make it.”

 “We'll make it,” Salazar said, his hands a blur on the controls. Flying a starship wasn't simply a matter of picking a direction and pressing a button. That was only the most superficial part of it. Balancing out the thruster loads between the primary engines, running the power distribution to make it as efficient as it could possibly be, making any one of a thousand minute tweaks that made the difference between acceptable and perfect performance, and in Salazar's world, at the helm, only perfection would do.

 Behind him, Maqua watched on, his eyes wide as he received a masterclass in flying from Salazar, the latter's eyes locked on the status boards, knowing that he was heading on the best course, simply trying to force the ship along it as rapidly as he could. Damage reports began to flood in as relays overloaded, backups snapping into place that couldn't last for long, but none of that mattered. Anything that went wrong during this wild ride could be repaired, but that only counted if there was a ship left to put back together again at the end.

 The bridge was silent, everyone watching the viewscreen and the helm, silently willing Daedalus to greater acceleration, greater speed, while the missiles resolutely tracked behind it. Harper launched a salvo from Ausori, a futile gesture but one that Salazar still appreciated. It seemed like years since he'd started the ship on this course. It had been, in fact, twenty seconds.

 Slowly, the time until impact trickled down, regardless of anything he did, but he continued to scramble across the controls, using every trick he knew and inventing more on the spot, trying to coax the vessel to break all acceleration records, ignoring the strain he felt as a new alarm sounded. It wasn't the ship in trouble now, but the crew, and he could see the all-too-familiar gray mist around his field of vision, his breathing becoming labored as a heavy weight formed on his chest.

 None of that mattered now. He could live with this for a few more seconds, and after that, one way or another, it wouldn't matter anyway. Finally, a green light flashed on, and six missiles tracked out from Alamo, reaching out towards Daedalus like the fingers of a giant, unseen hand, the courses running all the way to the missiles.

 It would have been heartbreaking to fail now, and all on the bridge held their breath for the final seconds, Salazar not pausing for an instant as he drove the ship on, waiting for the warning lights to flash off. Finally, at last, the approaching missiles winked off the display as Alamo's salvo crashed into them, and he threw a few more frantic switches to kill the acceleration, Daedalus' engines resting at last.

 “Engineering to bridge,” an impatient Perry called up. “I know there were good reasons for doing what you did, but if you even try and alter trajectory again until I've had a chance to check everything over, I'll come up to the bridge and hit you with a servospanner. Understood, sir?”

 “Understood, Tech,” Salazar replied, taking a deep breath, collapsing back on his couch. “Between you and me, I think we've earned a little break for a moment.”

 “Alamo launching shuttles, sir, inbound for the Neander ship,” Arkhipov reported.

 “Sergeant Gurung getting his way at last,” Salazar said, nodding. “Now comes the main event.”

Chapter 24

 “Shuttles away,” Nelyubov reported, looking up from his monitor. “Landing in three minutes, ten seconds. We've managed to set up a data link with Cooper through Harper, and the tactical network will be online shortly.”

 “Good,” Orlova replied, looking up at the monitor. “Looks like the Koltoc have just about cleared the hendecaspace point for us. Contact their commander, Weitzman, and ask...”

 “Course change!” Spinelli said. “Target aspect altering. Curving towards the Neander transport, engines at full. I think they're trying to ram.”

 Her eyes widening, Orlova said, “Damn. Armstrong, get us after them, maximum possible acceleration. Weitzman, see if there is anyone on Ausori able to move the damn ship. One brief burst on their thrusters at the last minute ought to be enough.”

 “Collision course confirmed,” Cantrell said. “Impact in two minutes, twelve seconds. We'll be in firing range in one minute, fifty.”

 “I can trim a few seconds from that,” Armstrong said, reaching down to switch on the acceleration overrides. A low growl rippled through the ship as the superstructure protested the surge of power, warning alarms flashing as the damaged decks fought to keep together. Nelyubov looked at Orlova, shaking his head.

 “We'd better get our shuttles out of the way, and I'll contact our people and tell them to abandon ship.”

 “In two minutes?” Cantrell asked.

 “It won't do any good,” Weitzman said, a dazed look on his face. “I just got through to Lieutenant Harper. All of the escape pods have been locked down, and there's no way anyone in a spacesuit could get out of the blast radius in the time. They're stuck there, ma'am, all of them.”

 “Then we'll just have to smash the Xandari to pieces first. Cantrell, I want missiles in the air the second we get into range, and target the laser to try and throw them off course.”

 “We already hit their oxygen storage,” she protested.

 “Water tanks then, fuel, anything that will send them tumbling. Erickson, find me a weak spot. That ship's heavily damaged, we must have exposed something critical.”

 “Working on it, ma'am.”

 As Alamo raced forward towards the enemy ship, Orlova looked up at the sensor display, trying to find someone who might be able to help. The Koltoc were sitting at the hendecaspace point, watching the fight, and she raged inside for a moment. Not that it would have done any good for them to be on the move. By the time they reached the refugee transport, all they would be able to do was pick up the pieces.

 Daedalus was limping around, but had thrown herself onto a wild course out of the battlespace during their encounter with the enemy vessel. She didn't have any missiles left in any case, and nor did the rest of the Neander ships, though that wasn't stopping them swinging around, trying to race back to their people in time.

 This fight belonged to Alamo, and all eyes were locked on the trajectory plot on the viewscreen as the ship dived towards its target. Two, three minutes, a chance to unleash a half-dozen missile salvos, and she could guarantee ripping that vessel into its component atoms, but they'd only have two shots before they ran out of time.

 The structural projections of the impact didn't off any hope, either. The most likely outcome was an explosion that would destroy both ships, incidentally causing heavy damage to Alamo and most of the Neander squadron as a side effect. A rational plan, a sensible plan, would be to veer off, get out of the impending debris field, and live to fight another day. No one would object to it.

 Except that she'd never sleep again, knowing that she had failed thousands of people who were counting on her for protection. They may have chanted slogans against the Triplanetary Confederation, but now everyone who wasn't fighting over there would be watching the monitors, hoping and praying for a miracle, and it was Alamo's job to provide them with one.

 “Ninety seconds to contact,” Nelyubov said. He paused, then added, “Recommend all non-essential personnel proceed to the escape pods.”

 She looked up at him, nodded, and pulled out a microphone, saying, “This is the Captain. All personnel not Combat Status One will report to the escape pods on the double. Prepare to abandon ship on my order. That is all.”

 “You think anyone will go?” Cantrell asked, flicking switches on her station, locking the firing solution into the targeting computer. “I wouldn't. Stuck out there in an inflatable ball, in a system full of potentially hostile vessels? Not much of a chance, ma'am.”

 “While there's life, there's hope, Lieutenant,” she replied.

 All was quiet as they continued their dive, Weitzman still trying and failing to contact anyone on the transport ahead. She sighed in frustration, tapping in a navigation program to feed to them. One second at low thrust would save them, even with only five seconds before impact.

 “Got it!” Erickson said. “Structural weakness in their mid-section, right by that last series of missile shots. There's an exposed portion of the superstructure, and if we can break through it, the damn ship will snap in two.”

 “With both sides drifting past on opposite sides,” Nelyubov said.

 “Armstrong...” Cantrell began.

 “Course locked into the computer, ma'am. You'll have a firing solution at plus-one second into firing range.”

 “At least we know they won't be trying evasive action,” Nelyubov added.

 “Neither will we,” Orlova said. “Lieutenant, your every effort is to be focused on knocking out that ship. Nothing for defense. Got that?”

 “Aye, ma'am,” she said, her eyes locked on her station.

 Orlova glanced around the bridge, Erickson grim-faced as she ran her hands over the engineering station, routing damage control teams to where they would do the most good. Alamo was a glass dagger at the moment, brittle and damaged, and she was committing them to accepting multiple missile hits with no chance of repair.

 She glanced at the course projection, concerned for a moment that Alamo might end up finishing the job the Xandari vessel had started if they lost navigational control, but Armstrong had thought of that already, throwing them a few hundred meters over the transport, just enough to provide a bare margin of safety.

 Twenty seconds until contact, until they began a brief spasm of activity that would determine whether or not they would live or die. One of the Neander ships, the leader, was sweeping in, and might just make it in time to do something, and at a quick nod, Weitzman started to transmit targeting data to the vessel.

 Everything seemed to slow to a crawl, the seconds lingering on the clock, time dragging as the crew completed their preparations for battle. The radiators, now battered and pock-marked from debris impacts, swung out on either side, Alamo a huge bird-of-prey swooping in for the kill. Cantrell rested her hand on the missile controls, ready to guide them towards their targets.

 Weitzman was back to a running commentary, switching through frequencies in a desperate hope that he might come up with some solution, find someone who could help, while Spinelli sat back in his chair, basking in the trio of monitors around him, knowing that all that remained for him was to watch the show.

 “Five seconds,” she muttered, stepping forward to the helm, gazing at the viewscreen and the magnified image of the enemy ship upon it, a small red box on the target area. Armstrong's face was a mask of concentration as she lightly tapped the thrusters, trying to get the laser shot into position, the key that would unlock the destruction of the enemy.

 “Now!” Cantrell said, and the laser pulsed its energy at the Xandari vessel, the impact precisely on target as it ripped a huge gash in the hull, bare metal sticking out, the skeleton of the beast exposed to space. Armstrong cursed, and Orlova placed a hand on her shoulder. They might have hoped to finish the enemy off with this shot, but it wasn't realistic. Now the missiles would do their work, and the ship rocked back as the last salvo dived forward, new trajectory tracks flashing into position on the display. 

  All was silent again, only the clicking of controls from the tactical station as Cantrell guided the missiles in. The enemy vessel began to move, twisting and turning on its axis, attempting to protect themselves from the impact. A trio of missiles soared up, reaching towards the incoming salvo, but Cantrell had anticipated that, and swung her warheads down low, underneath them, trying to get them past the screen.

 She failed. Two of the enemy missiles found their targets, wiping out the incoming warheads in a brief flicker of destruction, but there was still a chance. Still four more missiles from Alamo heading towards their target. Orlova turned back to the tactical display, looking at the course tracks, holding her breath for the final seconds.

 In quick succession, all four missiles made it to the target, and the whole crew waited for something to happen, watched for the destruction to the enemy vessel that was needed, that could save the Neander ship. After three seconds, Orlova closed her eyes, a darkness sweeping her soul as she realized that it hadn't been enough. The Xandari battlecruiser still dived towards its target, barely forty seconds remaining before impact.

 Taking a deep breath, she said, “Armstrong, lock Alamo onto the weak spot we were looking for. Maximum acceleration.”

 “Maggie,” Nelyubov said.

 “All hands abandon ship.”

 “Aye, ma'am,” Armstrong said, her fingers white as she entered the course, tapping the override controls to silence the objections of the computer. On the bridge, no one moved, remaining at their stations, and Orlova looked around with a smile on her face.

 “Not much point anyway,” Nelyubov said. “Not with the blast radius we're projecting.”

 All across the lower decks, escape pods spilled free, dozens of crewmen taking a desperate chance for survival. Quietly, Orlova stepped back to the holodesk, looking up at the course projections one last time. Frantically, Cantrell worked her console, trying to get another salvo of missiles into position for another shot, but she simply wasn't going to have the time.

 “Maggie,” Nelyubov said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I wanted to…

 “Change to target aspect!” Spinelli yelled. “The Neander vessel, the gunboat, it's turning in towards the enemy craft. Collision course, impact in ten seconds!”

 “They're dropping escape pods,” Cantrell added. “Getting crowded out there.”

 “Veer off!” Orlova ordered, and Armstrong raced to comply. “Frank, get the search and rescue shuttles into the air now, and abort any remaining escape pod launches.”

 “On it,” he said, all business once again, frantically issuing orders from his console. Orlova looked up at the screen, watching as the blunt arrow-headed spaceship dived towards its prey, a pulse of light hurtling to the rear at the last second, a shuttlecraft making a desperate bid for survival. Another salvo of missiles raced from the Xandari vessel towards the incoming ship, but though it battered and twisted the hull armor, it wasn't enough to stop them.

 The two ships collided, with a huge flash of light, the enemy battlecruiser broke into two, the fragments tossed in all directions, an expanding cloud of debris filling the screen. Spinelli frantically worked his console, trying to establish course projections, while Armstrong gently guided Alamo out of the danger area, clear of the wave of shrapnel filling the screen.

 “That did it!” the technician yelled. “The hull's going to be rattled, but all the major fragments are on clear courses, and all of our escape pods are on safe trajectories.”

 The spontaneous cheer that rose from every console on the bridge was loud enough to deafen her, but with tears of relief in her eyes, she stepped over to the communications console, Weitzman looking up with a beaming smile on his face.

 “Get me that Neander shuttle,” she said. “Frank, get our crew home.”

 “Already on it,” he replied. “The SAR shuttles are in the airlocks now, cleared for launch.”

 “I've got Skeuros for you, ma'am,” Weitzman said.

 “Alamo here,” Orlova replied.

 “I need you to rescue my crew,” the Neander said. “All of us managed to get out, but I don't know how long they'll last out there.”

 “I've already got the retrieval mission under way,” she replied, as Nelyubov flashed her a thumbs' up in confirmation. “All of your crew will be on Alamo in moments, and our sickbay is ready to accept casualties.”

 “Thank you, Captain.”

 “No, Skeuros. Thank you.”

 “Well, we could hardly let a softskin crew take all the credit, could we. I'm heading over to the freighter to see what help we can give over there.”

 “Follow our Espatier teams in. I'll let Sergeant Gurung know that you're coming.”

 “Will do. Skeuros out.”

 Running her hand through her hair, Orlova stepped back over to the holodesk, Nelyubov looking up with a huge smile on his face, a datapad in his hand.

 “I don't know what you're so happy about,” she said, returning the smile. “It's going to take days to clear up this mess.” Turning back to Weitzman, she added, “Contact Cooper, if you can, and tell him that everything is clear outside, and that help is on the way. Armstrong, set a course for the hendecaspace point, just in case anyone else is coming to visit.”

 “God, I hope not,” Nelyubov replied, with a sigh. “I'll see if I can get the other vessels into some sort of formation, try and get them rearmed.” He stepped over to the tactical station, snatching up a headset, leaving Orlova alone at the heart of the bridge.

 “Come on, Cooper,” she muttered. “Finish this.”

Chapter 25

 Dropping the communicator from his face, Cooper yelled, “Reinforcements incoming!” as he jogged down the corridor, Kelot and Walpis right behind him, leading a hastily assembled squad of Neander troopers. He turned back to the others, a grin on his face. This battle was at last turning their way, and as they passed a dormitory section, a cheer rose from the occupants, one of the Neander dragged to one side to receive a hug from a child.

 Nothing was going to be the same here any more. The power of the ruling class had been broken, shattered beyond repair, and none of the passengers of this ship would ever be content with being ruled again. They had their freedom, and now they had to work out what to do with it. Assuming, of course, that they managed to finish the job.

 “Down here,” Kelot said, throwing open a hatch. Cooper swung down it, hand over hand, the rest scrambling to follow as quickly as they could. Morigna and the bulk of the Proctors were dead, but Aussketi and her senior staff were still holed up down in the lower command section, a hidden area isolated from the rest of the ship.

 The shadows seemed to leap out at him, the only illumination provided by a dim torchlight. They climbed past side tunnels, empty compartments, abandoned corridors, not stopping to check them for traps or ambushes. Anything could be waiting to jump out at them, but there was no time to worry about that now. While the immediate danger was ebbing, the Xandari had already made one attempt to destroy the ship, and if any of them had made it on board, they would have no compunction about attempting the same atrocity from inside.

 Kelot directed him to the side, swinging down to transfer from one shaft to another, scrambling on his hands and knees with his pistol in his hand, the spare clips in his pocket clattering against the wall. Behind him, he heard a curse, and felt something brush against his back as it fell into eternity, an embarrassed Neander above holding out his hands, his rifle lost.

 The hatch was just ahead, and he paused for a few seconds to take deep breaths, in and out, calming himself before the battle that was to come. He looked around at the impatient, eager troopers, ready to defeat their final enemy, all of them now bloodied veterans against the Xandari and their own people, the gleam in their eye that showed their readiness for combat.

 “On three,” he said, resting his hand on the release switch. “One, two, three!”

 Cooper kicked the hatch open, swinging down and dropping into the compartment, rolling on the floor behind a console, tumbling into the bleeding corpse of a Xandari in front of him. Kelot, next through, dropped after him, falling back over another body on the floor, a faint chuckle coming from the command chair at the heart of the room, Aussketi sitting alone, surrounded by bodies, all of the monitors and displays rigged for automatic control.

 “Switch over to Bradley on the bridge,” Kelot said, turning to one of the troopers, a control systems technician in his former life before being forced to take up arms. Cooper raised his pistol, pointing it at Aussketi's head, cautiously stepping towards her.

 “Give me one good reason not to end you now,” he said.

 “You'll never know what happened here if you do,” she replied.

 Kelot looked at him, and said, “She must face a trial. All of this must be documented. The dead deserve that much.” He turned his gaze back to her, spitting on the floor by her feet, and adding, “Though it if was up to me, you'd be going for a swim out of an airlock.”

 “We all die, sooner or later,” Aussketi replied. “The only question is whether we die for a good cause or a bad one.” Gesturing around the room, she said, “Who do you think killed them.”

 “Why?” Cooper asked.

 “They had served their purpose, and they had to pay for the crimes they had committed, as do I.” She sighed, then added, “I did what I did for good reasons. Somehow, the people on this ship had to be freed.”

 Wrinkling his face, Kelot replied, “You're trying to tell me that you were on our side?”

 “No. After all, you were one of those willing to grit your teeth and accept what was happening in order to keep the peace. I had to push you, force you, if I was going to overthrow the command structure of this ship.” Resting back in her chair, she added, “Those revolutionaries under Oktu weren't going to do a thing. Simply getting a few hundred people over to Testament Station wouldn't be enough, not by a long shot. I had to drive everyone to revolt.”

 “You betrayed us to the Xandari,” Kelot pressed.

 “Yes,” she replied, turning to Cooper. “Because of you.”

 “Us?” Cooper asked, dumbfounded.

 “When you found us, learned the truth about our government and the manner in which it oppresses its citizens, I expected you to take action to stop it. To impose your own control on this ship, help the revolutionaries, drive them to fight for their freedom. All of the rhetoric you espoused, about freedom and democracy.”

 Kelot looked at Cooper, who said, “It isn't our place to choose how your people live. The Confederation is not in the business of forced regime change.”

 “Ah, but you have, in the past. On Thule, on Jefferson, on Haven.”

 “That was different. Those worlds asked for our help, wanted us...”

 “It was no different.” She took a deep breath, and continued, “Yes, I made contact with the Xandari, before we left the extraction facility. I worked with Lostok, at first, and later with Morigna, though she believed she was suppressing dissidents. It didn't take much to encourage her to extremism.”

 “Knowing what was at stake, you brought an enemy battlecruiser down upon us?” Kelot asked. “What sort of a monster are you?”

 “A better one than the people who would have imprisoned the refugees as soon as they arrived,” she replied. “A better one than the Starborn, who impose a tyranny on three worlds. They're no better than the Xandari, and I'm certain that one day they will make fine friends for them.” With a mocking laugh, she continued, “Yes, there are sizable factions trying to make a peace, even if it means handing over hundreds of millions of people to die as slaves.”

 “How does handing these people back to the Xandari help?” Cooper asked.

 “I was counting on you,” she said. “You, your Captain, your ship, your crew.” She coughed, then continued, “I knew that the situation had to be pressed to a finish, that everything had to rise at the same time...”

 Stepping forward, Cooper interrupted, “You assumed that we'd defeat the Xandari, defeat the overseers, and that we'd end up imposing our own command structure anyway.”

 “Something along those lines,” she added. “I was ready to help you along the way. I did, in fact. Lieutenant Harper had a much easier time hacking the missiles after I killed our sysop.” Looking up, deep brown eyes locking onto his, she said, “They would be free, or they would be dead. I considered it a reasonable risk.”

 “You had no right to make that decision,” Kelot boomed.

 She coughed again, and replied, “Someone had to. Now, maybe, things will change. A few at a time, the people on this ship will drift back home, and tell all they meet that there is a new way, a better way, a chance for things to be different. Maybe it will help.”

 “Do you believe any of this?” Walpis asked, looking at Cooper.

 “Maybe. I suppose it might be possible to corroborate her story.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Not that it changes anything. Whatever her motivation, she is responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people, and might have killed thousands if things had gone just a little differently. I doubt the judge will see that as mitigation worth a damn.”

 “Ironic,” she said, punctuated by hacking coughs. “Their names will go down in history as martyrs, the first casualties in the struggle that will free our people. Mine will be a curse on people's lips until the end of time, and that is only fair.” Turning lethargically to Cooper, she said, “Tell me something. You'd die for your crew, for your people, yes?”

 “Of course.” 

 “Would you go further than that, though? Blacken your name forever, knowing that it was the only way to save them? Knowing that you would be despised and hated?” She shook her head. “There are greater sacrifices than mere death.”

 The lights flickered for a moment, and the panels winked out, the Neander technician reporting, “I've shifted all command functions to the bridge. Sub-Lieutenant Bradley and the control crew are working on restoring all systems now.”

 Cooper's communicator chirped, and with one eye on Aussketi, he raised it to his ear, saying, “Cooper here. Go ahead.”

 “Sergeant Ghewon, sir. It's good to hear your voice again.”

 “Likewise, Sergeant. What's the news?”

 “The battle's just about won, sir.” A chorus of cheers filled the air from the Neander. “We've taken the auxiliary power distribution node, and that was the last part of the command net the Proctors held. We'll be hours sweeping the rest of the ship, but the vessel is now under our control.”

 “Thank you, Sergeant. That's excellent news. I want a detail down the double to escort a prisoner to the brig.”

 Kelot nodded, and said, “Use your own people. I don't think any of ours could be trusted to get her there in one piece. I wouldn't trust myself with a job like that.”

 “That won't be necessary,” Aussketi said, slumping in her seat, falling forward. “I arranged everything down to the last detail. You were a little late, though. I didn't know whether I could hang on that long.”

 A Neander rushed forward with a medical kit, dropping down on his knees beside her, quickly attaching a diagnostic scanner before looking up and shaking his head.

 “Painless and fatal,” she said. “Fast-acting, and no known antidote. It's surprising what the Xandari kept in their hidden stores. I believe they considered this to by mercy, by their standards.” She looked up at Kelot, coughed, and said, “It's all down to you now. You've got to lead these people, and you've got to find them a safe harbor. They're counting on you, and so am I.” A smile on her face, she slumped forward, taking one last, hacking breath, and tumbling out of the chair onto the deck.

 Kelot looked down at the body, shaking his head, and said, “What do you think, Ensign?”

 “I don't know,” he replied. “It would be easy to write that off as the ravings of a madwoman, someone desperately trying to excuse the inexcusable, and yet...I just don't know.” He looked around the room, and said, “None of you heard a thing. You got that? None of you heard anything that she said.”

 “Sir,” one of the troopers began, but Kelot turned to him, eyes on fire.

 “Listen to the Ensign. He's right. If word of that got out, it would,” he paused, looked back at the body, and said, “confuse matters. We've had enough killing on this ship. Let it all end here, let it all end now.”

 The door opened, and Corporal Stewart raced into the room, a pair of troopers behind her, rifles in their hands. She looked around at the somber Neander, then at the body slumped by the command chair.

 “There was a prisoner, sir?” she asked.

 “No,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “Not any more. Maybe there never was.”

 “Maybe it's me,” Kelot said, sighing.

 “The bridge has been secured, sir,” Stewart said. “Captain Orlova's complements, and she'd like to speak to you as soon as possible.” Turning to Kelot, she added, “You as well, sir. We've got engineering and medical teams standing by to assist you, but we need permission from the ship's commanding officer to proceed.”

 The Neander looked around for a moment, shook his head, and said, “I guess that's me, isn't it. Get them over here, Corporal. We need all the help we can get.” He looked at Cooper, and said, “That goes for me, as well, Gabe.”

 “Don't worry,” Cooper replied. “We'll find a way through this.”

 “I hope so,” he said. Moving over to Aussketi's body, a grim smile remaining, even in death, he said, “Have her buried in space with the others. No special ceremony, nothing else, and no marker to identify her. If she was lying, she'll burn for eternity. If she was telling the truth, then maybe she'll find her rest.” He sighed, then added, “And maybe some day, so will I.”

Chapter 26

 Orlova walked down the corridor, waving at Harper and Salazar as they stepped through the docking hatch. They glanced at each other before saluting, nervous frowns on their faces, Harper's uniform still battered and torn from the battle. Orlova stood in front of them, shaking her head.

 “I've been looking at your field logs,” she replied. “I would look at your after-action reports, but it seems you haven't got around the filing them yet.”

 “To be honest, Captain, I didn't know where to start,” Harper said. She glanced at Salazar, and as one, they said, “It's my responsibility,” before glaring at each other.

 Orlova shook her head, and replied, “Let me get all of this clear, and please feel free to stop me if I've made any mistakes. I sent you on a mission to obtain sufficient fuel to top up the damaged tanks on Ausori, and you decided that a suitable operation was to instead arrange for the arrival of not one, not two, but three enemy fleets in this system.”

 “Well,” Salazar said, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

 “It was my decision, Captain,” Harper said. “There was no way we were going to arrange for a tanker to get here. The only people who had access to the fuel we needed were the leaders of the three fleets stationed at Testament.”

 “We didn't realize the Syndicate were working with the Xandari until the last minute,” Salazar added, silenced by a glare from Harper.

 “The combined tanks of the ships might have been just enough to allow Ausori to limp to safety. Failing that, we'd have ships to commandeer to rescue at least some of the refugees, as well as prisoners to barter for the fuel we needed. We figured that Alamo could beat them.”

 “You took a hell of a gamble, Harper. Both of you did.”

 “There didn't seem to be much choice, given the circumstances,” Salazar replied. “I don't mind admitting that we were in over our heads.”

 “So I figured I'd try and work out what you would do given the circumstances,” Harper blurted. “It's all worked out for the best, anyway. Skeuros signaled that he was willing to give us the fuel we need, and we'll be on our way...”

 “In nine days,” Orlova said, with a sigh. “This is where we came in, isn't it.”

 “What are you going to do, ma'am?” Salazar asked.

 “I don't know whether to promote you or court-martial you,” Orlova replied, “so I think the best course of action is for them to cancel each other out. Harper, I want Daedalus ready to return to Testament Station in three days, to escort Skeuros' envoy and make sure there isn't any trouble. I'll be giving you a squad of troopers this time, and Senior Lieutenant Powell will be accompanying you with a scientific team.”

 “To keep me out of trouble, ma'am?”

 With a thin smile, she replied, “The Professor is the last one I'd send for that, Lieutenant. No, his staff are drooling over the prospect of getting a good look at the station, and there doesn't seem to be much point in waiting for Alamo to depart. You'll have to see to their protection, as well as making sure that the tanker leaves safely.”

 Harper's eyes widened, and she said, “That's quite a job, Captain.”

 “I know. As for you, Salazar, I've got an even worse job for you.” She gestured at the drifting transport, hanging close alongside Alamo, fresh scars on her flanks from the recent battle. “Have you had a chance to take a look at the transport yet?”

 “No, ma'am, I haven't.”

 “Well, don't worry. You're going to have an opportunity to become intimately acquainted with her foibles over the next few days. I'm assigning you as the liaison to Kelot, as well as the manager of the engineering teams. Your job is to get that ship operational, ready to go as soon as the fuel arrives.”

 “In six days?” he said, shaking his head. “Captain, I've looked at the reports, and I'm not sure we can get her ready in six weeks.”

 “All she has to do is limp to Testament Station,” she replied. “One quick hop to the hendecaspace point, under tow if needs be, and a jump to get her and the refugees to safety.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “Aye, ma'am.”

 “I think the two of you had better get to work,” she replied, and they snapped to attention. “Dismissed.”

 She walked away down the corridor, turning towards an elevator, failing to suppress a smile on her face. Harper was quite right. As crazy as her plan had been, it wasn't much different from some of the schemes she'd come up with during her days as a junior officer. Idly, she wondered if Captain Marshall had thought about her in the same lines, and shook her head as she stepped through the doors, Nelyubov waiting on the other side.

 “Centicred for your thoughts,” he said.

 “I'm not sure they're worth that much. I was just thinking about some of the harebrained ideas I tried, when I was a humble Lieutenant.”

 He smiled, and replied, “I'm not sure I'd describe you as humble, Maggie.”

 She snapped him a look, then grinned, “Maybe.”

 “Putting them back to work was a good idea,” he replied. “Pavel's going to have fun trying to get three hundred engineers from half a dozen ships and three species working together over the next week, especially while Cooper and his team continue their patrol sweeps.”

 “Have they found anything?” she asked.

 Nelyubov shrugged, and said, “A handful of die-hards, but nothing serious. I think anyone left who was on the wrong side has melted back into the population, and I doubt they'll surface any time soon. They aren't our problem.”

 “No,” she said. “Are the others waiting?”

 “Skeuros, Kelot and Kilquan are in the briefing room, and I think all three of them are about ready to kill each other. I've got Cantrell in with them to keep the peace.” 

 “If we're giving her a diplomatic assignment, things must really be desperate,” she replied, as the elevator continued its rise through the levels. “Damage report?”

 “Quinn's apoplectic, but we've only added to our shipyard time. I think we're going to be stuck at Testament Station for at least two weeks.” Pulling out his datapad, Nelyubov said, “Harper's report on the station facilities was pretty good, anyway. If she gets bored of the military, she'd have no trouble getting a job with the Martian Tourist Bureau.”

 “Short version?”

 “It's going to cost, but we'll be able to get the ship back into fighting trim. The facilities there are better than Mariner, and they've got a lot of advanced equipment. Don't tell him I said so, but I think Jack's looking forward to it.”

 “Of course he's looking forward to it. He's an engineer.”

 The doors slid open, and they stepped out onto the bridge, Foster standing to attention as they walked in, before returning to her work at an affirming nod from Orlova. Prime Crew had just stood down after a twelve-hour stretch, and the night shift had moved into their stations, starting work on clearing up the mess that followed the battle.

 Nelyubov paused at the engineering station, glancing up at the display and shaking his head. It had been a far closer-run thing than any of them would have liked to admit. A few missile hits in the wrong place, and Alamo would have joined the collection of tangled metal filling the system. Orlova glanced at the sensor display, a couple of dozen shuttles moving around, scavenging components for the repairs, or for later analysis by the intelligence teams when they got back home.

 Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the briefing room, Cantrell on her feet, turning sharply as she saw Orlova entering, the others sitting at the conference table, Kelot glaring at Skeuros while Kilquan looked on. Without a word, as though everything was perfectly normal, Orlova sat down at the head of the table, Nelyubov opposite.

 “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “The aftermath of a battle is usually crazier than the fight itself. Skeuros, I've had a word with Doctor Duquesne, and she should have finished the medical checkups on your crew within the hour.”

 “Thank you,” he replied, still looking sharply at Kelot. “You've got excellent facilities on this ship, Captain.”

 “After what you did, it's the least we can do.”

 “I don't mind sacrificing a ship to watch those bastards burn.”

 “And yet you and your group ran away, just when we needed you the most,” Kelot snapped. “If your grandfather hadn't stolen the Third Fleet...”

 “My grandfather didn't want to die a slave,” Skeuros replied. Leaning back on his chair with a smile, he continued, “Why fight for them? Why die for them? The Starborn have never done a damn thing to earn our loyalty.”

 “Gentlemen,” Orlova said, looking at the two of them. “We're not here to have an argument, but to decide upon a course of action.”

 “About that,” Kilquan said. “My ships expended a lot of ordnance during the battle, Captain Orlova, as well as sustaining significant damage. You can expect an inventory of the expenses we have incurred shortly, and we will expect prompt payment.”

 “Payment?” Kelot raged. “You came here as thieves...”

 “And we became mercenaries, as soon as we arrived. I'm sure Captain Orlova will understand the niceties of our business relationship.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “Kilquan, let me come immediately to the point. We both know why you came here, and we both know what your intentions were. I'm willing to forget what both you and Skeuros did to the Daedalus crew on Testament Station.”

 “Wait a minute…,” Skeuros began.

 “And I am also willing,” Orlova pressed, “to provide you with payment in kind for your services. For example, you will be given new missiles from Alamo's own supplies to replace those you used. Mark Four appeared to be the nearest equivalent.”

 Frowning, Kilquan said, “We would prefer your latest hardware.”

 “Of course you would,” Orlova replied. “As for you, Skeuros, I offer you the same.”

 Shaking his head, the Neander said, “You don't need to bribe me.”

 “I'm not bribing either of you,” she said. “I'm rearming you.”

 “You're joking,” Kilquan replied. “As soon as we can, we're leaving, and we will be staying at Testament Station.” Looking at the Neander on either side of him, he said, “This isn't our fight.”

 “Who stopped them when they came for us?” Nelyubov said.

 “Excuse me?”

 “An old saying from Earth. The general idea of which is that sooner or later, you will be targeted. You might not be at the top of the Xandari hit list, but eventually, they'll decide to subjugate you.”

 “He's got you there,” Skeuros said, folding his arms. “We both know that the only reason no one has decided to attack you yet is because the Collective and the Xandari have been at war for four decades. Sooner or later, one of them is going to win, and they'll come after you next. The Xandari with warships, the Collective with traders. Their industrial capacity will dwarf yours.”

 “Unless both sides fight each other to extinction.”

 With a beaming smile, the Neander rogue replied, “That little scheme might have worked, until they arrived.” He gestured at Orlova, and continued, “Your people are coming this way. Oh, I know there isn't any organized operation, no big sweep into this region, but now that you know what is out here, someone will follow up. It might take years, but eventually it will happen. Nothing will ever be the same out here.”

 “I concede your point,” Kilquan replied. “Why, however, would I wish to speed this process?”

 Orlova looked at the albino, smiled, and said, “How does a trade and supply contract sound?”

 “For what?”

 “Our bases out here, for the next twenty years. It's a gamble, I know, but not much of a one. You know that we're at war with the Xandari, and Skeuros is right. In five years, we'll have outposts scattered all over this part of the galaxy, and it'll be a lot cheaper to supply them locally than have to drag everything out from Sol. I'm sure the Combined Chiefs will agree.”

 “This has to be ratified?”

 “As a capital ship commander, I have surprisingly broad powers of negotiation. There is, of course, a catch.”

 “Naturally.”

 “What about us?” Skeuros asked.

 “I thought you were willing to help your fellow Neander?” Kelot sneered. “Or is that dependent only on payment.” 

 Glaring at him, Skeuros said, “In another time, I would...”

 “You both need each other,” Orlova interrupted, bluntly. “And your people need you to stop butting horns and get used to the idea that you will be working together. Kelot, what are your intentions?”

 Taking a deep breath, he said, “I'm not sure. We can't go back to the Collective, not now. Testament Station is the best choice.”

 Nodding, Skeuros said, “We'll take them. Sell that hulk of yours for scrap, and divide the proceeds among the refugees. That should be enough to give them all a reasonable stake.”

 “And your cut?”

 He shrugged, and said, “A thousand or so skilled technicians and engineers coming out to join our settlement? We're not going to force them, but I'm sure at least some of them will be interested, especially once I've talked to them.” Looking at Orlova, he asked, “Never mind our intentions, Captain. I'm pretty sure that your intentions are going to bring the house down.”

 “A question first,” she said. “Is there any traffic between Testament Station and the Collective?”

 “A couple of ships a month,” Kilquan said. “More, sometimes. If it wasn't for the war, it would be one of our most profitable shipping routes.”

 “And those ships carry passengers?”

 “I understand,” Kelot said. “You're telling me that there is no way to stop some of my people getting home.” He looked at Nelyubov, and continued, “There are a lot of hot-heads taking about freeing our people, starting a revolution. Enough of them will get back to start it running. And there will be a bloodbath, our defenses will weaken, and we will lose the war.” He slumped back in his seat, shaking his head. “Short of imprisoning them all, there's no way to stop it, and I will not do that.” 

 “It's about time,” Skeuros said. “Maybe we can go home someday as well.”

 “You made your choice,” Kelot replied.

 “To live in leaky domes and holes carved out of asteroids, to scavenge and fight for survival every day. I was two cycles old when we left, but I can still remember what it was like back home. Don't you think I'd like to breath the air of homeworld one last time before I died.” Looking at Orlova, he continued, “We've never had anything like the strength to fight our way through. Maybe that will change.”

 “There will be a civil war,” Orlova said, “and both sides will lose. The Xandari will conquer your worlds, either by force or a treaty with the Starborn.”

 “Probably,” Kilquan replied.

 “Unless we stop them,” Orlova concluded.

 “That task force you spoke of,” Kelot said. “Could they get here in time?”

 “We don't even know if the fleet has been assembled yet,” Nelyubov said. “And even if it was, if we left to bring them today, they wouldn't arrive for three months. By then it could all be over.”

 “Then I don't see what you can do,” Kelot replied. “Maybe we should try and head for Mars. At least we'd have a chance. Even Testament Station won't be safe once the Xandari have broken my people.”

 Looking around the room, Orlova said, “Between us, we have nine ships. I'm sure that we can find enough Neander volunteers to fill out the crews where necessary.”

 “We've already had a dozen applications to join the Triplanetary Fleet,” Nelyubov added.

 “You include our ships in that total,” Kilquan replied. “I presume this is the price of that trading contract.”

 “Correct,” Orlova said. “We can't win the war, but we might be able to give the bastards a bloody nose. Hit their front-line fleets hard enough that their offensives are held up, long enough for our fleet to arrive. We've got enough strength forming up to end this, if we can buy enough time to get them into the fight.”

 Kelot smiled, and said, “That's a plan I can live with.”

 Skeuros sighed, and added, “My men will bear the brunt of this.” 

 “If you join us,” Nelyubov said, “We can equip you with the latest weaponry in our arsenal. Enough to double your combat potential.”

 “You'd be fighting in the defense of your homeworld,” Orlova said, and Kelot turned to him.

 “If you did this,” the veteran said, “all that bad blood would be washed away in one day.” 

 Kilquan said, “The risk of death on one hand, the ruin of our civilization on the other. You drive a hard bargain, Captain, but I agree.”

 Skeuros looked down at the table, and after a long moment, nodded, “I'm in.”

 “Well then, gentlemen,” Orlova said, “let's go to war.”

Thank you for reading 'Final Testament'. 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: Operation Damocles, coming in July 2016…