GHOST SHIP

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 10

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #10: Ghost Ship

Copyright © 2015 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: January 2015

Cover By Keith Draws

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

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

With Thanks To: Ellen Clarke and Peter Long

UNYIELDING in the pride of his defiance, 

Afloat with none to serve or to command, 

Lord of himself at last, and all by Science, 

He seeks the Vanished Land. 

Alone, by the one light of his one thought,   

He steers to find the shore from which we came, 

Fearless of in what coil he may be caught 

On seas that have no name. 

Into the night he sails; and after night 

There is a dawning, though there be no sun;   

Wherefore, with nothing but himself in sight, 

Unsighted, he sails on. 

At last there is a lifting of the cloud 

Between the flood before him and the sky; 

And then—though he may curse the Power aloud   

That has no power to die— 

He steers himself away from what is haunted 

By the old ghost of what has been before,— 

Abandoning, as always, and undaunted, 

One fog-walled island more.

The Flying Dutchman, Edward Arlington Robinson

Chapter 1

 “Still growing in intensity, sir,” the duty sensor technician reported to Lieutenant-Captain Logan Winter, who swung gently over his shoulder. He looked around Spitfire Station’s operations room, still attempting to get used to the idea that there were sufficient people on board to staff it; life was getting boring around here now that everything was actually being run properly.

 “Keep monitoring,” he replied at the technician's glance, and she turned back to her station. Behind him, a hastily-dressing Lieutenant Ryder, his second-in-command, drifted onto the bridge, struggling to fit her arm into the sleeve of her jacket.

 “What’s going on, sir?”

 Harper, his hacker-of-all-trades, turned from her station and said, “Nothing like it in the records, boss. We’ve got something completely new here.”

 “About fifteen minutes ago, we picked up a source of dimensional instability. Stronger than anything we’d ever seen before.”

 “Missile batteries on-line, Captain,” another bridge technician interrupted.

 “So, there’s a big ship coming in,” she replied, looking around. “What’s so strange about that?”

 “It’s not coming in at the hendecaspace point. Less than fifty thousand miles from the station, according to the latest readings, but it’s bouncing all over the place.” Looking up at the screen, filled with stars, he said, “Whatever’s coming in, it’s violating all the known laws of hendecaspace travel. What time is the Wyvern due to get here?”

 “Not for another five hours,” she replied, glancing up at the clock.

 “Sir, I’ve been able to track the source of the incoming ship.”

 “The signal is that strong?” Ryder said, incredulous. “Where from, Spaceman?”

 She looked up, her glance flickering between the two officers, and said, “A star listed as NKH 102-220-111.”

 “Never heard of it,” Logan said.

 “It’s a little over twenty thousand light-years away, sir.”

 His eyes widened, and he said, “Are you trying to tell me that we have an incoming contact from twenty thousand light-years away?”

 Harper shook her head, quietly saying, “The record – our record – is seven point nine.”

 “That’s the nearest star in our records along that path, sir,” the technician replied. “Of course, it could be further. There are a couple of galaxies on the line, but out of the Local Group.”

 “Which means we’d be talking billions of light-years.” He shook his head, then said, “Could this be some sort of trick?”

 “I’ve already run a full systems check,” Harper said. “No sign of anything unusual, and I’m certain that the only Republic ship in the system isn’t hacking us.”

 “How do you know that?” Ryder asked.

 “Probably best you don’t ask,” Logan said, sharing a brief smile with Harper. “I suspect the answer would tie us up in a mountain of paperwork, and I don’t think we’ve got the time. Still growing in intensity?”

 “Now twice as large as the biggest source of dimensional instability ever recorded, sir.”

 “Turbulence,” Ryder said, glancing sharply across at Logan. “If it really is that big, then I don’t like to think what the gravity waves could do to the station.”

 Pulling out a microphone, Logan said, “Attention. This is Station Operations. All civilians to emergency storm shelters, right now. Drop what you are doing and get there. All station personnel, brace for gravitational turbulence.” Leaving the handset hanging in the air, he said, “Good catch. I should have thought of that.”

 “That’s what I’m here for, Captain,” she replied. “I’m not sure how much protection the radiation shelters will give them, though.”

 “Energy spike!” yelled the technician. “I think we’re about to get a visitor!”

 Logan’s eyes were fixed on the viewscreen, straining to get the first glimpse of the incoming ship. Proximity alarms sounded, Ryder hastily throwing the override to return silence to the deck, and with a blinding blue flash, something appeared. The station shook, sending Logan rocking back and forth, the brief merger of two conflicting dimensions throwing stresses on the very fabric of reality, before the portal snapped shut.

 Shaking her head, the sensor technician said, “Three and a half times stronger than anything ever reported. We got a lot of amazing data about hendecaspace here.”

 “Priorities, Spaceman!” Ryder said. “Details on the new target. And I want a firing solution as soon as possible.”

 “Working,” a voice yelled from across the room.

 “Small ship, ma’am. Spherical in appearance, and doesn’t match any known ship designs.” With a sigh of disappointment, she said, “Human in origin.”

 “How do you know that?” Logan asked.

 Tapping her display, she said, “The word ‘Dumont’ is stenciled on the outer hull in four places.”

 Harper, her hands, moving across her console, said, “No signals, but I’ve managed to get into their primary computer system.”

 “How the hell did you do that so fast?” Shock moved across Logan’s face as he pushed over to her panel.

 Glancing up, she replied, “I’ve done it before. That’s a Cabal ship out there.” Looking down at her readouts, she said, “Telemetry says the ship’s dark, boss. Power systems on minimal, all computer controls engaged. That ship brought herself here.”

 “Life support?”

 “Operating, but again at a very low level. Carbon dioxide levels...there’s someone alive on that ship, or at least there was recently.”

 “Let’s try to make contact in a more orthodox way,” Logan said, reaching for the microphone. “This is Spitfire Station to the Dumont. You are in Triplanetary space; please state your reason for this visit. Do you require assistance?” Glancing across at Ryder, he said, “Get a medical and engineering team ready.”

 She glanced up, nodding, and replied, “Already in the works.”

 “This is Spitfire Station,” he repeated into the microphone. “Come in, please.”

 “I don’t think you’re going to hear back from them,” Harper said. “I don’t think anyone’s listening. No increase of computer activity, and the communications systems seem to mostly have been deactivated. I’d say they’re dead in space, Captain.”

 Nodding, he said, “If they aren’t going to talk to us over the communicator, we’d better get up close and personal. Have a shuttle ready for launch, Ryder.”

 "Espatier team, or the medical/rescue squad?”

 “Neither, but have both on standby if I send for them.”

 Raising an eyebrow, she said, “If you send for them? You’re going yourself?”

 “I guess we are,” Harper said, signing off from her station. Looking at Logan, she said, “You’ll need me to get you inside.”

 “You could do that remotely,” Ryder noted.

 “And miss all the fun?”

 Nodding, Logan said, “Fine. That’s all, though. I want to keep this a small team. Keep the missiles locked on, and if the thing so much as twitches, blast it out of the sky, whether I’m on board or not.”

 “Understood,” she replied.

 Frowning, he said, “No arguments? No protests? No concern for my well-being?”

 With a wry smile, she replied, “I doubt any of them will work, and you probably are the best-equipped for the mission. I assure you I’ll have no compunction about blowing you up, sir.”

 “I hope that’s your burgeoning sense of humor at work, Lieutenant.” Gesturing to Harper, he said, “Let’s get moving. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

 “Never occurred to me.”

 The two of them pushed out of Spitfire’s control room, making their way down to the nearest shuttle bay. Ryder’s voice washed over them from speakers as they passed, bringing the station to full defensive readiness, running through the familiar checklists. Six months ago, the idea that such preparedness would be possible would have seemed insane, whereas now the station was becoming a smooth, well-oiled machine. Not what he signed up for at all. It was beginning to feel too much like work.

 They reached the shuttle, a technician leaning through the airlock running a series of status checks. As they approached, he ducked out, snapping a salute with a greasy hand; Logan replied while Harper ducked into the shuttle, throwing switches as she went.

 “Good luck, Captain.”

 “Thank you, Spaceman,” he replied, following in Harper’s wake, quickly settling down into the command chair. Ryder had provided the smallest, nimblest shuttle they had; there was barely room on board for the two-man crew, and a flight duration that was measured in hours rather than the usual weeks, but it could crowd acceleration high enough to throw any occupant into unconsciousness if the pilot chose.

 “Course is logged into the navicomputer,” Ryder’s voice echoed from the console. “All systems ready to go, and I handled pre-flight from up here.”

 “Are you that anxious to get rid of me, Lieutenant?” he asked.

 “I thought you were in a hurry.”

 “Quite right,” Harper said. “Let’s get on with this.”

 The airlock door slid shut, and with a quick jerk, the shuttle dropped away from the station, spinning slowly out into free flight. Logan counted to ten under his breath, waiting to get to what he considered to be a safe distance before firing the main engine, the course plot lancing out towards the Dumont.

 Conventional piloting would have him build up a little speed before coming to a stop, taking his time to properly measure his approach. Ryder was right, though; he was in a hurry. The shuttle would continue to accelerate all the way to the mid-point, saving a few potentially precious minutes. He looked over the Dumont as the shuttle raced towards it, his eyes scouring the hull for a docking airlock.

 “Still nothing from the ship,” Harper said. “All nice and quiet over there.”

 Tapping a series of controls, he replied, “We’re going for the topside airlock. Hopefully it’ll be reasonably close to their bridge. We’d better get our suits on.”

 “Must we? That ship has atmosphere on board.”

 “And sensor readings could be faked.” She looked up at him, shaking her head, and he replied, “I know you’d almost certainly be able to tell that, but is there any point taking a risk? We don’t have to wear the helmets, but we’re safer with the option. Come on.”

 Leaving the computer to handle the approach, he reached over to the locker on his side, starting to struggle into his suit, not an easy task in the tight confines of the cockpit. As he pulled his gloves on, his stomach briefly twitched as the acceleration paused, the shuttle spinning around to start decelerating towards the target.

 As he finished cycling the suit checklists, he kept an eye on the exterior monitors, waiting for any sign that the Dumont was doing anything, taking any action against them. Harper was somewhat less passive, interrupting her preparations a dozen times to check displays and run hacking probes.

 “Nothing at all,” she said. “I’m willing to concede that there might be no-one on board after all.”

 “The carbon dioxide levels…”

 “Rats. Or some sort of malfunction. I don’t know.”

 Logan looked to one side as the shuttle began to close and frowned. There was damage down one side of the ship, hastily patched hull plates to restore structural integrity, and jagged metal where the antenna arrays had been. This ship had been through a battle, and it looked very much as if they had lost.

 “You detecting any battle damage?”

 Harper shook her said, then said, “All I’m getting right now is base-line readouts. I’ll need better access before I can actually hack into their database. Lots of bypasses and overrides in use, though.”

 “Radiation?”

 “No alarms, and interior sensors don’t tell anything that’s worrying me. Wouldn’t we be picking signs of it up by now on the shuttle?”

 Glancing across at the hacker as the shuttle closed on its goal, he said, “Ships don’t fly themselves, not through hendecaspace. What’s worrying me more is that the Cabal know something we don’t about long-range FTL travel.” A light flashed on his console, and he added, “Stand by for docking. At least they’ve got standard fittings.”

 With a series of clangs, the shuttle locked onto the hull, clamps slamming down into position as the airlocks mated. His helmet under his arm, Logan pushed off and over to the hatch, his finger poised over the control for moment. He looked down at the pistol in his holster, nodded to himself, and opened the door.

 Slowly, as if hesitant to yield its secrets, the door opened. Inside, between the two hatches, was a body – a man wearing a long out-of-date Martian uniform. A bandage had been applied to his arm, blood seeping through it; there was a peaceful expression on his face, and forcing his hand open revealed the reason why, as a hypodermic tumbled out.

 “He killed himself,” Harper said. “Wanted to make sure it was nice and clean.”

 “The wounds don’t look that severe, though,” Logan replied. “Run a check of the environment again. Just to make sure.”

 Looking down at her suit sensors, she said, “Atmosphere normal if a bit stale, temperature low but within safe ranges, no radiation, pressure a little high if anything. I’d say no-one’s properly adjusted the life support in a while, but I don’t think there’s any risks here.”

 “Plague?”

 “Hard to tell, but could we get it from a dead man?”

 “Until we know more, we’d better get into quarantine.” He looked over at the wall, then tapped a section; a rescue ball popped out. “Get him sealed up. We’ll toss him out of an airlock and they can take a look at him safely on the station.”

 “Doesn’t sound like a nice way to go.”

 “We can give him a proper funeral later. Or get him back to his family.”

 The two of them carefully sealed him into the bag, then pushed him out into the corridor, Logan cautiously looking to make sure no-one – or nothing – else was around. Aside from a few pieces of floating debris, there was nothing to be seen. Silently, they placed him into the next docking port, a few meters down, sealed it up, and cycled the lock.

 “Ryder, this is Logan. We’ve found a body. Have someone take a look at it and try and work out the cause of death. No-one else is to board this ship until I give the word. Clear?”

 “Clear. What’s it like over there?”

 “Eerie. Logan out.” He gestured down the corridor, and said, “Lights are still working, and the elevators should still be operating. Let’s see if we can get to the bridge.”

 The two of them pushed off, heading away from the theoretical safety of their shuttle as they followed the curve of the ship out of sight. The elevator door slid open, jerking for a second before permitting them access, and Logan tapped a control for the bridge. Nothing happened, and Harper reached over, sliding a datarod into position; then the mechanism jerked into life.

 “Some of the emergency cut-offs are working. I’d guess the ship was placed on lockdown.”

 “A while ago,” Logan replied. “That man’s been dead for more than a day. Which means he killed himself only hours from safety. They knew where they were going.”

 The door slid open, and they floated out onto the bridge. Harper closed her eyes while Logan moved forward, looking at the three tumbling figures. They’d found the crew, too late. All of them were wearing the same uniform as the others, and their faces suggested a far less peaceful death, one of them with a fixed scowl on her face, her eyes wide. There was a foul smell in the air, the fans working overtime to try and keep it out with a low, rattling howl.

 “They died a damn sight longer than a day ago,” he said.

 Harper pushed over to a control console, then looked across at Logan, saying, “Life support failure. Four days ago there was a major carbon dioxide spike. Enough to kill everyone on board.” Sighing, she said, “Systems have scrubbed it out now. Logan, they had time to fix it. Or at least get suits on. Why wouldn't they?”

 “You’re the best one to answer that.” He pushed over to the engineering station and started working unfamiliar controls, smiling as a series of readouts began to flash up. “Looks like we can bring primary power online without too much trouble. This explains the wounded man in the airlock, as well. Independent systems, at least for as long as they lasted.”

 “Got a name,” Harper said. “Lieutenant Curry, commanding. Last log entry. What there is of it, anyway. It's all garbled.”

 Nodding, Logan pulled out his communicator again, and said, “Ryder, it looks safe enough over here. You can get the engineering team ready. We’re too late for the crew to get any help from the medics.” He paused, then continued, “I need an identification on a Lieutenant Curry, Martian Space Service. Dating from late in the war based on the uniform.”

 “On it, sir.” After a couple of seconds, she said, “Watch Officer, Battlecruiser Hercules.”

 Harper looked up from her work, and said, “Do you think Alamo might have found them?”

 “Get those logs up and running, Kristen. Now.” He started to run through the internal cameras, trying to get a shot of engineering. His eyes widened as he saw the mess inside; torn relays and circuits, with new, clumsy equipment scattered loosely around. He could hardly recognize the drive units, except from history books; it looked like the earliest design models of the hendecaspace drive, back from the late 21st century.

 “Good God!”, Harper said. “Logan, we’ve hit the mother-lode here. They’ve got a complete Cabal military database in their system, with the decryption codes attached. Terabytes of data!”

 He drifted over towards her, eyes widened, and said, “It could take months, years to go over all of this data. The intelligence coup of the century.” He looked up, and said, “This could be the big game changer.”

 Shaking her head, Harper replied, “Not what we need, though. Someone’s gone through all the logs and emptied them. The database was secured, and from the looks of it, they went to great lengths to keep it safe. I can see why.”

 “So we still have a mystery, then. Can the data be reconstructed?”

 “By the looks of it, hacking into this system wasn’t as much of a triumph as I had thought. The astrogation computer’s intact, though. We should be able to back-project its course to the point of origin.” Looking up with a smile, she said, “Want to take a look?”

 The communicator chirped again, Ryder on the other end, “I’ve got a readout on the name, Captain. She was a flight officer on the Battlecruiser Hercules, disappeared with the ship.”

 “I think she just answered you, Harper,” Logan said. “Yeah, I want to take a look.”

 “Captain?” Ryder said.

 “Get that team over here. I want every inch of this ship examined, and a full report ready as soon as Wyvern arrives. Then I want a list of all hendecaspace-capable ships that could leave the system in twenty-four hours – stall anyone who meets those requirements who is planning to leave.”

 “Information to take back, sir?” she asked.

 “No. We’re going hunting.”

 Behind him, Harper screamed, and Logan turned to find her hovering by one of the other entrances to the bridge, the door sliding open. Behind it floated another body, wearing the same uniform as the rest but otherwise different, a brutish figure with a ridged forehead. Humanoid, but not human. As he grabbed the young hacker, turning her head away, he reached for his communicator with a trembling hand, using all of his nerves to prevent himself from screaming herself.

 “Ryder,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “I'm going to turn on a video link. Brace yourself. You aren't going to believe this one.”

Chapter 2

 Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall had seen many things while commanding the Battlecruiser Alamo, but the image on the viewscreen was one of the closest approximations to hell that he had yet encountered. The planet the ship was speeding towards was shrouded in dark, green clouds, with occasional gaps revealing angry craters liberally spread across the surface, tumbling debris everywhere around them.

 The viewscreen locked onto a point on the surface, zooming the view in as tight as possible, revealing crumbling ruins on the surface, miles of city turned into rubble and decay. He looked across at the ashen-faced Spinelli at the sensor station, who glanced up at him for a second before returning to his front-row view the devastation below. 

 “Radiation counts high on the surface. Lots of hard stuff, concentrated on what I presume were the cities. No signs of life on the planet anywhere, but plenty of evidence that there was some at one point, a pretty advanced civilization.”

 “Hard to believe,” Lieutenant Caine said from the Tactical station. “A world devastated so thoroughly as this. It’d take a fleet larger than anything ever known to cause this.”

 Marshall glanced up, and replied, “We could have done this to ourselves back on Earth quite handily, Deadeye. We came damn close in the Third World War. Without the Treaty of Kinshasa…,” he paused, then turned back to Spinelli. “What was the planet like before all this?”

 “Probably uninhabitable, but with an atmosphere with a pressure comparable to Earth. Lots of nitrogen, bit on the cold side. Not a bad place for a colony – you could walk around on the surface with a respirator and a heavy coat, and you wouldn't need to do much to protect a settlement. There’s a runaway greenhouse effect in progress down there now, best guess caused by debris.” He shook his head, then said, “I’m seeing thousands of impact sites, Captain. Some of them large enough to be asteroid impacts.” 

 “Next question,” Zebrova, his Executive Officer, said from her position at the rear of the bridge. “When did all this happen?”

 “Difficult to tell, ma’am,” Spinelli said. “I need more readings. On the order of a thousand years.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “We could send a team down there. Our suits would protect them from the radiation as long as they didn’t get too close to an impact area.”

 “We know they were spacefarers,” Zebrova said, gesturing at the debris ring orbiting the planet. “So the question we need to answer is whether they did this to themselves, or whether they were attacked by someone.”

 “After a thousand years, that might be difficult to tell,” Caine said.

 “Suicide or murder,” Marshall replied, rubbing his chin. “If the latter, are the people who did this still out there?”

 The duty officer, Sub-Lieutenant Steele, turned from her station and said, “Surely that’s not important now, sir? After all this time, they must be long gone, or we’d have encountered them already.”

 “It isn’t impossible that we have,” Marshall said. “The Neander, remember. There’s a lot of unanswered questions still.”

 Looking up from the communications station, Weitzman said, “I’ve tried sending messages to every planet in the system, and there’s been time enough to get replies. Nothing. There are a few automated beacons, probably long-duration satellites or probes, but no sign of any intelligence there.”

 “It might be worth retrieving some of them anyway,” Caine said. “Their databanks might give us the information we’re looking for.”

 “Good idea. Find the nearest, Spinelli. If there’s one in orbit.”

 The sensor technician worked his controls for a moment, then replied, “I’ve found one in high orbit, Captain. Course on its way to the helm.”

 “Right. Bradley, get us there.”

 The recently commissioned officer nodded, started punching buttons, and replied, “Aye, Captain.”

 Almost imperceptibly, Alamo began to pull away from the planet as her speed increased, rising into a higher orbit to hunt down the satellite. Marshall leaned forward, looking at the debris field, millions of objects hugging the planet, the remnants of a massive battle. It must have been worse at some point, shortly after the fighting, before some of them started to re-enter the atmosphere. In a few more centuries, the debris field would be gone.

 He frowned, then said, “Any trace of surface installations, Spinelli, on any of the other planets?”

 “No heat sources I can detect, Captain, though I suppose there’s a chance that they could be dug in deep, hiding from us.”

 Caine shook her head, and said, “There’s no-one left here, sir.”

 “What makes you say that?”

 “Instinct. This is like walking into an old, deserted house, all the owners long since gone.”

 “More like an ancient graveyard,” Weitzman said.

 “That’s enough,” Zebrova snapped. “We’ve got a job to do, and I don’t trust instincts over sensor systems.” She turned to Marshall, and said, “Recommend we go to standby alert.”

 Marshall pondered that for a second, then nodded, “Agreed. Caine, sound the alert.” The crew needed something to do, something to keep their minds off the shattered world below. Morale was high at the moment with Alamo on its way home, but it was brittle. The crew was tired, worn out, and that was a dangerous state for them to be in.

 “Closing on target, sir,” Spinelli said. “Intercept in five minutes.”

 “Have a salvage shuttle standing by. Get Lieutenant Nelyubov down there with a couple of the security technicians.”

 “You don’t want to bring it aboard?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “No point desecrating this place any more than we have to.”

 Spinelli looked down at his station, then snapped back up, “Energy spike, Captain. From immediately below us. Power levels building from half a dozen points in the satellite field below.”

 “Pull us up, Bradley,” Marshall said. “Countermeasures on the move, take us to battle stations right now. Evasive maneuvers on random walk pattern.”

 “Missiles launching!” Spinelli said. “We have nine missiles from five sources, coming around the arc of the planet. On direct intercept course, time to impact is one hundred and thirty-five seconds on my mark. Mark.”

 Caine’s hand started to furiously move across her console, and she replied, “Can’t hack into the enemy missiles, deploying physical countermeasures.”

 “Can’t?” Zebrova asked with a snarl.

 “Totally alien programming language. Missile salvo in the tubes, ready to fire in ten seconds. Laser cannon charging, radiators deploying, ready to fire in ninety seconds.”

 Marshall sat back in his chair, looking around the bridge as his crew frantically made their preparations, Bradley sending the ship dancing on its thrusters, playing the console like a virtuoso. A few weeks ago, she’d been a shuttle pilot; now she was marking time on her way to flight school as soon as they got home. His eyes widened at a few of the stunts she was pulling; Alamo wasn’t a shuttle or a fighter, but she was keeping at least within the spirit of the tolerance restrictions.

 “Physical countermeasures are working!” Caine said, almost astonished.

 “Must be pretty primitive,” Marshall replied.

 “Still got six incoming, though,” warned Spinelli.

 “My lucky number,” Caine said, tapping a control. Alamo rocked as six missiles raced forward from its tubes, propelled by the electromagnets with barely tolerable acceleration on their way to intercept their opposite numbers. Tracks flashed onto the tactical display, a tangled confusion that slowly began to resolve into a series of projected interception positions.

 “Spinelli, I need to know where they came from,” she said, turning her head for a split second. “Second salvo getting into the tubes now. I want to take out the origin points.”

 Zebrova was standing over the sensor station, looking down at the readings, and shook her head, “I’d advise staying clear instead, Captain. That’s a mess down there, and we only picked up the launchers when they fired. For all we know, there could be a hundred launch platforms hidden among the debris.”

 “Agreed. Bradley, take us up nice and high, well clear of the field.”

 “Aye, sir,” she replied, setting the ship onto a steady course as the threat of the missiles receded. Below, a series of point flashes heralded their destruction; they hadn’t even attempted the most basic forms of evasive action.

 “Should I launch the shuttle, sir?” Steele asked. “We’re well within range.”

 “That could easily cause another missile launch,” Zebrova replied. “A shuttlecraft wouldn’t have anything like the ability of Alamo to dodge them.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Fire another missile on the track the shuttle would take. Maybe we can run down their inventory a little.”

 Caine tapped a button, then said, “On the road, skipper.”

 “Spinelli, keep watching out. I want to know if anything in that debris field so much as twitches.”

 It didn’t take long for the missile to trigger a reaction. This time, only a pair of missiles raced up to intercept it; evidently something was producing a proportionate response, Marshall mused as he watched the doomed warhead on its final dive. Caine sent the missile into a series of course changes, trying to duplicate the abilities of a shuttle, and it managed to elude them for a surprisingly long time; Marshall felt a pang of disappointment when one if the pursuers finally made contact.

 “That answers that question,” Zebrova said. “Too dangerous to take that satellite. We could try one of the others, though, out in deep space. Spinelli, find one and get the course plot down to astrogation…”

 “No,” Marshall said. “If Deadeye couldn’t hack the missile, there’s not much likelihood that our hackers would have much luck with one of the satellites.”

 “We’d have a lot more time…”

 Caine interrupted, “Everything about that program had a different set of assumptions. It could take months before we even worked out where to begin.”

 “Suggestions?” Marshall asked.

 With a sigh, Zebrova said, “Steele is probably quite correct in that the ones who destroyed the system – assuming it wasn’t some sort of genocidal war – are long since gone. I hate to leave a mystery unsolved, but we should consider simply leaving the system, though I would still be interested in picking up one of the satellites for technological evaluation if nothing else.”

 “What about getting a shuttle down to the surface?” Caine said.

 “Through a missile swarm that might launch dozens of warheads at them?”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Once the shuttle entered the atmosphere, those warheads would be useless.”

 “You are assuming that there are not similar planetary defenses.”

 “We could test it with a missile first,” Spinelli said. “Or a probe. I’d like to get some more data from the planetary surface anyway.”

 “Haven’t you seen enough, Mike?” Weitzman asked.

 “More than enough, but I’m not going to get exact measurements without it.”

 Marshall nodded, then said, “It sounds a bit ghoulish, but I suspect that some of the terraforming people will be interested in taking a look at anything we can gather, as well. I don’t think we can argue that they transformed their world.”

 “An unmanned probe seems reasonable enough, but is there really a need for a landing team?” Zebrova asked. “We can stand-off at a safe distance, keep well clear of any missiles, and gather everything we need by remote, surely.”

 “I’m less convinced,” Caine said. “I think the only way we’re going to get the answer to the questions we’re looking for is to actually go down there and take a look, and that means putting boots on the ground. We should be able to come up with a way to get through the defenses; it seems to be a fairly primitive system.”

 “That’s something else,” Steele said. “It can’t be an orbital defense network gone rogue, not one designed to fight battles between two powers in orbit, or it would have been depleted over the course of the war.”

 Marshall replied, “Which means that someone set it up after the war, to keep others away. That strengthens the argument that this was done by someone else, and makes it more important to find out all we can about it.”

 “That satellite network could be a thousand years old…,” Zebrova said.

 “And it could have been established last week, for all we know,” Marshall interrupted. “There’s nothing to say that it was constructed when the planet was destroyed. I want a plan to get a team down to the surface by the end of the watch.”

 “Volunteers?” Caine said.

 “Yes, and not you. Or you, Bradley, I could see you twitching to take that shuttle ride. You’re supposed to be getting married in a fortnight, and that’s not something I want to miss. Ask the crew, Lieutenant,” he said to Zebrova. “Keep it tight, four people, at least two of them qualified pilots.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 Rising from his chair, he continued, “You have the bridge,” and made his way to his office in five quick steps, the door sliding shut behind him. He sat down behind his desk, looking at the datapads strewn across its surface, months of paperwork backlog to be resolved in the few weeks before Alamo finally made it home. Home. It had been so long that he had almost forgotten, but soon he’d be back under Admiralty command once again.

 He picked up one of the pads, scrolling through the familiar text. His report. Tens of thousands of words documenting Alamo’s actions over the last year, since they had broken orbit at Mariner Station. The recovery, and subsequent loss of Hercules, the battles they had fought against the Cabal, and their desperate dash for safety, and his expedition into the heart of the Cabal to rescue his men – which had, as a side-effect, secured them a prisoner currently sitting in a hastily-secured guest cabin.

 The door chimed, and he looked up to see Caine walking in, taking a seat opposite him as it closed. She looked up at the wall, at the empty spot where his father’s picture had once hung, then across at him.

 “Want to talk about it?”

 “Is this the time, Deadeye?”

 She smiled, then said, “A midshipman could have come up with the plan. Send six missiles to fly along side the shuttle under the pilot’s control to act as decoys, Alamo hovering overhead with a salvo ready just in case. Clear the road with a salvo flying ahead. I’m set up to do a test run whenever you want.”

 “Fast work.”

 “Low-grade opposition. So given that we have the rest of the watch, and that I probably should stop you from rewriting that report into total incomprehensibility, this seems like as good a time as any.”

 Returning her smile, he nodded, leaning back in his chair, and said, “Perhaps you are right at that. I think I’m more nervous about getting home than I was when I set off on this mission in the first place.”

 “You’ve got used to plotting your own path. I’ve never seen a vaguer set of sailing orders than the ones we received from the President. We certainly fulfilled his mandate for intelligence-gathering.”

 “And lost a lot of people doing it.”

 “Including your father.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “It’s funny, but I don’t think that it has really sunk in. He’s been gone for so long, and I only had him back for a little while. It’s as though he was a ghost, not a real person. Coming back just long enough to say goodbye, then heading back wherever he came.”

 “And the circumstances of his death?”

 “He died a hero, saving his crew in hand-to-hand action. There are worse ways to go. As to what happened before it,” he paused, then said, “Maggie stopped him. That’s the important thing. As it is, I think everything can be quietly left to drop. Most of what happened out here will probably be classified anyway.”

 “If all of that is as you say, then why isn’t his picture on the wall?”

 “Maybe I’m not as certain of myself as I’m quite letting on.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “We’ve got a mission to finish, and we’re not home yet. There’s still another system after this one, remember.”

 She nodded, then said, “You want one last fling, don’t you. Before we get back. Tell me the truth, you’ve thought about taking that shuttle down yourself.”

 “I did, but even I’m not that stupid.” He glanced down at a readout on his desk, and said, “Orlova, Carpenter, Wilson, Forrest. I suppose that was predictable enough.”

 “Figures that Maggie would sign up for this.”

 He shrugged, and replied, “She’s probably the one I would have chosen anyway. And if you so much as mention ancient relics, you’d never keep Carpenter out of the game.”

 “True.” She sighed, then said, “This isn’t exactly the quiet ride home I was hoping for.”

 “I know.”

 “This crew’s been through a lot, Danny. They’re tired, they’re anxious to get home, and I can’t blame them. Thirty of them have been away for more than a decade, and I suspect can’t wait to get those uniforms off.”

 Smiling, Marshall said, “Don’t be so sure about that. I had a message from Frank Nelyubov on my queue this morning, requesting reassignment to deep space duties. There are half a dozen others listed in the roster.”

 “Hard to believe.”

 “Not really,” he replied. “For most of them the military is the only thing they’ve got left. After that long, how do you simply fit back into the world? Fourteen years…”

 “What about you?”

 “Me? I guess I’m destined for a desk job. My tour is up, and I somehow think I’m not going to get another.” He looked around the office, then said, “Someone else will be sitting here in a few months, while I’m warming a chair at headquarters.”

 “Looking forward to it?”

 He glared at her, replying, “I think you know me better than that. What about you?”

 “I signed up to this ride for two reasons. The first was to watch your back, and the second was to see strange new worlds. I can’t really complain. If they try and send me to a desk job, then I’ll be out the first chance I get.”

 “That’d be a pity.”

 “It’d be a bigger one if they bury you behind a desk.” She leaned forward, and said, “You’re coming home with enough weapons in your arsenal to push for another command, and get it. Even if it isn’t on Alamo.”

 “We go where we’re sent, Deadeye. Those are the rules of the game.”

 Shaking her head, she stood up, replying, “Only if you choose to follow them. I’d better go and turn my plan into a ten-page report for the files.” Smiling, she said, “Think about it. There’s always an angle.”

 “Still watching my back?”

 “Always.”

Chapter 3

 Logan tapped the datastick on his desk, waiting for the rest of his senior staff to arrive. He glanced out of the viewport at the recently arrived Wyvern, holding at station keeping a few miles away. A small scoutship, a class recently brought into Triplanetary service, currently working her shakedown cruise on patrols back and forth from fleet installations.

 The door opened, and the confused face of Colonel Singh, the United Nations representative to the station, peered in, looking around. Hesitantly, he drifted through the door, taking a position by the wall.

 “Are you sure you want me here, Captain?”

 “Not in your official capacity, Colonel. I might need your advice.”

 He smiled, and said, “You are asking me not to report anything here to my superiors?”

 “Frankly, yes.”

 Nodding, he replied, “I wouldn’t worry about that, Captain. No-one reads my reports anyway. I’m in exile, and anything to break the monotony is a welcome relief.”

 Lieutenant-Captain John Cunningham, Wyvern’s recently-promoted commander, entered the room, nodding at the Colonel. He tossed a datapad gently across the room to Logan, who snatched it out of the air.

 “It definitely matches the ship we saw at Jefferson,” he said. “A Cabal ship, out here?”

 “Actually, it’s a Triplanetary ship,” Logan replied, and Singh reacted with a start.

 “One of your ships?” 

 “Captured.”

 The remaining figures drifted into the room, Harper beaming as she looked around at the others, Ryder silently following her, surprise flashing on her face with the presence of Singh. Logan hit a control, and the door locked shut; unknown to everyone other than him, a jamming field activated around the room, blocking any potential eavesdroppers.

 “Let me stress that everything that is covered here today is to be considered Top Secret.”

 “Captain,” Singh began, but Logan raised a hand.

 “You are here for a reason, Colonel. I’m going to need your help.”

 Raising an eyebrow, he nodded, and said, “Anything I can do, Captain, as long as it will not adversely affect my government.”

 “I might ask you for a favor, Colonel, but I wouldn’t ask you to turn traitor.” He tapped a button, and a flickering holographic projection of the Dumont appeared over his desk. “All of you know that Alamo went out into Cabal space; it might have been secret at the time, but I’m certain that UN Intelligence is aware of it.”

 “And have been for some time,” Singh replied.

 “They were looking for Hercules,” Cunningham said. “We’d found evidence of their location, buried in a hidden signal. Are you trying to say…”

 “They found them,” Logan interrupted. “No question. The four people on that ship – the four corpses – were all crewmen of Hercules, and the place is littered with evidence that Hercules captured the Dumont. There are signs of hand-to-hand fighting all over the place. Harper, your report.”

 She nodded, having been previously briefed to limit her words, and said, “We know that Dumont found a new way home; I’ve dug into her astrogation systems, and found a path that represents a shortcut to the Cabal. What we don’t know is whether the Cabal know about it. At her last stop, there was a battle, and the commander decided to gamble on making a jump to here, presumably to make sure we were aware of the new route.”

 “And paid for it with their lives,” Ryder added.

 “Someone hacked into the system and messed with their life support, deleting most of the files. They were able to protect their hendecaspace drive – which incidentally has been cobbled together out of bits and pieces, lots of them obviously not original to the ship – and get here, but that’s all they managed.”

 “There are four escape pods missing,” Logan said. “It seems likely that they managed to get the bulk of the crew out. Perhaps the plan was for all of them to go, and something went wrong. In any event, it gives us a rather serious problem.”

 Nodding, Cunningham said, “The Cabal could be operating in force within one jump of this system.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Wyvern can’t stop them. No chance.”

 “There are no United Nations forces anywhere near,” Singh said. “I doubt any of them would come to help in any case.”

 “Actually, they might,” Logan said. “Which is why you are here. Ryder?”

 She looked across at Singh, and said, “Under Captain Winter’s orders, I did a search for all ships that could leave the system within twenty-four hours. The obvious choice is the James Buchanan, a fast transport – and a former United Nations Auxiliary.”

 “Wyvern…,” Cunningham began, but Logan interrupted him.

 “We need Wyvern to protect the station, or at least act as a tripwire – and rustle up a task force at the first opportunity. The Buchanan is the best choice. She even has armament – two missile tubes, once we get them reactivated. I’ve spoken to her Captain…”

 “And she is refusing to allow you to take her ship, without authorization from a senior United Nations officer,” Singh said. “At last, light dawns. I’m surprised you don’t simply requisition her, though. Surely you could compel her assistance.”

 “You might find this hard to believe, but even I don’t start international incidents at the drop of a hat. I’d like you to authorize this mission, Colonel. We need that ship, and if I’m going to defend this station, I’ve got to know if there is an enemy force building up. Hell, it might not even be the Cabal but someone else, and that could be a whole new level of danger.”

 “I quite understand, Captain. I will assent to the mission…”

 “Thank you,” Logan said.

 “...provided that I be permitted to accompany it. Purely in a personal capacity. I have served on ships of this sort in the past; I might be of value.”

 Cunningham looked across at Logan, and said, “We can’t have a UN envoy on a mission of this importance to Triplanetary security.”

 “I quite agree,” Singh said. “I will be acting simply on my own behalf.”

 “I don’t have much choice, do I?” Logan asked.

 “No.”

 “Then I agree. Would you go and make the arrangements? I want to leave the system in twelve hours, and we’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to make the ship ready.”

 “Very well. Thank you, Captain, for indulging the whims of an old man.” Singh nodded at the other officers, then stepped out of the room, Logan quietly releasing the lock for the seconds needed for his departure, then re-engaging the systems.

 “Now for the rest of it,” he said. “Dumont didn’t just come back to give us some stellar co-ordinates, they brought treasure with them.”

 Nodding, Harper said, “I’ve only been looking at this for a few hours, but we have a complete Cabal military database, along with encryption codes to access most of it. Peta bytes of information, all secured. Lieutenant Curry and her crew gave their lives to protect it.”

 “I don’t need to tell any of you how important this information is,” Logan said. “Evidently Alamo was able to accomplish its intelligence-gathering mission in ways we couldn’t even have dreamed possible. The biggest intelligence coup in the history of the Confederation.”

 “Alamo?”

 Harper looked across at Cunningham, and said, “I’ve found reports from Lieutenant-Captain Marshall, Lieutenant Caine, Sub-Lieutenants Orlova and Tyler, all preliminary assessments of the material. There’s a lot from Orlova, far more than the others.”

 “She was Security Officer,” Cunningham said, “so that makes sense.”

 “The material is about six months old, but obviously still extremely valuable,” Logan said. “Which means that the top priority is getting Dumont to safety. Wyvern can carry a duplicate of the database back to Mariner, with instructions from me to immediately dispatch a task force to protect the station.” He raised a datapad, and said, “My recommendation is that the passage to the Cabal be immediately secured by fleet forces.”

 “Commodore Tramiel’s been gathering a force together for months now, keeping a lot of the big ships home,” Cunningham said. “With a little luck, they’ll be a battle group in position in three weeks. I’ll add my own recommendations to the list.”

 With a thin smile, Logan said, “Meaning you have no intention of going back.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “You’ll need a crew for the Buchanan. And a commander. No offense, but you’ve never handled a ship in battle. I’ll hand-pick some people Wyvern can spare.”

 Looking across, Ryder said, “Captain, I’m qualified to command the transport. We can handle it with Spitfire personnel; surely getting the information back to Mariner Station has to be the top priority at the moment.”

 “It’s a milk run, Lieutenant, despite the importance of the mission. Lieutenant West is perfectly capable of commanding the run. Besides, if Logan’s going, you’ll have to command the station in his absence.”

 “Lieutenant West…”

 A smile growing across his face, Logan said, “Let’s be honest, both of you want to go, and neither is willing to concede it.”

 Cunningham looked at him, and said, “You know I’m right.”

 “I know that you both need to go, and I don’t see any reason to stop you. We’re heading out in a half-upgraded auxiliary, and I’m going to need the best crew I can get. West can command Wyvern on the flight back, and Spender can command the station in our mutual absence. Things are quiet enough here at the moment, and the place will be swarming with star-strewn officers soon anyway.”

 With a smile, Cunningham looked across at Ryder, and said, “That’s fine with me.”

 “I’m going,” she replied. “That’s all that interests me at the moment.”

 Harper looked up, and said, “I’m going too.”

 “Is that an order, Spaceman?” Logan asked, grinning. “I never doubted it.”

 Looking around, she said, “Are we going to talk about the body now?”

 Nodding, Logan said, “The best we can determine is that we have a Neanderthal Man, long-extinct on Earth, that was alive and a member of the crew of the Dumont less than a week ago.” Raising a hand, he said, “I have no more idea how the hell that came about than the rest of you did, but it is an established fact. The body's been put into cold freeze to preserve it; I've given instructions that it isn't to be touched.”

 Ryder replied, “That's not going to be popular.”

 “All we need is to dismember the corpse of the Ambassador to the Grand Star Empire of the Cavemen, Lieutenant. I told you, I don't like starting diplomatic incidents. The, er, crate has been labeled top secret for the moment, until we get some idea what the hell is going on.”

 While he was talking, he could hear the lock making some complaining noises, and with a smile on his face, he released the mechanism with the touch of a button. The door slid open, and Sub-Lieutenant Melissa Chambers, his Political Officer, stood at the threshold, a datapad in her hand. She looked around the room, a frown stamped on her face, then at Logan.

 “What is going on here?” she demanded.

 “I think it is time for me to brief my Political Officer, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve got a lot of work to do before we move out, so we’d better get on with it. I’ll be over on the Buchanan in an hour.”

 “I’ll start with the crew transfers, and get Spender up to speed,” Ryder said, pausing at the door. “And thank you, Captain.”

 Looking at the three of them, he said, “I know how important this is to all of you. I want to find out what happened as well. With luck, we’ll have the answers we’ve been looking for.”

 The three of them left the room, Chambers hanging in the air. Logan jabbed the button again, and smiled when he found it wasn’t working; he wouldn’t be needing his special systems for much longer in any case.

 “I thought we had an understanding…,” Chambers began, but Logan interrupted her.

 “We do, and right now, we’re talking escalating levels of briefing. Singh got one piece of it, the rest got another, and you’re getting the rest. How much of that did you hear?”

 “Most of it.”

 “I’ll give you a transcript later. I have a special mission for you, and I don’t think you are going to like it. Aside from Harper, though, you’re the only one who can do it.”

 “And that is?”

 Logan reached under his desk, and pulled out a slender metal briefcase, looking like one of a dozen that could be brought anywhere on the station.

 “We’ve made a breakthrough that has to be exploited, and we both know that the Admiralty is getting over-stocked with bureaucratic empire-builders at the moment. When the Wyvern gets back, I don’t trust the boys at Mariner Station to pass this on properly.”

 A smile began to creep onto her face, and she said, “Courier duty?”

 “With two destinations. The first is Fleet Captain Paine; I want him to get his staff onto the analysis right away. The second…” He took a deep breath, and said, “President Newton must get this information, without any delay, and you’ve got to get it to him. Without telling anyone what it is, or why. I haven’t got anyone else who even has a chance of that. Paine will help smooth the way if needed, but you have the connections.”

 “You really don’t trust channels?”

 “I don’t dare take the risk. We’re growing too fast, and I’m getting worried that things are beginning to slip through the cracks. This way I get a guarantee that the database gets where it needs to go. Between the two of them, Paine and the President can get that task-force moving.”

 The frown returned to her face as she replied, “You seem more optimistic about Captain Paine than the President.”

 “Politicians come and go, but intelligence chiefs are eternal. He knows where the bodies are buried.” With a wry smile, he continued, “Hell, he helped bury most of them.”

 “How do you want me to get there?”

 “That’s up to you, and I don’t want to know. Your destination is Carter Station; head to Miguel’s and ask for the Soup of the Day.”

 “This all seems very cloak-and-dagger,” she replied with a smile. “Isn’t this rather old-fashioned?” 

 “Sometimes the old tricks are still the best. Leave by civilian transport, any way you want, I suggest under a false identity. Once we’ve left, you’ll have a good head-start over Wyvern.”

 “No other orders?”

 He shrugged, then replied, “I trust your discretion and your ability to make use of your contacts. If you need some advice, I’d suggest asking Lilith if she’s got any of her, ah, special cargoes heading out that way in the near future.”

 “Don’t worry, I’ll get it done.” Frowning, she said, “Why Carter Station?”

 “Because the President is swinging through Callisto to do some campaigning next week.”

 “I suppose I don’t want to know how you know about that,” she replied. “Keeps me well out of the way of Wyvern, as well. What happens next?”

 “Who knows? I have a sneaky suspicion that I have finally found a way of getting out of this damn job; presumably some stuffed shirt will replace me in my absence. Try and attach yourself to the task force, that’s what I’m going to do.”

 Nodding, she said, “You know, you really should be doing this yourself. I’m pretty sure that I can handle it, but you’d give more weight than I can provide. Cunningham and Ryder are up to handling the search for Alamo.”

 “That’s the problem. They’d turn it into a crusade, and I can’t permit that. We need advanced recon, not a long-range mission of exploration. There would be too much temptation to go to one more star, then another. This way, I can keep them on mission.”

 “I don’t buy that any more than you bought Ryder’s crap. You want to find out what happened to Alamo as much as they do. The rest is your attempt to rationalize it.”

 “It’s a little more personal in my case.”

 “Why?”

 “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Alamo’s mission was my idea.”

 Her eyes widened, and she replied, “I thought the President…”

 “Once we knew how extensive the Cabal spy ring was, I made the pitch to Paine, who made the pitch direct to the Big Boss himself. I even suggested that Alamo was the obvious choice.” He looked out at the starfield, and said, “I sent them out there. I have to go and find out what happened, maybe pick up the pieces if needed.”

 “So you improvise a mission out of almost nothing, throw it together with a rag-tag crew, and fly off on some sort of mad rescue flight.”

 “Beats staying behind here and dealing with the paperwork. I’m not a desk-jockey, and I was never intended to be. Ideally I’d go alone, but the three of them have a stake in this too. I’m sure that Cunningham and Ryder can come up with a crew of volunteers between them. You can always find people who are willing to take the gamble on a fast track to the next life for an adventure, especially in uniform.”

 “Be careful, Logan,” she said. “I mean that. Don’t take any stupid risks.”

 “I wouldn’t have lived this long if I made a habit of that.”

 “We both know that it only takes one exception to that rule for it to be your last.”

 With a smile, he replied, “You’re learning. Good luck.”

 “And to you. I’ll see you here in about a month, with the whole damn fleet with me.”

 “I’ll hold you to that.”

 She drifted out of the room, and Logan watched after her as the door slid shut once again. Briefly, he contemplated what she had said; she was quite right that he was the obvious choice to sneak home with the data, but he was also the best choice to evaluate what might be waiting out there. Not that he needed any excuse to try and get out from under.

 Tapping a sequence of commands into his desk computer, he smiled as a series of files were irretrievably erased from the station database, as if they had never existed, and another report was placed in an electronic dead-letter box, waiting for the next operative to report on board. Habit meant that he had never unpacked his belongings, though it would still take him a little while to get everything together.

 Pausing for a second, he reached down for a second briefcase, and carefully checked the seals before placing it under his arm, then pulled one of the datapads from the stack, going over the few nuggets of information Harper had managed to snatch from the files. Tucking it into a pocket, he took what he hoped would be a last look around the office, and caught himself realizing that he was going to miss it. With a smile, he flicked off the lights, and drifted out into the corridor.

Chapter 4

 Lieutenant Orlova smiled as she pulled herself into the shuttle cabin, looking around at the passengers sitting with their equipment in the rear section. Sergeant Forrest had kept it simple, considering that his plasma rifle would be sufficient for the mission, but Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter had chosen another path, briefly glancing up as she inventoried her hastily assembled equipment. Chief Wilson was waiting for her up in the cockpit, running through preflight checks, waving her to the pilot’s seat.

 “I didn’t know you could fly, Chief,” she said, settling in next to him.

 With a weary smile, he replied, “I know enough to turn on the autopilot and let Alamo bring me home. There weren’t that many volunteers for this mission.”

 “Just the usual suspects. We only needed four, remember.”

 “And we had six.” Shaking his head, he said, “Time was the whole crew would have volunteered for this mission. Now I think we’ve shaken most of the adventuring spirit out of them, at least for a while.”

 “Relax, Chief. This will be easy.”

 “Riding through a swarm of missiles of unknown strength?”

 “We’ve done worse.”

 “It’s a bad sign when I agree with you on that score.”

 Turning back to the rear cabin, she called out, “You ready back there?”

 “All set, Maggie,” Carpenter said.

 “Ready and eager,” Forrest added.

 “See,” she said to Wilson. “Eager.”

 “Espatiers tend to have more guts than brains. It’s part of the job description. Course is plotted and ready in the computers, and I had them double the load on the physical countermeasures. I’m glad they didn’t write them out of the design specs.”

 “God bless conservative designers.” Flicking a switch, she said, “Shuttle One to Alamo, requesting clearance to depart.”

 Captain Marshall’s voice replied, “Don’t take too many risks, Lieutenant. I want you all back in one piece, and I don’t think Quinn will be happy if you break his shuttle.”

 “Will do, sir.”

 “Then you have launch clearance, and good luck, shuttle.”

 Sirens sounded as the shuttle dropped down the elevator airlock, the hatches clamping shut overhead as the atmosphere was sucked out of the space. After a few seconds, the lower doors opened, and the shuttle fell clear of the ship, Orlova waiting a few heartbeats before cautiously firing the engines to kick them away.

 She glanced down at the sensor display, and saw the tracks of the trailblazing missile salvo ahead of her; as she watched, six more images jumped onto the panel, Caine deploying the missile screen that would hopefully shield them against attack. She glanced across at Wilson, who nodded.

 “I have control of those birds, Lieutenant. You can go whenever you are ready.”

 “Right, Chief. Firing engines now.”

 The force of acceleration pushed her firmly back in her seat; she’d seen no reason for this flight to take any longer than strictly necessary, and programmed the course plot for maximum speed at the expense of comfort. Even that would barely tax the missiles flying alongside, designed for far greater acceleration than any human could ever deal with.

 She looked down at the planet below as the shuttle began to curve towards it, a swirling mass of green fog with a million points of light surrounding it, the debris that she could see. They were deliberately taking a course to keep them as clear of the field as possible, but all it would take was a piece of shrapnel smaller than she could see to ruin their day. Still, space was big, and those were the risks she’d signed on to take.

 Next to her, the Chief was working furiously, monitoring the six missiles surrounding them. He turned to her, gesturing at a display, and she nodded in response. The field had detected the first wave of missiles up ahead, and launched in response – twenty more missiles were now in the air, well in the lead. Thus far, everything was going according to plan; above her, Alamo moved silently into position.

 She glanced up at the ship, its laser reflectors extended to their full range, recently repaired by Quinn. A kilometer of thin black material, angled slightly to give the appearance of Alamo as a bird, swooping in to make a kill.

 They were still a few moments from the critical area, and she ran a few test checks on the systems, making sure her evasive sequences were programmed in, taking one more look at the physical countermeasures, all ready to deploy. A trio of warning lights winked on, alerts that she was on a course for the atmosphere, her speed dipping below planetary escape velocity.

 “Three hits, Lieutenant,” Wilson said. “Three of ours still running. Nine of theirs have run out of fuel and are coasting. No sign of additional launches.”

 “And our bodyguards?”

 “All running true.”

 “Good.” She paused, then said, “Make sure they have enough thrust to reach escape velocity. The last thing we want is to add to the mess they’ve got down there.”

 “Will do,” he replied with a nod. “We’re entering the threat zone now.”

 She tensed up at her controls, looking around as though she could detect the launches visually. Some pilots opted to fly without a viewscreen, entirely reliant on their instruments, but for her it ruined the experience of it all. The times when seeing something for herself had made the difference between a safe landing and a crash had been too frequent for her to trust the computers – and she’d noticed early on that the cynical, cautious pilots were the old ones.

 “How much have we got on the atmosphere down there?” she asked.

 “No more than we had at first sight. It’s a mess of crosswinds and storms. We’re going to have trouble getting through it all.”

 “Sounds like fun.”

 “We have different ideas about what constitutes a nice day out, Lieutenant.”

 Both of them were talking for the sake of filling up the time. The computer would alert them in an instant if anything approached them, and would begin to take the programmed counter-actions. Whatever ancient intelligence was running the defense systems out there had the initiative.

 Within a few seconds, it used it. The panel lit up as another dozen tracks appeared, a new swarm of missiles heading for them. Instantly, their deadly wingmen pulled off into a starburst formation, diving in six different directions to throw off their pursuers; overhead, Alamo launched another salvo, six more missiles heading to intercept.

 “Decoy away,” Orlova said. “Holding chaff and flares until the last moment.” She turned with a grin, and said, “I can’t believe we’re using this stuff. It’s like a scene from an old movie.”

 “Let’s hope we’re the good guys,” the Chief replied. “It seems to be working, at least. Three of the targets are pulling away.”

 “Atmosphere in two minutes,” she said. “I’ll try and crowd on some more boost. See if we can speed that up a little.” She tapped a couple of controls, instructing the navigation computer to be even more liberal with the thrust, and felt herself being pushed more firmly back into her chair.

 Twenty-four missiles were now seeking mutual self-destruction all around the shuttle; she kept a close eye on the sensors as they started to dip down out of range, flying through the artificial ring system, alert for more launches. As a series of explosions erupted above them, she began to pull back as the shuttle’s hull began to bite air, the external temperature beginning to rise.

 “Hold on, everyone,” she said. “This could get bumpy.”

 That was something of an understatement; the atmosphere was well over five times denser than on Earth, right on the limit of the hull’s abilities to withstand it, even with extra reinforcement. She struggled to put it into the reentry angle; at least they weren’t too worried about where they came down.

 Now the computers were resorting to as much guesswork as she; with little information to work on, there wasn’t much they could do to adapt to the changing atmosphere around them. The underside of the shuttle began to glow, flickering flames leaping up across the outside pickups, sending strange shadows and shapes dancing across the cockpit. She rested her hands on the controls, trying to keep the course changes to a minimum, an eye on the fuel readings.

 “We’re in the safe zone now,” Wilson said. “Assuming there are no nasty shocks waiting for us down on the surface.”

 “Are you always this cheerful?” Orlova replied. The shuttle rocked to the side, caught by a strong gust, as she struggled to compensate, pulling it back on trajectory. The heat was beginning to dissipate as the shuttle shed its speed; now she dipped the nose down and fired the engines at low power, sending her soaring over the landscape.

 Despite her best efforts, maintaining a straight course was next to impossible; she followed a series of long curves, trying to work with the winds and currents rather than against them. The land beneath was the blasted wasteland that she had expected from the brief glimpses they had found from orbit; craters everywhere, thousands of them, some of them dozens of miles across, with the remains of lava flows suggesting the devastation that had once been wrought here.

 The sensors began what initially seemed to be a vain quest to find some sort of structure on the surface, something that they could use to gather the information they needed, and then Wilson turned to her, surprise on his face.

 “I’m getting a signal. Weak, but steady.”

 “Where?”

 “Locking it into the computer now. Too weak to get through the atmosphere, but pointing up as if it wants to. Definitely data transmission, not a beacon or something like that.” He frowned, then continued, “I suppose it could be some sort of defense system.”

 “Only one way to find out,” she replied. “I’m setting a course. Ninety miles east, bringing her around. Can you raise Alamo?”

 He looked down at his instruments, and replied, “Reception’s lousy, but I’ve got them. Data feed only, though, no voice, and on quadruple-redundancy at that.”

 “Keep piping through everything you can.”

 She settled the shuttle onto its course, taking her through a cloud-bank that momentarily dimmed the cabin, before bringing it down on minimum power, curving onto a glide path to save fuel. There should be enough in the tanks to get her back up into orbit, but a good pilot didn’t take unnecessary risks.

 Up ahead, she could see their target at the heart of a huge crater, a tall tower, twisted and bent, reaching up into the sky with a patch of concrete by the side. She glanced across at the radiation counter, surprisingly low for the area. Obviously this crater had been made by asteroid rather than bomb.

 Playing her thrusters around, she went for a brute-force approach for the landing, playing for as near as she could manage to a vertical descent, landing legs preferred to wheels. The craft rocked from side to side as she struggled to maintain the angle, trying to keep her steady, and it was with a sense of relief that the contact lights winked on, the shuttle finally down and stable on the surface.

 “Run checks, Chief. Do you mind staying on board for this one?”

 “Only too glad to serve,” he said, grimacing at the view. “Watch yourself out there.”

 She unbuckled, conscious of the amber warning lights from the pressure sensors. In the rear cabin, Carpenter and Forrest were already getting themselves ready, suits half on, and she rushed to catch up.

 “Stay within visual range of the shuttle,” she said as she secured her gloves, “and remain in contact at all times. If contact is lost, drop what you are doing and head back to the shuttle. Forrest, you’ll remain on guard at the airlock while Carpenter and I go over to that tower.”

 “Maggie, I doubt there is a living soul on the planet,” Carpenter said. 

 “Even so, let’s be careful.”

 “I’m with the Lieutenant,” Forrest said. “There’s something about this place.”

 “I know,” she replied. “I’ve never seen anything that close to hell in my life, and I don’t want to.”

 “I’ve seen cratered worlds before,” Carpenter replied. “What’s the difference?” 

 “You’ve never been to Earth, have you?”

 “No.”

 “Go over Australia, or north India, and it looks a lot like that landscape out there. The difference there is that nature’s at least making the attempt to reclaim the terrain. Here there isn’t even that blessing.”

 They finished suiting up, and stepped into the airlock. Clearing the atmosphere from the outside was going to be a real challenge for the scrubbers, and they all crowded into the space between the hatches, anxious to restore the double hull as fast as they could. A red light flashed on, and the outer door opened, allowing Orlova to stumble out into the devastation.

 “Chief, do you read me?” she said.

 “Just about, Lieutenant.”

 “Try and get whatever you can from that datafeed while we’re down here. I don’t want to disturb anything too much. The owners might come back.” Gesturing towards the heart of the crater, she said, “Come on, Susan.”

 “I thought you’d never ask.” Looking around, she continued, “You’re right, though. There is something here. I know it’s just my nerves, but…”

 “Yeah. Let’s get this over with so we can get out of here.”

 The two of them stumbled forward, the wind tugging at their suits as they struggled to make forward progress. Angry clouds loomed overhead, a storm obviously building, just another reason why they needed to leave as soon as they could. Carpenter almost tripped over what looked like a piece of stone, then slumped down to her knees as she got a closer look.

 “Found something?” Orlova asked.

 She looked up, then said, “I’m afraid so,” and pulled out a long bone. “There are some tatters of material around, probably some sort of spacesuit.”

 “Get some for analysis, and take the bone with you. Any first-glance thoughts?”

 “Looks human. Human-human, I mean, not Neander. I’ll know for sure when I get it back up to Alamo. I know one thing, there must be bodies all around here. Principle of mediocrity.”

 “Think it’s worth doing a dig?”

 “Probably not. Let’s go and look at that tower.”

 The remains stuffed into a bag, hanging at Carpenter’s belt, they walked forward, towards the looming structure. In a way, this represented some sort of optimism; someone had to have built this after the devastation, or it would never have survived the impact. If their civilization had tried to make a last stand here, though, then it had failed. No-one had been here for centuries.

 As they approached, Orlova’s eyes widened. The tower hadn’t been damaged as she had thought, it was intentionally angled; some sort of mechanism was guiding it. She could see it moving, just a little, and not buffeted by the wind. There was an element of control.

 “Look on the ground,” Carpenter said, gesturing at a mound with a piece of metal sticking out of it. She reached down for it, brushing the soil away, and pulling her prize out. “We can take this back for analysis, but this looks like a camera.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “Someone wanted a front-row seat. I wonder where it is pointing.”

 At the base of the antenna, she could see a pair of spheres that almost had to be controls of some kind, sealed shut against the environment. Looking up, a trio of boxes identical to the one Carpenter had found were still operating pointing in three directions towards the horizon.

 “I wonder what’s powering it?” Carpenter asked.

 “Wind, geothermal, maybe? I can’t imagine a battery lasting long enough.” Orlova reached towards one of the spheres, her gloved hands reaching to find a catch. Something triggered, in any case, and the sphere cracked open, revealing buttons, switches and gauges, as well as the sand that had forced its way in over the centuries.

 “That reminds me,” she said. “We’d better start taking soil samples. Might as well make as thorough a job as we can.”

 She knelt down, scooping some dirt into a container, then looked up at the clouds still looming menacingly overhead. Shaking her head, she turned to Carpenter.

 “We might need to get out faster than we thought,” she said. 

 “Wait a minute,” she replied, a scanner in her hand. “I’m getting something buried here, maybe a meter down. I think we can get at it.”

 “Something?”

 “A container of some kind. Maybe whoever built this left a message.”

 With a glance up at the sky, she said, “Let’s make it quick.”

 Unstrapping small shovels from their sides, they started to attack the soil, small mounds of dirt rapidly appearing on either side. The exertion rapidly began to tire them, and after a few moments, Orlova paused, panting.

 “Lieutenant, I don’t like the local atmospheric pressure,” Wilson’s voice echoed. “We’re going to have to cut this one short.”

 “Start pre-flight, Chief. We’ll be back in a minute.”

 Carpenter was still working, and she grinned as she struck something with her spade. Reaching down into the pit, she grasped a protruding handle and started to tug. Orlova peered down with her torch, then joined her friend, easing the object free of the grasping soil. Finally, with one last tug, it came loose, almost sending them tumbling.

 “That’s it, Susan. We’re leaving.”

 “At least I think we’ve found what we came for now,” she said. “Hopefully this will tell us what we need.”

 “You can spend all the time you want examining it in your lab up on Alamo. I’ve got to get us there. Let’s move.”

 “Fine, I’m coming.”

 With one last glance up at the silent tower, still working for its masters after centuries alone, they started to make their way back across the bleak terrain to the shuttle. Neither was willing to put up an argument to stay, to wait the storm out.

 “We need to name this rock,” Carpenter said.

 “Any ideas?”

 “Tombstone.”

Chapter 5

 Marshall walked into the briefing room, sitting at the head of the table, looking around at his assembled officers. He paused for a second, still expecting to see Mulenga sitting opposite him in the chair now occupied by Race; it was a brief shock. A lot of people had come and gone from this table over the last three years. Cooper sitting in the chair that had briefly been Zabek’s, then Esposito’s before her, and Zebrova sitting in Dietz’s old seat. Strange.

 “Carpenter, you can go first today. There’s only one order of business, Tombstone.”

 Nodding, the sub-lieutenant stood up, tapping a display on the desk to reveal a hologram of the time capsule she had discovered, still in a protected environment in one of the airlocks. She tapped another button, and it seemed to open up, a high-speed recording of her progress over the last twenty-four hours.

 “You all know what we found at the base of the communications array. My guess is that it was built some years after the...disaster on the planet, after the ambient radiation had fallen somewhat. This would have been left for anyone who managed to get through.”

 “How does that work with the defense grid?” Zebrova asked. “If they wanted us to find it, then wouldn’t they have made it easier to land?”

 “Probably they only wanted their own people to get through,” Caine suggested. “Maybe there was an identification code, or something they thought was obvious. For all we know, Alamo bears a resemblance to ships that attacked them.”

 The thought sent a shudder of revulsion through Marshall, who said, “It’s as likely that we’re dealing with a malfunction of some sort. That computer has been guarding this planet for a long time. Carry on, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Thank you, sir.” She gestured at the box, and said, “There are a few dozen data crystals, which we haven’t touched as yet, but there was also a selection of mineral samples. From what we can tell by long-range analysis, they match all of the other worlds in this system, with one exception – there is one rogue piece, likely part of an asteroid.”

 “Good way to tell us that they were spacefaring,” Quinn said. “Might be worth taking a look on some of the vacuum worlds, Captain. The artifacts there would be better preserved.”

 “We can add this world to a long list of our discoveries meriting a xeno-archaeological research team, Lieutenant,” Carpenter said. “We had a look at some of the other asteroids in the system, and they match, but I think they were trying to tell us something more specific.” She rotated the view, showing a carving of the interior of the box. “That tells us something we already knew; the inhabitants of this system were human in origin.”

 The image clearly showed a man and a woman, both naked, standing next to each other. It could easily have been an image from an early space probe, though this had been designed to travel in time rather than space. Carpenter tapped a button, and an image of the femur appeared.

 “Initially, we thought that this was a casualty of the war, but I think it was left to tell us more about them. Give anyone who might follow something to examine, like a body donated for medical research. My guess is that a full excavation of the site would reveal a lot more bodies, probably in some sort of a pattern. The dating on this bone puts it about seven hundred years ago.”

 “That’s all?” Cooper said. “We only just missed them.”

 “As I said, that was likely decades, even centuries after the war. Chief Wilson was able to gather at least some of the data, and proved surprisingly easy to decode.” She tapped another button, and an image of the blasted surface appeared over the desk. “Just video, nice and simple, views of the surface around the antenna site.”

 “That’s all? Nothing more?”

 “There might have been more encoded in the data, but it looked like a surprisingly clean signal to me,” Nelyubov volunteered. “My presumption is that someone wanted to reduce the bandwidth as much as they could.”

 “Nothing could get through that cloud anyway,” Zebrova said.

 “That’s true today,” Orlova replied, “but it might have been different when it was established. Not only that, but the strength of the transmitted has no doubt degraded over the decades.”

 “So we have a beacon, transmitting to...where?”

 “I think Mr. Race should take over at this point,” Carpenter said. “All yours, Peter.”

 The tall, aristocratic man nodded, smiled, and said, “Well, the beacon is transmitting towards one of our two routes home, the one we were planning to skip. I don’t for a moment think that it was intended to transmit that far, though.”

 “Then what’s the point of it?” Marshall asked.

 “I think it was sending a signal to a space ark.”

 Quinn nodded, then said, “The asteroid.”

 “Exactly,” Race replied. “There are a lot of small asteroids in the system. As impossible as it sounds, I think that the mineral sample on the planet is a portion of an asteroid they converted into a starship.”

 “But the power required to throw something that big into hendecaspace would be several orders of magnitude greater than anything we’ve ever conceived of,” Orlova said.

 “Not FTL, Maggie,” Quinn said. “STL. Very, very STL.”

 Race smiled, then said, “Consider. The planet below is destroyed, all life wiped out. In space, there are survivors, scattered in colonies and outposts. Natural that they would all get together.”

 “Then why not stay here? Why take the gamble of leaving their system?” Zebrova said. “It doesn’t seem logical. Over time, the planet below would be inhabitable again, especially with terraforming.”

 “The system they are heading for has a world that is borderline habitable. Certainly with oxygen masks and shirtsleeves, even better than this one. None of the other worlds in this system are up to much; I’d be thinking about moving on as well. Besides, staying here in the system, looking at what they had lost, might have been even more difficult than making the big jump.”

 “It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it,” Marshall said. “A people savaged by war, all but wiped out, and they still manage to plan an expedition on such a scale.”

 “This is all just a theory,” Zebrova said. “A chain of conjecture.”

 “No, Lieutenant,” Race said, tapping a control to bring up a map of the planet and its moon system. “Today, this world has five moons, all of them small, probably captured asteroids. A thousand years ago, it had six.”

 “Are you sure about that?”

 “I’ve run the simulations a dozen times. It was small, no more than eight kilometers, but it was there. They used gravity assist to get clear, probably some of the other planets as well, gaining whatever speed they could.”

 “A starship dependent on gravity assist…,” Quinn said, shaking his head.

 “How long would they take to get there?” Marshall asked. “Any guesses?”

 “A few,” Race said. “Vague, though. I’d say centuries rather than millennia, probably between five hundred and a thousand years. Which means there is a good chance they are already there, assuming they made it.”

 “There’s another possibility,” Zebrova said. “They might have been the ones who destroyed the planet, moving on to their next destination. We can’t determine the psychology of them; just because the people on the world below were humans does not mean the ones in that starship were.”

 “True,” Marshall said. “At least we know that they didn’t have faster-than-light drive.”

 “That was centuries ago, sir,” Quinn said. “In a time scale that saw us go from gunpowder rockets to the hendecaspace drive. I don’t think we can necessarily assume anything about their capability. From what we’ve seen so far, I’d rate them about a century behind us.”

 “If they had hendecaspace drive, wouldn’t we have met them by now?” Orlova said.

 “Another good point. There are a lot of unknowns here,” Marshall said. “The decision is very simple. Do we go and investigate, or do we go home? Comment is invited.”

 “Going home is the safe option,” Zebrova said. “Undoubtedly a ship will be sent, maybe a scout ship. We can be at Spitfire Station in eleven days.”

 “That’s a point,” Orlova said. “What about the Dumont? We know they traveled this way, and we can guess that they would have come to essentially the same conclusions.”

 “I think Curry would have taken a look,” Nelyubov said. “Assuming she didn’t find something we didn’t.”

 “Then we could assume that the situation could have already been investigated,” Zebrova replied.

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “I’m not going to assume anything about the Dumont. We have no way of knowing what Lieutenant Curry did, and there is no sense second-guessing her.”

 Looking up at him, Orlova said, “You know I’m going to suggest going for it.”

 “I presumed as much. Reasons?”

 “If there is a populated world that close to our space, it’s an issue of Triplanetary security. Especially if it turns out that they were the ones that destroyed this planet. I don’t think that is something we can dismiss. As Quinn pointed out, they’ve had time to learn FTL, build an armada.”

 “Another Cabal, right on our doorstep,” Race said. “I want to look as well, though I admit my reasoning is more personal. I don’t think they were the hostile party, and I want to know if they made it.”

 “Anything to back that up, Lieutenant?” Marshall asked.

 “Just a gut feeling, sir. Nothing that I can put into any more words than that, I’m afraid.”

 Carpenter nodded, and said, “Science demands we go, sir. These humans didn’t come from Earth under their own volition, which could make them survivors of the wars with the Neander. If they have managed to maintain an unbroken historical record, we could learn more in a day than after centuries digging through sand.”

 “Deadeye?” Marshall asked.

 “We haven’t got enough information for a strategic viewpoint, but I’d recommend going. It only adds another three days to our journey.”

 “This crew is tired, Captain,” Zebrova said. “What’s more, we have critical information to get home. Should we jeopardize that for a look at a potentially hostile system? Not to mention the condition of the ship.”

 Marshall smiled as Quinn visibly bristled, saying, “Alamo is ready to do anything the Captain orders it to do, and my technicians are nicely on top of the maintenance routine. I think we should go. That’s my vote.”

 “This isn’t a democracy,” Zebrova replied.

 “No, it isn’t,” Marshall said. “Work on gathering all the information you can. I’ll give you my decision in an hour.”

 Turning to him, Zebrova said, “Captain, why make them wait? You know that you’re going to give the order to go.”

 With a smile, Caine said, “She’s got you worked out, Danny.”

 Looking sharply at her, Marshall replied, “I still want to go over this. Dismissed, everyone.”

 The officers rose as one, and started to walk out of the room while Marshall remained sitting, frowning at the surface of the desk. Caine remained, lingering at the door, then walking back in, attracting a glare from Zebrova as the door closed.

 “I’m not surprised she’s asking for a transfer, Danny,” she said.

 “I need someone to hold me back sometimes,” he replied.

 “One look at the logs would show that she has failed on that score.”

 With a smile, he replied, “I have wondered what would have happened if I’d sent her back on that ship we captured at Spitfire. Kept John around.”

 “I have a feeling things wouldn’t have been that different.”

 “Maybe.” He paused, then said, “What do you really think?” 

 “That she’s right, and you are going to go – and that you probably ought to be having this conversation with her, rather than your Tactical Officer.”

 “You’re third in the command chain, remember.”

 “Don’t remind me,” she said with a mock scowl. “That tells you everything you need to know about our current situation. We're tired, Danny, and I’m not sure how the crew will react to another crisis. The ship is fine mechanically, but despite Quinn’s protests, we need some time to check everything over, a proper dry dock rather than one more improvised repair.”

 “Yet you think we should go?”

 “I think we’re the only ship out here, and that you don’t want to risk delaying the task force you want to lead back to Hydra Station. I also suspect that we’re going to have a fairly quiet mission.”

 “With luck, we might find a friendly welcome for once. A fleet anchorage would be useful, and I’m sure the survivors of that holocaust would be grateful for help.”

 “Assuming they weren’t the aggressors.”

 “Even if they were, what could they do against Alamo? Be honest – we could take down a hundred missiles of that time without too much trouble, especially if we get to pick the time and place of the battle. If they don’t have the hendecaspace drive, they won’t be expecting attacks from that quarter.”

 “I hope you are right,” she replied. “Zebrova does have a point. I’m not sure you realize how brittle this crew is. Morale’s reasonable at the moment now that we’re on the way home, though that hellhole we’re orbiting doesn’t help, but it could evaporate in a moment.”

 “That’s one of the reasons I want to do this.”

 Frowning, she said, “Huh?”

 “As far as I can see, there are two possibilities. The first is that we get there and find nothing. In that event, if it looks like they are still on their way, we’ll see about giving them a bit of a head-start – run a planetary survey and place the results in orbit, and mark the world for repeat visits every so often.”

 “Sounds like a good thing to do.”

 “The second is that they’ve arrived, and one way or another are in the process of colonizing their world. In that event, we can help them. If they are well-established, the crew might even get a chance at some shore leave.” He smiled, then said, “It’s likely to be a lot more restful than anything we’ll get back home. I suspect weeks of debriefings are in our future.” 

 “I think you’re probably right about that. So you don’t think there is any chance of a battle.”

 “Even if they did prove hostile, Alamo’s well ahead of the technology curve. Quinn’s fears aside, they’ve got more important priorities than putting together a space fleet. In any event, we have to follow this one up.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I just hope you are right about this.”

 “So do I.” Pausing for a second, he continued, “I’m damn tempted to take the safe option, though. Just go with a nice, easy cruise home. The crew have been through a lot, more than anyone had any right to ask for them.”

 “Regrets, Danny?”

 “No regrets, Deadeye. One of the things you learn is not to second-guess yourself. But that doesn’t mean I’m blind to how the crew feels. How bad do you think it could get?”

 “They won’t do anything open. No protests in the corridors or anything like that, but it’s the split-second reaction time that we’ll be lacking. No telling what could happen in a crisis. Like the last week of a tour back in the war.”

 “The Armistice talks. No-one wanting to be the last casualty.”

 “Exactly. I was talking to Maggie…”

 “I’m glad you are on speaking terms again.”

 “What was it you were saying about regrets a minute ago? The point is, we didn’t exactly get overloaded with volunteers for the shuttle ride, and a few months ago, most of the crew would have signed up. That’s a symptom.”

 He glanced up at the clock, then said, “In eleven days, we’ll be home. Then we can rest, for a while. All of us have some leave saved up, probably a couple of months of it by now.”

 “Any plans?”

 “I’m trying not to think about it. I don’t want to anticipate it too much. I’ve got some business at the Officer’s Club on Mariner, though. There’s a memorial board that needs updating.” With a deep sigh, he said, “I need a chance to process all of this, everything that’s happened. Try and decompress a little.”

 “I know a bar in Port Lowell…”

 “We’re going to need a few dozen for what I have in mind, but you are on. I’ve got to go to Titan, as well.” He shook his head, “I was going to meet up with Mulenga’s family anyway. You know he had three kids?”

 “Danny, stop.”

 He jerked up, and said, “Sorry.”

 “It’s my fault. In a couple of weeks we can afford to bury ourselves in regrets for a while and let them wash away, but not now. We’ve still got a job to do.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Quite right. Thanks for the object lesson, as well.”

 “Any time.” She rose, and said, “I should go make myself unpopular. I’ve got a couple of battle drills planned.”

 “Everyone’s working the crew at the moment. Keeping them busy is probably the best idea.”

 Nodding, she said, “I’d better get on with it.”

 She stepped into the corridor, leaving Marshall alone in the room. He glanced down at the datapads, at the reports listed for his approval. Picking one at random, he started to page through statistics on the oxygen reclamations, then tossed the datapad down to the desk. He might be able to order others to keep busy, but no-one could order him to follow suit. Not even himself.

 He glanced up again at the holodisplay, looking at Race’s projected course plot of the asteroid out of the system. That was something that could restore the crew’s spirits a bit. Their journey would have been an inspiration, a triumph against the odds. Something they could celebrate, hopefully, rather than dread. With a smile, he snapped off the display, and returned to his makework.

Chapter 6

 Logan looked around the bridge, mentally trying to put names to faces. They’d had no trouble putting a crew together for the Buchanan; rather, it had been hard work persuading people to stay behind. Five days in hendecaspace had just about given them the time to shake down all the problems, get the ship into some sort of fighting trim. At least they had the luxury of artificial gravity to enjoy; ten months in the weightlessness of Spitfire Station had become wearying.

 Cunningham sat in the command chair as if born to it, his eyes quietly dancing from monitor to monitor, keeping track of the ship’s functions as it prepared to return to normal space, to meet whatever had left the Dumont a tumbling, abandoned wreck. Standing next to him, Ryder looked up at a countdown clock on the wall, then down at Cunningham, who nodded in response.

 “It’s that time, everyone. All hands to battle stations.”

 A series of red lights flashed on the overhead displays as the crew prepared the ship for action. At the tactical station, the red-headed Sub-Lieutenant Davis flicked controls, preparing the two hastily-reactivated missile tubes for firing, locking the countermeasure programs into position. It struck him that the Dumont had probably done the same things, and had come to a sad end. Hopefully the crew he had put together would do a better job.

 Over at the engineering station, Colonel Singh ran through a series of precise checks, with the manner of applied carelessness that spoke of long experience. He didn’t need to think about what he was doing – instincts could take over. The mark of a seasoned veteran. The two technicians flanking him at the sensor and communications stations were rather less experienced, and while the quality of their work didn’t seem to be suffering, the look on their faces told him everything he needed to know.

 The helmsman was an interesting mix of the two. Every sub-lieutenant on the station and on Wyvern had volunteered for the mission, and Cunningham had cherry-picked Kelso from the mix; a veteran entering his second term at the rank, which would normally lead to some questions of competence, but a little quiet investigation had revealed that he had suffered from bad luck in his recent assignments. Perhaps this would give him a chance to shine.

 A smile crept across Logan’s face as he watched the crew work. While nominally he was on the books as Mission Commander, in reality he was in the position he preferred – able to sit back and observe, to watch what took place and make his own interpretations. He could command, but never relished it. He was happiest when working alone, or with a partner he trusted. Not that there were many of them left.

 The door opened, and Harper stepped out onto the bridge, tossing him a wink. Her duty station was comfortably below decks, but she’d obviously decided that she could be of more use on the bridge. That, or she’d got bored; Cunningham, with previous experience of her unconventional approach to military discipline, had insisted on bringing along a by-the-books security technician, over Logan’s objections.

 “One minute to egress,” Cunningham said. “How are we doing, Ryder?”

 “All stations except life-support and medical are ready. I’m chasing them.”

 “I’ll have some words with the respective Petty Officers later.”

 The last lights reluctantly winked green, and Ryder said, “All decks cleared for action, sir.”

 “Good. Stand-by, everyone. Don’t be too quick on the trigger, Davis. This is still nominally a first contact situation.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Instant reports when we get into the system, Fox,” he said to the sensor technician. “Full read-out on anything within threat range, then start a full electromagnetic sweep.”

 “I’ve already got it set up, Captain.”

 “Good. Brace yourselves, everyone. We don’t know what to expect.”

 Logan moved to stand behind the command chair, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen. The last few seconds counted down, and the familiar blue flash swept them back into their own dimension, a dim brown star centered on the display. Warning alerts sounded within a few seconds, and a red-faced Fox turned to face Cunningham.

 “Multiple threat warnings, all vectors, with energy spikes everywhere! I’ve got positive tracks on a dozen missiles!”

 “Evasive, Kelso. Random walk. Dixon, start punching out signals to anyone who will listen, tell them that we are neutral.”

 “It’s a trap!” Davis said, slamming controls home to deploy electronic countermeasures.

 Shaking his head, Logan replied, “They had no way of knowing we would be here.” Gesturing at the tactical display, he continued, “There are two distinct styles of ship. I’d say that we’ve jumped into the middle of a battle.”

 “Right now the effect is the same,” Cunningham said. “Kelso, try and get us the hell out of here. Clear of the combat area. Any direction, we’ll work out a better course later.”

 “Aye, sir. Coming about, stepping up to maximum acceleration.”

 “We’ve got a missile on our tail,” Fox said. “Locked on and homing, impact twenty-one seconds, bearing directly!”

 “Just launched?” Logan asked.

 “No, sir. Already in flight.”

 “Countermeasures are having no effect,” Davis replied. “Can I fire a missile?”

 “Do what you have to, Sub-Lieutenant,” Cunningham replied. Logan moved over to the display, trying to switch off the disturbance of the battle all around him and focus on the area. Two ship design types, one modular, one spherical, and the former were decidedly outnumbered. The spheres seemed to be concentrating on a target close to the hendecaspace point, some sort of stationary object. As he watched, a wing of the spheres changed course, moving to follow the Buchanan.

 “John…,” he began, but Cunningham looked up at him.

 “I see them, Logan. Dixon, have we got anyone yet?”

 “Lots of jamming, sir. Want me to try anyone in particular?”

 “Try the planet,” Logan suggested. “Less likely that there’ll be affected.”

 “There’s a big station in low orbit, sir,” Fox offered.

 Kelso took the ship into a long, low dive, and to their rear, Davis’ missile found its target, sending pieces of shrapnel to add to the already confused display. The spheres were lining up in obvious attack runs, now within normal firing range. Harper had taken over the standby console, running a series of security checks, sending out some hacking probes; she looked up in disgust.

 “I don’t know what sort of a mess they call a computer system, but I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

 “Can you hack it?”

 “Give me a while, and I might,” she replied. “Not in time to do any good today, though.”

 “Two more energy spikes, close astern,” Fox said.

 “Time to impact?”

 “Sixty-three seconds. Moving more slowly than our missiles; I’m working on a tactical profile.”

 “Sir,” Davis said, turning from her station, “Am I clear to engage the enemy? From what I can see we’re not going to be able to outrun them.”

 “Agreed,” Kelso said. “If anything, they’re gaining on us a little.”

 Logan looked down at Cunningham, and said, “Do what you have to. I’ll accept the responsibility.”

 “For starting a war?” Ryder said.

 Cunningham locked eyes with Logan for a second, nodded, and replied, “They’re the ones who have just decided to attack us out of the blue. Davis, knock those missiles down any way you can, then fire a salvo at the lead sphere. Try and shoot to disable.”

 “Aye, Captain,” she said, tapping a control and sending two missiles spiraling behind them, heading for the approaching ships. She frantically worked controls, reloading the tubes while the fabricators struggled to piece together replacements for their expended ordinance, keeping pace with the flow of the battle.

 “Captain, I have a message from the planet. In English,” Dixon said, a triumphant grin on his face.

 “Interesting,” Logan said.

 “You handle it, Logan,” Cunningham said. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

 Nodding, he walked over to the communications station and picked up a headset, looking at the image that appeared in the overhead monitor. A tall, bald man, with prominent cheekbones wearing a thin golden band around his head, appeared on the display.

 “My name is Tolxac. I presume you are from the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 “Lieutenant-Captain Logan Winter, and yes.”

 “Is this all the military might you could spare?”

 “That’s a long story. You are flying the modular ships?”

 “Indeed. The spheres are our mutual enemy. I will notify our vessels that we are on the same side. We were on the point of withdrawal to our orbital defense line; I suggest that you help cover the retreat.”

 Logan paused for a moment, realizing that this was committing them to one side in the war. On the other hand, the spheres had attacked them, and the planet must have had contact with the Dumont, meaning that the late Lieutenant Curry might have made this decision already.

 Turning to Kelso, he said, “Turn us to bring us closer to the modular fleet. Full speed. Try and co-ordinate some sort of defensive formation.”

 The helmsman looked up at Cunningham, who nodded, then said, “Aye, sir.”

 “Few of our spacemen can speak your language, Captain,” Tolxac said, “so any communications will have to go through me, for the present. I will arrange for our Flotilla Leader to follow your ship’s lead.”

 The Buchanan banked as Kelso turned her around, her engines beginning to slow her relative to their pursuers, buying time for a longer pass. While the first salvo raced towards the incoming missiles, Davis raced to ready the tubes for a second shot, scanning the sensor images in an attempt to identify any vulnerable spots that would not simply destroy their ship.

 Cunningham looked up at Logan, still frowning, and said, “Are we sure about this?”

 “Do we have a choice? At least Tolxac’s people aren’t shooting at us. I just wish we’d manage to get hold of some of Dumont’s log entries.”

 The helmsman was an artist, smiling as he played the thrusters around to keep the ship in its random walk pattern. Evidently Davis was faster on the draw than her foes, a missile diving towards each of them, sending them spiraling away in the strangest evasion sequence Logan had ever seen.

 “Harper, monitor those missiles. They’ll try to hack them,” Cunningham said.

 “Not much chance of that,” she replied. “I can’t even read the gibberish they’re calling a programming language. What chance could they have?”

 “Do it anyway, Spaceman,” he ordered.

 Shaking her head, she tapped a sequence of controls on the console, and frowned as she skimmed the readouts. Her brow furrowed as she continued to dig, and Logan broke his attention away from the tactical display for a moment to take a look.

 “Is that showing what I think it is?” he asked.

 “They aren’t even trying. No attempt at all.”

 “Physical countermeasures launching, sir,” Fox said. “Some sort of chaff, I think. It’s working with some of the other missiles in flight.”

 “Chaff? That’s a bit of a last resort, isn’t it?”

 “Perhaps here the last resort is the first response. We need a good look at their technology, but I have the distinct impression that we might be flying one of the more powerful ships in the system, at least from a software point of view,” Logan said.

 “A lot of good that does us with incompatible software,” Harper replied.

 The spheres turned again, each unleashing a single missile, obviously attempting to target the Buchanan’s salvo. Taking advantage of the distraction, Kelso swung the ship around again, taking it back towards its original course, regaining the speed he had shed in a bid to drive towards the planet. Most of the modular fleet was running, a few remaining in what was obviously a desperate last stand.

 “Can we help them?” Logan quietly asked Cunningham.

 “Not without getting shot up ourselves. We’d have to spill most of our velocity.” Shaking his head, he said, “Brave bastards.”

 Looking back up at the display, Logan saw the two missiles slam into their targets, ripping gashes across their hulls that sent them tumbling. The remainder of the spheres were concentrating on the few remaining modular ships now, unleashing dozens of missiles in impressively co-ordinated salvo fires. Had the Buchanan’s countermeasures been effective, there might have been something they could do; it felt wrong to be fleeing a battle while people they had never met died to protect them.

 “We’re clear of all interception tracks,” Fox said. “I think we’re out of danger.”

 “The enemy ships?” Cunningham asked, while Logan winced. His snap decision wasn’t necessarily a final one, and it might be dangerous to get into the habit of thinking of them that way.

 “Most of them seem to be heading away, out of the immediate area.” 

 “What’s the rest of the system like?” Logan asked. “Any obvious targets?”

 “Two planets, the inner one borderline-habitable, the outer a small gas giant with a lot of moons. Inner planet has maybe two dozen moons as well, all small, largest about fifty miles across, mostly pretty distant. Best guess is that the enemy is using them as bases; I’m getting a lot of communications chatter from them, all different to what I’m reading from the modular ships.”

 “And the inner planet?”

 “Half a dozen space stations, the largest bigger than Spitfire, and a lot of ships in orbit. Dozens. As well as an orbital defense network, observation constellations...must be a thousand satellites up there.”

 “They’ll have a lot of redundancy built into their systems at a guess,” Logan said. “Where are we going?”

 “The large station. Lots of docking ports, probably some sort of space dock. I’m seeing a dozen ships in the process of construction, or at least complete overhaul.”

 “We’re not going to dock,” Cunningham said. “Though I don’t mind getting a bit closer.”

 Dixon looked up, and said, “I have Tolxac again, sir.”

 “Put him on,” Logan said, moving back in front of the pick-up.

 “Allow me to thank you for preventing defeat turning into catastrophe,” the man said with a toothy smile. “I’m certain that our continuing relations with the Triplanetary Confederation will remain as strong as those your Lieutenant Curry fostered.”

 “Lieutenant Curry is dead, along with those of her crew who accompanied her home. We have reason to believe that some of her people got away before she jumped.” There was a time to hide your cards, and another to show them. This was the latter. “Frankly, all we know is that she visited this system, and that she died here.”

 “I see. I’m sure that puts you in a difficult situation, Captain Winter. I’ll try to answer any questions you have. As for her crew, the Enemy must have them. Her ship was damaged in a battle when it entered our space, as yours nearly was, and her drive unit destroyed. With our assistance, repairs were made, and when Lieutenant Curry judged it time, she made the attempt. We could spare but few of our ships as an escort, and those were lost in the escape.” 

 “Did the Lieutenant leave any records behind, anything at all?”

 “She did,” he replied, nodding. “We’ve left them sealed, naturally, but I shall turn them over to you when we meet on Guardian Station shortly.” He looked up at a monitor, and said, “I need to tend to the rest of my returning ships, Captain. Until later.”

 The screen winked out, and Logan stepped down towards Cunningham, saying, “Well, that explains a few things.”

 “It all seems very convenient, doesn’t it.”

 “Far too convenient, but it doesn’t escape me that we’re a little short on options at the moment. We might have an edge in weapons technology, but not sufficient that we can take on the system if we have to.”

 “Sir,” Fox said, “the modular ships are settling into a formation around us.”

 “That doesn’t tell us anything other than they are cautious,” Logan said. “I’d do the same thing in their circumstances.” 

 “So would I,” Cunningham replied. “How long until we reach the station, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “At this speed, sixty-four minutes. We could halve that at best speed, sir,” Kelso said.

 “Let’s take the time to gather all the information we can.”

 “Not much chance of that if we can’t hack them,” Harper said, sullenly.

 Turning to her, Logan replied, “We’ll just have to go over and take a look ourselves.”

 “You’re going alone?”

 “Frankly, I count as non-essential personnel…”

 “I don’t!” Harper interrupted.

 “Whereas the rest of you are needed to operate the ship.” He walked over towards the elevator, and continued, “I’m going to go and get my bag of tricks ready. If anything goes wrong, don’t make any heroic attempts to rescue me, just use your edge in acceleration and get the hell out of here, and report back about conditions in this system.”

 “Twice in two missions,” Harper said. “You’re making a habit of this.”

 “Goes with the territory. You coming?”

 “How can I pass up an invitation like that?”

 As he walked past the sensor station, Fox turned, frowning, and said, “I’m getting something interesting from one of the smaller stations. Signs of dimensional instability, but small-point.”

 “That far from a hendecaspace point?” Logan asked.

 “I’ve checked twice, sir. Similar patterns to those we picked up back at Spitfire Station.”

 Cunningham and Logan looked at each other, and the former said, “They’ve worked out the hendecaspace drive.”

 “Probably using what the crew of the Dumont gave them. This could change the picture a little.”

 “Not to mention explain why they are trying to keep the egress points as clear as possible. They’d be wanting to clear the way for a test flight.” Looking back across at the sensor station, he said, “Full report on everything you can determine about their progress, Spaceman. Co-ordinate with the Systems Officer.”

 “I’d take a look at the historical records as well,” Logan suggested. “That’s my next step. Come on, Harper.”

 “This just gets better and better,” she grumbled, following him from the bridge.

Chapter 7

 Orlova walked into the science lab, seeing Carpenter alone inside, totally engrossed in her work. She walked up behind her, looking at the screen; somehow, she’d managed to interface with the datacrystals they had found. Equipment was strewn across the table, most of it Cabal, and she started to pick through it, shaking her head at the tangle of cables connecting it all. Suddenly, Carpenter looked up with a start.”

 “Damn it, Maggie, you scared the life out of me.”

 “Captain sent me down to take a look at your progress.”

 “Everything I had hoped for and more. This whole trip has been a scientist’s dream. I’m going to have enough material to publish my own journal when I get it all written up.”

 “Specifically, for the present?”

 “I had the idea that the Cabal had probably worked out how to access these old datacrystals, if they’re been scavenging old technology from the relics they’ve found…”

 “So I see. What’s on the crystals?”

 “The first one just had an archive of images, about a thousand years of the changes that took place on the planet. That’s going to be great for the climatologists back home. The information we’ve gathered will take years to dig through. You realize that this has been one of the most productive scientific expeditions for decades?”

 “Keep going, Susan.”

 Gesturing at the screen, she said, “The second one’s been even more interesting. It looks as if someone wrote an archive of what happened on the planet, a record. It’s written in an offshoot of our old friend, Proto-Proto-Indo-European, but evolved on for thousands of years. If the writer hadn’t made a real effort to make it understandable, I’d have no chance at all.”

 “And?”

 “There was a war in the sky, when death rained down from the demons in the heavens, and the faithful gathered their souls and ventured forth to seek salvation.”

 “That’s it?”

 “That’s the best I’ve been able to come up with. There’s a hell of a lot more of it I just can’t read yet. I will, though, before I’ve finished with it.” Frowning, she said, “I’ve sent the third crystal over to Doctor Duquesne. It seems to be a lot of genetic data.”

 “Genetic data?”

 “There were some theories about producing living creatures from such information, weren’t there?”

 “Only in bad novels,” Orlova replied. “We’re decades away from being able to do anything like that, even in theory. Probably centuries.”

 “Perhaps they had such technology?”

 “And slower-than-light starships?”

 “They might have developed very differently to us, Maggie. Or perhaps they hoped that whoever found this might have had the ability. That’s probably more likely, actually.”

 “How many more crystals are there?”

 “Four. It’s taking a long time to crack into each one. I doubt I’ll be into the next one before we leave hendecaspace.” She paused, then said, “What are we going to do when we get there?”

 “Depends on the situation. Don’t worry, though, I’m sure the Captain will give you lots of chances to gather as much data as you can. The more we know about this area of space, the better, and I’d guess the Cabal know a damn sight more than we do.”

 Nodding, she said, “That’s slightly depressing. To think that there are people out there who’ve been working on this for a century. I just hope the Captain doesn’t classify any of this. Half my research on the Neander is already out of bounds.”

 “Think of the positive. If they want anyone to research it further, you’re the only paleontologist with Top Secret clearance. I think you’ve got a job for as long as you want it.”

 “I hadn’t thought about it that way. Do you think they’ll want me to stay in?” 

 “I think they’ll want to keep you on the payroll, but I suspect they’ll let you ditch the uniform if you want to. Though I also bet that right now the Fleet is sponsoring half a dozen students in your specialty through university. They soon will be when they take a look at your data.”

 “Maybe I could actually get a teaching job.”

 “I thought you were going back to work at your father’s company.”

 She shrugged, and replied, “That was what I was going to do, it doesn’t mean it’s what I want to do. I’d rather stay in my specialty.” After a pause, she said, “I admit going back out on a starship again is beginning to have a bit of an appeal, but I’ll spend the next ten years going over all the data I’ve found.”

 “I suspect the Admiralty will insist on that.”

 “They won’t have to twist my arm too hard. What about you?”

 “I’m a career officer, these days. That means I’ve got eighteen years left in my mandatory service period.”

 “Eighteen years?”

 “I can always resign if I want to, but I wouldn’t get a pension. Not that it matters much; I hadn’t given any thought to leaving any way. Not any more.” She looked down at the uniform, then said, “You’d be surprised how much this grows on you after a while, and it beats anything else I might be doing.”

 “You’ll stay on Alamo?” 

 Shaking her head, she said, “I doubt that will be an option. Probably a ground-side assignment, maybe a training school. I’ve still got that fighter pilot certification, so that might give me some options.” She chuckled, then said, “If they’ve finally worked out where they’re going to put the Triplanetary Academy, I might end up as a teacher myself.”

 “I hadn’t thought of that,” she mused. “That might be an interesting place to end up.”

 Chuckling, Orlova replied, “I’d never have thought a fleet training school would need a paleontologist on staff, but given what we’ve found, that’s probably a good idea at that. Might be a good compromise.” Nodding, she said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they make you an offer, anyway. The brass would get to keep you on hand, and in uniform, if something else crops up.”

 “I wouldn’t mind staying in the service,” she said. “Not that it ever occurred to me before, but I could go along with it. With a little luck you’ll need a scientist or two on your next command.”

 Her cheeks reddening, Orlova said, “That’s probably jumping the gun a little, isn’t it.”

 “Come on, you’ve had a great cruise. Shining record of service from your tour on Alamo.”

 “Maybe. It didn’t feel like it at the time.” 

 “Don’t be so damn hard on yourself. We’re almost home, and we can begin to enjoy this a little.”

 “Not until we actually get back to Mariner Station, we can’t. We don’t have any idea what we might be facing up ahead. I seem to remember someone telling me something about demons a few minutes ago.”

 “You don’t actually believe that, do you? I’m translating this using a language that basically belonged to cavemen. I doubt they had a word for spacefarers, and if they did, it hasn’t survived.” She frowned, then said. “We’re going to need a paleo-linguist as well. That’s a pretty damn rare specialty. Offhand I don’t think we’ve got anyone in the Confederation.”

 “Sounds like you’re putting together a research team. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were getting used to the idea of ordering people about,” Orlova said with a smile.

 “This place has got me into some bad habits,” she replied. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and get out of them as soon as we get home.”

 Orlova’s communicator squawked, and she pulled it out, sighing as she read the message.

 “Bad news?”

 Looking up at Carpenter, she replied, “Time to walk the Commandant. The Captain’s insisted that an officer has to be with him at all times when he leaves his quarters.”

 “Want me to do it? I thought you were going off duty.”

 “No, I might as well get this over with. I’ll be glad when he can turn him over to the bureaucrats back home.”

 “And the interrogators?” 

 “Remember, he’s here under a flag of truce. It might be a little tattered and threadbare, but we can’t expect them to honor them if we don’t.” 

 “I’d buy your argument, Maggie, if they were honoring them. So far I haven’t seen much evidence of that.”

 The communicator chirped again, and Orlova said, “Sounds like he’s in a hurry. Catch you at the mess later.”

 Carpenter made a face, and said, “We really need to improve the cuisine around here if you want that to be in the least enticing.”

 Smiling, Orlova walked out of her room, making her way down the corridor and towards the elevator. The Captain had installed their guest in what passed for Alamo’s VIP quarters, using the excuse of cleaning the little-used room to have Quinn and Nelyubov install every bug and detector they could piece together, hoping that the Commandant would say something to incriminate himself. By all appearances, he was spending his time reading and meditating; he didn’t even talk in his sleep.

 Stepping into the car, she tapped the control, waiting patiently for it to make its way to its destination. Half-way through, the door opened, and a pair of technicians stepped in, their conversation turning to cold silence as soon as they saw it was occupied. She recognized them as shuttle engineers, the familiar flashes on their sleeves.

 “You don’t need to stop talking because of me,” she said.

 “Sorry, ma’am,” one of them volunteered.

 “Is it something I shouldn’t hear?”

 The two of them looked at each other, and one said, “Ma’am, this detour. Is it really necessary? I mean, it’s adding extra time to our flight home, and I heard something about demons.”

 “Superstitious, Spaceman?” She wondered which of the officers had decided to neglect discretion.

 “No, ma’am, but that doesn’t sound good. Haven’t we done enough?”

 For a moment, she didn’t have an answer to the question. They’d gone far above the call of duty, time and again. Collecting herself, she composed a reply.

 “The Captain thinks this could represent a threat to Triplanetary security, and if it is worth anything to you, I agree completely with that assessment. We didn’t join the Fleet for the safe and easy options.” Smiling, she said, “With luck, this will just be a quick layover before we head back to Spitfire. Might even be a chance for some leave.”

 The second technician, looking down, said, “I want to take my next leave with my wife and daughter, ma’am. She’ll be walking by now. I might have missed her first words. I just want to get home.”

 “We’re getting home, Spaceman. Last lap now.” The door opened, and she stepped out, pausing at the door to say, “Just keep it together for two more weeks, then you can relax. I think you’ll get all the leave you want when we get home.”

 “Don’t get me wrong, I’d sign on again,” he said. “Just...that this mission has been so damn long.”

 The door closed on his words, and Orlova walked down the corridor. She’d been gung-ho to carry on the mission, have one last adventure, and assumed that at least most of the crew would feel the same way. Undoubtedly some of them did, but perhaps they were becoming a minority. She shook her head, then tapped the chime outside the Commandant’s door. It quickly opened, and she stepped inside. 

 “You wanted to go for a walk?” she asked.

 He looked up, shook his head, and said, “Actually, I was hoping for conversation, though I’m perfectly happy to do this on the move.”

 “My orders are to accompany you when you visit other unrestricted areas of the ship, Commandant. I’m not here to be your friend.”

 A smile beamed across his face, and he said, “If I’ve been inspiring good honest hatred such as this, I consider that I have done a good job. I am surprised, though. I would have thought that you would want to analyze my every word for whatever intelligence you could gather.”

 “If that’s what you want, I’ll summon our Intelligence Officer. I’m sure that he could improvise some sort of interrogation chamber for you. He’s very good at making something out of nothing.”

 “Ah, the redoubtable Sub-Lieutenant Tyler. I did encounter him, briefly. He seems rather young for the job, but I am certain that he will grow into it. I was more interested about our detour. It is my understanding that we are taking a different route home than we had originally planned.”

 “Do we have your permission?” she said with a sarcastic sneer. “I’m off duty, Commandant, and not obliged to spar with you any longer.”

 “I’m sorry about your father,” he said. “I only became aware of his presence on Jefferson when you arrived. Would it make any difference if I told you that had I known he was on my world, I would have arranged for his repatriation?”

 Turning back to him, she said, “Why should I believe you for a second?”

 “You have no reason to do so at all, but it happens to be the truth.”

 “The Hercules…” 

 “Was an extremely high-profile case, which attracted the attention of the Admirals. There are ways of dealing with a single individual, found stranded on an isolated planet.”

 “Don’t try to tell me that you are some sort of revolutionary.”

 His smile returned, and he replied, “I would not claim such a description as that, Lieutenant. However, I do see the need for amicable relations between our two governments. There are dangerous things out in the dark, and we should not be fighting among ourselves. Unlike certain members of my government, I fail to see how dealing with a prolonged resistance movement will promote stability.”

 “You seem confident of victory.”

 He shrugged, and said, “The scenario I speak of would apply equally to whomever won the war, Lieutenant. That is something I am extremely confident of.”

 “And this relates to our current situation in what way?”

 Gesturing for her to enter his quarters, he sat down at a chair by the currently shaded viewscreen. After a few minutes, she reluctantly followed, perching on the bed with her back to the door, ready to leave the room in an instant.

 “We are transiting a route of Brown Dwarves, correct? Our experience has been that these routes were used extensively by the earliest settlers of our part of space, by the Neander during their wars.” He smiled, then said, “Of course, some of us know of them.”

 “Then why…”

 “Some of us would not like being ordered to engage in racial extermination, Lieutenant. I dare say some would even refuse such an order. Others, I fear, are only interested in the loss of a useful servile workforce. Either way, the end result is the same. All details on the ancient history of our worlds are highly classified.” 

 “You didn’t know of this route, though?”

 “No, but we operate along several. Only out of necessity, and rarely. Ships transiting such space have a distressing tendency to disappear.”

 “Disappear?”

 “The prevailing theory is active weapons left over from the war, or perhaps xenophobic populations that would resist any contact with the outside universe. I don’t pretend to have all the answers, Lieutenant, and I am reluctant to ask such questions when lives are at stake. Especially my own.”

 “Is that what this all boils down to? Saving your skin?”

 His tone hardened as he replied, “Lieutenant, my orders are to attempt to create a state of non-aggression between our two governments, in order to prevent a war that neither of us wants. My survival is not the key issue here – and do you think that I would have volunteered for such an assignment if I was only interested in myself?”

 She paused before replying, “I’d considered you thought the Confederation was the safest place for you to be. After all, you failed to stop us escaping.”

 “Something you accomplished in spectacular fashion. Alamo accomplished its part beautifully.”

 She smiled at that, shook her head, and replied, “Is this the part where you hint that you started us on this mission, knowing what we would do? I don’t believe it. If you had wanted to try something like that, you’d have found a way to do it that didn’t lead to the death of thousands of your spacemen.”

 “Your people will be an easy sell compared to the infighting we have experienced. The Cabal were the ones who truly needed to be convinced of the need for peace, not the Confederation.”

 “And just what are you planning to offer?”

 “Rather less than before you took a lot of my bargaining chips off the table, but I think we can agree to a mutual trade and non-aggression pact.”

 “Like the one Nazi Germany signed with the Soviet Union?”

 “I see you know your history well. I was thinking more of the European Union, or the Entente, but I also know that I will never convince you.”

 She stood up, and said, “I’ll support anything that stops a war. That doesn’t mean I have to trust you, and it certainly doesn’t mean I have to like you.”

 “I would ask for neither.”

 “I have more important things to do,” she said, heading for the door.

 “One moment,” he said. “I was quite sincere when I warned of the dangers of this area of space. You can chalk it up to my well-developed instinct for self-preservation if you wish, but I urge you to be cautious.”

 Turning at the threshold, she said, “We’re always cautious, Commandant.”

 “Past experience suggests that you are bending the truth a little with that statement.”

 “Caution does not mean cowardice.”

 “As long as it means survival, Lieutenant. That’s what I’m concerned with today.”

 She walked out of the room, then paused in the corridor outside, weighing up what he had said. After a moment’s thought, she reached down for her communicator again, tapping a control.

 “Bridge aye,” Kibaki said.

 “Where’s the Captain?” she asked. “I think I need to have a word with him.”

Chapter 8

 Logan stepped into the shuttle, Harper already inside, then paused at the airlock as he heard footsteps approaching. Looking back into the corridor, he saw the tall figure of Colonel Singh heading towards them.

 “Come to see us off?” he asked.

 “I wish to accompany you to the station,” Singh replied. “It would be of value to us both.”

 “Why should I permit a UN observer to follow us around over there?”

 With a thin smile, he replied, “You acceded to my request to accompany you for your own reasons, Captain, not mine. Let neither of us pretend otherwise. Whatever your motivation, you have indulged an old man’s curiosity this far. Permit me to follow it further.” Raising a hand, he said, “I pledge not to report to the UN anything I see.”

 “Can we trust that?” Harper said, leaning out of her chair. “Isn’t that treason?”

 “I doubt anyone is reading my reports in any case. My erstwhile superior has doubtless blamed me for the debacle at your station. Some of my few remaining friends suggested that I remain in Triplanetary territory for my safety.”

 Shaking his head, Logan said, “I’m increasingly surprised that it took us as long as it did to beat you.”

 “Defeat – even in the manner it was accomplished – took something from us. Left us a shell of our former selves. We could have rearmed, built new fleets and armies, unleashed them against you at any time. Have you asked yourselves why we didn’t?”

 “It wasn’t economic.”

 With a smile, Singh replied, “That was merely an excuse, and not a particularly credible one. Our reasons were far baser than that. Defeat broke us, Captain, and has turned us inward. Should the interstellar colonies start to put up a serious fight, I venture we will allow them to secede as well. Perhaps we no longer have the expansionist spirit.”

 “And you?”

 “I’ve seen a lot of war, a lot of death, and I have no hunger for more. I still believe in the ideals I signed up to defend, though perhaps I no longer find them represented by the uniform I wear.”

 “We’d better get going, boss,” Harper said.

 “All of us?” Singh asked.

 Shrugging, Logan said, “Why not. I’ll just introduce you as Mr. Singh, no nationalities, and they’ll probably just assume you are part of the crew.”

 “Which is, in fact, the truth,” he said, stepping into the passenger seat and sliding on the restraints. “I will say nothing. My goal is to watch and listen.”

 Shaking his head, Logan stepped into the pilot’s seat, locked down the hatch, and activated the release. No luxuries like elevator airlocks on this ship; two commands and they were on their way. This time, the computer was doing all of the piloting, the station providing them with both a course to follow and a warning about what would happen if they decided to ignore the directions.

 Freed of the burden of flying his ship, Logan kept half an eye on the instruments and warning lights, and focused the rest of his attention on the station they were flying towards. It was a mish-mash, that much was obvious. A central structure with its own power array, a reactor module towed at a safe distance, dwarfed by the additional elements bolted on. Some of them looked as if they had been there for decades, others brand new. They hadn’t the luxury of retiring obsolete components, that much was obvious.

 The ships he saw told the same story. All the same basic design, half a dozen modules around a central torus, looking similar to the earliest interplanetary spacecraft, but some of them were obviously more modern than others, a few seasoned veterans on close patrol. He doubted that any ships were simply decommissioned, only relegated to less critical duty.

 “Hey, we’re getting an incoming approach vector. Request for automatic control,” Harper said.

 “How?” 

 “Best guess, the Dumont left them a few components behind.”

 “Can you find out what?” he asked.

 With a smirk, she replied, “With their security precautions? I’ll have a list on your datapad by the time we dock. Want me to let them in?”

 “Doesn’t matter to me whose computers guide us. As long as nobody starts firing missiles, I’ll be a happy man.”

 Logan glanced down at the controls, nodded to himself, and returned to looking at the view. The planet below was unlike anything he had ever seen, black and gold, a strange tinge to the oceans, and the black huge jungles of vegetation basking in the infrared radiating from the central star. He’d read about worlds like this as theoretical possibilities, but this was the first time he’d ever seen one for himself.

 Glancing down at the sensors readouts, he shook his head. He could step out onto the surface of that planet with a respirator; the pressure and temperature were fine, if a little excessive for his taste. A better prospect for settlement than Mars had been, back in the early days.

 “Over there,” Harper said, pointing. “Is that what I think it is?”

 Following her hand, he saw one of the spherical ships at station-keeping, one of the older modular vessels hanging close by, as if guarding it. Understandable enough after a war such as this that they would have managed to capture an enemy vessel at some point; getting a look on board suddenly became one of his top priorities.

 “We’re coming up on docking,” he said. “Let me do the talking, but neither of you be afraid to sing out if you see anything important. We keep together, whatever they say, and don’t tell them anything about home other than the basic, bare facts. My guess is that’s all we’re going to get from them.”

 “So we reciprocate paranoia, and learn far less than we might with a free and frank exchange,” Singh said with a sigh.

 “They’re developing the hendecaspace drive, Colonel. That makes them a potential threat.”

 “One that a battlecruiser could deal with easily.”

 “Even a battlecruiser can only be in one place at once. Capabilities, Colonel, not intentions.”

 “I had no idea you took your profession so closely to heart, Captain.”

 The shuttle drifted up to an airlock, and Logan saw a hastily-fitted adapter clamped onto it, breathing a brief sigh of relief; he’d feared that they’d have to get on board in spacesuits. Superficially, everything seemed similar enough to the designs he knew back home, but the devil was in the details. Everything from the shape of antenna to the fittings for emergency oxygen were different. Engineering design was God, as always; where practicality was most important, they shared concepts, but where the design was irrelevant, they were very different.

 A series of hard, familiar slams saw the shuttle lock down, and he unstrapped his restraints, floating gently away from his couch. Artificial gravity was something they had also decided not to trouble themselves with, it seemed; though with voyages of only a few days, they likely didn’t see it as essential.

 The hatch opened, and the trio drifted out. Logan’s expectations about their welcoming party were met; a pair of guards with what were obviously pistols pointed at them greeted them at the door, gesturing behind them.

 “We all going, boss?”

 “Lock the systems down, Harper. Tight as a drum. I don’t want anyone to be able to get at them while we’re here.”

 “Already done,” she said.

 The three of them moved out into the module, and Logan took the opportunity to look around. It was far more open than he had expected; the whole space was filled with people, people who looked completely at home in zero-gravity. Mesh nets covered each wall, securing components and tools, and the staff were working in the air on various tasks, while a low, discordant music played all around them.

 “Got to introduce them to neo-disco,” Harper said. “Bet they’d go wild with that oldie stuff.”

 The guard babbled at them for a minute in a string of incoherent syllables, before shaking his head with a smile, then gesturing at a hatch at the far side of the module. Singh gestured towards a symbol painted on the wall, a ship drifting through space, stylized to the point that it took Logan a moment to recognize it. As they watched, one of the technicians drifted past the symbol, making a quick hand gestured as he did so.

 “Some sort of icon, perhaps,” Singh suggested.

 “Eyes and ears open,” Logan said. The guard gestured again, and he continued, “Hopefully he’s taking us to someone who speaks English.”

 One guard took a position in front of them, the other at the rear, placing their pistols back in their worn holsters. Almost everything seemed well-used, though there was a leavening of obviously new equipment; they were keeping everything going as long as possible, then replacing it only when needed. Sensible.

 Drifting through the lock, the next module was similar in design philosophy to the first; this was a huge barracks, dozens of sleeping bags hanging from the air like a forest of the somnolent, and they carefully wove their way through. Nothing like this would ever be considered back home, except in the direst emergencies, but they seemed happy enough with it.

 The third module was evidently their destination, a smaller control section, with people swarming about from console to console. Each wall was a huge, partitioned viewscreen, different sections reserved for each consoles, the displays changing size and moving around as they watched. Logan shook his head; it was an interesting idea, but it would be hell to get used to in practice, and he certainly wouldn’t want to try.

 At the heart of the room was Tolxac, gesturing at one of the displays and talking in the same babble as the rest of them. On the off-chance that it could be translated at some point, Logan’s datapad was quietly recording everything around it. After a moment, Tolxac pushed off, down towards the trio, a smile on his face.

 “Welcome to Guardian Station. I apologize for not meeting you at the airlock, but the aftermath of the battle has stolen my attention.” He tapped a gaudy purple armband, and said, “Anyone wearing this can speak your language. I’m afraid there are far too few of them at the moment.” Looking at the others, he said, “You brought some of your crew?”

 Nodding, Logan replied, “Kristin Harper, one of my technology experts, and Vikram Singh, diplomatic advisor.” He didn’t feel that Tolxac needed to know their ranks at the moment.

 “A pleasure.” With a sigh, he said, “I begin to believe that two hundred years of war will soon be over.”

 Singh looked at Logan, who said, “Two hundred years?”

 “A little more, now. The Enemy arrived in our system in your year of 1932.” He looked at them, then smiled, continuing, “I sense that this surprises you. The crew of the Dumont were similarly disconcerted. Perhaps I should give you a little history first.”

 “In 1932, Earth didn’t even have spaceflight, still less starflight and interstellar colonization ability. How could you have been here for so long?”

 “Our ancestors settled this planet two thousand years ago. By slower-than-light techniques, in what I believe you would term a genetic ark. Though we are as human as you are; I am happy to provide samples of blood and tissue to confirm this point.”

 Shaking his head, Logan said, “Now you have me completely confused.”

 “Our forebears were taken from Earth more than thirty thousand years ago, Captain Winter. We have been roaming the stars for longer than you think.” He sighed, then said, “To think that I might actually live to see Holy Earth. Until we received your signals, we had thought it a mere myth.”

 “Signals? From Earth?”

 Nodding, Singh said, “The earliest radio signals. They’d have reached here about when their Enemy attacked, though they must have had space-based radio telescopes to pick them up. You’ve been listening to us all this time?”

 “Which is why I know your language. You provided us with more than a sufficient sample to understand it. I am a worshiper of Holy Earth, a sect that had almost died out; all of us learn an Earth language as we grow up, that we might live on the world ourselves one day.”

 Glancing at Singh, Logan said, “I don’t know how well informed you are about the political situation back at Sol, but you would certainly be welcome anywhere in the Triplanetary Confederation.”

 “That is good news. Lieutenant Curry gave us all the data she could, but her news was not current, more than a decade out of date.”

 “You said you had some files for us,” Harper said.

 “Ah, yes.” Tolxac gabbled at a subordinate, who passed a carefully-wrapped package across. “Here there are. The current logs of Dumont, Hercules and Alamo.”

 “Alamo?” Harper said. “Alamo’s logs are in this file?”

 “I believe so, though I have not read them.”

 She looked up at Logan, and said, “Mind if I….”

 “Later, Harper. Let me work this out, Tolxac. Your people are a second-generation colony, seeded here a couple of thousand years ago. The planet’s surface is almost habitable, which would have been an advantage, and over time you started to explore the system.”

 “Progress was slow,” Tolxac said, “but by the time the Enemy arrived, we had established a significant orbital presence and were exploring the other bodies of this system. Once we heard the messages from Earth, we began plans for the construction of a new starship, the launch on a journey across the void. We never dreamed of faster-than-light travel.”

 He reached into a pocket, pulling out a new datachip and passing it to Logan. He looked it over, a brand-new Triplanetary datachip, obviously recently fabricated, and started to curse the late Lieutenant Curry. They had no idea yet whether these people should become allies, and she’d given them a rather significant technological boost.

 “I have recorded our history for you, Captain, in some detail. You should find this of interest. For the present, however, the Enemy is the greatest problem. They arrived in our system in their generation ship, and broadcast an immediate demand for our surrender.”

 “They spoke your language?”

 “In archaic form, but yes. Understand that we had no space-based military forces; our people had always been united. We had to improvise, and the first battles were terrible. Gradually, however, we have started to push back, securing orbital space. Ultimately, our goal is to drive the Enemy from our system.” He shook his head, then said, “I had feared it an impossible task. They have settled some of our outer moons, ones we have not yet visited. With their industrial might strengthening, I had thought...but that is irrelevant now. You are here, the answer to a prayer.”

 “We came to find out what happened to the Dumont,” Logan said. “I have no authority to commit to anything more, not without consultation with our Senate.”

 “Our people do not seek our aid in fighting our battles for us. The war is ours to win, but with technological support – your missile technology, for example, and your engine designs – we will have to tools to seek final victory.”

 “This Enemy,” Singh asked. “Are they humans also?”

 “No!” Tolxac said, shocked. “They are alien. Strange, malformed humanoids who seek only death and destruction. We know not what they call themselves; Enemy has always sufficed.”

 “You’ve got one of their ships,” Logan said. “Our engineers would like to take a look at it. We have specialists trained in understanding alien equipment, at least after a fashion.”

 “To fight your own wars against them,” Tolxac said, nodding. “That isn’t my decision. I command all our forces in orbit; I am not a political leader. They will wish to speak with you, but I wished to thank you first for what you did.”

 “We didn’t do that much.”

 “Enough to save the day. I am not surprised that the Enemy attacked you without warning; it has always been that way.” Another figure started to gabble at him, and he said, “Excuse me a moment.”

 “You have a difficult decision to make,” Singh said, leaning in. “I confess I do not envy you.”

 “I don’t see it,” Harper replied. “They helped us, the others attacked us. At least we should be friendly neutrals, even if you don’t want to bring them into full alliance. Hell, Marshall would try to bring them into the Confederation.”

 “That might not be a bad idea,” Logan replied, “but I’m rather wary of getting us involved in a war just on my say-so. Even I have my limits.” 

 “One of your capital ships would almost certainly outmatch the entire Enemy fleet,” Singh noted. “I think you need not concern yourself with the likelihood of victory.”

 “It’s what comes afterwards that worries me,” Logan replied.

 “Very true,” Singh said. “What are you going to do?”

 “Look at all the data and decide. Hell, if Curry basically gave them the hendecaspace drive, we might not have that many options. If we don’t help, the Republic will. Or the Cabal.”

 “I venture the outcome of such an alliance would be unfavorable to all concerned.”

 Logan’s communicator squawked, and he fished it out of his pocket.

 “Cunningham here. We’re getting dimensional instability from one of the hendecaspace points, and it’s big.”

 “Any Enemy ships around?”

 “Half a dozen. I’ve no idea whether they can detect it, though.”

 “I doubt it. Go to battle stations.” He looked over at Tolxac, and said, “There’s a ship about to enter your system.”

 “Indeed,” he replied. “That explains these readings. I have already brought the fleet to combat readiness; we will sortie if it turns out to be one of your ships.”

 “Look at the screen,” Harper said, pointing to one of the displays. A bright blue flash appeared, and a ship slid into normal space, the lines of a Thermopylae-class Battlecruiser.

 “They couldn’t have got reinforcements that quickly,” Logan muttered, as the view zoomed into the identification marks painted on the hull. Battered and bruised, the wording was unmistakable.

 “They made it!” Harper yelled. “Damn it all, they made it home!”

 “Enemy ships scattering,” Cunningham said. “They aren’t even trying. I guess they know they are outmatched.”

 Cheering echoed around the control room, and Tolxac said, “This is one of your capital ships? Astonishing power. This war will be over in weeks!”

 Glancing across at the prematurely celebrating commander, Logan said, “Patch me through to Alamo.”

 “They’re calling us,” Cunningham said, joyously.

 “Captain Marshall, I presume,” Logan said with a smile into the microphone.”

 With a faint crackle, a familiar voice said, “This is Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall of the Battlecruiser Alamo to UN ship and unidentified space station. Please identify.”

 “Logan Winter, Captain. What's a nice commander like you doing in a system like this.”

 “It's a long story.”

 “Get the drinks in and we'll come over to hear you tell it.”

Chapter 9

 The atmosphere in Alamo’s briefing room was one of jubilation; morale across the whole ship had raced up, even though they weren’t home yet. The sight of half a dozen ships fleeing without a fight had done a lot to boost everyone’s spirits, and the image of Logan Winter on the screen had finished the job. 

 Now he, Cunningham and Winter were sitting next to each other, Marshall at the head of the table with seniority in rank, Zebrova relegated to a chair at the far end. Quinn, Race and Caine were sitting on the left-hand side, Harper, Cooper and Ryder on the other, Orlova next to Zebrova at the bottom of the table. Looking around at the assembled officers, Marshall felt a sense of relief he hadn’t known for months.

 “So, this is what it’s like in the magic meeting room,” Harper said with a smile. “Nice to get a proper invite for once.”

 “I’m just glad to be back on Alamo,” Cunningham said. “I still can’t quite believe those logs, Danny. They’re going to carry you and your crew around Mariner on their shoulders when you get home.”

 “What about the Dumont?” Orlova asked. “Any word of the remainder of the crew?” She was the only one who didn’t seem to be sharing the general joy.

 “I’m sorry, Maggie,” Logan said. “The best guess is that the Enemy – damn, I’ve got to think of something better to call them – that they have them captured, though we don’t know where. They’ve got bases scattered all over the system.”

 “Buchanan has completed a full survey of the area. We make out fifteen reasonable-sized installations, and maybe a dozen smaller outposts. At least a hundred ships in the system of various sizes and classes. None of them would be a match for Alamo; I think if all of them ganged up on us, we might have a problem, but frankly…”

 Caine looked at her, then said, “Frankly we could knock them down like decoy targets. We have the speed edge, greater range, and our missiles have ten times the firepower. It would be like fighting ourselves a century ago.”

 “Which doesn’t mean that’s what we should do,” Marshall said.

 “We – all three of us – have an appointment on the surface with their Free Council. I’m assured translators will be present, and they’ve already offered shore leave down on Haven.”

 “Haven. Nice name. Doubly appropriate.”

 “I’ll want Carpenter in on that landing team,” Marshall said. “She’s best equipped to evaluate the culture. All of you have copies of the information we picked up about the ancient history of this area; oddly, enough, right now that seems a lot more relevant than what we learned about the Cabal.”

 “You have the command, Danny. Not much of a task force, but it represents a majority of the combat power in this system,” Cunningham said. “What’s your call?”

 “I don’t think we know enough to make one.”

 “Curry seems to have managed to tangle us nicely up in the system,” Logan said. “We’re heading towards having no choice, and Haven would be an excellent ally. Give it five years, and they’ll be making hendecaspace-capable shipping. They certainly have a well-developed orbital manufacturing capability.”

 “I took a look at the data,” Zebrova said, “and Captain Winter is quite right. They are behind the curve technologically, but their facilities are designed for easy and efficient retooling.” She slid a datapad down the table to Marshall, who glanced at it with widening eyes.

 “This is significantly greater capacity than Titan!”

 “And given access to the remainder of the system, they could be rivaling Callisto and Mars within a decade. They have a total war economy, and after two centuries seem to have adapted to maintain it. I would be tempted to suggest offering them membership in the Confederation, though that would be a matter for the Senate to decide.”

 “If we follow that course, we should request some ambassadors to take home with us. It might be worth leaving someone from the Buchanan behind as liaison, as well,” Caine added.

 “I want to have a good look at the Enemy ship,” Quinn said. “We should get an idea of what we are dealing with.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “Getting the Dumont crewmen back should be our first priority, surely.” 

 Looking around the room, Harper replied, “So, no diplomatic solution, then.”

 “Spaceman…,” Zebrova began, but she interrupted.

 “We haven’t even seriously tried to contact this Enemy yet.”

 “They didn’t answer our messages,” Ryder said. “How can we contact them?”

 “She’s right,” Marshall said. “We don’t know a damn thing at the moment. We can presume that this Enemy arrived from Tombstone…”

 “And look what they did there!” Zebrova said.

 “That’s a big assumption, and I’m not convinced it is justified.”

 “Captain, these are non-human, and the inhabitants of Tombstone were like us. Lots of data that confirms it.” She took a breath, and said, “Haven’s going to lose the war without our help. My estimates on their production capability suggest that the Enemy is outbuilding them, and they have full access to the resources of the system. I’m surprised Haven’s held out this long.” 

 “Ultimately,” Ryder said, “there are plenty of asteroids in the system if they want to knock over the table, and not much that Haven’s forces could do to stop it. It’s an obvious tactic.”

 “If they were doing to do that, surely they would have done it by now,” Caine said.

 Nodding, Quinn said, “It would do a lot of damage to Haven’s biosphere, if they want the world intact. Might postpone it to a last resort.”

 “Regardless, Captain,” Zebrova pressed, “Haven will lose the war in ten to fifteen years without our intervention. They are struggling to hold their orbital facilities, and my guess is that the Enemy will spend time building for a full-scale attack, one they will be unable to stop.”

 “Tolxac didn’t say anything,” Logan said, “but he all but thanked the Gods for our arrival. He knows where this war is going. Ultimately, we might have to intervene, and that must mean winning the war. We couldn’t afford a permanent garrison.”

 “Why the hell are the Enemy fighting?” Cunningham asked. “We don’t know, and without that information, we’re in the dark here.”

 “I’ll go and see their leaders. Captain Winter, I want you to tell Tolxac that a precondition of this is that an engineering team – Quinn, Orlova, Carpenter…”

 “And me,” Harper interrupted. 

 “And Spaceman Harper are to be permitted to examine that vessel. Tell them I want to gather as much tactical data as I can. It’s even the truth.”

 “Ryder and I can start putting together a plan to go to war,” Caine said. “Work out what our two ships can do to help safeguard Haven before we leave the system. Even if we don’t end up doing it, you can use it as a bargaining chip.”

 Marshall looked at Cunningham, then said, “Time to weigh in, John. What do you think?”

 “That we shouldn’t commit to anything. With a bit of luck, there will be a task force heading this way in a few weeks, and we can get a decision from the Senate. If it looked like Haven was about to fall, I might think differently, but we don’t need to make a snap decision this time.”

 “I agree,” Logan said. “Our focus should be on gathering information.”

 “Then let’s get started gathering everything we can. Zebrova, you co-ordinate both ships to get the best tactical overview we can get. Have Tyler assist you.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Tyler?” Winter asked.

 “Our intelligence officer.”

 “He’s got promise.” 

 “I’ll pass that on. I think we’ve got everything organized for the moment. Both ships are to remain on standby alert for the duration of our stay in this system. That clear?”

 “Yes, sir,” Cunningham said. “I was planning to.”

 “Good. Dismissed, then,” Marshall said, and the officers rose, walking out of the room and breaking into tangles of conversation, old friends sharing reminisces. Cunningham remained in his chair, leaning back and looking around.

 “I’ve wanted to be sitting here for months, Danny,” he said. “Especially when you were reported as overdue.”

 “What’s the state of play back home?”

 “With the fleet? All the preparations are a year more advanced. The first of the new tranche of scouts are in service, I got snared up in all of that, and they’re making good progress on the new battleships. Tramiel’s been putting a task force together at Mariner, so no-one’s been out very far since you left. There’s some big action taking place at Jefferson, but that’s down to the Espatiers at the moment.”

 “And you?”

 Tapping his insignia, Cunningham said, “They promoted me a couple of months ago, and I’m case officer on the Dragon-class scouts. Which means nursing them through their shakedown cruises and making sure the technical manuals are all up to scratch. I was commanding Wyvern when the Dumont appeared at Spitfire.”

 “I’m surprised they didn’t give you a battlecruiser.”

 “I didn’t push for one. Frank Rogers got Gilgamesh, though, last I heard he was on patrol at Proxima. Frankly, I was happier with scouts…”

 “Because you’ve been pushing for a chance to go out after Alamo, and you didn’t think they’d take the risk with a larger ship.”

 “Something like that,” he replied with a smile. “God, it’s good to be back here.”

 “What about Winter? I was rather surprised…”

 “He got stuck on Spitfire Station. You ought to read the records of that fight when you get a chance. He stared down a UN Dreadnought with harsh language and a pair of twos. Turned out you didn’t make a bad choice there.” Leaning forward, he said, “Of course, that’s the boring stuff. How did Zebrova work out as my replacement?”

 “Well…”

 “Because based on this report, she let you get away with a hell of a lot of stuff that a good Exec would have tried to talk you out of. Leading expeditions yourself deep into Cabal space, and getting captured to boot? If, let me see, Ensign Cooper hadn’t worked a miracle, you’d still be stuck out there, and Logan would be the one with the mess.”

 Marshall smiled, then said, “I’ve missed you too.”

 Shaking his head, he continued, “Damn it, you’ve had the mission of a decade. Either you’ve made your career or you’ve smashed it to bits. I’m surprised you ended up coming out this way, not taking the safe way home. Let me guess, Zebrova tried to talk you out of it.”

 “And failed. Turns out I’m hard to argue with.”

 “I know that much.”

 “Are you planning on giving me another version of the lecture you gave me back on the Wright that time?” 

 “When we were both a hell of a lot younger than we are now? No. After all, this time you could throw me in the brig for insubordination.” He smiled, and said, “I know you’ve been giving it to yourself anyway. Let me ask you a question.”

 “Go on.”

 “What the hell are you going to do here? I know what I’d have done if I’d been stuck with the Buchanan – as little as possible.”

 “Would you believe that I have essentially the same idea in mind? Of course, that’s going to have to include doing something about our missing crewmen, as well as securing this system as a potential way station for the task force I need to convince to relieve a station which by now could be under siege by a Cabal fleet.”

 “We have rather different definitions of little. I can’t wait to see the look on Tramiel’s face when you tell him what you need him to do. Still less when you tell him about Hercules.” He looked down at the table, then said, “I’m sorry about your father, by the way.”

 “He died in battle, saving his people. There are worse ways to go.” Shaking his head, he said, “I only had him back for a few months. It’s beginning to seem unreal, like a dream.”

 “That dream is going to have some very real repercussions for a lot of years. I think you just outlined Triplanetary policy regarding the Cabal for the next decade, one way or another. Particularly with the guest you have locked up below.”

 “He’s going to stay that way. I don’t trust him.”

 “But do you trust the message he’s carrying? Like it or not, Danny, your voice is going to be one of the big deciders over the next few years. You’re the man who led his ship into the Cabal, who went toe to toe with their fleet. There are a lot of Senators who’d put you in command of everything we’ve got that can fly in space and tell you not to stop until you’ve wiped out every last one of them.”

 “Things are getting that bad?”

 “I’m beginning to hear things about Manifest Destiny. That it is our mission, our duty, to bring freedom and democracy to the universe. I don’t think any of them realize just how damn expensive its going to be, still less the risk that we might actually lose.”

 “What about the others?”

 “Next year’s Senate’s going to be very different to the one we’ve got now, that’s for sure. The moderates are on the way out; it’s going to be Progressive versus Technocrats, and the Freedom Party will be lucky to hang in the middle.”

 “One side wants to raise our flag over the ruins of UN headquarters in Geneva, and the other side thinking that the military is just great, but that it doesn’t really need guns. Brilliant.”

 Shaking his head, Cunningham said, “I don’t have the first idea what’ll happen when you take this one back to the Senate. Best guess is not very much until after the election. The situation here can wait for a while, but I’m not sure it can wait that long.”

 “You think I should present them with a fait accompli?”

 “I think you need to come up with another way out of the problem, preferably one that doesn’t require anyone to make any hard choices. As for the task force, your guess is as good as mine. Logan and I both took steps to try and get them moving, but I reckon it depends whether the President is trying to get the Progressive or the Technocrat vote.”

 “Damn it,” Marshall replied, “this is a strategic decision, not a political one. We shouldn’t have to drag the politicians into this. We’ve got people out there who need help, and that should be the beginning and the end of the discussion.”

 “And if it leads to a war we can’t win? Hell, you’ve been out there, you’re the best qualified to know. Could we win a war with the Cabal if one starts today?”

 Marshall paused for a second, then said, “My gut says yes. We’ve got better people, better trained, more combat experience, and right now an edge on space-based industrial capability.”

 “That’s what I thought you’d say. Next question. What would the cost be?”

 “Heavy. They’d get in some serious blows. Jefferson, certainly. Possibly Ragnarok, Spitfire, Hydra. I don’t think they’d get far in Sol, though even then...it’d be a bad one, John. At least as bad as the Interplanetary War.”

 “So we’d win, and suffer enough damage that we might as well turn over command to Admiral Pyrrhus. No chance of the fast knockout blow to bring them down, the easy victory that everyone will be pushing for.”

 “No. They’ve got lots of room, space to maneuver, more than we do. No fixed battles, lots of hit and run raids, for years, before we found a way to really hit them hard.”

 “Then is it worth it?”

 He looked up at Cunningham, then said, “You’re asking what I would do if I was in charge?” 

 “You need to think up the answer now, because someone’s going to ask, and that person might be in a position to make your dreams come true.”

 “We need a peace, and we have a chance of securing it, but we need to make sure that we have the strategic depth we’re lacking right now. We’ve got to push as hard as we can, as long as the Cabal doesn’t break. Which means reinforcing Hydra Station, damn it, and making that the front line. Rather than having them sitting on our damn doorstep ready to pounce whenever they think the timing is right for them.”

 “Good answer. I hope you can persuade Tramiel about it. Or whoever you end up meeting at Spitfire Station.”

 The desk communicator chirped, and Marshall tapped the button, “Go ahead.”

 “Steele, sir. We’re getting a message, from, I guess, the Enemy.”

 “Find another name for them. What does it say.”

 “Video, sir. For you.”

 “Me?” He looked at Cunningham, then said, “Put them on.”

 On the screen, the image of a woman appeared, and Marshall shook his head. He recognized her, one of the Hercules crewmen who had traveled on the Dumont. She was sporting a black eye, and looked like she hadn’t slept properly in weeks.

 “This is Senior Corporal Clara Ballard to Lieutenant-Captain Marshall. I and six other members of my crew have been captured. We will be released to the care of the smaller ship, as soon as Alamo leaves this system, on the condition that no treaties or agreements be negotiated by the Triplanetary Confederation with the people of Haven. My captors do not demand an alliance, or anything other than to be left alone.”

 She looked to the left, then said, “Tell Maggie I’m sorry, and that this wasn’t her fault.”

 “Yeah it was,” Orlova said, standing unnoticed in the door. “Sorry, Clara. I’m the one who sent you out there.”

 “Maggie?” Marshall began, but she turned and walked away down the corridor. Looking back at Cunningham, he said, “You were saying something about not having to make any hard decisions, John?”

Chapter 10

 “Let’s get this straight,” Orlova said, looking around the cabin of the borrowed shuttle. “As far as I am concerned, this flight is to plan for a rescue mission.”

 “That’s why I was dragooned in, then,” Cooper replied. “I was wondering what engineering expertise you thought I had.” 

 “Maggie, we don’t even know where they are being held,” Quinn said. “It’s a very big system.”

 “They must be close, if they are willing to hand them over to the Buchanan,” Harper said. “Which means one of the moons. Not necessarily a ship.” Glancing around at the unfamiliar cabin, she continued, “We’re having enough trouble trying to figure out Haven’s technology, without trying to master an alien environment as well.”

 “We’ve never fought aliens,” Cooper said. “Looks like Alamo’s going to notch up one more first on its way home.”

 “I hate to suggest it,” Carpenter said, looking away from the window, “but have you thought about just acceding to their demands? From what the Captain said, he’s considering leaving things alone anyway, waiting for the Senate to make the decision.” 

 “You do not give into kidnappers,” Cooper said. “Even I know that much.”

 “Which commits us to a battle,” Quinn replied.

 “All of this is the Captain’s decision,” Orlova said. “And I’ve never known him to leave someone behind under any circumstances. He’ll get them back. It might take a battle, it might take diplomacy, but we’ll get them back.”

 Turning away from the group, she looked through the viewport at the approaching ship. She’d taken a quick look at the controls, and immediately ruled out any thought of flying the shuttle herself. The surfaces were built into specially-shaped hand-prints, reacting at the slightest touch of pressure, and other systems were either voice-activated or controlled by the feet. Far too much was totally automated for her liking, but for a simple orbital flight, it made an element of sense.

 She concentrate her attention on the vessel ahead, a perfect sphere, interrupted only by an oddly-shaped antenna and a trio of engines at the rear; even the missile tubes were embedded inside. It was a tough design, obviously built for war with tough, heavy armor. There were no viewports at all, the whole impression of a rugged vessel.

 The shuttle soared over it to give her a good view, and then down to the other side, where the perfect shape was interrupted once more with an airlock adapter, one that had obviously seen extensive use. The pilot obviously knew his stuff; with no hesitancy the shuttle cruised down to gently lock alongside, and the airlock opened.

 Inside, a smiling, jowled figure floated, his brown hair forming a loose, wispy halo around his head. He gestured for them to come in, passing each of them a silver disc, one of which was already clipped to his jumpsuit.

 Welcome to our prize,” he said. “My name is Vorzan, and I am very pleased to meet with you.” His smile grew, and he continued, “It’s a great pleasure to actually converse with people who speak English as a native. Tell me, do any of you speak German?” They looked at each other, and he shrugged, bobbing up and down in the low gravity. “A pity. Not many of us learned two of your languages. I was hoping to get more practice in.”

 “English is the usual language of the Confederation, though Russian and Swahili are also pretty common,” Quinn volunteered.

 “Swahili? I don’t think anyone here speaks that one. Many of us speak Russian, though.”

 “We can probably arrange to give you some language courses before we leave,” Orlova said. “I doubt that would count as a technology exchange.”

 Vorzan’s eyes widened, and he said, “That would be wonderful. If you would come this way, I’d be happy to give you the tour.”

 “We want to see the whole ship,” Orlova stressed. “This isn’t just for fun. We need to get all the information we can if we’re going to make proper tactical assessments of the Enemy. Getting to look inside a ship we might soon be fighting is a luxury that we need to take full advantage of.”

 He looked up, nodded, and replied, “My apologies. Primarily, my job is to entertain people who come on board to look at what we are up against, as well as to see our guest.” He looked between them, and said, “Do you want to see her?”

 “Her? The ship?”

 “No, our captive!”

 “Let me get this straight,” Cooper said. “You have one of the aliens on board this ship?”

 “That’s right. It always seemed to make more sense to keep her here, rather than take the risk of transporting her down to the surface. Not that the conditions would be inimical, you understand, but I venture that our people would not show her much kindness if she were to be taken out among them.” 

 “Make that the first part of the tour,” Orlova said. “And make sure that we have all the physiological and psychological data you’ve gathered.”

 Drifting up beside her, Cooper whispered, “Why the hell didn’t they tell us about this sooner? They’d have known that we’d find out as soon as we got on board.”

 “Your guess is as good as mine, Ensign. Eyes and ears open.”

 Vorzan led them down a corridor, then twisted them up a vertical rise. The interior layout seemed to lack any sort of formal deck structure, instead consisting of a series of tangled passageways connecting key areas. There were some odd similarities; clips along the wall held what had to be sleeping bags, and the handrail design looked comfortingly familiar.

 “Something odd,” Quinn said. “Look around. No status monitors, life support stations, anything. Alamo’s got them every few meters. Why haven’t they got anything like that here?”

 “Maybe we can’t recognize them,” Carpenter said. “Alien means alien, after all.”

 “How do you fail to recognize a viewscreen?” Quinn replied.

 “It could be anything,” Harper said. “Maybe holograms are projected when the ship powers up, maybe they are designed to blend into the wall. Hell, maybe they trust their systems enough that they don’t think they need it.”

 “Alien or no, ship design always involves a healthy dose of paranoia,” Quinn said. “I find it hard to believe that they’d depend totally on systems they had no control over.”

 They pushed on, coming to a door festooned in burn marks from the manner of its original breaching; some temporary repairs had been made at some point in the past, then abandoned as pointless.

 “This is the control and engine room. We decided to keep the alien in the Captain’s quarters. Figured it might as well have reasonable luxury, and it has its own food fabricator in there.”

 Quinn pushed ahead, looking around the room, then back in surprise. Aside from a few restraints in seemingly random positions, the walls were blank, bare. There was an empty locker at the back of the room by another blasted door, racks for what might have been spacesuits long stripped bare, but no sign of anything else. 

 “Are you sure this is the control room?”

 “Oh,” Vorzan said, “Absolutely. You’re going to need these, though.” He tugged a pair of outsize glasses from a pocket, and carefully tossed them towards her. As soon as she put them on, the walls of the room erupted in color, each section a different display, though she couldn’t read them. Dials and gauges, streaming text from all angles, and illuminated positions by each of the restraints. Pushing up to one of them, she looked down to see a condensed version of the wider picture, focused on a few areas.

 Taking the glasses off and passing them to Quinn, she said, “They all wore glasses like this? That seems pretty cumbersome.”

 “No, that’s just our version of it. They did it with implants, jacked directly into the optic nerve and the rest of the brain.”

 “Ships that can be operated with thought?” Orlova said. “Then they were communication and translators? That’s clever. Means that the whole ship can be one huge control station. I’m surprised they bothered with an individual control room.”

 “I’ve seen designs of a ship that used holographic controls and datapads, but no-one ever really tried to make it work,” Quinn said. “There was a lot of talk about it before the war, I believe, but it was thought to be far too fragile for combat.

 Looking at the glasses, Carpenter asked, “How did you duplicate the implants? I’m surprised you haven’t thought about upgrading your own ships in this way.”

 “We didn’t. We just worked a way of hooking them up without implanting them. A few volunteers tried them out, but I’m afraid they died quite quickly, and never had any luck at operating the ships.”

 “That’s a bit damn cold,” Harper said, reaching for the glasses.

 “We are at war, and they died for their people in the same way as one who fell in battle.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova asked, “What do you think, Harper?”

 “Brain implants isn’t something that’s exactly been pushed as research. Not much chance we’d be able to duplicate this, but I guess it might give someone a head-start.” Looking over at Vorzan, she asked, “Can we keep this?”

 He reached out for it, and replied, “I’d have to clear that with my superiors. We only have so many of them. The Enemy doesn’t usually allow their bodies to be captured; they have a tendency to blow up their ships first.”

 “Involuntary brain surgery probably makes them a bit less likely to want to be taken alive,” Carpenter said. “What about the prisoners they’ve taken from you?”

 “Killed instantly, we presume. Certainly they have never been heard from again. This is total war, and the price of defeat is extinction. What do you expect us to do?”

 “But you kept this one alive?” Orlova said.

 “It’s rare enough that we get one back in...good condition,” he said. “She’s been here for a year or two. Some of our biologists decided that we might learn something about their requirements for life support over extended periods.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Odds are I’ll get ordered to throw her out of an airlock sooner or later.”

 “We’d better take a look before it’s too late, then,” Orlova said.

 “I’ll hang back,” Harper said. “I want to take another look around the bridge. Can I borrow the glasses for a moment? I think I might be able to figure out the displays.”

 “Some of our best people have spent years trying,” Vorzan replied, passing her the glasses, “but you are more than welcome to try. A new pair of eyes on the problem could be just what we’ve been looking for.”

 The four of them followed Vorzan through the door into a small room, obviously some sort of quarters section. Their attention was immediately drawn to a far corner, where a short, four-foot tall green figure floated behind a transparent screen. She – her sex was immediately obvious from the twin bulges under her cloak – had four arms, and five digits on each, and seemed slender. Her toes were slightly crooked, and she was using them to hang onto a bar on the floor to keep herself still.

 “Can she talk?” Carpenter asked.

 “We’ve never deciphered the Enemy’s language.”

 “You managed English easily enough,” Quinn replied.

 “This is a totally alien language,” Vorzan said. “Don’t think we haven’t tried. Our best computers have been working on the problem for decades. I dare say one day we will solve it.”

 Orlova looked at the woman’s face, locking eyes. She didn’t need a translator to tell her that she was lonely, desperate, longing to escape. There was a fierce determination there, but it was crumbling. Despite everything, she actually felt sorry for her.

 “How long has she been in there?” she asked.

 “About a year. Two hundred and ninety-one of your days, as far as we can determine. We were very fortunate to capture this ship intact, though fifteen people died capturing it. Some of the systems are repairing themselves, albeit slowly. She might be doing it.”

 “She has an implant?”

 “Her cell doubles as a jamming device. Don’t worry, she can’t tell the life support system to kill us, or anything like that.”

 Quinn caught Orlova’s eyes, and she replied, “I’m pleased to hear it.”

 The woman looked at Orlova again, and started to speak, a long, mournful chant. Instantly, Carpenter had her datapad out, holding it close to get maximum definition. After a second, the captive caught on, and started to change the pitch and tone of her words.

 “She’s helping us, Maggie,” Carpenter replied. “Maybe she’s running through her alphabet or some sort of vocabulary.”

 “Come on,” Vorzan said. “Don’t you want to see the rest of the ship?” 

 “Quinn, you and Cooper go. We’ll stay here.”

 “I really can’t leave you alone with the prisoner. Anything might happen. I can arrange for you to receive all the language files you want.” Looking at her, he said, “You don’t think you can trust anything she tells you, do you?”

 “Without hearing it, I couldn’t judge.” She was interrupted by a discordant whine running across the ship, and a pair of guards drifted into the room, rifles in their hands, babbling at Vorzan.

 “We must get to emergency stations at once,” he said. “The Enemy are launching a raid here, at our orbital yards. They will be on us in twenty minutes. I must insist that you return to your ship immediately.”

 Looking at Quinn, Orlova said, “We’ll stay and help with the fight.”

 “No, I will not be responsible for anything that might violate the terms of our alliance. You must leave, now.”

 Carpenter picked up her communicator, and shook her head, looking at Orlova, “We’re being jammed, Maggie.”

 “It is overspill from the dampening field,” Vorzan replied. “You’ll have all the time you want to talk to your ship. Quickly, it is a fifteen minute flight.”

 Orlova looked from the tour guide to the guards, then back at the woman, still frantically talking into Carpenter’s microphone, giving her as much information as she could.

 “We’ll be back,” she said, knowing full-well that the alien couldn’t understand her, but hoping that the meaning of the words might get through, despite everything. Reluctantly, she pushed away from the room, the woman growing silent as Carpenter was forced to replace her datapad in her pocket. She spotted her surreptitiously tapping a control; as soon as they left the jamming field, everything she had recorded would be transmitted back to Alamo.

 Harper was floating in the middle of the bridge, looking around the room at different displays, the glasses placed carefully on her face. She gestured over at Orlova, and Vorzan moved over to her.

 “Didn’t you hear the alarm?” he asked.

 “I thought you guys just had bad taste in music.”

 “You must return to your shuttle, at once.”

 She shrugged, took the glasses off and placed them in his pocket, then dived out of the room, just ahead of one of the guards. The rest followed her, down the path back to the waiting shuttle. After a few moments, Orlova’s communicator began to chirp.

 “Alamo to Orlova,” Caine’s voice said, insistently. “Come in, please.”

 “I’m here, and we’re on our way back to the shuttle.” She looked at the red-faced Vorzan, and said, “What’s the status of the incoming fleet?”

 “Ten Enemy ships, heading directly. Captain’s put the ship on battle stations. If you leave now, we think you’ll be back on board before they get to us. Probably.”

 “You’re filling me with confidence. We’re on our way.”

 The five of them scrambled for the airlock, then ducked into the shuttle, hastily strapping themselves in. Vorzan and the guards remained outside as the lock closed, and with a loud crunch, the shuttle detached.

 “I don’t get it,” Carpenter said. “There are enough extra couches that some of them could get away.”

 “They never planned to,” Quinn replied. “All they wanted to do was get us off the ship before we could make contact with the alien.”

 Orlova glared at him, then said, “At least we’ve got the recordings. We should be able to make use of them later, maybe even translate them.”

 None of the others replied; they’d obviously got her not-so-subtle message. If a group of recently-encountered humans had been traveling on one of Alamo’s shuttles, she’d have taken steps to make sure that they were under surveillance at all times. She peered out of the viewport, trying to see what was going on outside, but it was a futile gesture.

 Her datapad was a far more valuable tool. Immediately she was able to call up a tactical projection of orbital space, and saw the tight cluster of ten ships diving towards the captured vessel. It didn’t make sense, though. Not after the message that the aliens had sent to Alamo; in her position, she would have at least waited for a response, hoped that it would be favorable, before launching an attack.

 She felt completely helpless, sitting in her seat, at the mercy of the two pilots sitting in the cockpit up ahead, unable even to urge them to move faster, try and shave a few corners. Instead, she fixed her attention on the datapad, watching the vessels inexorably move closer. Carpenter was buried in her notes, as well, starting work on decoding the language. A burst of noise came from Harper’s datapad; she seemed to be watching a movie.

 For a second, she thought about telling her to take the current situation more seriously, then smiled. Her obsessive focus with the scanner telemetry was making no greater difference to the situation than Harper’s film, except to raise her blood pressure; such an ability to switch off was to be envied, not discouraged.

 The time dragged, seconds seeming like minutes as the shuttle drew closer to Alamo. The pilots didn’t seem to need much encouragement, but as fast as they were traveling, it began to appear that they were going to fall short. Then a burst of energy erupted from Alamo; the ship was coming to intercept them.

 “Landing in one minute,” Caine’s voice echoed. “We’re going to bring you into one of the elevator airlocks. It might be a little bumpy.”

 She could just make out the comforting lines of the battlecruiser up ahead, the image rapidly growing larger as the shuttle approached. The laser radiators were deployed, the ship at combat readiness. The final few seconds ticked down as the shuttle settled underneath Alamo, then rose up into the hangar bay, the airlock doors finally opening.

 Hastily throwing off her restraints, Orlova said, “We’d all better get to battle stations.” “Just a minute,” Harper said, reaching into her pocket. “Better get this analyzed, Jack.” She tossed something small to Quinn, who held it up to the light.

 “Is this what I think it is?” he asked.

 “You swiped the implant from the glasses!” Orlova said.

 “We asked, and he said no. I decided we needed it more than he did.”

 “What do you want to do?” Quinn asked.

 With a smile, she said, “I guess the damage is done, so get it into analysis. After the battle. Harper?”

 “Yes?” she said with a smug grin.

 “Next time you want to risk starting a war, ask first.”

Chapter 11

 Marshall drummed his fingers on the arm of his command chair, knowing the effect it was having on the rest of the crew, and in fact counting on it. It seemed as if everything was moving in slow motion; some of the alert lights were taking too long to flash red, more than six minutes now since he’d called the crew to battle stations.

 “Zebrova?” he barked.

 “I’m on the line with Life Support and Elevator Control right now, sir. Any second.”

 “That would have been fine three minutes ago. It’s less fine now. Bryant, how’s the shuttle doing?”

 “Just entering the elevator airlock now, Captain. We should have hard dock in a minute, and can proceed to full battle readiness.” Anticipating his next question, she continued, “I now have confirmed tracks on twelve incoming spacecraft, sir, with engines burning at what the Haven records indicate as maximum acceleration.”

 “Finally got their warbook to work,” Caine grumbled. “We’re looking at two missile tubes in each, sir, with a reload time of a hundred and nine seconds. A lot more maneuverable than we are, but we can crank up the acceleration faster. Best guess that these are some of their cutting-edge craft.”

 “Can we take them?”

 She replied with a hurt look, and said, “It’s all down to what they are firing. Our missiles are a lot faster with ten times the explosive yield. They’d need a lucky shot to do any damage at all.”

 “Sir,” Ivanov reported from the communications station. “Lieutenant Ryder reports that the Buchanan is at battle stations…”

 “A damn auxiliary beat a battlecruiser to the punch!” Marshall said. “Zebrova, get those technicians moving, on the double!”

 “And is requesting instructions.”

 The elevator doors opened, and Cunningham and Logan walked onto the bridge, taking positions either side of Marshall; Zebrova quietly stepped back, still talking into a headset with ever-increasing volume.

 “What are you going to tell her, Danny?” Cunningham asked.

 “I need some guidance too, skipper,” Caine said. “Lasers are deployed, and we’ll be in firing range in a hundred and nine seconds. Best guess is that we’ll have an advantage of thirty-one seconds, and I’d recommend taking full advantage of it.”

 “We’ve got to be careful,” Logan said. “We can’t pick a side, but we can’t afford for Haven to think we’re not on their side, or we could lose them.”

 Pulling the headset down, Zebrova said, “I’d recommend against making a snap decision. We’ve got our people back, and can pull away into a higher orbit…”

 “So we can watch the people who defended us be shot out of the sky by the people who attacked both us and the Buchanan when we entered this system. They can’t muster enough strength to stop them, Danny,” Caine said. “We’d get a front-row seat at a military disaster.”

 “Whatever you do, I’ll back it,” Logan said.

 “Shuttle is secure, sir,” Reid reported from the watch officer’s station. “Lieutenant Orlova is on her way to the bridge, and Lieutenant Quinn is heading down to co-ordinate damage control stations. Ensign Cooper is standing the Espatiers too.”

 “For what?” Cunningham asked.

 “Boarding action, sir.”

 “That could be one way to gather intelligence,” Caine said, half-seriously. “Maybe…”

 “Guardian Station is transmitting tactical, well, requests, sir. Positioning us in their battle lines,” Ivanov said, turning to face Marshall.

 “Take a look, Deadeye, and make it quick. Ivanov, try and hail the alien spacecraft. Offer a ceasefire. Given them three tries, and transmit on all languages in the database.”

 “Do they know English?” Reid asked.

 “They must do. Their prisoners spoke in English, and I don’t think they would have trusted with an open microphone if they didn’t know exactly what they were saying,” Logan replied. “They’ll understand you.”

 “Message sent, sir.”

 With a barking laugh, Caine said, “They’re making us the lynch-pin of their defense, and the rest of their ships are moving on the assumption that we are going to accept their plan. It’ll be a slaughter if we don’t, Danny.”

 “Damn them for putting us in this position,” Marshall said. “We might as well be hung for a sheep rather than a lamb. McGuire, follow the plan as outlined. Deadeye, fire at will, but shoot to disable if you can, assuming the sensor data we’ve been given is accurate enough.”

 “Dampening field all around us, sir,” Bryant said. “I think they’re giving us the benefit of their electronic countermeasures.”

 “Generous of them,” Logan said. “The only question is whether they work or not.”

 “We’re about to find out.”

 “Got it!” Zebrova said. “All decks have finally reported clear for action, Captain.”

 “About time. I want heads to roll for this, Lieutenant.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Random walk, McGuire. Ivanov, inform the Buchanan of my intentions, and order them to stay clear of the battle in a lower orbit. Under no circumstances are they to get involved.”

 Rising from her work, Caine said with a frown, “The plan assumes that the Buchanan will be forming the rear guard, Danny.”

 “They are, just rather further back than they are intending. They’re already getting the forces of hell unleashed on their enemies, they can’t complain. Make this happen.”

 He sat back in his chair, looking out across the bridge, then glancing up at Cunningham, leaning over his shoulder. The older officer shared his look of concern; neither of them wanted to be committed to such a course of action at this stage, without even the opportunity to negotiate any sort of terms. After this, Haven’s leaders would know that he’d been forced to make a choice, and could have some sort of position of strength as a result.

 Logan drifted over to the communications station, pecking with a pair of fingers at one of the display consoles, while Caine prepared the missile tubes for action with her usual consummate skill. She was ignoring the countermeasures section completely; none of their electronic tricks would work, and they wouldn’t have a package they could deploy until the relevant files were provided to them by Guardian Station. Something which was taking far longer than it should.

 Alamo started to swing back and forth as McGuire began her random walk pattern, anything to throw off the targeting sensors of the Enemy spacecraft. Looking over to one side, he glanced at the Flight Engineering station, watched the wary Makala positioning damage control teams, Quinn’s face flashing up on a monitor to give directions.

 Unlike normal, he felt he needed to double-check everything; his crew were experienced enough that he should be able to almost sit back and enjoy the ride, but his own natural caution and inability to withstand boredom would prevent that. Now, though people were beginning to get lax, a combination of a foe that ought not to present any difficulties, and a crew that had been out on patrol for too long.

 “Haven formation moving in on either side of us, sir,” Bryant reported.

 “We’re getting some message traffic, Captain,” Ivanov added, “but I haven’t got the first idea what it is. The system doesn’t have the local language in the database yet.”

 One more detail that should have been ironed out by now; by all accounts, the Dumont had been in-system long enough that they ought to have been able to iron out these problems, and even lacking the data that had been stored on the captured scoutship, the locals should have kept copies at the very least.

 Cunningham moved over to stand by the side of McGuire, gesturing at controls to quietly suggest course changes to the recently-promoted officer, while Logan was still standing in the corner, engrossed in his work. Caine glanced across to him, resignation on her face.

 “Firing range in nine seconds, sir. Lasers, then missiles. Have I clearance to fire?”

 “You may fire at your discretion, Lieutenant.” At her frown, he asked, “Something wrong?”

 “It feels too much like overkill. Like we’re not giving them a chance.”

 “Better that than to be on the other side,” Zebrova said.

 “Probably, but I still remember what it was like on the other side. McGuire, give me a firing solution on the lead craft in six seconds.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” she replied. “Setting it up now.”

 At his heart, Marshall knew exactly what she meant. Those ships could easily have been Triplanetary fighters, lining up for an attack on a United Nations cruiser that they knew they were no match for, hoping to get a lucky shot in before they were shot down by the defenses. Too many of his friends had died on doomed operations like this; he took no solace at all in being on the other side for once.

 Deftly working the controls, McGuire tipped Alamo end over end, spinning it around on the thrusters with unnecessary – but satisfactory – panache, and Caine stabbed a finger on the control, a laser leaping across the void to briefly connect the two ships, ripping an angry gouge out of the forward section of the leading Enemy ship. Instantly, it broke away from the formation as escaping air tore into space, sending it spiraling out of control. A few seconds later, there was a brief flash, and the ship disappeared. 

 “Damn it, Deadeye, I said shoot to wound,” he said.

 She looked up, stricken, and replied, “According to the data I got, that was their medical bay and life support systems. All they had to do was get into their suits and they’d have had a chance.”

 “Evidently these people don’t want to be taken alive,” Cunningham said. “Danny, it doesn’t matter where we hit them. Any disabling shot…”

 “Might as well hit them in the reactor. Keep firing, Deadeye,” he said, sick to his stomach. “Let’s get this damn bloodbath over with. Bryant, I want to know the instant those ships start to break away. As soon as they cease being a threat, I’m going to stop firing. Ivanov, relay that to those ships.”

 “They still haven’t answered, sir, though I know they are receiving.”

 “How?”

 “Bandwidth between the vessels is going through the roof whenever I send a signal. I guess they must be passing it around.”

 Alamo rocked as six missiles raced forwards into the fray, each of them fanning out towards an individual target up ahead. At last, the enemy formation broke, splintering into fragments as they attempted to reach safety. Marshall looked at the tactical plot, but all of them were still heading towards the Haven formation, each still attempting a firing run. He frowned, looking at the mutual destination of four of them.

 “Confirm that, Bryant.”

 “Targets Two, Three, Five and Nine are heading for the captured spacecraft, sir.”

 “Is that so surprising?” Cunningham asked. “We already know what they don’t like being captured, and if they know that there is an alien on board, they’d want to, well, kill her.”

 “I’d buy that if they hadn’t held her prisoner for more than a year. Why now? Why wait until they are facing overwhelming odds to launch this attack?”

 “Energy spikes, sir,” Bryant said. “We’ve got seventeen missiles in the air, all of them heading for Haven vessels. They aren’t even trying to target us.”

 “Can we help?” Marshall asked, looking at Caine.

 “I don’t see how, sir,” she replied, “unless you want me to pull back my missiles.” There was an expression of hope on her face. “I could take out some of them with this salvo and the next.”

 Marshall shared her relief, and said, “Better do that, then, Lieutenant. We’ve got to help protect our allies as best we can.”

 “We’ve have launches from our side now, sir. Another ten missiles in the air, all of them on the targets heading for the captured spacecraft,” Bryant reported.

 “That’s odd,” Cunningham said. “Why are they so desperate to hold onto it? Those missiles would be a lot better used in point-defense, knock out the enemy salvo. Ultimately, they’ve got numbers on their side.”

 “Our second salvo is away now,” Caine said, her report punctuated by the rocking of the ship in response. “Loading third salvo. Laser is charged if you want me to take another shot.”

 With difficulty, Marshall nodded, and said, “Go for Target Three. That’s the one our allies are going to have the hardest time stopping.”

 “I can take down a missile…”

 “We have a real reason to hold onto that ship, Lieutenant,” Marshall replied, “and they are the ones launching the attack.”

 “I know,” she sighed. Turning to the helm, she said, “Firing solution on three, in four seconds, McGuire.”

 “Three in four. Yes, ma’am,” she replied, sending the ship swinging once again towards the enemy. Caine depressed the control again, and a second laser pulse raced forth, knocking a second ship out of the fight; this time the damage from the laser impact seemed to have been sufficient to destroy the vessel.

 Glancing across at Cunningham, Marshall said, “Take us in closer to the captured spacecraft. Deadeye, when your third salvo is ready, I want two each on the ships that are targeting it. Let’s be sure.”

 He looked across at the holo-display, a tangle of missile and small ship tracks punctuated with brief flashes as Alamo’s salvo successfully sought mutually assured destruction with the incoming warheads. As he watched, the enemy ships began to twist away, the course projections sliding around, curving back as they tried to accelerate.

 “They’re running, sir!” Bryant said. “They’ve had enough!”

 “Hold the third salvo,” Marshall replied. “Dedicate all remaining missiles to point-defense. No others to target the enemy ships.”

 Zebrova moved forward, then said, “Taking those ships out would give Haven a significant advantage, Captain. They appear to be cutting-edge designs, more advanced than the usual vessels, and…”

 “And we have them at our mercy, Lieutenant? Let’s exercise it, shall we. We won this battle, and I don’t want to jeopardize the war by making our victory too complete. As soon as they are out of firing range, resume stand-by alert, and you can go and see to the education of the people who delayed our response time.”

 “Yes, Captain.”

 “I still want to know why the hell they would choose to attack now, rather than earlier. Or later, for that matter,” Marshall said, looking across at Caine. “They must have known that the shuttle would get here before they had a chance of bringing it down. That can’t have been the reason.”

 “I’ve got it,” Logan said, a datapad in his hand and a frown on his face. “It’s worse than I’d feared, though. According to the sensor logs, one minute – one local minute – before those ships went on the move, a signal was sent out from the planet below. I can’t translate it yet, but…”

 “But someone called those ships in for some reason.”

 “A traitor?” Reid suggested. “Pretty damn distasteful to think along those lines, but we had a few of them during the War. It seems reasonable that…”

 “It does, Sub-Lieutenant. It seems pretty damn reasonable. So much so that when we go down to the surface I’m certain that we’re going to get fed that explanation,” Marshall replied. “All of this is too convenient.”

 Forcing a smile, Logan said, “I’m glad to see that you are maintaining a healthy level of paranoia, Captain. I have a horrible feeling that this time they really are all out to get us.”

 “A setup?” Zebrova said. “They wanted us…”

 “They wanted us to join into the battle, decisively win and guarantee that we would choose their side in this little war of theirs, giving us no chance to choose the other side. And, damn it, they were pretty bloody successful.”

 “We could always leave the system, sir,” Zebrova said. “Leave and don’t come back.”

 Shaking his head, Cunningham said, “This place is far too useful as a fleet anchorage for us to let it slide, Lieutenant. Besides, if Haven wins its war, it’ll be a significant power in ten years. We’d need to tie them into the Confederation, or risk them choosing someone else to ally with.”

 Standing up, Marshall said, “Ivanov, I want you to contact the surface and inform them that I am moving the time of their meeting up to right now, or at least as soon as we can get a shuttle down on the deck. I’m going down to see if I can find out what the hell is going on down there. Logan, John, you’re with me. Have Maggie stand by in the shuttle, she can fly us down.”

 “Anyone else?” Caine said. “After all, you are committing the three highest-ranking Triplanetary personnel in the system to this.”

 “Damn right. I want that shuttle to be stuffed with as many Espatiers as we can fit on board, led by Cooper, full armor and weapons load out. We’ve given the aliens a show of force, so let’s give one to the humans as well.”

 “I could get used to this approach to diplomacy, Danny,” Cunningham said, moving over to the elevator. As they stepped from the bridge, Zebrova cautiously moved into the command chair, calling out orders as she went.

 “Diplomacy, John?” Marshall said. “I’m not in a very diplomatic mood. We’ve got far too many questions, and it’s about time that we got some answers. They can choose whether it is the easy way or the hard way.”

 “For whom?” Logan asked as the doors closed.

Chapter 12

 Cooper looked around at the men in the shuttle, still slightly astounded that he was commanding them. Forrest was sitting opposite him, flashing a cheeky grin, and the rest of the squad chattered quietly among themselves, checking their equipment and their straps as the shuttle slewed into the atmosphere, Orlova at the helm. The Captain was sitting next to her in the cockpit, but Captain Cunningham and Captain Winter were sitting together at the rear of the shuttle, respirators loose at their belt, pistols in their holster.

 “Listen up,” he said, trying to put a bark in his voice. “This is a diplomatic escort mission. We’ve got guns and armor for effect, for show, not to use unless someone shoots at you first. If we end up fighting today then we have failed.”

 “What are we here for then, sir?” Private Lomax said, grinning.

 “Like he said,” Forrest replied, “We’re here to look good and scare the crap out of the people down there. If they think we mean business, they’ll be a lot less likely to cause any trouble.”

 “No-one fires their weapon unless they get a direct order. Is that clearly understood?”

 “What if there is a surprise attack, sir?” Lomax asked.

 “Then you’d better hope I’m not the first one they hit, Private. Sergeant, go through the respirator and weapons checks again.”

 “Yes, sir,” Forrest said. Cooper was having trouble getting used to giving any orders to the gruff old sergeant, but he seemed happy enough with the arrangement; Forrest had been one of the ones who recommended his commission in the first place. He glanced across at the new insignia decorating his battered uniform; everyone else was wearing brand-new kit, but his had been with him since Hades Station.

 Technically, he should have fabricated himself a new battledress, and he certainly had plenty of opportunity to get a new weapon, but he was beginning to get a little sentimental about it. When he first boarded Alamo back at Mariner Station, he’d been anxious for action, hoping that they wouldn’t miss out on anything on what had looked like just another boring patrol.

 Just a boring patrol. He shook his head, longing for the ability to reach back in time and slap his younger self across the face a couple of times, try to educate him. If he could do it all over again, there were so many things that he would have done differently, so many changes he would make. Most of which would have meant that someone else – Zabek, Forrest, anyone – would be sitting here right now.

 He caught Cunningham looking at him, sizing him up, and then nodding. Cooper looked back around at his men, running through their equipment checks under the watchful eye of the Sergeant, and belatedly started running through his own series of tests. Respirator green, and set for the local planetary environment, and weapons loaded and ready, sights activated and in position, communicator locked onto the right tactical frequencies.

 At least they weren’t having to use spacesuits this time, though that meant once again going into battle without the armor he had trained with, all but the makeshift combat plate that the technicians had come up with before Alamo left. Hopefully, by now someone would have come up with some better designs than these bulky 21st Century pieces, leftovers from the last big war. He clasped his fist against the chest piece, checking the locks were in position, and grunted.

 “You’re missing the view, Ensign,” Lance-Corporal Fontana, the last remaining junior NCO, said. “We’re biting the clouds.”

 “Thanks, Corporal,” he said, turning to look out of the viewscreen. The shuttle was racing down into a swirling purple fog, cutting its way through a thick cloud layer to dive towards the landing site. As he watched, it swept down underneath the cloud bank, leveling off to provide an astonishing view of the landscape below.

 The trees were a series of blacks, a thick jungle with thin green lines scattering through the landscape, rivers that connected up open clearings. He could just make out a few gray dots, cities spread across the surface, and then the shuttle raced out over a green sea, lapping white floating at the tops.

 “Weird,” Fontana said. “Never seen anything like it.”

 “Algae,” Cunningham said. “The water here is thick with it. Odd stuff, but it’s apparently drinkable with a bit of processing. As for the trees, well, the place is thick with infra-red from the star. Try using your night filters.”

 Cooper slid his goggles down from his helmet, and the riot of color that leapt out at him gave him a near-instant headache. Swirls of rainbow patterns dotted across the trees, the filters doing their best to interpret the stream of dazzling data that came in. Hardly able to bear it any more, he pushed his goggles off.

 “No-one use their night vision,” he said. “Damn goggles will be useless until we get them adjusted. I couldn’t make out a thing in that mess.”

 “Let’s hope no-one attacks until dawn,” Lomax said, sotto voce. “What time are we landing, sir?”

 “Midnight local time,” he replied with a grin. “Fit your torches.”

 The squad reached into their pockets, clipping their helmet lamps into position, one innovation that they had managed to develop. A succession of bright flashes confirmed that they were all working, and the squad looked at him as the shuttle soared over the coast.

 “I’m the first one out. Rest of you follow me and form an honor guard outside the shuttle. Remember – no-one does anything without my say so. Is that clear?” A chorus of reluctant assent echoed around the cabin. “Eyes out for cover and anything suspicious. You see something you don’t like, you tell me at once. We’re paying you to keep the senior officers alive, not to be diplomatic.”

 Peering out of the window again, Cooper could see the shuttle slowing down, a long run of lights up ahead in the middle of the jungle next to a massive trio of step-pyramids, hardened, blackened stone edifices reaching up. Dozens of clearings were scattered around, and a road trailed off to the sea in the distance.

 “Here we go,” he said. “Get ready.”

 He could hear a whistling from the windows, the roar of the engine slowly fading as Orlova cut the thrust. The wings dipped from side to side as she dealt with the cross-winds, then lining up with the runway for the final approach. Up ahead, he could see a group of vehicles gathered around, low, six-wheeled trucks, and a few figures standing close to them.

 “Welcoming party up ahead,” he said to Forrest, who nodded in response.

 There was a loud squeal as the wheels touched the ground, bouncing twice before settling on the tarmac and skidding to a halt, Orlova turning it to face the forest to prepare for a quick departure if necessary. The engines died to nothing, fading away, and a series of lights began to flash on over the airlock.

 “Stand by, everyone,” Orlova’s voice echoed over the ceiling speakers. “I’m clearing the airlock now.” 

 The door opened, and Marshall walked out of the cockpit, heading for the airlock; with a smile on his face, Cooper beat him to the door, clipping his airlock into position, gesturing Fontana to stand next to him. For a second, he thought the Captain was going to order him back, but the systems switched over before he had a chance, and Cooper stepped in, sealing the door behind him.

 He quickly ran his eye over Fontana’s respirator while she checked his, making sure that all the systems were working, nothing out of place. With a nod to affirm all was well, he tapped another button and the outer hatch opened, a ladder dropping down to the ground. He took it in a single jump, Fontana right behind him, and stood at parade rest on either side of the airlock while a man walked up to him, wearing the armband of a translator.

 “Welcome to Haven, Captain…”

 Raising a hand, Cooper said, “I’m Ensign Cooper, guard detachment.” Up above, the airlock opened once again. “Captain Marshall is coming down now.”

 Marshall slid down, shot a look at Cooper, then stepped away from the airlock to allow the rest of the men to get out. Cooper glanced around at the rest of the assembled men; he could make out a few clumsily concealed weapons on two of them, and assumed that the rest were simply better at hiding their sidearms. No serious weaponry, though, nothing that they couldn’t handle.

 Forrest jumped down, another trooper behind him, and lined up next to Cooper, fixing his eyes on the trucks. Marshall took a step forward, and took the proffered hand of the translator.

 “I am Lieutenant-Captain Marshall,” he said. “This is one of our Espatier squads, here to provide escort.”

 “I see,” the translator replied. “My name is Corxin, and I am protocol officer of this facility. I’m here to escort you to meet our leaders; I understood that it was to be you and two other officers.” 

 “And eight of my guard. Triplanetary regulations, I’m afraid.” 

 Corxin looked at Cooper, and replied, “I’m not sure about that. Maybe if they leave their weapons in the shuttle, something might be arranged.”

 Marshall turned to Cooper, and he nodded in reply, passing his rifle over to Fontana. This had been arranged in advance; all of the men had been warned to secure plasma pistols in their concealed holsters, and short of a full search, they should get through any reasonable security.

 “Corporal, you stay with Lieutenant Orlova on the shuttle.”

 “Yes, sir,” she replied.

 “If you don’t hear from us at hourly intervals…”

 “We’ll come in shooting, sir,” she replied. “None of us have any intention of leaving you behind here.”

 Corxin was growing pale behind his mask, and Cooper said, “Report to Lieutenant Zebrova, and follow her instructions, whatever they might be. Remember, this is a diplomatic mission.”

 “Yes, sir,” she said, glancing at the guard with a menacing glare.

 “I think we can find room for you in the trucks,” Corxin volunteered, speaking into a device at his neck. “If you would come with me?” 

 “That would be fine,” Marshall said. “Ensign?”

 “Sergeant, you take half the squad and ride up Captain Winter. The rest, with me.”

 “Yes, sir,” Forrest said, glancing at Marshall for a nod of confirmation. The men divided up, following the gestures of their welcoming party into the back of the trucks, heavy canvas over a steel frame. There were no seats or restraints inside; it was going to be a bumpy ride over the road to the pyramid.

 Marshall and Cunningham settled down at the head of the truck, the remainder of the men making themselves as comfortably as they could before the journey began, Cooper almost falling to his feet as the engine started. A series of alerts flashed onto his respirator as the outside air changed; he frowned for a moment before realizing that they must come from the truck’s engine.

 “How far?” Lomax asked.

 “Your guess is as good as mine, Private. I don’t know how fast these things move.”

 As the truck lurched over a bump, the trooper replied, “Think they’d mind if I got out and walked, boss?”

 “I’m sure the creatures lurching in that jungle out there would be only too happy for a nice meal, Private,” Cunningham said. “For the moment, it’s probably better that we all stick together.”

 Lomax glanced out of the curtain again, shook his head, and settled down. Cooper pulled out his datapad, trying to get a fix on their location. Alamo was just going over the horizon, and he could just get enough of a signal to track their movements; the road was winding and twisting through the jungle, but they were getting closer to the furthest pyramid.

 Outside, darkness briefly smothered them, then replaced by flickers of dull sunlight; this road had not been designed for comfort, but for defense. At some point in the past, orbital bombardment must have been a real possibility; he saw a checkpoint with a trio of guards standing around, testament to ground defenses.

 He shook his head; that was makework, not necessary. If the aliens had managed to get control of orbital space, a few guards standing at a crossroads wasn’t going to make any difference to the outcome of the battle.

 Up ahead, he could hear a torrent of noise, chanting in the still-undecipherable welcoming party, and the truck skidded to a halt in the wet mud. He gestured at Lomax to move over to the door, and Corxin ducked through from the driving compartment.

 “We’ve got a problem. A welcoming party up ahead has got rather out of hand, and we’re going to have to try and get you around another way.”

 “A welcoming party?” Marshall said.

 “A riot,” Cunningham replied. “I take it our presence isn’t welcome to everyone down here, then.”

 His face turning red, Corxin said, “I’m afraid there are those among us who fear anyone from outside, any potential invader of our world. I’m sure that as soon as they see you, get to know you, they’ll welcome you as much as the rest of us are.”

 The truck lurched into life, then stopped again, the back wheel spinning around. Cooper glanced up at Marshall, then over to Corxin, reaching into his pocket for his sidearm.

 “This isn’t the main road from the starport. Not one you use every damn day. And if we really were honored guests, you’d be managing better than these old trucks.”

 “Captain Marshall, I must insist,” Corxin began, before Marshall pulled his pistol from his hidden holster.

 “I’ve had enough of all of this. I don’t care how, but you are going to get us to our meeting, and you are going to do it now, or your people can get a demonstration of the effectiveness of our small arms.”

 Cooper pulled the canvas back, looking out of the side; there were about a hundred people marching towards them, some of them waving banners, all wearing shabby clothes. With a sigh, he pulled his plasma pistol out, pointing it into the air, and fired a pulse of green light over them.

 The resulting explosion drowned out the noise, and the crowd held for a second before the panic began, banners tossed to the ground as they fled for cover, melting away into the jungle and down the road. He fired another shot to encourage them to haste, and then ducked back into the cabin.

 “I’ve cleared the crowd, sir. I think we can proceed now.”

 Corxin looked at the weapon, his eyes widening, and said, “You fired on them.”

 “Over them. There was no risk to their lives.” Leveling the gun at the guard, he continued, “What is going on?”

 “There are those on this planet who would rather bring the war to an end, even if that means surrender, and your arrival...your arrival means that the war will go on.”

 “You being one of them,” Marshall said. “Cooper, do we know where we are supposed to be going?”

 “This road gets us to the pyramid eventually, sir. I wouldn’t trust this one as a guide, though, or as a translator.”

 “Agreed,” the Captain replied. “Get one of your men to take his place forward, and keep an eye out. I’ll contact Alamo and see if we can get someone more reliable to take this one’s place.”

 “They’ll kill me,” Corxin babbled. “I’ll be shot.”

 “What exactly did you have in mind for us, then?” Lomax yelled. “We ought to save them the trouble and do it for them.”

 “No,” Marshall said. “Get out of here and run for it. I’ll say that you escaped with the others.”

 “Why?”

 “Because I want you to tell this peace faction that we are going to see this war brought to an end, not to perpetuate it. Get out of here.”

 The man scampered out, racing for the jungle, brushing past Lomax as he made his way up to the driver, his pistol in his hand. Cooper waved for the rest of the men to take cover positions, one either side of the flap at the rear, while he moved over to Marshall.

 “Did you believe him, sir?”

 “Not for a moment, Ensign,” Marshall replied. Cooper’s communicator began to sound, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

 “Cooper here. Report.”

 “Forrest, sir. Where the hell are you?”

 Looking across at Marshall, he replied, “We had a slight detour. What about you?”

 “On the main road, but we just stopped dead and the driver ran for it. Any idea what’s going on?”

 “Just the usual fun day out on a strange new world, Sergeant.” The truck’s engine started up again, and the vehicle began to reverse down the road. “We should be with you in a few minutes. Set up a perimeter guard, and don’t be shy about showing your weapons.” He glanced at Marshall, and said, “Any orders, sir?”

 “I think you’ve covered everything, Ensign.” He glanced across at Cunningham, and said, “I wish, just once, that one of these missions would go according to the manual.”

 Returning to his place at the side of the van, pistol in his hand, Cooper pulled the flap open, looking out at the jungle as they drove past. It had felt dangerous enough the first time around, but now he swore he could see eyes looking back at him, watching their progress.

 “Be careful what you wish for, sir,” Cooper replied. “We’d be out of a job if everything always went smoothly.”

Chapter 13

 Marshall walked down the long corridor, Cunningham on his left, Logan on his right, the wary Espatier squad behind him, now not even bothering to conceal their pistols, instead holding them ready for use. The double doors ahead burst open, and a trio of robed men walked towards him, fury on their faces, their own guards marching cautiously behind them, evidently not wanting to challenge the superior firepower of Marshall’s guards.

 Bustling by their side was Tolxac, glancing around from side to side, wearing a more formal variant of the jumpsuit he had worn in orbit, evidently a concession to formal wear. The robed men were babbling at each other, Tolxac occasionally throwing in a comment that seemed to be ignored. They met half-way down the corridor, and Tolxac looked at Marshall with near-despair on his face.

 “Captain, what is the meaning of this? Your men burst into our Council chambers with their weapons drawn, as if ready for battle? If you are planning to take over our government, I warn you that you will be facing a fight you will never forget.”

 “We were ambushed on our way here by the people you sent to meet us,” Marshall replied. “You will forgive me for not wanting to stumble blindly into what might be a trap.”

 “Trust is…”

 “Trust is earned, Tolxac, and your people have been going out of their way to squander it recently. I’ll meet with the Council, and we will have our discussion, but they must understand that my men will be standing ready outside and that I and my colleagues will be armed.”

 His face growing pale, Tolxac turned to the Council and began to translate, Marshall inwardly cursing that he had no idea what the man was saying, no check translator to make sure that the meaning of his words wasn’t being lost in the babble. He might be telling them anything, softening the impact of his words, or changing their meaning completely.

 “What if they say no?” Logan asked.

 “Then we leave, head for the hendecaspace point with the Buchanan, and negotiate the release of our people by any means necessary. If that means a non-aggression pact or technology transfer, so be it.”

 Logan’s eyes widened, but Marshall hadn’t been speaking to him; that was for the benefit of Tolxac, whose gabble intensified as his alarm grew. After a long minute, and more unintelligible discussion, the orbital defense commander turned back to him.

 “They will accede to your requests, Captain, and understand your natural caution. I was not aware that you had experienced difficulties on the surface.”

 “I don’t understand,” Cunningham said. “Alamo reported everything to your security staff.”

 “I am somewhat hindered in my job, Captain, in that I am not always properly informed of everything taking place on this planet, even when it relates to you. I beg you, please do not hurt our people because of this. We need your alliance, need it desperately.”

 “You know that you are losing, then,” Marshall said, as they started to walk back down the corridor.”

 “I’ve been in the service of my people for decades, Captain Marshall, and I am aware that our current successes are only based on the decision of the Enemy to build up their forces for a substantial attack, one that is likely to come soon. We could be wiped out. Our people destroyed.”

 They reached the double doors, and Marshall stepped in, the Espatiers fanning out on either side of the corridor, standing to attention facing their opposite numbers. Inside, the meeting room was functional in the extreme; the only concession to comfort was the padding on the chairs. The walls were decorated with murals of space battles, ships being destroyed while holding back the Enemy. Inspiration, presumably.

 “We’re here to negotiate in good faith,” Marshall said. “As long as the same is true of you, we can come to an agreement.”

 “I’m glad to hear it,” Tolxac replied. “If you would take your seats?”

 The table had seven chairs around it, three for the Triplanetary delegation, three for the Council, and Tolxac sitting in between. Plain metal goblets of water rested in front of each of them; Tolxac took an urgent sip as he sat down, glancing around nervously.

 “I will introduce our Council to you, Captain. Our Leader, Zerdax, and Senior Councilmen Yilzar and Oxylk. All have experience at the command level in our planetary defense forces, and have the tactical grasp to understand anything you have to say.”

 “None of them speak English?” Cunningham asked.

 “Only those who follow the tenets of Holy Earth speak any of your languages, I fear. Those numbers are growing, but they remain too small. Hopefully English will soon cease to have the stigma it once had, should you begin to fight by our side.”

 “Stigma?” Logan asked.

 “Our faith has not always been favored. In the past there have been occasions when we have even been persecuted for our hopes that Holy Earth would save us. Too unrealistic, they said. Now you have proven the truth of our doctrine.”

 Inside, Marshall groaned, though he made an effort to stop it from showing externally. The Council might be realists he could deal with, but the commander of Haven’s space forces and their only translator was a religious fanatic – and any other translator he might request would have the same problem.

 Tolxac was talking to the Council, gesturing at the Triplanetary officers, continuing to babble in the same dialect, doubtless introducing each of them. After he had finished, Zerdax looked at his comrades, attempted to adopt a neutral expression, and focused his gaze on Marshall.

 “Are you willing to enter into an alliance with us?” Tolxac translated.

 “In principle, I am willing to consider it. Understand, however, that there must be conditions attached to such an alliance,” Marshall replied, hoping that the meaning would get through.

 After another brief chatter, Tolxac replied, “What conditions are you considering? We would offer to place our space forces under your command, or under the command of any nominated Triplanetary officer.”

 Under normal circumstances, that would be an astonishing concession, and illustrated the desperate situation Haven found itself in. It was not lost on Marshall that theoretically, this was something that Tolxac could have agreed to himself, without the knowledge of his superiors; they wouldn’t care whose orders he was following if the war was won.

 “First of all, there must be no consideration of the extermination of the Enemy. We do not fight wars on that basis. Our goal would be a negotiated cease-fire.”

 Tolxac didn’t pause to translate before replying, “That would leave them in control of the rest of our system? I can tell you that we would find such an outcome unacceptable.”

 “Does it matter if you have the hendecaspace drive? We know that you are working on it, and that you could be close to a prototype,” Cunningham said. “Our asteroid miners are in the midst of a major depression because they can’t compete with the travel times of interstellar flight.”

 That Tolxac translated, replying, “This, I admit, had not occurred to us. Having access to the resources of other systems opens up many new possibilities. I would presume that we would be the recipient of visits from your merchant classes, also.”

 “Without a doubt,” Marshall replied. This was beginning to look a little more practical, and ideas were already running through his mind. If all that was involved was a visit by a battlecruiser and a few quick victories followed by prolonged negotiations, it was hard to see the Senate rejecting the plan – especially given that alliance with a major industrial asset was the prize on offer.

 “When could we expect offensive operations to begin?” Tolxac asked after a brief consultation with his superiors.

 “Probably not for a month or more. Alamo’s at the end of a long voyage, and the Buchanan isn’t really equipped for it. The Senate will have to ratify any plan we agree today, and dispatch fresh forces to carry it out, likely smaller vessels than battlecruisers.” Marshall didn’t like the idea of delaying the progress of his longed-for task force, but the recent battle had convinced him that Alamo needed rest before another major battle.

 “You haven’t just left the Confederation?”

 Glancing across at Cunningham, Marshall replied, “I am not at liberty to discuss full details of our current assignment, but I can tell you that we have been in space for almost a year, and that Alamo’s crew is long overdue for leave, the ship needing essential maintenance.”

 With a cold glare, Tolxac replied, “I could say the same about almost every ship in our defense forces, Captain, but somehow we have managed a constant campaign for the last two centuries!” His tone had obviously annoyed one of the councilors, who started to issue what was obviously a note of censure.

 Logan leaned across, and whispered, “This could all be cover, of course. Doubtless they will get a translation later on of the text – this is being recorded.”

 “We could do with an independent transcript ourselves at some point,” Marshall replied in the same quiet tone. “We’ll get this language worked out eventually.”

 Tolxac looked back at Marshall, his face still red, his eyes darting across to one of the Councilors, as he replied, “My apologies, Captain. I forgot myself for a moment. You must naturally consider the well-being of your crew as your first priority, though I must once again stress the need for urgency.”

 “There are other matters that need to be resolved as well,” Logan said. “We have identified a signal coming from Haven, one which is transmitting information to the Enemy.”

 “What?” Tolxac said, in what was either genuine rage or impressive acting. “I want all details of this, right now!”

 “We’ll have them transmitted to you,” Marshall said. “Our assessment is that it was likely responsible for the last attack.”

 “The traitors will be brought to justice and executed, I assure you of that,” he replied. Marshall still remained uncertain whether he was telling the truth or not; the response came a little too quickly, was a little too pat.

 “Our other requirement is information,” Cunningham added. “If we’re going to formulate a tactical plan, we’re going to need everything we can get on the Enemy.”

 “Have you not received our warbook data?” 

 “It’s not enough,” Marshall said. “We’re going to need more. Specifically, I want a chance to get a better look at the alien you’ve captured.”

 There was a long delay while Tolxac relayed his words back to the Council, and an argument appeared to ensue, moments of unintelligible chatter while Marshall could merely sit back and try and read their body language. Certainly the Council was divided, but it was Tolxac that was being the most vituperative.

 “That will not be possible,” he eventually replied. “We are speaking of a key strategic asset, and one we dare not hand over.”

 “An asset you don’t appear to be doing anything with,” Logan replied.

 “Nevertheless, the Council is resolute in this matter.”

 Finally, he’d caught Tolxac out in an obvious lie, though an understandable one. The argument had lasted long enough that it was apparent that no real unity existed on the Council, though he could understand why they would want to show it.

 “Perhaps, Captain,” Tolxac continued, “once the war is over, we might be in a position to provide you with the specimen for examination.” He leaned back and said, “We can perhaps be more honest. Lieutenant Curry indicated that you would find this planet a valuable way-station, a key strategic position. We understand our worth.”

 “There are other systems we can use, if we must. Don’t think we’ll exchange trading rights for a war.” In fact, Marshall was concerned that some of the politicians might be willing to do just that, especially in a war between humans and obviously-xenocidal aliens. It wouldn’t be a difficult sell to the voters.

 “We can provide much in return for your alliance. Our shipyards would make us a valuable trading partner, especially once we have mastered the secrets of the hendecaspace drive; our experiments are showing significant progress. We have a mature spacefaring culture, ready and able to expand out into this system and others.”

 “And we, Tolxac, have what are by your standards overwhelming economic and military force on our side. We can use you, but we don’t need to use you. Nor are we mercenaries that you can hire to fight for you.”

 He recoiled, and said, “I did not mean to imply…”

 Frowning, Logan looked at one of the murals again, another stylized image of a colony ship leaving a world. He shook his head, then turned to Tolxac.

 “I know it is not germane to our conversation, but what exactly does that picture represent?”

 Relieved to see the topic changed to one he was more comfortable with, Tolxac replied, “It is a reminder of the world we left behind. Our ancestors settled this planet long ago, in a ship that was a genetic ark. That was our origin, a shining jewel in the darkness, that one day we will return to.”

 Looking at the backdrop, Marshall asked, “The starfield, is it accurate?”

 “It is copied from the few original records we retained after the Dark Age.”

 Pulling his datapad out of his pocket, he called up images of Tombstone, and the stars surrounding it. He held up the pad to point its camera at the mural, and waited a moment for the computer to try and match it.

 “Ninety percent,” he said. “Your ancestors were pretty accurate, Tolxac.”

 “What do you mean?”

 Sliding the datapad across the table, Marshall said, “We found your homeworld. What’s left of it, in any case. The planet had been well and truly destroyed by some sort of attack, less than a thousand years ago. Is that in any of your legends?”

 “No, no,” he replied. “Our homeworld was lush, verdant, a paradise. Our culture strong and prosperous, ready to leap out across the stars.” He looked up, and said, “Are you sure it was deliberate? Not a catastrophe?”

 “Not according to our analysis, no. I’m certain we could arrange a visit for some of your people in the near future; we’ll definitely have ships going out this way.”

  Standing up, Tolxac showed the image to the Council and began to shout, gesturing around, pointing at Marshall and then at the mural on the wall. What he had hoped would be bargaining chip was turning into something rather more serious.

 “Our meeting must come to an end for the present, Captain,” he said. “Could we have a recess for an hour or so? We will see to the comfort of you and your men in the interim.”

 Glancing across at Cunningham, he nodded, replying, “Certainly.”

 “Then in that case,” he said, gesturing to the door. Marshall and the others rose, walking out of the room, back into the friendly standoff between the Espatiers and the guards. Once the doors closed, Cunningham turned to Marshall.

 “I’m not sure that was such a good idea.”

 “We knew that a ship had escaped the system before the catastrophe. Frankly, I’d expected that it was them.”

 “Are you sure about the timing of that ship?” Logan asked.

 “As sure as we can be. Certainly the dates don’t add up.”

 “Does it matter? We’ve got a problem right now to deal with,” Cunningham said.

 One of the guards pointed them towards a waiting room, lined with wooden chairs, more impressive murals on the wall. He almost tripped over Cooper as he walked past him, then took his place once again in the corridor.

 “We’re information gathering,” Logan said. “I don’t think we can make a snap decision, and I’m not sure we need to. I take it you didn’t believe their denials either?”

 “Not for a second,” Marshall said. “They’re trying to force our hand, to make us choose them over their enemy. That riot was just one more attempt to impress us. If a couple of us had been captured by some sort of civilian group, what would we have done?”

 “If I’d been left alone?” Logan asked. “Probably launched a raid to get you back, doubtless with the kind co-operation and assistance of the civilian government. Following which we would have been in their debt. Assuming it had worked, which I doubt.”

 “What all of this confirms to me is that they are desperate,” Cunningham said. “This isn’t that different from some of the things we tried to bring the Lunar Republic into the war, or the Belters, for that matter. I’m quite willing to concede that they are fighting for their survival.”

 “I agree,” Logan said. “What this does provide us with is a little leeway, but we all know what decision the politicians will make. If they send the task force, then elements of it will pass this way and deal with this problem, one way or the other.”

 “Your recommendation, John?”

 “A negotiated cease-fire that gives Haven control of the local hendecaspace points and their orbital space, protected with an orbital defense network. We’d install and protect it in exchange for basing rights on a space station we could put up in orbit. It seems reasonable.”

 “I’d want to try and open communications of some sort with the aliens,” Logan said, “but I agree with John. The Senate would go for it, the Admiralty would go for it, and it…”

 Marshall’s communicator chirped, and he reached for it, “What’s up?”

 “Caine, sir. We’ve got a problem. Our long-range sensors are detecting a fleet build-up. The Enemy are marshaling maybe two hundred, two hundred and fifty spacecraft. That’s more than three-quarters of their presence in local space.”

 “No exact figures?”

 “I’d guess there is some deception play here. The whole thing could be a ruse of some sort, but I’m not sure I’d like to bet on it. The kicker is this – if they are planning an attack, it will be in less than three days time, before we can leave the system.”

 “What about the Buchanan?” Cunningham asked.

 “You could get out in time,” Caine said.

 “That might not be a bad idea,” Logan replied. “Send a small crew away with all your intelligence. Whatever happens, that has to make it home.”

 “You want to command it?” Marshall asked.

 Shaking his head, Logan said, “I’d rather see this one through to the end, if you don’t mind. I’ve already missed most of the fun.”

 Speaking into his communicator again, Marshall said, “Keep monitoring. Do you think the Haven forces will have picked it up yet?”

 “I can’t see how they’d have missed it, but I can check.”

 “Not yet. Keep monitoring for the moment, and start coming up with some contingency plans to fight them off.”

 “That number would push us badly, Danny. We’d have to take off the gloves completely, and even then I can’t make any guarantees.”

 “I’ll be up shortly. Marshall out.” Looking at the others, he said, “My guess is that we’re going to be called back into the conference room by a rather nervous guard in a moment.”

 There was a knock on the door, and Cooper walked in, frowning, looking at Logan, “Sir, I’ve got something that I think is meant for you.” He slipped a piece of paper into his hands.

 Looking down at it, Logan’s eyes widened, and he looked across at Marshall, “You’re going to need to excuse me from the rest of the meeting, and I need to borrow Ensign Cooper. I can’t say any more.”

 “Is this important?” Marshall asked. 

 “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was.”

 There was a knock at the door, and Tolxac walked in, saying, “Captain, the situation has changed. We need to speed up the pace of our negotiations.”

 “I’m aware of that,” Marshall replied. “Captain Cunningham and I will be with you in a minute.” He glanced across at Logan, and said, “Do what you have to do. Just don’t be too long about it; we’re running out of time.”

Chapter 14

 Logan and Cooper stepped out of the Council chambers into the maze of corridors outside; rather than the open spaces that Triplanetary settlements enjoyed, Haven had taken the ant hive as its model for urban planning; the pyramid was filled with tunnels and rooms, few of which seemed to be used for their original purposes. A figure was waiting outside, glancing up at them as the approached, gesturing with his eyes for them to continue down the corridor.

 With a shared glance, they did as they were bid, cautiously moving into the curious crowd. There were no cries, no gathering mobs, just mild curiosity; the people were all wearing the same drab gray outfit, an adaptation of the jumpsuit worn by the orbital defense force, and Logan especially looked resplendent by comparison in his Triplanetary dress uniform.

 Another figure caught Logan’s eyes, gesturing down a side corridor, and they pressed on into the shadows, drawing away from the crowd. With a few cautious glances, Logan established that no-one incompetent was following them, but he still reached down towards his gun, conscious that this could easily be a trap.

 Another turn, and a pair of dangling wires brushed past his shoulder; he looked up to see the remains of a camera pickup, then back to see four burly men stepping out ahead of them, blocking their path. They looked different to the others, moving with more determination, and headed to their sides, two of them passing across blindfolds.

 “I don’t like this,” Cooper said.

 “I don’t much care for it myself. Nevertheless, we’d better go along with it.”

 Logan tied the blindfold on, taking care to leave a small gap for him to look down the sides of his nose, and followed the footsteps ahead of him. He felt an arm on his shoulder, guiding rather than forcing, and took the twists and turns as best he could. At one point there were steps going down, later a ramp heading up again; eventually he counted six minutes in his head before they stopped, and the blindfolds were hastily jerked off, a bright light shining in his face.

 They had somehow reached the top of the pyramid, and were standing in front of a view of the jungle outside. From this height, he could make out ruins outside, the crumbling remains of buildings that the vegetation had all but destroyed. Behind him, a tall figure walked, one footstep harder than the other, and Logan turned to face him.

 He was wearing a clean jumpsuit, his right arm obviously artificial, far cruder than the medical technology he would have received in the Confederation. Noting Logan’s interest, he tapped the fake limb, producing an echoing ring.

 “Lost in the service of my people, more fool I. After a fashion, I can use it. More than many of our veterans can manage; I was fortunate enough to be wounded before I had permanently adapted to zero-gravity.”

 Frowning, Cooper said, “They don’t rotate their space-side personnel?”

 “Of course not. That would be inefficient, might cost us the war.” He laughed, a hollow barking noise that echoed around the room, and continued, “Besides, few enough of them live long enough for that to be a problem.”

 “No armband,” Logan noted, “but you seem to speak our language well enough.”

 “My parents raised me in that crazy cult, but I opted out as soon as I could. Recent events have compelled me to brush up my language skills, and I have had some excellent tuition of late to assist me.”

 “Your note said you had something that belonged to us,” Logan said. “Where?”

 “In a moment,” he said. “The package is on its way. Look out there, first.”

 “I saw the ruins.”

 “All that is left of our once-proud civilization. We retreat into these dunghills, hiding like rats, in the mistaken belief that this would protect us from an attack. Nonsense. All this does is make it easier to control the population, keep them all penned up. Once our city spread out across five miles of countryside. Now all that remains are these three pyramids.”

 “The population out to be spread out more,” Cooper said. “Decentralization…”

 “I agree with you. Not that there has been any serious attempt at orbital bombardment, not for years, anyway. I don’t think there ever will be.”

 “The aliens are massing for an attack,” Logan replied. “The final one that might overwhelm your defenses.”

 “And at last this wretched war might come to an end.” He smiled, then said, “It was not the peace faction that attacked you. They would not be so foolish.”

 “I presumed it was the government. Politicians are rarely noted for their common sense.”

 “I see that we have that in common. Tell me, have you been able to speak to anyone outside the cult? Do you know about the pogroms?”

 Logan’s eyes widened, and said, “The cult…”

 “Has been persecuted for centuries, until the arrival of the Dumont. Suddenly it seemed as if they had all the answers, and they are trying to win the war before anyone realizes that they just got lucky. There is a battle for control of this planet, but there are more factions than just the people of Haven and the aliens.”

 “You said you had something for us?” Cooper replied.

 “Indeed I do.” He turned, said something to another man, and a woman stumbled up, dirty blonde hair sweeping over the shoulders of her red uniform – her Martian uniform. She looked at the two officers and snapped to a salute.

 “Private First Class Traci Moore, sir. Latterly of the Battlecruiser Hercules, then of the Scoutship Dumont.”

 Cooper looked across at Logan and reached for his communicator, only to have his hand blocked by the older man, who shook his head.

 “Captain Marshall has to know,” the Espatier stressed. 

 “He does, but not right now, not while he is in a room with the Council surrounded by guards. Do you want to have to shoot your way out of this city, Ensign?” He looked at Moore, and asked, “Are there any more?”

 “No, sir. I was the only one in my escape pod.”

 “They don’t know where she is,” the man said. “Though they have been hunting her down long enough.”

 “Cooper, I want an Espatier uniform. Get one of your guards down to the transport, get his clothes, then get back up here with them on the double. Try and find someone about the same size.”

 “Should I tell anyone?”

 “Not until we get out of here. If Marshall or Cunningham ask what is going on, tell them I’ll explain everything later. Move.”

 “One of my people will escort him,” the man said, issuing instructions in the local language. “It will take a little time, but we are safe here. Any guards that tried to enter this area would have no opportunity to collect their retirement stipend.”

 “I’ll be back soon,” Cooper said, jogging out of the room, taking one last glance back at Moore and Logan. Once he had gone, Logan looked back at Moore.

 “Right, Private. What’s your story. From the top.”

 “The Dumont, sir?” she asked.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “They didn’t make it.”

 She looked down at the ground, tears beginning to well up in her eyes, then back up at Logan, who said, “I know it hurts. I know. Right now I need to know what the hell happened when you arrived in the system.”

 Looking up at him, she nodded, took a deep breath, and replied, “We’d had a pretty boring run until we got here, then we were attacked on our arrival, our ship damaged. Curry ordered us into orbit, and some of the locals offered to help us with our repairs.”

 “Then what happened?”

 “They were taking longer and longer, and we realized they were copying the technical information, especially with regards to the hendecaspace drive. Curry had it out with them about it, and then there was another attack, and we were damaged again.” She looked up, and said, “Is there help here? Anyone at all?”

 “The Battlecruiser Alamo is currently in parking orbit.”

 “Thank God,” she said. “They said that they needed to use our ship to help them win their war, that they were desperate, under attack. That none of us would be harmed. Then they stripped out components of the hendecaspace drive.” 

 Looking over, the man said, “That’s about when we came into the picture.”

 “Who are you, anyway?” Logan asked.

 “My name is Gaxric. Once I commanded an orbital task force, now I command what passes for the underground down here. We made contact with Lieutenant Curry, and offered to provide some assistance. It was a complicated campaign, but we managed to smuggle out some replacement hendecaspace components, and get them up to the Dumont.”

 Shaking his head, Logan said, “What happened next, Private?”

 “We were all back on the ship to help train a new crew. We were undermanned, and they were hoping to duplicate the design. I saw their orbital workshops, Captain. They’re up to the job if they have templates to follow.”

 “Did they get everything they needed?”

 “No,” she replied. “The Lieutenant managed to stop them, locked out the data, and deleted all the recent files. She didn’t want them to get the co-ordinates of the nearby star systems; they haven’t discovered their locations yet. Just their home star.”

 With a thin smile, Logan said, “I was wondering who’d wiped the records so damn well. I should have guessed that it was the users. At some point you made a break for it, then.”

 “There was another attack, a bad one, and we volunteered to help out. After the first wave of fighting, we broke for the hendecaspace point, but a group of alien ships came after us, and then Haven tried to hack us with the computer components we’d given them. I think they were just trying to disable us.” She gasped, wiping the tears from her face, and said, “We were hit twice, superficial damage, and our systems were failing. The order was given to abandon ship.”

 “Most of the escape pods were taken by the enemy,” Gaxric said. “Hers came down in the middle of the Boreal Swamp. My men got to her before the Council troops could arrive.” He grinned, and said, “Quite a few of them are on my side.”

 “The others?”

 “Five of them stayed on the Dumont and completed the jump to Spitfire Station.” Placing a hand on her shoulder, he continued, “The Cabal database is on its way home, in the hands of the President right now. It was worth it, Private. Don’t doubt that.”

 “We haven’t had any opportunity to contact you until now,” Gaxric said after a brief silence. “My people are positioned to help you get away as soon as you give the word. I have men stationed in key locations to assist your assault.”

 “My assault?” Logan asked.

 “Presumably you intend to overthrow the government.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I’m not going to do a damn thing until we get the Private back up to Alamo and can come up with a proper plan. I’m not even in command down here.”

 “But you have your men in the Council Chamber…”

 “Surrounded by troops and guards, in the middle of a city.” He frowned, then said, “Tell me what you actually want, and be honest about it, for God’s sake. Do you want to end the war, or conquer the planet.”

 “End the war.”

 “Then we’re on the same side, and I think we might be of help to each other.” He pulled out a disposable communicator and passed it to him, “We’ll keep in contact with this. Make sure that it doesn’t fall into anyone else’s hands. See the red button on the bottom?”

 “Yes.”

 “Tap that if you want to make a small, amusing explosion. Got that?”

 “Understood,” he said. “You will help us?”

 “I just want to go home,” Moore said, tears flowing freely now. “All I want is to get home.”

 “I promise you, Private, I’ll get you home,” Logan said. “Two weeks from now you’ll be collecting your discharge papers at Mariner Station. You have my word on that.”

 She looked up, nodded, and said, “I feel such a damn fool.”

 “You aren’t alone in that today, Private. Gaxric, I can’t promise you anything, but we’re going to do what we can to bring this war to an end.”

 Nodding, he said, “I thought I might not be able to push you to a commitment right now, but I have a feeling that once you’ve seen the situation more fully, you’ll come down on my side. Tell your commander that we are ready to move when he gives the signal, and that he can count on us. We’ve been at war too long, and even if we get a peace, we don’t want to stay under the control of the Council.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a Triplanetary data chip, gently passing it to Logan. “A full outline of the situation on the planet, including some history that I suspect they won’t tell you anything about.”

 “Thanks. Listen out on that communicator, and if you hear anything else, call us up immediately. That can’t be intercepted by anyone on the ground, especially if you talk in English.”

 “Will do.”

 Cooper walked back into the room, preceded by one of the burly men from the corridor, a uniform draped over his arm. Stuffing the datachip into a hidden pocket, Logan waved him over.

 “Get her in that uniform. Can you get rid of this Martian uniform for us?”

 “No one will ever find it,” Gaxric said.

 “Good.” Moore went over to a corner and started unbuttoning her top, her fingers fumbling with the catches, trying to slide on the unfamiliar Espatier dress uniform.

 “What’s the story outside?”

 “Lomax is down in the truck waiting for us. I didn’t have a chance to talk to Captain Marshall, but Captain Cunningham said that the meeting was almost over. Forrest will be escorting them down shortly.”

 “Right,” Logan said. “We need to be down into the trucks by then. How’re you doing, Private?”

 “Getting there,” she replied. “It isn’t a very good fit.”

 “Best I could do,” Cooper said. “Hopefully no-one will notice anyway. Do you want a pistol?”

 “No,” she said. “I’d be too tempted to use it.”

 Nodding, Cooper stuffed the extra pistol deep into a pocket, and turned to Logan, “What’s the plan?”

 “We head out of here and get back to the truck.”

 “No complicated cloak-and-dagger stuff?”

 “I usually prefer to keep things as simple as possible. Tends to be less likely to get people killed that way.” He looked at his watch, and said, “Hurry up, Private.”

 “I’m trying,” she said, struggling on the trousers and working the clip. “I think I’ve got it.”

 “Check her, Cooper,” Logan replied. “Thank you for your help, Gaxric, on behalf of myself and the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 “Just reciprocate, Captain,” he said. “That’s all you need to do. The guide will take you back to the main corridor, and you can make your own way from there.”

 “She’s ready,” Cooper said, moving over.

 “Then let’s move out. Nice and quiet.”

 Logan gestured Cooper to take the lead, the guide staying at discrete distance from them, with Moore in the middle and he taking up the rear. He turned after a second, and saw that Gaxric had managed to get away without him noticing; an excellent demonstration of competence.

 As they walked, he paid additional attention to the state of the security systems. Primitive, but effective – cameras on every corridor, link-ups by cable to some sort of central control. Whether by design or by accident, it would be difficult to hack into the network, even if they were familiar with the systems involved. There were plenty of uniformed figures around, and a few side glances from otherwise nondescript passers-by suggested that there were just as many people not wearing uniform monitoring the crowd. Very quietly, this was a rather nasty little police state.

 He kept the rest of his attention on Moore. She looked bolt forward, trying not to draw any attention from the crowd, but her uniform still stood out. A few of the secret policemen were obviously noting their progress, and one of them was surreptitiously speaking into a microphone.

 They turned down a corridor, the guide disappearing into the crowd, and were back in the main area. A group of uniformed figures were beginning to congregate by the airlock exit, and Logan quickened his pace, urging them on, gambling that he could get past them before the order could be given to stop and question them. His hand fumbled down for the gun in his pocket, ready to shoot his way out if necessary.

 Then, behind him, he heard a familiar voice, and turned to see Captain Marshall and the Espatier guard walking down the corridor, Sergeant Forrest keeping the men in a formal march. That put the odds far more in their favor, and whatever their orders had been, the figures decided to let them through. Logan breathed a sigh of relief as he fitted his respirator in the airlock, Marshall looking from him to Moore quizzically.

 “I’ve picked up an old friend,” Logan said. “I think you and Lieutenant Orlova are going to want to have a nice long talk with her.”

 Marshall’s eyes widened as he picked up the hint, and the airlock doors slowly slid open, revealing the waiting trucks below. With a last look back, Moore sped down the steps, the others struggling to keep up, and jumped into the rear of the van, settling down by the surprised Lomax.

 “I take it your little side trip went well, then,” Cunningham said.

 “Once we get back onto the shuttle,” Logan replied, “I’ll agree with you.”

Chapter 15

 “This had better be important, Harper,” Orlova said as she walked into the security office. “We’ve got a briefing in ten minutes, and from the way the Captain sounded, I think it’s going to be a big one.”

 “You should know me well enough by now, Maggie,” the green-haired hacker replied. “I’ve been looking at the implant…”

 “You’ve found out how it works?” Orlova’s eyes widened, and she said. “Good God, how the hell did you pull that off? No-one’s managed to get reliable…”

 “No, no,” she said, interrupting. “Do I look like a neuro-physicist? I might not have the first damned idea about how it works in practice, but I did manage to work out where it is supposed to be implanted. How you link it up, that’s something else.”

 “Damn,” Orlova replied, then said. “Harper, that’s great, but it isn’t really that urgent, is it? Write it up for the Captain.”

 “Maggie,” Harper said. “I said that I worked out where the device is meant to be implanted. In the human brain. I thought these were weird alien monsters we were supposed to be up against.”

 Orlova froze for a second in the door, then turned back to the hacker, and said, “Are you sure about this?”

 Harper shrugged, and said, “I don’t know a damn thing about xenobiology, Maggie, but I do know that aliens are supposed to be aliens. Unless their brains work the same way ours do, right down to the finest detail, these gadgets are supposed to be implanted into humans. Those bastards down on the surface are pulling a fast one on us.”

 “I’ll add it to the list,” she replied. “You just don’t like them because they won’t share their toys with you.”

 “I thought we were supposed to be allies. They’re certainly messing about with enough of our kit.” She tossed across a datapad, and said, “Someone’s been playing around with Cabal communications equipment, stopped dead as soon as they realized who we were.”

 “From what Private Moore said, they did a pretty good job of stripping stuff out of the Dumont. I’d better get this to...hell, you might as well tag along. Just don’t say anything unless spoken too, but you might as well be the one to brief the Captain.”

 “I’ve got work to do,” Harper protested.

 “Yes, and I’ve just told you what it is. Come on.”

 She turned back to the corridor, and after a brief hesitation, Harper followed, the pair of them walking into the nearest elevator. Orlova tapped the control, and it began to speed along the decks towards the briefing room. She glanced down at her watch; with a little luck, she wouldn’t be late.

 “What’s it like to be back home?” she asked Harper.

 “Home?” she replied. “Strange. I kinda got used to being my own boss back on Spitfire.”

 “Captain Winter’s been letting you operate freely?”

 With a smile, she said, “Let’s just say that he’s quite happy to share his nice new toys around for me to have fun with, and leave it at that. Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m damn glad you made it back. Think Marshall will want me back on board?”

 “Probably, if we can suck you loose from whatever intelligence cesspool you’ve managed to get stuck into. Looks like you’ve managed to get into a position where you can choose, though.”

 She shrugged, and said, “I’ll see who gives me the best offer. I like my independence.”

 “Haven’t changed a bit, have you.”

 “Neither have you.”

 Orlova glared at Harper, and said, “I’m glad it doesn’t show, Spaceman, but I wouldn’t wish my last year on anyone. Not even you.”

 Harper’s face reddened, and she replied, “Hey, sorry if I said something wrong.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “No, my fault. I shouldn’t have bit your head off.”

 “I read your logs, by the way,” she said. “It sounds like you had a quite a ride.”

 “That’s one way of putting it. I won't bother to ask how you got past my security access.”

 The doors opened, and they stepped out into the corridor; Marshall frowned as he saw Harper walk in, taking a seat by the wall, and Orlova headed over to him.

 “She’s made some interesting breakthroughs on the implant we borrowed.”

 “Borrowed?”

 “I thought it would make more sense for her to brief the staff in person.”

 Quinn stepped in, taking his seat, and said, “Sorry I’m late.”

 “You’re the last, Mr. Quinn,” Marshall replied. “I think we can get started now. First of all, Lieutenant Caine, tactical report on the incoming fleet.”

 Tapping a control on the desk to bring up the holodisplay, she said, “This is the big one, sir. Two hundred and forty-two ships, all on an intercept course to bring them into an attack on Guardian Station in three days.” She hit another control, and a bright light appeared off to one side. “Note that they have left one of the hendecaspace points clear.”

 “A trap?” Zebrova said.

 “Or a way for us to get out of the system, but I would agree that trusting them is not a good idea. We could easily get to one of the other egress points in the system, and I don’t think we would face any opposition in so doing.”

 “The big question,” Cunningham said. “Can we take them?”

 “With the support of Haven’s fleet, certainly. Incidentally, Captain, without our help, Guardian Station is all but certain to fall. I don’t see any other way for them to win this fight.”

 “So if we don’t provide them with help, the war ends in three days.”

 “That is my assessment,” Caine replied, and Ryder nodded in affirmation.

 “Captain Winter, I think it is your turn next.”

 Nodding, Logan rose, looking around the room, “During our trip to the surface, I made contact with the local resistance network. It turns out that neither the war or the government enjoy the full support of the local population, something I suppose that shouldn’t have surprised any of us. We rescued one of the crew from the Dumont, and her debriefing is available to you all.”

 “Just because there is a resistance network, doesn’t mean…,” Zebrova began.

 “Among other things, the local government has initiated pogroms against the cult we are relying upon as translators, purged anyone who they thought of as being against the war, even when it came down simply to arguments against their non-combat decisions, and has imposed a full-scale surveillance state on the local population. Nor is there any sign that they will give up any of this peacefully.”

 “Basically,” he said after a pause, “there are three power groups that mean a damn down there – a cult that worships Holy Terra, the government, and the rebels, and I’m not sure I trust any of them. Having said that, the rebels did keep Private Moore safe, though my instincts are that it was more as a bargaining chip than out of altruism.”

 “They did help the Dumont escape,” Caine said. “That should count for something.”

 “Still, they are expecting us to overthrow the government and put them in their stead.”

 “Are you going to do that?” Colonel Singh asked from the corner of the room in his quiet voice.

 “We aren’t in the business of regime change for our own benefit,” Marshall said. “Even if I think that those bastards down below are contemptible. They made an attempt to capture us on the planet, and tried to draw us into a full-scale battle.” He smiled, then said, “Hell, I'm making a case for this, aren't I.”

 With a sigh, Logan said, “I don’t condone their actions, but they are desperate. They’re all set to lose this war, and their lives to boot, and we must consider that. Also – they didn’t actually attack the Dumont. From what I can determine, their goal was to force them to remain in the system, not to destroy them or kill the crew.”

 “And if Private Moore had fallen in their hands?” Orlova asked.

 “Then I suspect she would have been used as a bargaining chip.”

 “There’s nothing to choose between the two sides, sir,” Orlova said. “Not that I can see.”

 “Something else we need to consider,” Race said. “They’re experimenting with hendecaspace technology. I’ve picked up a couple of points of dimensional instability, laboratory-scale at the moment.”

 Looking at Quinn, Marshall asked, “Can they build the hendecaspace drive, Lieutenant?”

 “I don’t see why not,” he replied. “They’ve got the underlying technical basis, and had a good chance to study a working model. Most of the ships they have could be modified to accommodate a drive unit.” Nodding, he said, “Within a year, I’d guess. Maybe sooner.”

 “Which means the aliens will likely capture that technology,” Cunningham said. “Damn.”

 “There’s more,” Quinn said. “I looked over the information from Spitfire Station, and I think they’ve stumbled across something we’ve been trying for years – to come out of hendecaspace away from the egress point.”

 “I thought that was impossible,” Marshall said.

 “Technically, they’re using some of their hendecaspace velocity…,” Quinn shook his head, and said, “the theory is over my head, sir, but they’ve done it. Uncontrolled, but that’s something I want to take a look at.”

 “And not something we want to be used against us,” Zebrova said. “Can we locate the source of the experiments?”

 “Probably,” Race said. “They’ve been running them regularly enough. All the signs suggest a crash development program.”

 “What are you suggesting?” Marshall asked.

 “Send down a strike team and knock out the data. Perhaps we could offer to take some of the resistance fighters with us in exchange for their help. We should make the attempt, to stop this technology getting into the wrong hands.”

 “The implant, as well,” Harper said. “It’s designed for a human brain, not an alien.”

 “The aliens could be using captured humans, traitors,” Quinn suggested. “I don’t think the local technology is up to making something like that. I’m not sure we could, though once we get a proper look at that implant…” He paused, with a smile, then said, “Direct control of a starship without instrumentation. That could be a complete revolution in ship design.”

 “If we trusted it,” Zebrova said.

 “What about the aliens?” Singh asked. “Through all of this, they have been the missing factor. We know that they are hostile, but we do not know why?”

 “Alien psychology…” Cunningham began.

 “Captain, no rational being fights a war for no reason. Or they would not have lived to enter space in the first place. They have some reason to hate the humans of Haven, and it must be an excellent one. Without knowing what it is, we will not find ourselves able to prosecute a war, or execute a peace.”

 “The underground doesn’t know anything. Though that they are willing to go for peace at any price suggests that there might be an alternative they aren’t ready to share with us,” Logan said. “The Colonel’s quite right. We’ve got a damn big intelligence gap.”

 “We could just leave,” Zebrova said. “Ideally taking pains to reclaim our hendecaspace data first. The aliens might turn over our people in exchange for our departure if we contact them; Alamo can collect them and depart for Spitfire Station. This isn’t our problem, sir.”

 Orlova looked at her, and said, “Isn’t it? This system is on a critical supply line. Suppose some hendecaspace ships do get away? A war across the Shrouded Stars will spill over and become our problem very quickly.”

 “A task force can resolve that more effectively than we, Lieutenant,” Zebrova replied. “Alamo and Buchanan can proceed home.”

 Marshall looked at Orlova, and said, “Recommendations, Maggie?”

 “We need more information. I do think that if we’re going to do anything, it’ll be easier to do now, while there are still two sides to this fight.”

 “Agreed,” Logan said. “Not least is that I don’t know how you’ll sell permitting genocide on a planetary scale to the press boys back home.”

 “This is not our war, and is not our fight,” Zebrova pressed. “No-one can criticize adopting a policy of non-interference in this issue, Captain. Certainly not if we get our people back.”

 “We don’t know that they will do that,” Orlova said.

 “No, we don’t,” Marshall said. “Caine?”

 “Alamo can tip the balance. Hell, Buchanan might be able to deal enough damage to at least prevent a catastrophe. As for who to back, well, I don’t see how we can back the aliens, but I’d be reluctant to help the government of Haven.”

 “And the people of Haven?” Singh asked. “Pray tell me who is looking out for their interests at the moment. They are not our people, but if they will be massacred as a result of our inaction, then they become our responsibility, whether we like it or not.” Silence filled the room, all the officers looking at each other, waiting for someone to speak.

 “He’s right,” Harper said, looking around.

 Taking a deep breath, Logan said, “We need a middle course. Captain….”

 Marshall looked at him, and replied, “I’m going to play it safe. Buchanan’s going home. She can get away before the battle begins, carrying all the information we’ve gathered. All department heads should make sure their reports and recommendations are ready to go with it.”

 “Sir,” Cunningham said, “If Buchanan’s going back, I’m not going to command her. You need me here.”

 Glancing across, Marshall said, “Mutiny, John?”

 “Sorry, Danny. I’d like to see this one through.”

 “I still maintain,” Zebrova began, but Marshall turned to her, and said, “Lieutenant, you will assume command of the Buchanan immediately. For no other reason that one senior officer at least has to get home to provide their personal input on the reports we’re taking back.”

 “Sir,” she began, then said, “I’m the Executive Officer of Alamo…”

 “We can talk about this later, Lieutenant, but my decision is final. The Fleet needs you elsewhere. John, if you don’t mind trading roles…”

 “Hell, it’s how I started this cruise,” he replied. “I might as well finish it.”

 Ryder looked across with alarm, and said, “Request permission to transfer to Alamo, sir.”

 Orlova nodded, and said, “We can use her, skipper. I don’t think it’s fair to let her miss this one. I recommend that those Hercules crewmen who have opted to resign the service upon our return to Mariner crew the Buchanan. Eighteen should be more than enough for the job.”

 “That won’t leave me with any officers,” Zebrova protested. “Someone needs to at least service as my second-in-command…”

 “And that someone should be an officer who has gone all the way on this trip,” Orlova suggested. “And to make it clear, sir, I am decidedly not volunteering for that assignment.”

 With a reluctant sigh, Carpenter said, “I’ll do it. I’ve got a lot of research to take back anyway, and I suppose my input is going to be critical.” She smiled, and said, “I served as Hercules’ Exec for a while, so I can probably manage a short hop home.”

 Marshall replied, “I agree with your logic, Sub-Lieutenant, and I'll send you back, but I think Sub-Lieutenant Tyler is a better choice as your second-in-command, Lieutenant. As Intelligence Officer, he’ll be urgently needed back home.” Looking around the room, he said, “Understand that I have no intention of dying here, ladies and gentlemen, and that I am simply taking a precaution, nothing more.”

 “Yes, sir,” Quinn said. “Alamo’s ready for anything.”

 “I’ll start work on integrating the Buchanan crew into Alamo, the ones who are staying behind,” Cunningham said, a smile on his face. “It’ll be good to get my old cabin back.”

 “What’s the plan, then, Danny?” Caine asked.

 “I should go down to the surface,” Logan said. “As soon as possible. The underground has given us a lot of information, but we’re going to need more, and I have the feeling that whatever Alamo ends up doing could only benefit from some decent ground support.”

 “Captain,” Marshall said, “We might have to cut and run. You’d be stranded down there – I couldn’t take the risk of sending down a team to get you out, though,” he glanced at Cooper at the far side of the room, “I suspect I could muster the volunteers if it came to it.”

 “I know, and I understand. I’m the best qualified to do this, Captain, and they know me. As a sign of good faith at the very least, we should do this.”

 “Request permission to accompany Captain Winter,” Orlova and Cooper said almost in unison, glancing at each other with smiles on their faces.

 “Denied,” Marshall said, looking between the two of them. “Don’t worry, though, I have something else in mind that you should enjoy. I want that alien.”

 “Sir?”

 “I want you to plan an operation to snatch that alien out of the captured enemy ship, and get her back to Alamo. If her people won’t talk to us, then we’ll have to do this up close and personal, and that means getting her over here. Haven’s Council won’t let us anywhere near her, and that alone makes me want to get personally acquainted.”

 “They let us see her,” Quinn said.

 Shaking her head, Caine replied, “They let an unprepared team with no equipment take a quick glance at her, enough to impress us with their skills at having captured someone and give us reassurance that we were fighting aliens, but not enough to let us do anything serious about it.”

 “Captain, isn’t this running the risk of alienating Haven?” Race said.

 “So far, Lieutenant, they have stolen our technology, tried to capture one of our ships, betrayed us to the enemy, and sent mobs of people against our negotiating team,” Orlova replied. “Frankly, I think a small commando raid demonstrates real restraint on our part.”

 “Then what, Danny?” Caine asked.

 “That depends on what we learn. Buchanan breaks orbit in forty-one hours. The raid will take place half an hour later.” He looked around the room, then said, “Let’s get this done. Dismissed.”

Chapter 16

 Most of the hangar bay was quiet, the crews having worked overtime all day shuttling back and forth between the Buchanan, making sure all the captured Cabal equipment had been transferred across to the other craft, exchanging personnel, and making all ready for the jump. Only a few people were on watch for the shuttle flight to Haven, a scattering of personnel ostensibly providing tactical information to the ground defense personnel, some bits and pieces of obsolete equipment and doctrine.

 In his bag, Logan had a set of the local clothes, fabricated according to the specifications provided by the underground. Not exactly flattering or comfortable, but he’d resisted the urge to make many alterations, over than a couple of small pockets hidden away in the lining. He might be down there for a while.

 Over in a corner, a figure was watching, as if trying to make up its mind before coming across. As it approached, he could make out the face of Colonel Singh, wearing an unmarked Triplanetary uniform with a bag identical to Logan’s slung over his shoulder.

 “Now what are you doing down here in the middle of the night, Colonel? I thought you were scheduled to travel back on the Buchanan, keep an eye on United Nations property.”

 “According to Captain Marshall’s instructions, but I have a different objective in mind.” He hefted the bag, and continued, “I wish to accompany you to the planet’s surface.”

 “I don’t think I can even begin to tell you the problems with that plan,” Logan replied.

 Smiling, Singh said, “I am aware of the risks involved, and am more than willing to accept them. The underground will ask few questions of the change of plan. I have made the same preparations that you have for the landing, and you do have seats spare on your shuttle.”

 “Why do you want to do it?”

 “Logan, I’m old. Past retirement age, and ready to be buried and forgotten. The fleet I spent my life serving has decided that I am useless to them, and left me stranded in exile, but I do not accept their decision.” He stepped forward, and said, “We were both party to the worst kind of war, a civil war. These people are on the cusp of armageddon unless we can do something to stop them.”

 “Then stay on board, help Captain Marshall.”

 “On this ship, there are many people better trained than I to provide such assistance. At best I would be a lone voice in the briefing room, or a silent figure standing at the rear of the bridge. No more than that.”

 “And down on the surface you think you can be useful?”

 “I have had some experience in operations of this type, and no, Captain, I cannot tell you the details. Suffice to say that it was before your time.”

 Shaking his head, Logan replied, “You’ll follow my lead, and you will do what I do. You are under my command, and I don’t want to hear anything else while we are down there.”

 “That is understood,” Singh said. “I simply wish to be something more than a voice in a crowd. I am a trained negotiator and an excellent shot, skills I think will be valuable on Haven in the coming days.” With another smile, he continued, “I will also pledge not to pass on any information to my comrades of the United Nations. Not that I venture they will make use of any intelligence I provide to them, in any case.”

 “Come on, then,” Logan said, heading for the shuttle. “I’ll have word passed back up to the ship that you decided to join this expedition at my request.”

 “You don’t have to take responsibility for my actions, Captain.”

 “I have a reputation to think of, Colonel. There’s no point spending all this time cultivating the image of a master manipulator if it is learned that I can be surprised like this.”

 “Why, I think I have uncovered your greatest secret with little effort. That you are as influenced by random events as the rest of us, but that your skill lies in making it appear that you are in control of the situation.”

 “Experience has taught me that if you appear to be in control, such control is usually yielded to you by others,” he replied, climbing into the cabin. “Incidentally, we leave the ranks on the ship. My name is Logan.”

 “Vikram.”

 The two of them settled down at the rear of the cabin as the shuttle dropped through the elevator airlock on its way to the surface. The other four passengers were wearing hastily fabricated officer’s uniforms, identifying them as Triplanetary Lieutenants; he’d briefed all of them on what to say and how to act on the surface, keeping their exposure to the planetary population as limited as possible.

 Glancing out of the window at the planet below, he turned to see Singh staring at the view with rapt attention, soaking in every detail of the surface. Logan looked at his face, watched the years begin to fade away, and smiled. Just another born tourist like the rest of them. Usually he spent most of his time, by choice, buried in the bowels of a slum.

 “Amazing, isn’t it,” Singh said. “That worlds such as this can exist. I would love to wander those jungles.” He turned to Logan, and said, “Have you ever been to Thalassa?”

 “I’m a Triplanetary citizen, remember? The amount of paperwork I’d have to do to qualify just for a visit rather rules it out as a destination.”

 With a smile, he said, “As ever, you refrain from truly answering a question. I spent a tour of duty there when I was a Major, just after the war, when we started to seriously open the planet up. There we patrolled the oceans, sailing across alien seas, breathing in alien air. An experience I never thought I would repeat.”

 “I wouldn’t go out without a respirator down there,” Logan said. “I know what you mean, though. I’ve spent most of my life wandering around in one sort of habitat or another. Now that we’re operating on Ragnarok or Jefferson, that’s liable to change.”

 “And there, my friend, are the seeds of destruction for your Confederation. Or at least a change that you must weather. How many will voluntarily live in a dome or a station when they can walk on fresh soil, breathe clean air, eat real food? You’ll find your population longing for the new worlds you are opening up.”

 “I think you might be underestimating the resistance of people to change, Vikram,” Logan replied. “Besides, Ragnarok isn’t exactly a vacation spot. I understand they’re thinking of setting up the Espatier Training Camps there.”

 “Would that not be classified information?” Singh replied.

 “Not when we’re discussing it in the Senate and preparing recruitment advertisements.”

 Chuckling, Singh said, “You are merely confirming my beliefs. This is to be used as a tool to encourage people to sign up. The tides of history have swept you to prominence, but they can recede just as rapidly. Speaking purely as an impartial observer, it is fascinating to watch.”

 “I think the Triplanetary Confederation still has life left in it.”

 “But will its member worlds be Ragnarok, Jefferson and Haven in a hundred years from now?” That is the more interesting question, is it not?”

 “Perhaps. We’ve got to get to that future, though,” Logan said.

 “True.” He looked out of the window as the shuttle coasted into the atmosphere, and said, “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m a dreamer in a very practical age.”

 “Nothing wrong with that. Sometimes dreams can come true. After all, despite everything else, we got out to the stars in the end.”

 A voice over the speaker crackled, “We’re on landing approach. Make sure all restraints are secured, there might be some turbulence on our way down.”

 “Conservative pilot,” Logan said, shaking his head while he checked his harness.

 “Better safe than dead,” Singh replied.

 “Where’s the fun in that?”

 With a squeal, the shuttle touched down on the runway, gently coasting along the concrete, the usual trucks waiting at the far end. This time a lot more guards were present than had been the case before. Pulling on his respirator, Logan braced himself to prepare to be captured.

 As the shuttle stopped, the airlock lights lit, and he and Singh stood in front of the hatch. The door opened, and they stepped down, looking around at the jungle. Oddly, it seemed far more natural at night than it had during the day; darkness was expected, the shadows dancing around by the light of the moons. 

 He and Singh slowly strolled to the rear of the shuttle, looking out towards the jungle, and when he considered that they were out of sight, started to hastily change out of their uniforms, dumping their jackets and trousers down by the shuttle’s engine, where incineration would be guaranteed upon takeoff. With an effort, he pulled on the jumpsuit, noting that Singh was well ahead of him.

 “Now, run for the trees,” he whispered. “Don’t be surprised by anything that happens, all of this is part of the plan.”

 “As long as this isn’t you taking advantage of changing circumstances again.”

 “I’m never going to live that down, am I.”

 The two of them sprinted away from the shuttle, racing down the runway, and after a few seconds, a trio of guards started to chase after them. Hoping that this wasn’t a trap, Logan slowed his pace just enough that they would have an easy time catching up, and just made it into the canopy before being grabbed. Singh managed a few more steps, but two of the guards caught his arms, turning him roughly around.

 “Liberty,” Logan muttered.

 “Equality,” one of the guards replied.

 With a smile, Logan said, “Fraternity.”

 “Come with us,” the guard said. “Act as though you are resisting arrest.” He glanced at Singh, and said, “There are two of you?”

 “Change of plan. I’ll explain later.”

 “Say nothing,” the guard said. “Come.”

 Flashing a grin at Singh, Logan struggled in the arms of the guard, allowing himself to be dragged down the runway past the waiting shuttle, and roughly thrown into the back of one of the trucks. There, the guard who had spoken to him before locked restraints onto him, then chained Singh to the wall. Logan looked across with alarm as the curtain dropped, and motioned with his head for Singh to remain silent.

 Not that they would have been heard in any case. With a thundering roar, the shuttle took off, its worthless cargo delivered, and the truck began to move off down the road, thudding over the tracks of the jungle towards its objective. Chaining him up had not been part of the plan, though it could simply be part of the cover, the ruse designed to fool the guards.

 Or he might be the fool, played by Gaxric to provide leverage for demands. Or even the Council itself might be involved. He shook his head, banishing those thoughts. For the present, there was nothing he could do about it, and he would simply have to cope with whatever came as best he could.

 All he saw of the outside world were brief glimpses through the canvas flap as it moved from side to side, rocking with the motion of the truck. They skidded past a ruin that looked as if it had been abandoned for centuries, the cracked remnants of a small pyramid, perhaps a village, a town, or even a single settlement. It disappeared into the night, swallowed up by the darkness, and the truck continued on.

 Delay was reassurance; by the time he’d counted fifteen minutes in his head, he knew that they were not heading for the same pyramid as before. The bumps in the road made it clear that this was not a well-used route, splashing as the truck slammed through puddles, bounced over bumps. The curtain opened again, and he caught a glimpse of the stars as the truck finally skidded to a stop with squealing breaks.

 Gaxric climbed in, looking at the two of them, a smile on his face, and said, “I see this time you decided to take the scenic tour.”

 Brandishing his chains, Logan replied, “I heard these were the fashion down here.”

 “All too true,” Gaxric replied, unlocking the restraints. “Who is this?”

 “Vikram,” Logan said, pointing at Singh. “An associate of mine. We’re here to act as, shall we say, observers of the situation.”

 “And what situation is that?”

 Shaking his head, Logan replied, “Something big is going to happen, Gaxric, within the next few days. You are aware of the fleet heading towards you.”

 Nodding, he said, “I doubt there is anyone on the planet who isn’t. I understand that Captain Marshall has agreed to support the government in the defense if this planet.”

 “From my understanding of the situation,” Singh volunteered, “Captain Marshall has no intention of letting the people of this planet suffer for the sins of their leaders. That does not mean that he is on their side.”

 Sighing, Gaxric said, “I suppose that I can understand his point of view, but we just want this war to be over and done.”

 “We need to get inside the city, and you need to prepare your people for action.”

 “Without knowing what is going to happen? You expect me to put my people at hazard on the basis that you might do something that will help us?”

 Logan looked up at him, smiled, and said, “Sometimes you’ve just got to take a chance. Let me put it another way. Do you have a choice?”

 Shaking his head, Gaxric replied, “I suppose not. Be aware that if either of you let us down…”

 “Then we won’t find the outcome pleasant. I had assumed as much. Shall we?”

Chapter 17

 The shuttle sat waiting in the elevator airlock, technicians making a series of last-minute adjustments to the airlock mechanism under the bleary-eyed direction of Quinn; the hangar crews had been working around the clock in a bid to construct a mechanism that would allow the shuttle to mate with the captured ship, even if they had to operate the airlock manually. Inside, Cooper’s Espatier team anxiously waited for the word, sitting in their couches and attempting to keep themselves occupied.

 Up in the cockpit, Orlova was more concerned with the outside of the ship, her console slaved to monitor the bridge sensor systems. Alamo was moving to escort the Buchanan on its exit from the system, a wing of Haven spacecraft alongside. They’d timed the breakout to lure as many Haven ships away from their target as possible, but there would still be lots of opportunity for them to respond. 

 Forrest silenced a murmur of complaint from one of the troopers; all of them had been equipped with non-lethal weapons only, tasers and tranquilizers. Nobody was meant to die today, not at their hands, in any case. It would be hard enough to explain away what they were about to do, but were they to take the admittedly easier option of storming on board, killing everyone, and snatching the alien, diplomatic relations would be permanently smashed.

 Not that Orlova thought that was necessarily a bad thing, given what they had done to the Dumont. Four crew dead, and the Neander as well, the old man who had wanted to see Earth up close, to bask in the light of the star that birthed his people. Now he was stuffed in a locker, buried in the archives. One more piece of unfinished business to deal with when they got home.

 She focused her attention back on the display, watching the Buchanan race ahead to the egress point, a pair of Haven ships in pursuit, a cluster of Enemy ships up ahead. At last, the Enemy ships started to move, vectoring in towards the Haven vessels as Alamo appeared to loom forward in support.

 Bradley, her co-pilot, looked across, and said, “We’ve got a clear path through to the target. Transit time of nineteen minutes at full speed.”

 “Not yet,” Orlova replied. “We wait for the battle to start, then go in the confusion. With a little luck, no-one will notice us until we get there.”

 A red light flashed on, and she smiled. First missile launch from the Enemy, and the Haven vessels had responded. Taking a last look at the systems, she waved the technicians away, and the shuttle started to drop down into the elevator airlock.

 “Quinn to Orlova,” her communicator said.

 “What’s the story with the airlock, Jack?” she asked.

 “We haven’t had time to mate the computer systems properly yet, which means a manual docking, and I think most of the system will drop away when you undock again. You’ll have to use an elevator airlock to get back on board.”

 “Wait a minute,” she replied as atmosphere vented away, “Drop away?”

 “Think of it as a design feature. It could take hours for them to sort out the mess and get back on board through that hatch. Good luck, Maggie.”

 “Let’s hope we don’t need it,” she replied. “Barbara, are we good to go?”

 “All systems green, course locked in.” An alarm sounded as a missile started to curve towards Alamo, and she continued, “Let’s get moving.”

 Orlova tapped a control, and the main engines fired, kicking the shuttle onto its planned trajectory. Immediately, the Enemy ships noticed, and one of them started to change course, trying for an intercept; she’d assumed that would happen, and started on a corkscrew evasive, designed to deceive everyone about her actual course.

 Tapping another control, she removed the first layer of safety interlocks, and the shuttle seemed to surge forward, the planet almost visibly growing on the viewscreen as the acceleration built, Bradley struggling to keep her hands on the controls. Glancing up at the monitor, Orlova tapped a button.

 “Everyone nominal back there?”

 “We’re fine, Maggie,” Cooper said. “Just get us there, and we’ll do the rest.”

 “Threat warning!” Bradley yelled. “We’ve got a missile incoming, looks like it deflected from Alamo. Enemy design, intercept in seventy-three seconds.”

 Orlova’s response threw the shuttle into a series of diving maneuvers, swinging around in a bid to throw off the missile’s tracking systems. She glanced across at the physical countermeasures, Bradley’s hands hovering above the controls; they only had a limited supply, and she didn’t want to use them up now.

 “More speed,” Bradley urged, and Orlova nodded, taking the next level of safety off, the acceleration ramping up to force her back in her couch. The time to intercept crept up before leveling off and starting to decline once again; they couldn’t outrun something that didn’t have to support a human cargo, especially one that would be fighting a hand-to-hand battle as soon as the flight ended.

 “Alamo’s turning,” Bradley said, and Orlova looked across at the sensor display. The battlecruiser was a majestic sight with its radiators deployed, and the duty helmsmen was struggling to line it up for a shot at the missile. One brief laser pulse, and they would no longer be threatened.

 “Cutting evasive,” Orlova said. “We’ve got to try and keep that damn thing steady.”

 Shaking her head, Bradley replied, “And if Alamo misses?”

 “Get ready on the decoys.”

 “Great,” she said, her hand poised for action. Orlova watched the ship swinging around still further, the missile straightening its course as it raced towards impact, the clock counting down remorselessly. Caine was taking her time, making sure of her shot, and with a flash that came almost too quickly to see, the laser blast caught the missile, a brief explosion obliterating it from the sky.

 Breathing a sigh of relief, Orlova engaged the acceleration safeties again, and the pressure quickly disappeared. She ran her hands across the controls, running a series of checks, watching for other firing arcs. That brief pulse of engine overload had thrown them well clear of the battle, and of everything else, for that matter. Haven didn’t have any ships that could intercept them in the time, but they’d be well within the firing arc of at least half a dozen of them, not to mention the rudimentary orbital defense network.

 “Buchanan has jumped,” Bradley said. “Alamo’s coming around to follow us in. The Haven forces are still engaged with the Enemy.”

 “Let’s hope it stays that way,” Orlova replied. “Watch out for any jamming or hacking. We don’t need to give them any hostages to play with.”

 “No sign yet,” she replied. “Contact now in thirteen minutes, ten seconds.”

 With difficulty, Orlova settled down, trying to relax. By now, Captain Marshall would be speaking to Guardian Station, spinning an explanation about the shuttle launch. None of the explanations would stand up under real scrutiny, but they wouldn’t have to. The diplomatic niceties in full force, Haven would accept – for a short while – any explanation that seemed even remotely credible. The problems would come when their target began obvious.

 Three minutes passed, five, seven. Bradley tapped the sensor screen, and Orlova nodded in response. Haven’s ships were on the move, curving back towards them, trying for an intercept. Alamo was hard on their heels, ten minutes behind the shuttle, hopefully long enough for their quick snatch and grab.

 She’d spent hours going over all the images from their previous visit to the captured ship, every detail that their datapads had managed to capture, but she took one last look, checking to make sure that she hadn’t missed anything, but she knew that it was just something to try and distract her. The docking that was coming up would be one of the most difficult of her life, and there had been no opportunity for any accurate simulations. A few millimeters out, and the link-up would fail, and the plan abort.

 Technically, they could attempt to break in wearing suits, but they’d be at such a serious disadvantage in the shirt-sleeve environment on board that they might as well just turn themselves in and spare everyone the trouble. That wasn’t an answer. She spent the next few minutes running a series of quick diagnostics on the pinpoint thrusters; Quinn had no doubt made sure that they were working perfectly, but the last thing they needed was a last-minute malfunction.

 “All systems are green, Maggie,” Bradley said. “We’re sixty seconds from docking.”

 “Right,” she replied. “You have the helm for the final approach. Just get me in the ball park, and I’ll do the rest.”

 Nodding, Bradley threw a switch, and said, “I have flight control. Docking thrusters are all yours.”

 Rapidly, Orlova’s world began to shrink, collapsing down to the docking view on her monitor, and the eighteen buttons that operated the thrusters. She rested her hands on the controls, flexing her fingers, and watched as the shuttle drew closer and closer to the target, lining up as closely as possible with the airlock. Alarms sounded, warning of ships on an intercept course, but she blotted them out of her mind, desperately trying to concentrate on the task at hand.

 The airlock moved into view, a target track appearing on the screen, and the shuttle’s engines faded to nothing, the craft coming to a stop. The only noise now was the air recirculators, a low, buzzing hum deep in the background. With a gentle tap, Orlova put the shuttle on its final course, guiding it down the path with a few tweaks, first one thruster, then another.

 On the monitor, the course track began to dance away; she had overcompensated, and hastened to correct, tapping three controls in sequence to bring the shuttle back into line, following the course projection. Bradley was staring silently at the display, as if willing the mechanism to lock. There would be only one shot at this; if they tarried too long, they wouldn’t have time to grab the alien before reinforcements arrived. The battle plan had been carefully put together based on their previous visit; Orlova tried to dismiss fears that they might have moved the alien from her mind. One more thing that they simply couldn’t do anything about.

 A series of lights began to flash on the console, collision warning alarms as the system tried and failed to handshake with its nearby counterpart, the automatic alarms testifying to the danger they were about to be in, the other hazard of an imperfect approach. Sweat began to bead up on her forehead as they entered the terminal phase of the docking, past any abort possibilities. They were going to link up with the other ship, it was just a question of how forcefully.

 “Five seconds,” Bradley said, quietly, as Orlova gently tapped a thruster, guiding her in, cursing unimaginative software engineers under her breath as the green lights remained steady, the cross-hairs still locked on the target. “Two. One.”

 With a loud, grinding noise, the shuttle made contact with the target, a loud cacophony of bangs heralding contact established. Quinn’s hastily gimmicked mechanism did its job, the improvised clamps firmly bolting into place in a worrying permanent lock. Orlova reached up, threw a dozen switches, and started the post-flight systems.

 “Manual override on the airlock is working,” Bradley said.

 “Right, everyone,” Orlova yelled. “Begin assault. We’ll be taking off in exactly eight minutes, so get moving!” 

 She looked at the Espatiers moving out, wishing she was going with them. Two years ago, she wouldn’t even have given it a second thought, leaving Bradley to deal with the problems back here, but there were too many things that might go wrong at her end, too many last-minute items she had to deal with, not least were the increasingly substantial number of Haven vessels on intercept course.

 “Get a move on, Cooper,” she said. “Get this done.”

Chapter 18

 “Go, go, go!” Cooper yelled, bursting through the airlock and out into the main ship. If all went according to plan, they could be in and out in less than five minutes, with a decent safety margin to fall back on. If all went well. The first thing he saw were a pair of guards in the corridor, belatedly aiming their weapons at the invading Espatiers; he got off a quick shot with his taser, Forrest firing in unison, and the two figures tumbled back, out of the way.

 “Fire at anything that moves,” Forrest said. “No hesitation, troopers, that’s why we’re non-lethal today. Lomax, hang back as guard with Cox. The rest, keep moving!”

 Cooper led the way, drifting down the corridor with his taser in one hand and the other outstretched, reaching for any hand-holds he could find to speed his progress. The corridor twisted a little, and he curved round, reaching for the shaft that led to the bridge. His communicator was mercifully silent – any news it was going to give him would be bad, and his troopers couldn’t hold out for long against a full-scale assault.

 Not even with the plasma pistol he had concealed in his belt, a little detail he’d decided Captain Marshall and Lieutenant Orlova didn’t need to know. A furtive glance convinced him that Sergeant Forrest had made the same decision, opting not to keep him in the loop; that was the mark of a seasoned NCO, knowing what not to burden an officer with.

 Up the shaft now, his men following two by two, still following the plan. Talbert and Bryce pulled short at the bottom, hanging back, following the plan in every detail. Two would hang back at each checkpoint, ready to provide cover for a hasty retreat, and by the sounds coming from the shuttle, this plan had already proven itself necessary, the crackle of taser fire echoing around the corridor.

 Cooper pushed off up the corridor as quickly as he could, setting a fearsome pace that he hoped the others could keep up with; there wasn’t time to check, only to trust that his men were following along as the plan required, moving as rapidly as they could to match his advance. Another figure appeared at the top, and Forrest beat Cooper to the draw, unleashing a quick bolt of energy to send the guard spiraling out of the way.

 They reached the bridge, occupied only by the panicking Vorzan shouting something into a communicator. Cooper couldn’t understand a word, but he didn’t need to, shooting him in the chest with a taser bolt and sending him crashing to the far wall, twitching from the charge, while Forrest plucked the communicator out of the air and stuffed it into a handy pocket for later analysis.

 “Cole, Christie, stand by here. Don’t touch the walls – remember that they are active control panels, and don’t be surprised by anything that happens next.”

 Up ahead lay their goal, the alien, protected by a security field that he was going to have to hack the old-fashioned way; both he and Forrest had explosives in their pocket. They raced into the room, Cooper surprised that, for the moment, everything was going so well, only to encounter two more guards waiting opposite the alien, both of whom were ready to fire.

 The blasts echoed around the small room, the two Espatiers relying on carefully-honed instinct to get out of the way just in time, returning fire while the two troopers in the room behind came forward. Two more shots rang out, and Cooper heard a yell from behind him, but this time his shot was true, sending one of the guards down, and Cole managed to hit the other in the shoulder.

 Droplets of blood dripped out of a wound on Christie’s arm, and Cooper pushed back to take a look at it, pulling the tattered sleeve back to reveal a long gouge down his arm where the bullet had traveled. The trooper forced a grin, and glanced over at Cole.

 “I’m fine, sir. Just a light wound.”

 “Get him bandaged, Sergeant,” Cooper said. “I’ll go and get our friend.”

 “You think she’ll come voluntarily?”

 “If not, then we’ll find out how she manages under taser fire.”

 He pushed back into the room, cautiously looking around, then glanced at the alien with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He pulled one of the charges out of his pocket, made an exploding motion with his hands, then gestured for her to pull back to the far wall; she seemed to understand, nodding as she withdrew.

 It was difficult to force patience on himself as he set the charges, three of them in equidistant positions near what he hoped was the control machinery. No doubt there was a very simple way to open the barrier, but he didn’t have time to work it out, instead planting the detonators in the explosives and moving back to the corridor, pulling out his datapad.

 “Heads down!” he yelled, lightly tapping the button. Three simultaneous pops followed, and the barrier shattered, pieces scattering everywhere. He dived back in, sweeping shrapnel out of the way with his arms, and tossed a uniform jacket to the alien. She managed to force it over her shoulders, providing her with at least some protection, and he gestured to the corridor.

 She shook her head, and then the room went dark; from what he could see, every room on the ship went dark. Writing began to swirl into the air, from some hidden holoprojector, in languages he couldn’t understand – one of them looked like the swirls of Haven’s language, another looked at least vaguely familiar, and then English appeared.

 “That’s mine,” he said, more in hope than expectation of a reply. “I don’t know if you can understand, but we’ve got to get out of here.”

 It was then that he realized he was moving, slowly drifting towards the wall, and his communicator began to urgently chirp. He didn’t need to respond to know what was happening; the alien ship was on the move.

 “Haven’s forces are coming,” he said. “I can get you safe conduct to my ship, and then back to your people. All we want to do is talk to you.”

 “You come in force?” the text replied.

 “None of them are dead, just stunned,” he replied. “In only a few minutes we’re going to be hit by missiles from a dozen directions. Alamo can stand them off, but this ship can’t.”

 The lights came back on, and the alien nodded, the text replying, “I will assist.”

 Belatedly, Cooper plucked out his communicator and said, “We’re on the way. Details later, but the ship is under control.”

 “I get that, Cooper. We just changed course, heading towards Alamo. We’ve also got about twenty ships coming our way. We’ve got to get on the move, right now.”

 “We’re coming, we’re coming,” he said, turning to the alien. “This will be a lot easier in zero-gravity.”

 She nodded, and the acceleration instantly ceased. Cooper pushed back off from the wall, heading to the bridge, and she swung after him, effortlessly dancing down the corridor, her arms pulling her on hand holds with enviable fluidity. Up ahead, Forrest was looking at her, Cole just finishing bandaging Christie’s arm.

 “What the hell is going on, Cooper?” Forrest asked.

 “Later, Sergeant. We’ve got Haven ships inbound, and I think they’ll be shooting first and asking questions later.” Turning to the alien, he said, “Follow us,” and she nodded in response.

 The squad moved down the shaft, and as Cole left the bridge, the lights all went out behind them. Having someone on their side who could control the ship with a mere thought was a definite advantage, something to take full advantage of; hopefully, the others on the ship were being nicely disoriented at the moment. 

 As they approached the bottom of the shaft, Cooper heard cursing, followed by a loud crack; a firefight was taking place in the corridor below, and he dived down with his taser ready, only to see a man with a gun pointed square at his chest. Before he could fire, the air recirculators overloaded, a titanic gust of wind slamming his enemy into the wall; Talbert finished him off with a taser shot, though by that point it hardly seemed necessary.

 Turning, he saw the alien nimbly gliding after him, a hunter’s smile on her face, a look that he knew all too well. She wasn’t just ready to fight, she actually enjoyed it. There was an element of revenge, perhaps, but there was something more behind it, deep in her eyes. 

 “Come on,” Forrest said, pushing past him, and Cooper nodded.

 “Let’s move out.” Taking the rear guard, he drifted down the corridor, communicator back in his hand. “I can see the airlock, Maggie. We’ll be in the shuttle in a moment.”

 “Less than the estimate,” she said. “Great work.”

 “We’ve got to get away with it yet,” he replied. Lomax was clutching his leg, a wound similar to Christie’s hastily bandaged, a thin sea of blood droplets hanging in the corridor. Two light wounds and a successful mission; Cooper was happy to settle for that, and the airlock closed behind him, as he settled into the safety of the shuttle.

 He wasn’t prepared for what happened next, as a quick blast of acceleration sent him tumbling to the deck, twisting his ankle; a chorus of complaints came from around the room. Only the alien seemed to have been ready for the acceleration, and he looked accusingly up at her.

 “That wasn’t me,” Orlova yelled over the communicator. “She’s still in the driving seat!”

 Looking up at the alien, Cooper said, “Unlock us. We’ve got to make our link up with Alamo!” It belatedly occurred to him that her ability to understand English might have been provided to her by the ship’s computer, but his doubts were washed away as the shuttle rocked to the side, tumbling away as Orlova hastily attempted to regain control.

 “What’s happening?” he yelled.

 “The alien ship’s still on the move, curving back towards Guardian Station. Looks like its on a collision course.”

 “Can it hit?”

 “There are about three dozen Haven ships that are going to try to stop it. Alamo coming up in three minutes, stand by for evasive action. We’ve got hot missiles in the air.”

 Cooper moved over to one of the viewports, looking out. He was lucky; he could see Alamo up ahead, the long, thin shape with its reflectors shining in the dull sunlight. Beside him, the alien peered into the darkness, but her attention was fixed on the planet, not on the ship, and there was a new expression on her face. Longing.

 She gestured out at the planet, and said something in her language, obviously some sort of song, and though he couldn’t understand the words, the meaning was quite clear. That was home, at least on some level, and the sounds tugged at his heartstrings. He nodded, then gestured to Alamo.

 “We’ll see what we can do. The Captain will want to talk to you when we get back.”

 “Good,” she replied in a heavily-accented voice, enough that he strained to understand her. “I will answer his questions, now that you have opted not to back the Thieves.”

 “Thieves?”

 “Those who infest our home, who prevent the Seekers from claiming what by all right is ours. We will return, and we will avenge, and be reborn.”

 “Reborn?”

 Alarms sounded before she could answer, and the flash of a missile coming to a violent end briefly illuminated the sky, far too close to the shuttle. Alamo was growing large in the screen now as Orlova guided it in, and he glanced around at his squad, all of whom seemed to be as relieved as he was. It was only when he heard the loud clang of the docking cradle that he finally allowed himself to relax.

 “Stand-by to disembark. Christie, Lomax, get up to Sickbay and have the doctor take a look at you; you can escort our new friend as well.” The alien frowned for a moment, then nodded. “The rest of you to standby stations. I think we’re going to be at alert for a while.”

Chapter 19

 “Something is happening up in orbit,” Gaxric said, looking down at Logan as he walked into the room. “My sources tell me that Alamo has launched a hit-and-run raid on our captured alien spacecraft.”

 Looking up and wiping the sleep from his eyes, Logan replied, “Did they pull it off?”

 “The alien ship was destroyed by a combined salvo from thirty-one monitors, but Alamo’s shuttle got away. For public consumption, they’re claiming that it was a weapons test that went better than they anticipated.”

 “People buying it?”

 “They don’t care.” He sat down, and said, “I do, though. Did you know about this?”

 “Not in detail, but I knew what they were planning, yes. You must understand why I couldn’t tell you.”

 “Are there any more surprises in store for us?”

 With a grin, Logan replied, “Absolutely, but from now on they will be as much of a surprise to me as they are to you, I assure you.”

 “You aren’t filling me with confidence.”

 “I’m not down here to give you a pep talk.”

 “What are you here to do, then?”

 “I’m here to observe, report, and act at my discretion.”

 “Then you can come with me,” Gaxric said, a frown on his face. “I think it’s time we gave you both a look around the city for real, not the brief glimpse the Council permitted you. Get dressed.”

 Logan pulled himself to his feet and reached for the top of the jumpsuit, pulling it on over his shoulders with a struggle. By the time he was dressed, Singh had walked into the room; somehow he had actually managed to make the jumpsuit look smart. Running his fingers through his hair, Logan walked to the door.

 “I always sleep better in real gravity,” Singh said.

 “Sleep’s about the one time I’d rather be in free fall.” Looking to Gaxric, he said, “Is it safe out there?”

 “No-one is expecting you to be in the city, so I don’t think you should experience any difficulty. If you are feeling nervous, on the other hand, then you can remain skulking in the shadows.”

 “Let’s get going.”

 Leading the way, Gaxric started down the corridor, taking a trio of twists and turns to bring them back out into the main concourse. Logan looked around at the drab environment, noticed the dulled look on a lot of the people about, beyond simple boredom and resentment.

 “Oh, yes,” Gaxric said, noting Logan’s interest. “Many of our people have their food dosed with depressants. Keeps them quiet, stops them rebelling, and if the suicide rate is through the roof, well, we have a population problem at the moment.” He shook his head, saying, “Bastards.”

 “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

 “I wanted you to see it for yourself,” he replied. “Now you can see what we are fighting for, and why most of us don’t care whether we win the war or not.”

 “How do you…,” Singh began, but Gaxric interrupted.

 “Military rations. Naturally, they’re of a somewhat higher grade than the civilian muck, so we raid their depots every so often. That’s why most of the rebels are ex-military; we’ve seen what the world really looks like without the chemical haze.”

 They came to a shaft, and Gaxric stepped out onto a ladder that looked barely able to support his weight, and started to slowly descend. Logan stepped after him, followed by Singh; the rungs creaked as they made their way down to the next level, swinging off into a dark, empty corridor.

 “Overcrowded we may be, but there are parts of the city no-one but us goes to,” Gaxric said. “We use this level quite a bit.”

 “What for?” Singh asked.

 Gesturing to the right, he replied, “See for yourself.”

 Logan stepped in first, then sighed as he saw the sight that met his eyes. The room had been outfitted as an improvised hospital ward, more than a hundred men on beds, a few people moving from one to another. Each had stenciled above them a series of unintelligible hieroglyphics; a few of them struggled to rise as Gaxric stepped in, and he said a few words to them in a comforting tone.

 “What happened here?” Logan asked.

 “One does not retire from the orbital garrisons,” Gaxric replied. “When your usefulness is at an end, you are abandoned as these men have been.”

 “Zero-gravity adaptation,” Singh said, shaking his head. “How long were their tours of duty?”

 “You don’t understand. These men just stayed up until they were wounded too severely to put them back into the fighting. Most of them were up for years, decades. Their bones are brittle, their hearts weak. We keep them alive, as best we can.”

 “They ought to go back into orbit, if they’d survive the flight,” Logan said. “They could at least live a semblance of a normal life up there.”

 “The United Nations requires at least two months in gravity for every nine in weightless conditions,” Singh replied. “I understand the Triplanetary Confederation has similar restrictions.”

 “That’s why most of our ships have rotational gravity,” Logan added. “Better for the men.”

 “Our leaders care rather less about their people than you care for yours. Selection to join the protectors of our world is a great honor, you understand. One that is awarded by lot, though the sons and daughters of our leaders always seem to slip through the cracks.”

 Shaking his head, Singh said, “We’ve got to do something about this, Logan.”

 Nodding, he said, “We will. Gaxric, while we’re here, I need a buccal swab and a few minutes. Are you set up for that?”

 “A genetic sample? We can take it, but we haven’t got the equipment to do anything with it once we’ve got it.”

 Tapping his concealed datapad, Logan replied, “Don’t worry, I have.”

 “I’ll see to it.” The rebel walked over to one of the doctors, and started to collect equipment, while Singh moved over to Logan.

 “This is worse than we thought.”

 “Dammit, if we’d known about this from the outset…”

 “Then what exactly would you have done differently? This remains a military problem at its core; we must prevent the destruction of the people of Haven. Only then can we deal with this situation.”

 “True, but I’m beginning to think that the two are one and the same.” One of the patients groaned, and Logan said, “We’ve got to do something about this.”

 “End the war. That would seem to be the logical solution to the problem.”

 “I don’t think it’s going to be as simple as that.”

 Gaxric walked over, a small jar in his hand, and said, “I’ve got what you wanted.”

 “Good.” Logan took the jar, placed it on a nearby counter, and pulled a long needle from his datapad, poking it into the sample and setting it to transmit. The signal strength was lousy, even with Alamo overhead, and the progress bar dragged slowly across the screen. 

 “We can give you any medical data you want,” the rebel volunteered. “I have another datachip prepared with that material.”

 “We’ll take it,” Logan said. “What’s your set-up down here? No specifics, of course, just give me a rough idea what we have to work with.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Our numbers have never been exactly excessive, I fear. We have strike teams in position that can assassinate key members of the Council, and seize communications links. After that, we will be reliant on assistance from your vessel to prevent retaliation.”

 “Alamo hasn’t got anything like the ground forces capability to undertake such an operation. Not even when we were at full strength.”

 “We do not need you to land personnel,” the rebel leader said with a smile. “Just hold off the loyalist elements of the space fleet and be ready with an orbital bombardment.”

 “Bombardment?” Singh said. “You believe we would sit in orbit and destroy your cities?”

 “Once the drugs wear off, I venture there will be a mass uprising, but it is controlling it that would be the problem. The war would be over in a day if we did that, though I suspect the population would be slaughtered in the process.”

 Frowning, Logan said, “The drugs. Where are they introduced into the system?”

 “There is a heavily guarded military base out in the jungle. Far too well-fortified for us to consider attacking except as a last resort.”

 “No civilians?”

 “Just government personnel. We would need to be ready with a rising, though, and…”

 Looking sharply at Gaxric, Logan said, “There will be no assassinations, not if you expect the assistance of the Triplanetary Confederation. This world is at least nominally a democracy, isn’t it?”

 “Theoretically, but in practice that hasn’t been the case for decades.”

 “Then there would need to be a new series of elections for a new Council, and they would decide what would happen henceforth. If you try and seize power, even if you succeed, all you are inviting is a civil war that would do as much damage as the one you are fighting in orbit. Or do you tell me that every member of your rebellion is on the same side.”

 “We stand together to free our world…”

 “And afterward? All of you agree what must happen next? I don’t believe it, and neither do you. There will be a dozen petty factions within a matter of weeks, and within months there will be open revolt, no matter what you think and hope now.”

 “Do you think so little of us?”

 Looking him in the eyes, Logan said, “I’m speaking from far too bitter experience. Do you know how close the Confederation came to collapse, during the war and immediately after? We had a few flirtations with disaster, my friend, but each time we managed to drag ourselves back from the brink. You don’t even have the advantage we had, a politically aware population.”

 Gaxric looked at the ground, and said, “What do you propose? That we enslave ourselves to your Confederation, permit you to guide us to truth and freedom?” He barked a laugh, then said, “Have we at last determined your goal in all of this?”

 “You think we’re strong enough to put the sort of garrison here that would be required to govern this place? We don’t conquer.” He glanced at Singh, then said, “We know what it is like to be an oppressed people far too well to inflict that on anyone else.”

 Shaking his head, the rebel said, “For more than a century, we have labored in the pursuit of freedom, hoping that the day would dawn when we or our children might enjoy peace. Now you tell us that we are destined for war.”

 “Tell me. When the drugs wear off, what do you propose to do then? Hope and trust that they will suddenly be different? You’ll have to work within the framework you have, bring the people around slowly. We’ll help you where we can, provide technological uplift, get you back into the wider galaxy again.”

 With a sigh, Gaxric said, “And we are swallowed up by the mass of humanity, our distinctiveness destroyed and dispersed. At best a historical relic to amuse tourists, at worse a clone of your own cities on Mars and Callisto. I see.”

 “That need not be so,” Singh said. “Not if you refuse to permit it. My homeland was destroyed by war, a century ago, shattered beyond the prospect of habitation. We survived, scattered across the world, but our culture did not die.” He tapped his chest, and said, “It lived because we refused to let it end, and now in a hundred places, a thousand, across Earth and beyond, it lives still. This can be the case with you.”

 Breaking in, Logan said, “Can you give me the location of that drugs refinery?”

 “A hundred miles south-west of here, along the coast. It’s adjacent to a desalination and processing plant where we get our water, all the cities here.”

 “All of them depend on one plant?” Singh said, his eyes widening. “That seems like a foolish risk.”

 “There are many redundant systems, I understand, and each city has reserves, but the main priority has always been security. Not against a threat from orbit, but from anyone who might dispute the right of the Council to rule.”

 “When the hell did all this start?” Logan said, shaking his head as he called up a map on his datapad. “There must have been some reason.”

 “Ninety years ago, there were riots, pogroms against the Cult of Earth that saw thousands killed, lynch mobs roaming the streets. The Council introduced drugs, sedatives, into the drinking water to try and restore order. It was threatening the almighty war, you see.”

 “And they never stopped.”

 “Just another emergency measure that ended up as a permanent feature of our world. Like the suspension of free elections and private news media. Now everything begins and ends with the Council.”

 “All of this has a rather familiar ring to it,” Singh said,

 Logan looked at the orbital map, frowning. It was hard to tell where the jungle began and the complex ended, and the water purification plant was a lot too close for his liking. If they had some of the atmospheric fighters they’d been talking about back home, this would be an easy operation.

 “What are you thinking?” Singh asked, looking over his shoulder.

 “Orbital strike on the drug set-up,” he replied, shaking his head.

 “That’s more like it!” Gaxric replied. “We could go along with that.”

 “Why are you shaking your head?”

 Logan sighed, and said, “I’m not sure we can do it without doing a lot of damage to the water purification plant. There’s too much cover, and the targeting sensors on a missile will have trouble.” After a pause, he said, “It would be a quick and easy way of bringing the local government down, though.”

 “My people can be in position to stop the local water supplies being used, as long as the main pipelines were still open,” Gaxric said, a smile spreading across his face. “So you will help us.”

 “This isn’t my decision to make, and as I said, I’m not sure we can do it.”

 “I trained as a forward observer for orbital bombardment,” Singh said. “I believe I still have a basic understanding of how those systems work, even though it was twenty years ago.”

 “A hundred miles through that jungle? We’d be lucky to get through in a month, never mind in a few hours.” 

 Tenacious as a dog with a bone, Gaxric said, “It isn’t anything like as bad as that. There are old trails and tracks that we could use for most of the way, and enough trucks take that route that I don’t think anyone would notice. We could infiltrate the compound, at least close enough for you to call in your air-strike.”

 “Can we do it with the materials we’ve got?” Singh asked.

 “Oddly enough, I have a laser sight of the kind we would need on me.” Logan looked at the rebel and asked, “The real question is whether you want to go through with this.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “If we execute this plan, and if all goes well, you will be in a very delicate and difficult position in a few days from now. You’ll have to find a way of keeping this planet together, and I think you’ll find that far harder than leading a group of rebels, dreaming of the day of liberty. Dreams are fine, but the harsh reality is more like a nightmare. Take my word for it.”

 Nodding, he replied, “There are a few others I must consult with. I will not share any details of the plan, only that a way exists that might lead to bringing an end to the rule of the Council.” He looked around, and said, “I will return shortly. Wait here for me.”

 “I haven’t got any other plans for today,” Logan said, moving over to a chair by the door. The rebel walked out, striding purposefully down the corridor, and he looked after him, shaking his head. He was too eager, far too eager, but that wasn’t necessarily a disqualification from the job he was setting out to do.

 “I was under the impression that the Triplanetary Confederation did not engage in regime change, Logan. Captain Marshall seemed quite clear on the subject.”

 Gesturing around the ward, Logan said, “He hasn’t seen any of this. We can’t just leave things the way they were. Hell, it’s an unstable situation anyway, and everything I’ve seen makes me more and more certain it is the case. What would the Enemy do if they found out about the drug site?”

 “Try and destroy it, presuming that the resultant chaos would win them the war.”

 “Exactly. That’s assuming they don’t simply wipe out everyone on this planet in a few days in any case. This all could be extremely academic.”

 “And afterward?”

 “After all this is over? Your guess is as good as mine, Colonel. That depends on what Alamo decides to do. We’re stuck in the middle of all of this, and I don’t see any easy solutions. Do you?”

 “There remains the option of pulling out of this planet, withdrawing from the system, and leaving them to decide their own destiny.”

 “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

 With a sigh, Singh said, “One cannot be the policeman of the galaxy, Logan. I have a sense that you have learned that lesson before.”

 “I can’t just sit back and watch all this happen, and neither can you. There are millions of lives at stake, and ultimately…”

 “It is better to be alive than dead, because there is always the possibility of a better tomorrow.”

 “I couldn’t have put it any better myself.” He pulled out his communicator and said, “Let’s see what the man in the worry seat thinks about it.” Tapping a control, he continued, “Logan to Alamo. I need to speak to the Captain, top priority.”

Chapter 20

 Marshall could hardly believe that he was standing outside of the Commandant’s quarters. He’d made a promise to himself to let him stew in his cabin until they got back to the Confederation, not wanting to provide him with any chance to gather information – or perhaps, he told himself, because he didn’t trust that he wouldn’t try any tricks. Now, he found himself ringing for admittance, and the door slid open.

 “Come in, Captain. I was wondering when you would come and see me.”

 “What made you think I would?”

 “Battle stations numerous times in the system, combat maneuvers, missile attacks? You might have gone to considerable lengths to keep me from sources of information, but I don’t need any special intelligence to know that you have some sort of problem, and that you want someone to give you a different perspective.”

 He almost turned and walked out, but the Commandant said, “In all honesty, I would like to be of assistance.”

 “There are two enemies in this system, both of them apparently hating one another. Both want the same thing, the planet that one of them occupies, but another is about to win the war. At a cost of millions of lives.”

 “I see. And you want to intervene.” He smiled, and said, “I’m going to guess now that the side you are hoping to save is not a paragon of truth, liberty and justice.”

 “Correct.” He stepped in, sitting down opposite his prisoner, and said, “They remind me rather of what I have seen of the Cabal. That’s why I want to talk to you.”

 The Commandant laughed, and said, “You want the input of a servant of a dictatorship. You think that I am a better judge of how they think than you are?” Shaking his head, he continued, “I am not sure whether this is an insult or a compliment, but I will do my best. Is this a military junta?”

 “No, an oligarchy.”

 “That makes a difference, you see. Their primary objective will be the preservation of their own, especially if it has degenerated to hereditary rule. You will find that they are engaged in power struggles among themselves, but you know that much already. Understand that their origins are likely from good motives, especially if their people were threatened.”

 “They’re keeping half of their population in a drugged stupor…”

 “But there will be reasons for that, reasons that they consider good, though you might find the occasional cynic who will be willing to admit the truth. Such leadership groups are self-selecting, promoting those they believe to have the same beliefs and strengths as themselves. That makes them conservative, resistant to change. You will find them hard to argue with, except from a position of strength.”

 “They’ve been treacherous already,” Marshall said. “And have assumed that we would simply do as they request.”

 “Because to them,” the Commandant replied, “it is simply the logical thing to do, so why should you not do as they ask? To them it seems the most natural thing. Moreover, they will have not experienced any resistance to their orders for some time, not since they attained their current position. They are used to being in charge, and will act always as if they control the agenda.”

 Nodding, he replied, “And when it becomes apparent that they don’t?”

 “That depends on the character of the people involved, but in my experience,” he paused, then said, “I suspect you will find that they attempt to defend their positions to the last, regardless of the wisdom of such a decision. You would be far better off finding some ambitious person in a lower tier, possibly one seeking advancement, and attaching him to your banner. I venture he will prove far more pliable.”

 “I want the best outcome for the people of this planet.”

 Smiling, the Commandant said, “With the greatest respect, what you wish to do is impose your own views on the best future of this world on its people. You may or may not be wrong, but that is what you wish to do. I would advise you to remember that.”

 Marshall’s face darkened, and he said, “Just what do you mean by that?”

 “Exactly what I said. You are the man on the spot, and your decision should be final. Do not second-guess yourself, and do what you believe is right. Time alone will tell you whether or not you were correct, but that must not stop you from acting – especially as I gather that inaction will have very final consequences.”

 Standing up, he replied, “I’ll take what you said under advisement.”

 “They will be rigid and inflexible, Captain. But there is always room for maneuver in the theater of personal gain, and political survival. I would remember that.”

 There was a cough at the door, and Marshall turned to see Caine standing at the threshold, a datapad in her hand. With a quick nod to the Commandant, he walked out of the room, waiting for the door to close behind him.

 “What’s the story, Deadeye?”

 “A two hundred page protest about our actions, but Haven’s not doing anything else about it.”

 “Two hundred? I’ll wait for the film to come out.”

 “Shouldn’t you read it?”

 “That’s what we have Sub-Lieutenants for, isn’t it? Besides, I already know what it says. A lot of stuff about the heinous crime we have committed, something about disappointment, but at the end of the day, they won’t do anything about it other than write a letter of protest because there is nothing else they can do.”

 “You’re in a cynical mood this morning.”

 “Have you read Logan’s report?”

 She nodded, and said, “And right now, you are tempted to fire off that missile.”

 “I ordered him to get down there and make ready, in case we decide to do it.”

 “Will you?”

 “We can’t just leave the situation as it stands. Even if we manage to stop the aliens launching their attack, I’m not about to ally the Confederation with a power like that.”

 “The Senate…”

 “Will go along with it because I don’t think any Senator wants to be associated with drug-based control of a civilian population, do you? They might fume inside, but what are they going to do about it?”

 “End your career.”

 “I decided a long time ago that if it came down to it, losing my career was a small price to pay if it meant making a decision that would save lives.”

 “Then what are we going to do?”

 “That very much depends on what our guest has to say. I’m on my way to see her now.”

 “Mind if I tag along?”

 “I was rather hoping you would.”

 They stepped into the elevator, tapping the controls to take them down to sickbay, and she said, “Do you think she’ll be any easier to deal with? Don’t forget that her people fired on us as soon as we arrived in the system, and they are holding the Dumont crewmen hostage.”

 “Getting them back is at the forefront of my mind, but Singh was quite right. There are a lot of people who don’t have a say in what’s happening here today, and someone’s got to look out for them.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “We were so damn close to making it home, as well.”

 “We’re going home,” he replied. “Count on it. Besides, those ships are no match for Alamo’s firepower.”

 “We still don’t have any answer to their missiles other than brute force, and I can only fire six missiles at a time. If you’ve got visions of taking on one of their fleets without support, I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

 With a grin, he replied, “Poor Quinn. He’s spent most of this trip putting the ship back together, and I’m going to get her shot up again.”

 “These aren’t our people, Danny. We don’t have any responsibility for any of this.”

 “Don’t we? I can’t just watch this play out.”

 The door opened, and they stepped out, walking past the saluting guards into sickbay. Doctor Duquesne was frowning over a terminal, while the alien sat cross-legged on one of the beds, looking up as Marshall stepped in.

 “I’m glad to finally make your acquaintance,” he said. “My name is Lieutenant-Captain Marshall, commander of this vessel.”

 “I am Kolzak, CR-41,” she replied. “I understand your language tolerably well.”

 “You speak it well, also,” he said. “You saw to it that your ship was destroyed. That wasn’t just an act of revenge, was it.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I was denying critical information to the enemy.” Frowning, she asked, “Are you the enemy?”

 “I want to bring all of this to an end.”

 “Then you can help us remove the Thieves from the world they have stolen from us.”

 Caine looked at Marshall, and said, “They stole it from you?”

 “It was promised to us, Captain Marshall, by our sacred ancestors who discovered it. After a voyage of centuries, long hardships, we hoped to build a new civilization to replace that which was destroyed on our homeland. We arrived to learn that the planet was already occupied.”

 “Must you wipe them out?” Marshall asked.

 “Initially, we wished to live in peace, and requested to build a settlement far away from them. We hoped to share the world, as you suggest, but they opened fire on us, and we were forced to retaliate. Since then the war has progressed, and we are close to victory.”

 “And you will only settle for the destruction of the enemy?”

 “Tell me with all honesty, would you trust them? They will survive, and breed, and there will be endless war. Better that we purge them now, remove them forever, end them as a threat. Then we would be willing to welcome you to our space.”

 “You would?”

 With a smile, she said, “We are not mindless xenophobes, Captain. Humans must stand together; the people of the surface have forgotten the lesson that our ancestors died to learn.”

 “Humans?”

 “It’s true,” Duquesne said. “Looks aside, she’s as human as you or I.”

 “Of course,” Caine said. “No wonder we were fooled. Her people came from Tombstone, in the colony ship. They made it.”

 “You have visited our former homeworld?” she said, shaking her head. “It is a shameful place. What we did to our home was terrible.”

 “It was war, then?” Marshall asked.

 “Between three factions, who unleashed weapons of fearsome devastation that destroyed the biosphere of our world, making it impossible to survive on the surface. Only the space colonies survived, and it was obvious that we could not last forever. The decision was taken to join forces and leave the system, to make a fresh start elsewhere.” She looked down, and said, “It is our shame.”

 “We came close to doing it ourselves,” Caine said. “We were luckier than you were; we made it through that period.”

 “Three times we, too, danced around the abyss, but eventually we stumbled. You might not have escaped yet, though you have advantages we lacked.” 

 “Faster-than-light drive,” Marshall said.

 “What you call the hendecaspace drive is a marvel, Captain. We would trade much for its secret, and certainly would be willing to open peaceful relations for it.”

 “Your appearance?” Caine said. “How?”

 “Once it became clear that we were to operate in zero-gravity for an extended period, the decision was taken to adapt ourselves. We were, long ago, highly advanced geneticists, though much of the knowledge has been lost over the centuries. The additional arms, the curved toes, are useful, and there are alterations in our brains to make us immune to what you call spacesickness.”

 “Why do you need a planet, then?” Duquesne asked. “You couldn’t use it if you had it!”

 “These modifications are made after birth, not before. When I was in the womb, I would have resembled you.” She sighed, and said, “One day we will be able to produce normal children once again, and can reclaim our world, though it will be for them, not for us. I can operate in a gravity field, but not a strong one.”

 “Must it be this world?” Marshall asked. “There are other planets, better suited than Haven for you.”

 “You would move our population? There are ten million of us, Captain. Besides, why should we be the ones to be denied our birthright?”

 Duquesne looked up from her workstation and started to laugh, her eyes widening, and turned to Marshall.

 “What the hell is so funny, Doctor?” Marshall snapped.

 “They’re both from the same damned planet, Captain!”

 “What?”

 “Mitochondrial DNA doesn’t lie. I had Logan send me up a sample, and it matches with the tests I’ve run on our four-armed friend here. And the samples we got back on Tombstone.” Turning to her, she said, “So, your people deserve that planet, do they? Good news, they already own it,”

 “Doctor…”

 “All of this has been for nothing!” she yelled. “Two centuries of war, millions of dead, two cultures smashed to pieces, and all of it for nothing!”

 “Are you sure?” CA-41 asked.

 “Of course I am. This isn’t even advanced technology. They could have done this test before the invention of the hendecaspace drive.” Duquesne looked at Marshall, and said, “Leave them, damn it. Just one more stupid dysfunctional family.”

 “We didn’t know.”

 “Your genetics…”

 “How much science do you think survives seven hundred years? A population of ten thousand can only keep so much, and we were almost wiped out more than once during the trip. Our adaptations, those are automated, the same techniques we have used for generations, but we would not dare to tinker with them.”

 “Will this change things?” Marshall asked.

 “I will need to contact my superiors, and they will need to be convinced of the veracity of this information. They will insist on a fresh series of tests, and live subjects – but they will listen to such testimony, Captain. Honor will demand it.”

 Looking at Duquesne, Marshall said, “Prepare a new series of samples, and walk our friend through them every step of the way. Once that is done, you can contact your fleet.” He paused, then said, “In English, though. Trust’s a scarce commodity at the moment.”

 “You wish to be sure that I do not betray you? Captain, if what you have told me is true, then it changes everything. We know they ventured across the stars in a genetic ark, and that technology was within the grasp of our ancestors.”

 “They’ve been there for two thousand years,” Caine said. “You had the capability to launch such an expedition that long ago?”

 “There are no records of such a flight, but over time, records are lost. This system was known to us as a target for a trip, however, and had been for millennia. There had been probes, long-range surveys.” Sighing, she said, “That is why I said you were luckier than we. After we had explored our system, we had no easy way of leaving it. Had we developed the hendecaspace drive…”

 “Then likely you would have reached Earth, maybe a thousand years ago.”

 “I must conduct the tests. Our fleet will be upon us in a matter of hours.”

 “How the hell do you know that?”

 She smiled, and said, “Your assault gave me the opportunity to speak to my ship. Right until the end, it was still receiving updated tactical data. Including details of your hostages, Captain, who are alive and well.” Turning, she said, “Let us work quickly, Doctor.”

 Duquesne looked up, nodded, and said, “Get over here, then. I need another swab.”

 “I’ll leave you to it. Work fast.” He stepped out of the room, Caine hurrying alongside, and said, “At least we’re beginning to make some progress now.”

 “We’ve convinced one person who is currently on board our ship. I don’t think that’s going to end the war.” She looked at him, and said, “I doubt the Seekers are going to be our biggest problem, anyway.”

 “You might be right about that,” he replied. “Hopefully by now our tame spy will be ready to help us solve the other one.”

Chapter 21

 “I’m getting too old for these commando missions,” Logan said as the truck juddered over a particularly deep pothole, throwing him against the canvas side.

 Singh looked up at him with a smile, and said, “It reminds me of old times. During the Andean Pacification, I spent months in terrain just like this.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Old war stories? From what I heard, that was some of the most vicious fighting to take place on Earth before the Interplanetary War.”

 “Only for the first few weeks. After the insurgent leaders had been captured, we only had to mop up. A glorious summer in the mountains, the jungles and the villages. The people were welcoming, the climate pleasant, the ruins mysterious.” He smiled, and said, “I was much younger then, only recently commissioned.”

 “Who was she?” Logan asked with a smirk.

 “As I said, I was a lot younger in those days. The last I heard she was a grandmother.” He sighed, then said, “A world that no longer exists, I fear.”

 The truck bounced to a stop, and the two of them rose to their feet with difficulty, footprints squelching in the mud outside. Gaxric pulled back the canvas sheet, and gestured for them to step out; Logan climbed to the ground with care, trying to find some solid surface to stand on, while Singh simply jumped down, water splashing over his boots.

 “We’ve got about a mile to walk from here,” the rebel leader said. “As far as we can work out, no-one has spotted us yet. How long are you going to need to keep that laser set up?”

 “Until the missiles come flying. We’ll have to set up a hidden position, keep well out of sight.” Pulling his jacket closed, he continued, “Preferably with some sort of shelter. It’s getting cold out here.”

 “It’ll be dark soon,” Gaxric said, “and we have rain forecast.”

 “Excellent,” Singh said. “That should keep the guards in their barracks for a while. The less visibility we have, the better it will be.”

 “Better for them to ambush us as well, remember,” Logan said.

 “Are you always this pessimistic?”

 “What do you think they taught me in secret agent school?” Looking at the thin trail cut into the jungle, he said, “Let’s get moving. This is going to be quite a hike.”

 Nodding, Gaxric gestured to a young man holding a rifle, and the two of them started down the track, cautiously moving from step to step, their eyes darting around for potential threats. Logan followed, looking around more with curiosity than fear. He knew enough to watch for loose twigs or anything that might make a noise, but as for anything that might live in this jungle, his imagination was his only guide.

 He glanced back at Singh, who was stalking through the undergrowth as though reliving his past; his old jungle training must have come back to him in a hurry. Logan had never even walked on a world without a spacesuit, not as an adult, and certainly not in combat conditions; he tried to cast his mind back to old, half-remembered novels and movies, trying to remember what the form was.

 On the map, this trip had seemed like a short excursion, a twenty-minute walk. Common sense had warned him that it was likely to take rather longer, but they had barely taken thirty paces when the path made a sharp turn to the right, around a tight thicket of trees.

 If their route was going to be this entangled, it was going to take a lot longer than he had hoped to get through. With a loud crash overhead, rain began to fall, first in thin trickles, then heavier and heavier, running down the back of his neck. He began to shiver as he tried to pull his jacket tighter, but it didn’t seem to be helping.

 The path, never very promising, quickly collapsed into a sea of mud they trudged through, his feet squelching with every step. He didn’t have to worry about loose twigs any longer; instead he tried to conjure up the hot shower he would have when he got back up to Alamo after all of this was over. He shivered again, looking with envy at the stolid Singh, who continued to stride through the undergrowth with purpose.

 “Quiet,” Gaxric said, raising a hand. “I think I hear something.”

 The group froze, slowly kneeling down, and Logan reached for the pistol at his belt. In all of this mirk, he might get away with a single shot if he was lucky. Singh had his gun in his hand, but Gaxric slid a slender blade down his sleeve, the weapon dropping into his hand, held by the blade.

 Up ahead, a shadow was moving in the trees, heading in their direction. Every second they were still was a cold agony, the wet mud beginning to seep through his shoes, his body shaking. He tried to line up a shot, steading the pistol on his arm; no matter that it wasn’t the correct stance, it was the only way he might hit what he was aiming at.

 Gaxric moved first, throwing his blade through the air, a brief glint from a stray sunbeam as it curved towards its target, digging its edge into the target. Logan raced forward to him as the body tipped silently into the mud; the rebel walked forward and retrieved his blade, then pulled a dark vial from a pocket and began to carefully apply it to the knife with a brush, leaving a finger-hold at the end.

 “There’s nothing native to this world that a human can eat,” he said, “but there’s a hell of a lot here that will kill you.” Waving up the vial, he said, “The sap of one of the trees. Brush against it with your skin and you’re a dead man.”

 “Let’s hope he’s the only guard,” Singh replied, hurriedly searching the body. He pulled out a boxy communicator and stuffed it into a pocket, then took the pistol from the guard’s holster; he hadn’t even had time to draw it before he died. “Ready?”

 “Let’s move,” Logan said. Gaxric led the way once again, the three of them carefully stepping over the body; he made sure to mark the location so it could be recovered later, when all of this was over. All the guard had done was be in the wrong place at the wrong time; at the very least they could arrange a decent funeral for him.

 On they trudged, slowly crawling through the jungle as they made their way to their objective. Occasionally Logan caught sight of a better path, a clearer way forward, but Gaxric made sure to avoid it. While he longed to step onto the wooden slats and out of was becoming a mudbath, they had to stay as clear of the patrols as possible.

 Half an hour later, the rebel stopped again, dipping his fingers down into the mud and smearing it over his face; nodding, Singh did likewise, carefully painting a pattern across his cheeks and forehead. They looked over at Logan, gesturing at the path by his feet.

 “Come on. Camouflage,” Singh whispered.

 Logan looked down at his muddy jumpsuit and tried to resist the urge to laugh, but dipped his fingers into the cold, messy ground and started to rub it across his face, keeping his mind on the shower he was earning more and more by the moment.

 Moving cautiously back, Gaxric said, “We’re about a quarter-mile from the refinery. There’s a small rise, but we’re not going to get much of a view from here. How close do you need to be to get your laser lock?”

 “Distance isn't important,” Logan said, “I just need line of sight. I could do it from here if it wasn’t for all these damn trees.” He glanced up, then said, “That’s it. How high is the canopy here?”

 Nodding, Gaxric said, “A good hundred feet, nice and thick. You’d get a great view from up there, even in this weather, and they certainly don’t patrol it.”

 Singh rubbed a hand against the slimy bark and said, “How are you going to climb it?”

 “I’ve got a rope,” Gaxric said, unwinding a coil from around his belt, “but only just long enough.”

 “We’re going to need some pitons, then,” Logan said. “Some way for me to get a foothold.”

 “You’re going up there?” Singh said, frowning. “Have you ever…”

 “I used to go climbing when I was a kid, and you’d be surprised how often that particular skill has come in handy over the years.” He looked at the tree, at the lower branches, and said, “I think I might just be able to pull this off.” Sliding his knife out of his pocket, he switched blades to a hook. “Singh, tell me you got one of these when you duplicated my kit.”

 Nodding, he pulled out his knife, switched it to the same blade as Logan, and said, “I’m not sure it will hold your weight in this gravity, though.”

 “Both of them together should. Keep watch at the bottom. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve set this up.”

 “How?”

 “I’ll drop nuts on your head or something. We’ll work that out later.” Looking up, he said, “I ought to get a much clearer signal through to Alamo as well.”

 Taking the rope over his shoulder, he dug the first of the hooks into the wood, carefully testing his weight on it. He wouldn’t want to be depending on it for long, but it was tough and hard, difficult to get the diamond hook into; this plan might actually work. He tied the rope around himself, testing the knot, then went back to the tree. The second hook went in a little higher, and he pulled himself off the ground, cursing Isaac Newton and anyone who had ever conjured up gravity as his shoulders started to ache.

 Up he climbed, slowly and painfully, making his way up to the first set of branches he thought might support his weight, a good fifteen feet above the ground. Below, Singh and Gaxric were standing, looking up him, urging him on, and he reached across to the thick branch, grabbing on, and almost immediately slipping off, the slime worse up here than down on the ground. He hung on for a second from one hand, the hook making disturbing noises, before swinging back into the trunk, digging his hook in.

 If all of the branches were like that, his original plan to take rest breaks wasn’t going to work. He looked up at the top of the tree, taking a deep breath; it seemed like an eternity away, and a little voice in his head was urging him to make his way back down, to think of something else, but sneaking through all the outer guard patrols could take hours, and lead to a lot more deaths. This way, he’d get the job done, and only risk himself.

 Reaching up again, he dug the hook into the wood, pulling himself up hand over hand, trying to shut everything out except the trunk, the hooks and his hands, pushing with his feet whenever they found something to give him extra grip. Another fifty tugs should see him up to the canopy, and he counted them down, one after another, pulling himself up until his arms were growing exhausted.

 There was a rustling below, but he couldn’t pay any attention to that, had to keep his focus. If anything was going wrong on the ground, there were two good people who would be able to deal with it down there, who could hold anyone off for long enough for him to make his ascent. Not that anyone could likely follow him, anyway; he was doing something very primitive with some very sophisticated kit.

 Twenty to go, and he almost fell again as he misjudged the wood, finding a weak spot that sent splinters flying into the air. With an effort, he tugged himself back, reaching for the wood once again, and continued to climb, onwards and upwards, hand over hand. The wind was growing fearsome, chilling him to the bone and sending him shivering once again. Then he saw something that made the climb worthwhile, as he broke through the thick leaves of the canopy and reached the top.

 It was as if he could see the whole world, an unbroken landscape of black leaves in every direction, broken only by the lapping green sea in the distance. Two moons were in the sky as the sun began to set, boiling away into the horizon while he watched, and he had to pause for a moment to breathe, and to absorb the view. There was no way to tell what was happening below, but that didn’t matter. Everything he needed was up here.

 He untied the rope from his belt, securing it to the tree, tugging at it with all his weight; up here, the slime was barely present, easy to scrape away with a few hacks from his knife. Looking across at the sea again, he could see the complex ahead; two more step-pyramids next to each other, sending plumes of steam and smoke rising into the sky. Gaxric had briefed him carefully which was which, and he set up his laser pointer to target the top of drug manufacturing plant, throwing the link-up to Alamo.

 Pulling out his datapad, he linked up with the targeting computer in orbit, setting up a direct link with the feed, and smiled. At some point in the near future, a series of missiles would swoop down like avenging angels and wipe out the biggest problem this planet faced.

 “Logan to Alamo,” he said into his communicator. “Do you copy?”

 “Nelyubov here,” an unfamiliar voice replied. “We’ve got the telemetry feed now, Captain. Just leave it set up, and our birds will get the target you want.”

 “Will do. I’ve got to camouflage it now; squawk if you get any interruption in signal. Out.”

 He nestled the pointer amid a pile of leaves, smearing some of the ubiquitous mud over it, and tweaked a few twigs to hold it in position. After a moment, he was having difficulty working out where it was, and with any luck, no-one coming up here would be able to find it. He paused for a second, then placed his datapad in plain sight at the top of the tree, nestling it amid a few leaves, setting up the signal booster to strengthen the laser.

 Satisfied with his work, he replaced his communicator in his pocket, snapped the blades of his knives into position and tucked the in the secret pockets of his jumpsuit, then tugged the rope once more to make sure it would support him. He pulled a pair of gloves out of his pocket and slid them on, struggling over the numb fingers.

 With one last, regretful look, he dipped down out of the canopy, dropping down the rope a few feet at a time, kicking off against the trunk as he descended. There was no noise from below, no sound at all other than the thud of his boots against the tree, over and over. When he reached the bottom, he swung the rope up as high as he could, tangling it in the branches to stop anyone follow him, then heard a loud click from behind.

 He lifted his hands slower to the air, and turned to see a woman holding a rifle pointed at him, muttering something under her breath. Over in the shadows, Singh and Gaxric were standing, also trapped; the woman gestured one of the other guards to climb up the tree, untangling the rope and pulling himself up. Logan looked after him, and smiled when he returned a few moments later, clutching his datapad.

 The woman waved it in his face, shouting something he couldn’t understand; when she gestured towards the main trial with her rifle, he understood that quite clearly, and made his way over, walking in step with Singh and Gaxric.

 “They’ve got the datapad,” Gaxric said, sighing. “Now what?”

 “I’m sure that our friends will be able to get their strike information from somewhere,” he replied. “I just hope that the cells on this planet have hot showers.”

 “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Singh replied. 

 Glancing at his watch, Logan said, “Never mind. With a little luck, all of this will be over in a few hours. It might be time to do a little praying.”

 “For what?”

 “That the guard house isn’t attached to the drug processing plant.”

Chapter 22

 Orlova glanced up at the clock on the shuttle, counting seconds, and running through the timeline of Logan’s commando raid on the surface. If something went wrong with his mission, hers was going to become extremely difficult in a very short time. Shaking her head, she glanced down at the scanner; her shuttle was in the firing arcs of a dozen extremely jumpy ships, and she doubted the ability of her equipment to counteract most of them.

 “Don’t worry, Maggie, we can hold them,” Harper said, typing furiously into the countermeasures station over the co-pilot’s seat, text dribbling down her display.

 “That you are still writing code doesn’t fill me with confidence,” she replied.

 “No great work of art is ever finished,” the hacker replied. “I’m pretty sure I can knock some of them down. We can feed data at them a lot faster than they can process it. Hell, I should have thought of it before.”

 “Will it work?” Orlova asked, frowning.

 “Probably. Let’s just hope we don’t get a chance to find out.” Glancing across at another panel, she said, “Big Chief’s calling.”

 Pulling a headset on, Orlova said, “Orlova to Alamo Actual.”

 “Maggie, I’ve just finished settling matters with Tolxac. He’s agreed to come on board as tactical liaison, which means that your insertion is go. Make this quick and easy – grab him and get home as fast as you can. I want you up on the bridge and I need Cooper’s assault team back in one piece. Understood?”

 “Yes, sir. Any word from the surface?”

 She could almost hear him frowning as he replied, “Not yet. We’re still listening, but the laser targeter is set and working for the surprise package.”

 “Let’s hope that’s good news.”

 “We’ll be waiting for you to give us some more. Alamo out.”

 Tapping another control, Orlova said, “Cooper, are you all set back there?”

 “Ready as we’ll ever me, Lieutenant,” he replied. “How are we doing this?”

 “The easy way at the moment. Forrest and Talbert to accompany me in, the rest of you with weapons hot and ready, just in case. Don’t come in unless I give the signal, though. Right now we’re on a diplomatic mission and it would be nice to keep it that way.”

 “I’ve been reading up my textbooks, Lieutenant,” Cooper said. “Turns out war is the extension of diplomacy by other means.”

 “That’s politics, Ensign,” she replied. “And I think we’re going to be extending it a hell of a lot if this goes wrong. Three minutes to docking.”

 She checked the autopilot again, tracking it on course to Guardian Station, and then started work on the return course, programming a course notable simply for speed. No measures to preserve fuel, no graceful maneuvering, just a brute-force high-acceleration return to Alamo. Up in its higher orbit, the ship was at battle stations, ready just in case Haven’s forces decided to try anything before they were quite ready.

 A series of lights flashed up, and the shuttle moved into position by the airlock. Unclipping her restraints, she drifted back into the passenger cabin while Harper watched, surprised.

 “I guess I have the controls,” she said.

 “Don’t touch anything,” she replied. “If in doubt, lock controls over to Alamo and one of the pilots can get you home.”

 “How hard can it be?”

 “Keep talking like that and I’ll let you find out the hard way.”

 In the rear compartment, the Espatiers were waiting for her. Two of them, Forrest and Talbert, were wearing their full dress uniforms, while the remainder were wearing their combat fatigues, crouching out of sight at the back of the cabin. She could explain away two guards as a normal escort, but a full squad would have been rather too much.

 The door cranked open, and a trio of men were waiting on the other side, weapons slung over their shoulders. One of them gestured into the module, and she smiled, following them in. This could easily be a trap, but there hadn’t been much choice but to risk springing it. At all cost, they had to get a senior figure in the government of Haven on Alamo, and Tolxac was by far the most accessible – with the advantage that he spoke English.

 She drifted through the now-familiar module, the two guards at her back, allowing herself to be guided past the crowds. Last time, they had ignored her, but this time, there was an obvious undertone of hostility, and one she couldn’t wonder it. Because of her actions, all of them had been put at risk.

 The group drifted through the hatch, and Tolxac floated on the other side, his arms crossed, a stern expression on his face. He waved his guards to disperse, and they drifted away into corner; Orlova noted that they were positioned for a field of fire that would cover her, Forrest and Talbert nicely.

 “What did you think you were doing on that spacecraft?” he said, shaking his head.

 “We asked – several times – for access, and you refused it…,” she began.

 “So you just decided to help yourselves?” he interrupted.

 Locking his eyes, she said, “We have captured people in that Enemy fleet, Tolxac, people we are going to get back. If that means taking hostages, then we’ll do it, if it means a prisoner exchange before the battle, then that’s fine with me as well.”

 “Our people…”

 “So far, Tolxac, you haven’t exactly been open and honest with us, have you?” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Do you want this war to be over? Do you? Because if so, you’re going to need our help to pull it off. You have volunteered to come over to Alamo to help co-ordinate the battle, but if we’re going to be exchanging insults instead, I’ll just go. We both have more important things to be doing.”

 “No more surprises,” he said, pointing at her. “If our need wasn’t so great, I’d take great pleasure in throwing the three of you out of the nearest airlock.” One of his aides was waving at him, and he said, “One moment. I’ll go and deal with this, then come with you.”

 The aide muttered something at him, and Tolxac nodded, his eyes widening. Orlova didn’t need a translation to know what was coming next. Logan had been caught, and there was about to be a rather nasty firefight. She glanced around the room, hoping that the bulkheads were bulletproof, and reached down to her side, tapping a pulse signal back to the shuttle, alerting Cooper to be ready to move.

 Much to her surprise, Tolxac drifted forward, and said, “I think we’re ready now. Just a few last minute bits and pieces. Let me assure you that you are about to see the most impressive space fleet in existence operating at its full potential.”

 “I’m sure of the skill of your people,” Orlova said, looking around. “They’ve had far too much experience, I fear. As have ours.”

 Still surprised that bullets weren’t flying all over the place, she pushed back into the entry module, Tolxac following her with a briefcase clutched in his hand, the two Espatiers taking up the rear. She looked around, and caught a quick glimpse of metal in the hands of one of the crowd, and managed to suppress a reaction. It was a trap, just a clever one. Unfortunately for them, she had no intention of simply allowing it to be sprung, and tapped twice on her communicator.

 In less than a minute, she saw movement around the airlock, and she reached down into her belt for her pistol, spinning around in the air to cover Tolxac. His expression harbored no surprise, only resentment.

 “Keep moving,” she said. “You’re coming with us.” All around, weapons appeared in the hands of the technicians, moving to cover the four of them, and she looked Tolxac in the eyes, saying, “No one has to die today. If we open up, most of the people in this module will be casualties.”

 “Including you and your men,” he replied.

 “Suppose we start working out who would lose most out of that exchange.”

 He looked around, shook his head, and complied, the rest of the guards keeping their gaze fixed on the slowly moving party in the center of the module, gently drifting down the axis. Forrest and Talbert had their guns out, pointing from one target to another, ready to sell their lives as expensively as possible should it be needed.

 Her communicator chirped, and keeping her attention focused on Tolxac, she pulled it out of her pocket and said, “Orlova here.”

 “They’ve got Logan,” Marshall’s voice said. “Just got the word from the surface. Have you got the package?”

 “We’ll be aboard the shuttle in sixty seconds.”

 “Alamo’s on the way to get you, missiles hot. You’ve got a lot of ships heading your way.”

 “I guess we get to see how good Harper is, then. Orlova out.”

 As they moved into the airlock, Tolxac said, “This won’t do you any good. Taking me as a hostage isn’t going to help a damn thing, and we both know it. They won’t hold their fire to protect me.”

 “We aren’t taking you hostage,” she said. “We want you for the purposes of tactical co-ordination, just as I said. We still want to bring this damn war to an end.”

 “I will not talk under interrogation. I will die first.”

 “Stop parroting slogans,” she snapped. “Forrest, take him to the passenger compartment and sit on him. Make sure to search him for weapons, and be thorough.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, as Cooper’s force slowly ducked back into the shuttle, the young officer the last man through the airlock, pointing his pistol dangerously around as the crowd seemed to close in towards him.

 “We’re all in, Maggie,” he said, and she hastily dived forwards into the cabin. Harper was busily throwing switches, still furiously typing, and the heads-up display flashed up a series of projected targeting solutions.

 “Hit the explosive bolts,” she said, tapping in a sequence of commands. “And get ready to see if those countermeasures work.”

 She didn’t think for a moment that the controllers on the station would simply give her permission to launch; there didn’t seem to be any point even in asking, and with a worryingly loud bang, the shuttle ripped itself clear of the hull, Quinn’s prepared charges doing their job. She looked across at the station, and while there was a substantial gouge, there was no sign of an atmosphere leak.

 The main engines fired, throwing her back in her seat, and immediately alarms began to sound as threat warnings flashed up on the display. Within a few seconds of them launching, five missiles were in the air; evidently Tolxac was quite correct about the value the fleet placed on his life.

 “Start hacking!” she yelled, and Harper turned with a grin.

 “I don’t need any orders for that!”

 Orlova’s hands danced across the controls, inputting updates to the flight program as the shuttle raced for its target. Up ahead, Alamo was on the move, building up speed as it swooped down to get her before pulling away from the planet; she glanced down at the black and green world, cursing that she’d missed out on a chance to go down, and then looked back up at the display.

 Another six missiles were in the air, but this batch was friendly, Alamo launching an escort to protect the shuttle. So far, no-one had opted to shoot at the battlecruiser, but whether that was because no-one had thought of it yet or their intentions were only targeted at the shuttle, Orlova couldn’t say.

 “Energy spike!” Harper yelled. “Thirteen...no, sixteen incoming missiles, heading right for us.”

 “That’s going to overwhelm Alamo’s missile screen. Better get working.”

 “What do you think I’ve been doing?” the hacker yelled back, turning to her station.

 Orlova rested her fingers on the controls, watching the missiles inexorably curve in towards the shuttle. Compared to Triplanetary missiles, they were slow, sluggish to turn, but they were still catching up. Two minutes to impact. She threw the control switches on the physical countermeasures, but she knew that it was just for form’s sake, that it would make little difference. One or two she might be able to deal with, but they were coming in waves now.

 She looked across at Harper, feeling a tinge of regret for bringing her along on this mission. The young hacker had volunteered, but she could have left her behind. At least she was working until the last, even if she hadn’t been able to pull a last-minute magic trick out of her hat this time. A series of terribly final warning alarms began to sound, and she looked across to the sensor display.

 “More energy spikes,” Harper said, shaking her head. “Another twenty-one.”

 Orlova looked up, frowned, then smiled, saying, “They’re going for the missiles, not for us!”

 “Alamo…”

 Throwing a series of switches, she widened the field of the sensor display, revealing dozens more ships coming in; the Seeker fleet had arrived, and someone had managed to convince them to give the shuttle some covering fire.

 The communicator crackled, and Marshall’s voice said, “You can relax now, Maggie. You should be clear all the way home.”

 “Haven’s ships are falling back, moving into a defensive posture,” Harper said.

 “What about the Seeker ships? Are they pressing the attack?” 

 “No, not yet. They’re only going for the missiles that were targeted as us.”

 “A Mexican standoff,” she replied. “Each side’s waiting for the other to make the first move, hoping that they can beat the other to the draw.”

 “Draw?”

 “Didn’t you ever watch any Westerns when you were a kid?” Glancing up at a monitor, she said, “Docking in ninety seconds.”

 All around the shuttle, missiles were fighting silent duels to the death, wiping each other out in flashing pyrotechnic displays, and up ahead, the slender form of Alamo was waiting, slowly curving its trajectory in order to come into position between the two fleets. The docking computer, unaware of all that had taken place in the last few moments, silently guided the shuttle into the cradle, and with a jerk, the elevator airlock began to draw them home.

 A series of green lights ran across the heads-up display as Orlova undid her straps, heading back into the passenger compartment, where a resentful Tolxac sat, glaring at her.

 “If you would come with me, please? Captain Marshall requests your presence on the bridge.”

 “Do I have a choice?” he asked, sullenly.

 “Everyone has a choice. If you make the wrong one, you’ll be picking mass suicide for you and your people. I’d suggest you come with me.”

Chapter 23

 The elevator doors slid open, and Marshall watched Orlova step out onto the bridge, followed by a reluctant Tolxac; Forrest stepped out last, and stood at parade rest by the door, a rifle nestled in his hands. Normally, he would be reluctant to allow any firearms up on the command deck, but with two warring factions meeting up there, he couldn’t take any chances.

 As soon as the man’s eyes saw the figure of Kolzak in the corner, struggling to stand in the gravity, his face reddened and he took two steps towards her, before rounding on Marshall with a snarl.

 “What in the Seven Hells is she doing here?”

 “I wanted you both around to hear this,” Logan said. “Weitzman, put me through to both fleets, please. And the planet. I want everyone with a transmitter to hear what I am saying loud and clear.”

 “Aye, sir,” the communications technician replied. “You’re on, Captain.”

 “This is Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall. As commander of the most powerful force in this system, I am imposing a ceasefire on both parties in this pointless war. Any attempt to launch missiles or deploy any weapons systems will be met with deadly force.”

 Tolxac stared at him, and said, “You cannot be serious.”

 “I am totally serious. I’m bringing this war to an end, before anyone else is killed.”

 “We’re fighting to defend our planet. You, on the other hand, are dealing with anti-government insurgent forces, launching commando raids against us, and…”

 “While you and your people were directly responsible for the deaths of everyone on the Dumont. We know the whole story now. Including your attempts to steal our technology.”

 “We’re at war, Captain, and we’re fighting to win. That is all the excuse we need. We were attacked, and are only attempting to defend ourselves against genocide.”

 “Liar!” the green-skinned woman in the corner shouted. “We came in peace to the world our ancestors had claimed, and only wanted to share it with you. It was your forces that attacked us without warning, slaughtering women and children.”

 “We fought off invaders,” Tolxac said. “And we will fight to the last to defend ourselves from any aggression, wherever it comes from. Whether aliens or your Triplanetary Confederation, Captain, you will find us worthy adversaries.”

 Marshall stood up and strode towards Tolxac, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him to face his erstwhile captive.

 “She is not a damned alien!” he yelled. “She’s as human as you are, as I am. For God’s sake, you came from the same homeworld. You’re the same people. All of this was for nothing!”

 “It is a great joke,” the woman said. “The genetic evidence is conclusive, though, and I accept and believe it. We have been fighting ourselves, all these centuries.”

 “We live on Haven, and we are obliged to defend it,” Tolxac said, but his voice was weakening. “Everything we have done is in the best interests of our people.”

 “Including keeping them in drug-induced stupor? How does that help?” Orlova said.

 “Better drugged than dead,” Tolxac replied.

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli said from the sensor station. “One missile, launched by Haven frigate, bearing directly.”

 “Deadeye, get rid of it,” Marshall said.

 Caine turned to her station, typed in a series of commands, and the helmsman slowly pivoted to ship to line up a sighting shot. A brief laser pulse obliterated the missile from the sky, leaving nothing but a cloud of expanding debris.

 “Target eliminated, laser recharging now,” she said.

 “Marshall to both fleets. Any further attacks will be met in the same way.”

 “We’re being hailed, sir. The Seeker fleet. In English, Captain,” Weitzman reported.

 An image appeared on the screen, a taller man with a gray cast to his skin, otherwise identical to the woman at the rear of the bridge. He looked across at her, locking eyes for a second before turning his attention on Marshall.

 “We have received the information you have sent us, and accept the truth of the data. As a result, we are willing to discuss terms for a ceasefire that would bring about an end to the war.”

 “Under what terms?” Marshall asked

 “The Seekers will retain space superiority, as well as being granted permission to settle on the surface in colonies of our own. We are willing to agree to terms that will see us granted colonization rights in lands untouched by the Thieves.” With a gleaming smile, he added, “If these terms are agreed, we will return your people to you, and request admission to your Triplanetary Confederation.”

 Cunningham whistled, and said, “That’s one hell of an offer, Danny.”

 “We will never cede space superiority to the Enemy!” Tolxac said. “We would rather die fighting!”

 “I am asking for nothing we do not already possess,” the figure on the screen replied. “If you cede control of orbital space to us, all it will spare is the lives of crewmen on both sides. We will win the battle that is to come, and you know it.”

 “You are asking my people to settle for reservations on our own planet! I cannot do that, and I will not do that.”

 “Energy spike, sir. From four of the Seeker ships.”

 Marshall said, “What is this?”

 “Our first salvo is in the air, but will remain at station-keeping for the present. I simply do not wish to cede an advantage should the worst happen, Captain.”

 Weitzman nodded, and said, “They’re holding position four and a half kilometers from their ships, sir. I now have another five energy spikes from Seeker vessels, all following the same pattern. Right now, they’re just sitting there.”

 Turning to Marshall, Tolxac said, “We have two of your people on the surface, Captain. I will release them, all charges dropped, if you side with us against the Enemy.”

 Laughing, Kolzak said, “We have seven of his. Any game of hostages is going to reflect poorly on you. Nor do we threaten to execute them if we do not get what we want.”

 “Then our own terms, Captain, as agreed by the Council. We retain control of orbital space, and the...Seekers...can keep control of the other bodies of the system. I am authorized to relinquish all of our rights to those.”

 “Meaningless!” the man on the screen barked. “You will soon have the secrets of the faster-than-light drive. You would trade a collection of barren rocks for the paradise you have stolen from us?”

 “Energy spikes from the Haven vessels, sir, twelve of them. They’re matching the configurations of the Seekers vessels, just moving into station-keeping.”

 Caine looked at Marshall, and he looked back, trying to seem impassive. There were enough missiles in the air now that Alamo would be hard-pressed to knock them down; at any second this could collapse into a shooting war.

 Tolxac walked across to Marshall, and said, “You have yet to respond to my offer.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “This isn’t for me to decide. The two of you have got to come to some sort of terms, and something that you can both live with.”

 The man on the screen said, “I believe we have made a generous offer. We are offering to share the world that is ours by right.”

 “What are these rights?” Cunningham asked. “Thousands of years ago, your mutual ancestors found this planet, sent out probes to explore it, and both of your ships set out to settle it. One beat the other, but both were feats that are the stuff legends are made of. Can’t you be proud of what your ancestors did, and try to honor them?” Gesturing at the screen, he replied, “This honors no-one.”

 “The Council will not yield.” Tolxac looked at his watch, and said, “I do not believe that you will sit by and watch genocide take place, Captain Marshall. Our attack will begin in six of your minutes.” He walked over to the back of the bridge, arms folded, as though daring someone to challenge him.

 “Then we must have war,” the figure on the screen replied. “Perhaps it is our destiny to wipe each other out. My fleet will not fire first, but we will end this war, once and for all. Captain, I see no reason for your ship to be a part of what must be. I offer you safe conduct to the point of gravitational stability, and will dispatch your people to that location.”

 Looking up, Marshall said, “Thank you for your offer, but Tolxac is quite correct. I’m not going to sit back and watch millions of people be killed, not when there is something I can do about it. Deadeye, do we still have that target lock?”

 She looked up at him, and said, “We do, sir.”

 “And the location of Captain Winter and Colonel Singh?”

 “Unknown.”

 Taking a deep breath, Marshall said, “Execute surface bombardment.”

 “What!” Tolxac said. “You would destroy our cities to save yourselves? What sort of barbarians are you?”

 Alamo rocked as a specially-adapted missile leapt from its tubes, curving down towards the planet. Immediately, the tactical board lit up as Haven’s deployed missiles turned to try and catch it, to intercept it before it reached the atmosphere, and Caine started to work, setting up firing solutions for the laser cannon to guide it home.

 “Standing by on salvo, Danny.”

 “Fire at your discretion,” Marshall replied, turning to Tolxac, who was being handed a headset. “You have a channel to Guardian Station. In five minutes, you must have your drug manufacturing plant evacuated.”

 “I have Captain Winter, sir,” Weitzman said.

 The laconic voice of the intelligence agent immediately came over the loudspeakers, saying, “I presume you’ve just launched the missile. Everyone down here is panicking.”

 “Are you on site?”

 “We’re on the perimeter. Toss of a coin, but I knew that going in. Worry about that ship of yours up there.” There was a pause, and he said, “I’m supposed to tell you that if you don’t abort the missile, we will be killed. Don't let that stop you, though.”

 The line was cut, and Marshall turned to Tolxac, saying, “I would suggest that you recommend a strategy that doesn’t involve taking hostages.” He pointed at the display, and continued, “I assure you that no power in this system will stop that missile hitting home.”

 “Energy spikes! Everywhere!” Spinelli said. “Haven forces launching. At us. I’m getting forty, no, forty-three incoming missile tracks.”

 “My government may only have a little life in it, Captain, but we are able to wreck havoc on you before we go down.”

 “You’re wide open to the Seekers,” Cunningham said.

 “Seeker forces are moving in, sir,” Spinelli said. “All on attack vectors.”

 “Damn it,” Marshall replied. “Bradley, get onto random walk. Orlova, see if Harper has made any progress with a new countermeasures package. Deadeye, do what you have to do to keep anything off us, but prioritize that missile hitting home.”

 “Aye, sir,” Caine said, working her console as Bradley began to send the ship flying on series of rapidly changing courses, trying to cause as much trouble as possible to the enemy ships. Marshall looked at the tactical display, watching the ships move in; Haven’s vessels were swinging down to the attack, the Seeker ships moving in underneath them. The final battle had begun, despite everything he had hoped for, and his crew was caught right in the middle of it.

 “Energy spikes across the Seeker fleet, sir.” Shaking his head, Spinelli said, “We now have ninety-seven missiles in the air, including our own. Even for us I think that’s a record. First missiles will impact in one hundred and forty-one seconds.”

 Leaning down beside him, Cunningham said, “I hate to suggest this, but it might be time to think about getting to the escape pods. Unless you’ve got lax lately, we could get the crew off in ninety seconds.”

 Looking up, Marshall said, “That gives us fifty seconds for a miracle.”

 “I think they’re in short supply at the moment.”

 “Seeker ships are still closing, sir. Projections show them heading full-on for Haven’s fleet. Their vessels are continuing on course for us,” Spinelli said. “We’re up to a hundred and two missiles now.”

 “Concentrate on getting that missile through their defenses, Deadeye,” Marshall replied, an air of resignation in his voice. “We might as well make sure that our parting shot hits home.”

 “It isn’t too late, Captain,” Tolxac said. “Pull back your missile, and we can get back to fighting our real enemy.” Looking at the display, he said, “My forces still have the ability to turn the tide of this battle.”

 “Your forces? What about the Council?” Cunningham said.

 “I speak for them. They will settle for nothing less than victory. Such has been made clear many times in the past. I do not intend to betray my people.”

 “You aren’t betraying them, you are saving them!” Marshall said.

 “Captain!” Spinelli said. “The Seeker missiles, they are curving towards the enemy warheads. We’re getting course changes again, and I think they are pulling into formation with us.” He looked up at Marshall, a smile spreading across his face, and said, “They’re taking the hits for us.”

 “Get the Seeker commander back again, Weitzman,” Marshall yelled, as Tolxac turned pale.

 “You have allied with our Enemy,” he said.

 The gray figure appeared again, turning off-screen for a moment before saying, “Our terms still say the same. Our opponents have proven they cannot be trusted, but so be it. We have a new proposal. Both of us will link with treaty to the Triplanetary Confederation. That way a third power will dominate the skies, until we can learn to live together.” He smiled, and said, “I am willing to take a chance for peace.”

 Turning to Tolxac, Marshall said, “Your Council is going to cease to be a factor in this decision in a matter of moments. You need to decide what is best for your people, both on the planet and in space. Do you really want them to die for a doomed cause?”

 “What did you do, in your Interplanetary War?” he replied. “Didn’t you fight and die to the last man, to try to save your people from tyranny?”

 “That’s exactly the point,” Cunningham said. “To free our people, not to ensure their continuing enslavement. What the hell are you fighting for, Tolxac? The right to continue the war? To see your people wiped out?”

 “We will win in a battle,” the figure on the screen said. “We are willing to demonstrate mercy to our lost ancestors. My people will resent it, but in time, they will understand it.”

 Spinelli said, “Three of the Haven ships are turning away, Captain. I think they’re heading for low orbit, out of the combat area.”

 “Even your own commanders have decided it is time to end this war,” Marshall said.

 “The Council…”

 “Missile is in atmosphere,” Caine said. “Terminal trajectory, impact in two minutes and ten seconds. Perfect entry profile.”

 “You’ve got to make the decision, Tolxac. Make it a good one.”

 A tear welled up in the man’s eye as he adjusted the headset, then said, “I will require you to guarantee the safety of my fleet.” Looking down, he said, “I know you won’t save my people on the surface.”

 “We’ll give that guarantee,” Marshall said.

 The man on the screen said, “I swear by my Holy Ancestors that I will not attack your people, unless you fire on us first.”

 Tolxac started to speak into his microphone, and all at once more than half the missiles disappeared, the remainder lingering for a few seconds as if wondering where their counterparts had gone, before themselves vanishing. All that remained was a single, curving track, heading down towards the planet.

 “All missiles gone, sir,” Caine said.

 “Shuttle on its way from one of the Seeker ships, Captain,” Spinelli said.

 “The Dumont crewmen,” Kolzak said. “They will be on board in moments.”

 Marshall hardly heard her, looking out at the planet below. The war was over, but down on the surface, the last battle had yet to be fought.

Chapter 24

 The guards in the bunker had rapidly switched from being hostile to rather too friendly for Logan’s comfort as they hustled the captured trio into a lower level. Sirens and klaxons were sounding everywhere, torrents of noise drowning out all thought. He had no way of knowing when the missile had been fired, but it certainly wouldn’t take long to rip through the atmosphere to its target.

 Singh was just behind him, Gaxric ahead, and they forged a path down the stairs to a drab, brown and black basement that had definitely not been painted to promote morale. A couple of dozen people were sitting on wooden stools or cross-legged on the floor, the scene illuminated by a dull green light that basked over them. The room was sparsely furnished, just the stools, a broken clock, and a whiteboard on the wall covered in gibberish.

 Logan opted to stand in the middle of the room, trying to keep clear of the crowds. Without any way to contact Alamo – which in any case seemed to be having problems of its own at the moment – he felt helpless, but everything that was about to happen was his doing. He looked around at the eyes of the workmen, most of them alert and fully aware of what was happening, only a few in the corner who had been carefully shepherded down by their colleagues.

 Another group bustled down the stairs, one of them wearing the armband that indicated that the wearer understood English. Logan headed over to him, and was met with a sharp scowl in return. 

 “You were the one who has brought this down upon us.”

 “I’ve changed the rules of the game,” he replied. “Consider it payment for the lives this plant has destroyed over the years.”

 Pointing up at the ceiling, the man said, “Up there, dozens of my friends are going to die at your hands. I almost hope this shelter collapses if it will take you with it.”

 “Why save us at all, then?” Singh asked.

 “Orders from the Commander in orbit. You are to be dealt with after impact. Assuming any of us survive this. Why did you come here? Why?”

 “If they hadn’t,” Gaxric said, “by now our cities would be in ruins, destroyed by the Enemy. We’ve been spared destruction, and freed, on the same day.”

 “You expect me to sing your praises and march behind your banner to glory, perhaps,” the man said. “If I had my way you would be dead. Your places taken by those who can use them. Do you think I was anything up there? I was a storage supervisor. My work crews…” He shook his head, and said, “What’s the point. We’ve probably only got minutes left to live.”

 “There is every point,” Singh replied. “Tomorrow will be another day, and your civilization is going to change whether you like it or not, if only because the war is over, forever. How many people died each time you fought a battle in orbit? Now all of that is ended.”

 “It’s time to bury our dead,” Gaxric added. “Time to try and return to what we had before they came, if we can. Or would you rather make a last stand to hold on to the Council’s tyranny.”

 “What are you going to replace it with? Most of the people you are freeing wouldn’t know the first thing about the freedoms you are going to foist on them. You’ll turn into a tyrant yourself, not a great savior.” He smiled, and said, “That’s what all of this is really about, isn’t it.”

 Singh looked across at Logan, and said, “All this is about is saving lives. And perhaps saving souls, as well. How many have been stunted by the drugs you have produced?”

 “We kept our civilization alive…”

 “At the cost of ruining everything that made it worth defending. If this is the price of your war, is it worth paying?”

 Overhead, there was a loud boom, loud enough to echo throughout the chamber, followed by the sound of a crashing slam, a door being thrown into place by someone doomed to remain on the other side. Logan counted seconds in his head, and only reached six before the whole world seemed to tumble, a roaring explosion above that went on, and on, and on, growing in intensity as the missile did its deadly jump.

 As the explosion died, he could hear the screams and cries of terrified people huddled around, dust crumbling down from the roof, pieces of debris coming in, and a huge, jagged crack appearing on the ceiling. Finally, all was silent, broken by the occasional sob and a worrying grinding noise coming from above; Logan could almost see the crack expanding as he watched.

 “That’s going to come down. We’ve got to get these people out of here.”

 “There could be a firestorm up there,” Gaxric protested.

 “Unless that hatch is pressure-sealed, we’d all be dead already if there was. Everyone down here will be dead anyway unless we get them topside.” Logan looked up, a stream of people sprawled across the stairs, the last entrants to the bunker before the impact desperately seeking safety. The air smelled of dust, blood and sweat, and he could already see the casualties mounting as he watched.

 With a glance back at Singh, he made his way up the stairs, piecing his way from step to step as he tried to avoid hurting any of the wounded lying in the dark; he was about half way when the lights went out, sending him stumbling forward. With a muttered Russian curse, he pulled his way back to his feet and resumed his climb, fumbling his way up as Singh tried to get the trapped people together.

 Behind him, the man who had argued with him earlier was pushing his way upstairs, careful to follow the trail that Logan had established, and the two of them reached the door at the same time. A faint blue light started to come on from points in the wall, emergency lighting, but he could see it dimming; it wasn’t going to last for long.

 The door was a solid piece of metal, a huge dent in the middle, the handle twisted and bent. He looked up at it and smiled; there was nothing particularly special about it, no blast seal, nothing. There were even hinges on the door, on this side.

 “We used to use this room for storage,” the man volunteered. “Most of these bunkers were built years ago, and there was never any money to upgrade them.”

 “That could end up saving our lives today,” Logan replied in the gathering gloom. He tugged at the handle, but it refused to turn. A harder pull moved it by an inch, and he glanced at his debating partner, who placed his hands by his. The two of them pulled it up and down, gaining a little ground each time, as alarming sounds of creaking came from the bottom of the stairs.

 “Hurry up, Logan!” Singh’s voice called. “I don’t think it’s going to hold for much longer.”

 “Nearly there,” he grunted in reply, his hands covered in rust and damp as they pulled the handle harder and harder. Finally it dropped down into place, and he pushed at the door; it was stuck fast, and he shook his head.

 “Looks like a rockfall on the other side,” Logan said. “It must be holding the door closed.”

 The man looked at him, panic creeping across his face, and said, “If that door gives, it’ll take out everyone on the stairs.”

 The creaking continued, and Logan replied, “We haven’t got a choice. I need a screwdriver, and I need everyone to get clear of the stairs and leave a space at the bottom. Everyone flat against the wall, that understood?”

 “What are you going to do?”

 “Something incredibly stupid that with luck will save all our lives. Get moving.”

 The man reached into a box on the wall, pulled out a strange-shaped screwdriver, and passed it carefully to Logan. He turned, and started to encourage people down the stairs, the unwounded helping the wounded, while Logan turned to the hinges. They were already in danger of giving from the pressure on them; there could easily be a ton of rubble above. Or a hundred tons.

 Singh yelled, “What’s going on?”

 “I’m making an emergency exit. Hurry up!” he replied, placing the screwdriver in the first hinge. The trick was to weaken them enough that when they went, they would go all at once, and preferably in such a way that the door would only swing rather than collapsing altogether. He was taking an extraordinary risk, but he had no compelling eagerness to commit suicide.

 As the staircase cleared, he worked on the first screw, fumbling with the rusty metal as he struggled to turn it. Five full turns, then a sixth, and it was coming loose; he moved down to the next screw, and repeated. By the time he was on the fifth, and the bottom hinge, he couldn’t see anyone on the stairs, but visibility had fallen to the point that he could hardly see his hand in front of his face.

 “All clear!” a voice yelled. “The roof’s beginning to go!”

 He tried to focus on his job, desperate not to rush. The final screw turned, and the door seemed to jolt forward, but didn’t go. Shaking his head, he started again, this time working his way down from the second screw to the seventh, leaving the top ones in the hope that they would control the release a little. By the time he reached the fifth screw, the door was making alarming noises, and it only required a quick turn of the sixth screw before the metal finally gave, and with a crack, the door burst open.

 In the split-second he had, Logan moved to the far side, and as he hoped, the door bent rather than simply breaking, forming a barrier between him and the avalanche. Rocks rang against the door, roaring down the stairs with a cloud of dust sweeping out, shards of sharp stone rattled down on him, tearing his cheeks and sending blood running down his forehead. He coughed and spluttered as the dust seeped into his lungs, the occasional loud scream coming from below.

 After what seemed like a thousand years, the noise began to abate, and as the dust slowly cleared, he could see daylight up ahead. Sliding out from behind the door, he could see a gap leading down to the basement, the first few brave souls climbing up over the rubble. Waving at them, he scrambled up the rockslide – which fortunately seemed to have been about the ton he had estimated – and pulled himself up the remains of the stairs, after a few moments reaching the surface.

 The sight which met his eyes was a landscape of devastation. To the right, the pyramid that had been the missile’s target was shattered and crumbled; nothing could have survived inside. Outside, a few people were beginning to struggle about, the beginnings of an aid station being established, and he waved to attract their attention as behind him, the first of the wounded were brought up to the surface.

 The man who had argued with him was one of the first to arrive, carrying a woman in a fireman’s lift; he placed her carefully to the ground and walked over to him, shaking his head.

 “I don’t understand.”

 “What?”

 “You are the one who brought all this down on us, but you risked your life to save us.”

 With a painful shrug, Logan replied, “No man should be responsible for the sins of his leaders. Sometimes the cost of doing the right thing is people’s lives, but I don’t like to spend any more of that particular currency than I have to.”

 Up above, there was another sonic boom, and Logan flinched for a moment, wondering if Alamo had decided to try a follow-up shot. He smiled as he made out a winged dot on the horizon, rapidly growing as it swooped towards them.

 “And that, my friend, is demonstration that the rest of my people feel the same way.”

 He looked up, waving his hands again to attract attention, as Alamo’s shuttle began its final approach.

Chapter 25

 Marshall sat behind the desk in his office, skimming over the report on the datapad. In front of him, Duquesne stood, tapping her foot on the floor, next to Cunningham, who was glancing across at the doctor with a smile on his face.

 “So we can transfer the last of the patients back down to Haven this watch.”

 “We’ve done our miracles, Captain,” she snapped in reply. “Time for those primitive bastards down there to finish the clean-up.” Shaking her head, she said, “Didn’t it ever occur to you that it’s inefficient to bomb someone back to the Stone Age and then offer to clean up the mess for them?”

 “Did we have a choice, Doctor?”

 “I’m just getting a little tired of having to clean up one more mess, Captain,” she replied. “Permission to leave?”

 “Go.” He paused, then said, “I’m putting you up for a commendation, by the way.

 “Keep the medal, Captain. Just try and make my life easier next time.”

 The door slid shut behind her, and Cunningham looked after it, shaking his head.

 “She never changes, does she.”

 “The one constant in an ever-evolving universe,” Marshall replied. “How are things down there, down in the cities?”

 “Tension slowly rising. I think our rebel friends are going to have a hell of a time putting a lid on things, but it’ll be interesting to see what happens after they hold their election.”

 “Interesting in the Chinese curse sense of the word, presumably. The bigger question is whether they will keep everything ticking over until help arrives.”

 “The Seekers have agreed to help, and releasing the orbital defense force back down to the surface has given them a lot of manpower. It’s going to be messy as hell, and I really don’t think we’ve solved all their problems, but I think we’ve bought them the time they need to do it themselves.”

 “I hope so,” Marshall replied. “I just hope I’m not making one assumption too many.” 

 “That the Senate will agree to build a base here? I’m damn sure they will. One look at the industrial projections should convince them that we need to have these people on our side. I’m sure the Seekers will come out of this nicely, if nothing else.” He pushed over a datapad, and said, “We’ve already had half a dozen of them asking to join the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 Marshall’s eyes widened, and he replied, “I hope you gently put them off.”

 “Pointed out that the situation is still fluid until the Senate makes its decision. I’m going to guess that we’ll be seeing some of them in our uniforms before long, though; there are a lot of out-of-work spacemen in this system now, and a lot of ships that ought to be convertible to hendecaspace drive.”

 With a smile, he said, “We might have just created one hell of an economic rival.”

 “Or a hell of an ally. Maggie told me that both sides already asking questions about applying for associate membership status. You could end up being the first man to get two planets into the Triplanetary Confederation. At this rate we’ll have to change the name.”

 “Or the member worlds,” Marshall muttered. He looked up, then said, “Nothing, just talking to myself.”

 “That’s a bad habit when someone’s talking to you,” Cunningham said with a smile. “As for the rest of it, the ship is ready to proceed to the hendecaspace point as soon as the last of the casualties are unloaded, say in around four hours. I’ve already got Lieutenant Race plotting our course home.”

 “Home,” Marshall said. “Five days to Spitfire Station, and just over two weeks to Mariner. Hard to believe we’re this close.”

 “I’d say that nothing could stop us, but I don’t particularly want to tempt fate now that we’re this close. I know the crew’s eager, as well; we’ve already been here three days too long for most of them.” He raised a hand, and said, “I know, I know, we had an obligation to clean up the mess we made, and we could hardly clear out right after the battle.”

 “I just hope that they get someone out here right away. Another battlecruiser at best, or at least something with some teeth.”

 “Six months down the road, they’ll be a fleet base with a permanent garrison. They might even name it after you.” He paused, then said with a smile, “Though Cunningham Base has a rather nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

 “Absolutely wonderful,” Marshall replied, returning the smile.

 Standing up, Cunningham said, “Colonel Singh wants to see you, by the way, before we leave.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Why the hell did Logan agree to bring a UN Colonel along for the ride anyway?”

 “He did shanghai a UN ship to get us here,” Cunningham said. “Want me to put him off?”

 “No, have him come in. Tell Kibaki that we’ll be breaking orbit as soon as the last of the shuttles has got back, and make sure everything is ready for hendecaspace.”

 “I think that might be one of your more popular orders, Danny,” he replied, heading to the door. Colonel Singh was standing at the threshold as he opened it, and Cunningham waved him in as he stepped out onto the bridge.

 “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Singh said, immediately taking a seat. “This is a very impressive ship, Captain. You should be proud.”

 “Thank you, Colonel. And for your assistance down on the planet, not to mention providing the Buchanan. What is it you wanted to see me about?”

 He paused for a moment, then said, “You are pulling out in a few hours’ time, returning to Spitfire Station. Do you not think it hazardous to leave while the situation in this system remains so fluid? There are still tensions bubbling below the surface.”

 “Indeed, but I don’t have much choice. I think the crew would riot if I told them we were going to hang here in orbit for another two weeks. They’ve earned the chance to go home.”

 “I would not for a moment dispute that, Captain, but the obvious solution is to leave someone behind to help advise the people of this system, to serve as a liaison with, well, the rest of the galaxy.”

 “And you are volunteering for that position?” Shaking his head, Marshall said, “I can’t take the risk, Colonel. With all due respect, I cannot leave a representative of a government that is frankly hostile towards us as our representative on a world that wishes to join the Confederation.”

 “Are you concerned that I might undermine your position?” Singh said with a smile. “Do you believe your case is that weak, that one old man could break it?”

 “I believe that there is a cult down there that worships Earth, and as Earth’s representative…”

 “That is precisely why I am the best choice for the job, Captain. With the people down there that count, I will speak with extra authority given my place of birth.” He slid a datapad across the desk, and said, “As for my loyalties being a potential obstacle, I think that this should answer those objections.”

 Marshall reached for the datapad, and started to scroll through it, frowning as he saw the UN seal at its head; his frown turned to astonishment as he continued to read finally replacing it on the desk.

 Singh nodded, and said, “I trust that you will see this reaches the relevant authorities as soon as you return to Sol. You are now free to put me on your payroll.”

 “You’re resigning from the UN Fleet?” Shaking his head he said, “If you join us…”

 “I will lose my pension, my citizenship, my retirement stipend, what little property I have back on Earth. People will whisper that I was always a traitor, and blame me for any reverses that took place within a dozen light-years. I am aware of what this will cost.”

 “Then why do it? I could ask for volunteers to fill this role, I’m sure someone…”

 “Someone else might not be good enough, or might be needed elsewhere. I have many virtues, Captain. I could talk about my training and experience as a peace-keeper, I could mention my knowledge of diplomatic protocols, but it comes down to one area in which I excel. I am expendable.”

 “No man is expendable.”

 “I’m an old man, who should have retired years ago if he hadn’t blindly held on to some ideals without realizing they had long ago been shattered into dust. I will never command another battle formation, and my reputation back on Earth is such that this will be my last tour of duty. I would rather it ended well, having accomplished at least one thing that I can be proud of, instead of fading away without even that to cling onto.”

 “If you are serious, Colonel, we can always use experienced officers in training commands. I can guarantee that we will find a way to make use of your talents. You don’t have to exile yourself to this world.”

 “Ah, but I am the expendable man, remember? You are surrounded by your brave and loyal crew, who have stuck with you during a voyage through hell, when from one day to another you did not know whether you would ever make it back. These are people you can trust and depend on. To you, I am a stranger.”

 “Colonel…”

 “There are things taking place back home that worry me. Nothing specific, just a general mood that makes me believe that right now, you need to keep the people you trust around you, keep them where they can do you the most good.” Gesturing at the planet below on the viewport, he said, “That is where my destiny lies now, Captain. Down there with those people.”

 Marshall shook his head, and said, “There isn’t a chance in hell that the Senate will ratify your appointment. In a matter of weeks, you will be replaced.”

 “I understand that as well, but by then, you see, I will be an expert of sufficient worth to justify my retention with your staff here.” He rose, then said, “I cannot force you to leave me behind, I cannot order it. I merely ask it, one officer to another.”

 “One officer to another,” Marshall replied. “Make sure that I don’t regret this, Colonel.”

 “That much I can promise you, Captain. Though I do not believe that title belongs to me any more.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Then, Mr. Singh, I’ll sign off on your proposal. I presume that no-one will try anything stupid knowing that there is a fleet on the way, but I can’t afford to leave anyone behind to guard you.”

 “That is not necessary. Indeed, I think it might be counterproductive. They know that the Triplanetary Fleet possesses overwhelming force; you have amply demonstrated that. Now they need to know that it can also be a peacemaker, as well as a warmonger.”

 “I’ll see that you get a seat on one of the shuttles taking the wounded down the surface, and arrange a letter of introduction for you.”

 “Most kind, Captain,” he replied. “A set of civilian clothes will also be needed. I haven’t worn them for some time.” He turned to the door, then paused, beginning to laugh. “Have you stopped to consider that the Cult of Holy Earth was quite correct in their beliefs?”

 “What do you mean?”

 “I was born on Earth, as was Captain Winter. If I remember my intelligence briefings correctly, so were you. Where was Captain Cunningham born?”

 “Somewhere in New Zealand, I believe. I can…,” he stopped, then said, “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

 “They believed that Holy Earth would send heroes to save them, to end the war and provide security for their people, lead them back to the galaxy again. It would appear that they were quite correct in every detail.”

 “I’ll be damned.”

 “Unlikely, Captain,” Singh said. “I don’t think that fits the story. May I wish you a safe voyage back home?”

 “And the best of luck to you, on the surface.”

 Marshall watched Singh purposefully stride out of the office, and briefly envied him. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, now ticking down the moments until they left the system, and smiled. One last step, and they were home. 

Chapter 26

 Marshall fidgeted with his hands while he waited for the countdown to run out. Bradley was at the helm, setting up her emergence sequence for the tenth time, Cooper – decidedly contrary to normal practice – was standing over her shoulder, looking out at the screen. Behind Marshall, Cunningham and Orlova stood at parade rest, and Quinn had displaced Prentis from the Flight Engineering station after a failed argument that he should take the helm.

 He looked up at the status board, and smiled; this was the first time in months that he hadn’t brought the crew to alert stations before a return to normal space. The first jump they had made since they left Spitfire Station where they knew they could expect safe haven when the arrived.

 “California, here I come, right back where I started from,” Caine sung from the tactical station, before turning across to Marshall. “Sorry.”

 “All stations ready for emergence, Steele?” he asked

 With an uncharacteristic smile on her face, she turned back to him, and replied, “All decks are clear for return to normal space, Captain. Clear and eager.”

 “I’ve lost count,” Orlova said. “I’ve lost track of how many jumps we’ve made since we left.”

 “Enough to set a few new records,” Cunningham replied. “Enough to make this the longest continuous patrol in the history of the Confederation. I hope all of you have paid attention during your cruise; people are going to be asking about this one for years.”

 “I don’t expect to pay for a drink in a bar for a while, John,” Caine said with a smile. “Want me to get the missile tubes ready, for form’s sake.”

 “Why not,” Marshall replied, a little niggling doubt beginning to sound in the back of his mind. They’d been gone for a while, and even Logan – standing at the back of the bridge, his face still bandaged, and his team left the station almost three weeks ago. If the Cabal were going to start anything, Spitfire Station would be the place to go first.

 “Relax,” Cunningham said, looked down at his frowning face. “This is the big one, Danny. The last leg of your journey home. Five days for the crew to get a bit of leave in the local bars, and then off to Mariner Station for medals all round.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “I know. Quite right. It’s just a bad habit, I guess. I’m used to emergence giving something new a chance to wreck my ship.”

 “Paranoia isn’t an unhealthy trait for a starship captain,” Cunningham replied.

 “One minute to emergence, sir,” Bradley said in lilting tones. She seemed optimistic enough.  Marshall tried to relax in his chair, to get used to the idea that they were heading for safety, instead of back into danger, but he couldn’t. Not until he had reported in, not until someone had told him that it was over; he was still turned on, on his own personal readiness for action. He glanced around the bridge, looking at the familiar faces surrounding him, and tried not to think about the others who hadn’t made it. Too many people wouldn’t be coming home, but they’d done what they did to make sure that everyone else would make it. That was important.

 “Thirty seconds, Captain. All systems ready.”

 “Very good, Bradley. You have the call.”

 “Aye, sir. I have the call.”

 She’d be on her way to her wedding in a matter of hours, then on her way to Flight School, her new husband heading to Officer Candidate School. He smiled at that bit of planning; the two training bases were only three floors apart on Carter Station. They’d have plenty of time for each other, and they had certainly earned it. Hell, the whole crew had earned everything that was coming their way.

 “Emergence, sir,” Bradley said with forced calm, and with a blinding blue flash, Alamo leapt out into normal space. The tactical display immediately lit up with Kumar, and Spitfire Station orbiting it, exactly as planned. He smiled, then started to frown. There was an awful lot of traffic in the system, and a lot of ships seemed to be changing their target aspect. He turned to Caine, cursing under his breath, about to order the ship to action stations, when Spinelli interrupted him. 

 “Sir,” he said with wonder in his voice, “It’s the whole damn fleet!”

 “What?”

 The technician manipulated controls, and zoomed into a section of space ahead, bringing the ships into stark relief. Marshall rose to his feet, his mouth wide, as he looked across the vessels arrayed across the stars. It was like an image in a reference book; four battlecruisers of two different types in formation, riding over one of the vast carriers, a smaller assault carrier holding just behind it, a dozen scouts of three different designs between them, auxiliaries and tankers.

 “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Cunningham said with reverent awe.

 “Fighters launching from the Wright, sir,” Spinelli said. “Intercept course. I think they’re going into formation with us.”

 “We are cleared to parking position, Captain,” Weitzman said from the communications station, “And I have Counter-Admiral Tramiel for you, urgent.”

 Nodding, Marshall took a deep breath, and said, “Make sure all of this is piped across the whole ship, Spaceman. They’ve all earned it. Then put the...Admiral...on.”

 “I never thought he’d accept a promotion,” Cunningham said, shaking his head. “Ten times they’ve tried, and ten times he turned them down. I guess getting a full-size fleet did the trick.”

 “Make sure all our data is on its way to the Wright,” Marshall said.

 “In works, Captain. The Admiral’s on now, sir.”

 A familiar image appeared on the screen, the craggy features of the old flag officer as he looked at Marshall with a smile on his face, then at the rest of the crew on the bridge. Behind him, a fleet operations room was in full operation, the duty crew pausing to look out at Alamo’s crew.

 “Lieutenant-Captain Marshall, of the Battlecruiser Alamo, sir. Reporting mission accomplished.”

 “Mission accomplished?” Tramiel said, shaking his head. “If the data I’ve seen is anything to go by, you haven’t just accomplished your mission, you’ve exceeded any expectations we might have had of what you would bring back.” He waved around, and said, “I thought we’d arrange a welcoming party for you, something to pipe you home. Get yourselves to the station; the drinks are all lined up at the bar.”

 A cheer sounded across the flight deck, and Marshall found himself struggling to reply through the noise, “Bradley, take us to parking position and then execute station-keeping. Mr. Cunningham, I think we can start a rotation for shore leave as soon as we dock.”

 “I’m coming over to speak to you, Danny,” Tramiel said. “I’ve got a present for you.” 

 “We’re always glad to welcome you on board, sir,” he replied. “I’ll have an honor guard…”

 “To hell with that. You meet me. I’ll be over there in twelve minutes. Tramiel out.”

 The screen flicked out, the view of the approaching fleet revealed on the display, and Marshall rose to his feet, gesturing to Cunningham to take the command chair.

 “Take her in, John. I’ll be in the hangar bay.” He walked over to the elevator, paused, then said to the bridge, “Each and every one of you has gone above and beyond the call of duty time and again during this cruise. I don’t know what’s going to come next, but I do know that it has been an honor and a privilege to serve with each and every one of you.”

 Spinelli, looked across from his display and said, “I think I can speak for the crew when I say, sir, that the honor is ours, and that we’d all go back out with you again if you asked.” Glancing around with a smile, he continued, “I think we’d all like a little rest first, though.”

 There was a faint chorus of laughs around the bridge, as Marshall clapped the technician on the shoulder, stepping into the elevator as the doors closed. He looked out for one time, and it occurred to him at the back of his mind that it might be the last time he ever stood on the deck as Alamo’s captain.

 After a few short minutes, he stepped out onto the hangar deck, a hive of activity as technicians hurried to prepare the shuttles for launch, crates of captured material ready for transfer, a few bits and pieces that the Buchanan had left behind. One of the crewmen belatedly saw Marshall step onto the deck, and snapped to attention; the rest of the deck gang followed suit, saluting in unison.

 Returning the salute, Marshall replied, “Thank you all. Carry on, I don’t want to hold any of you up.”

 “We’ll save a place for you at the bar, skipper!” one of them yelled.

 “I damn well hope so,” he shouted back as he stepped into the unused deck office. He smiled as he sat down in the chair, listening to the squeak; at some point he really should have assigned someone to this station. Too few officers and too many jobs to fill, the curse of any commander throughout history.

 He waited as patiently as he could for the Admiral to arrive, his thoughts running back over the last year. The battle with the pirates here at Spitfire that had started them off in the first place, racing deep into the Cabal to rescue his father and recapture the Hercules, then the desperate chase that followed. The death of Hercules, and later, the death of his father. All of it was beginning to sink in, to seem horribly real to him.

 It was all over, though. The mission complete. They’d returned to the Confederation, and Tramiel had brought the fleet out to meet him. Which meant that they would be reinforcing Hydra Station. Alamo didn’t need an escort of six capital ships to get home, not now. At least he didn’t have to worry about that any more. In a few weeks, the newest addition to the Confederation would be fully-defended, and the last few members of his crew would be on their way home.

 The door slid open; Tramiel’s shuttle had docked without him even noticing, so deep he was in his reverie. With a smile, he stepped into the office, shaking his head at the mess, and perched on the edge of the desk.

 “I guess you never did replace that thief, did you?”

 “Never got around to it.”

 He took a deep breath, and said, “I’ve read the reports you sent back on the Buchanan. Do you realize what you have committed us to? Another station, a new supply route, all of which is going to be defended?” Shaking his head, he said, “No doubt something will need to be done about Haven as well.”

 “Just another fleet base, Admiral.”

 “I should take the money for all of this out of your wages,” he replied. “We sent you out to get information about the Cabal, and you come back with enough to settle the whole thing, as well as a peace envoy. Good God, Danny, you hit the jackpot this time.”

 “It cost a lot of lives. And a good ship.”

 Nodding, he said, “We already held the inquiry about Hercules. Lieutenant Orlova’s getting a Red Shield, and you’re getting a letter of commendation. Just for that part of the mission; I think you’re up for a Shield yourself. Not to mention a unit citation for Alamo.” Looking across at the hangar deck, he said, “It was worth it. Just from where I’m sitting, it was worth it.”

 “When we get back, I’ve got some people to visit,” Marshall replied. “I want these letters to be hand-delivered.”

 “That’s going to have to wait, Danny. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

 “Get the bad news out of the way. Ten years of sub-committees?”

 “Nothing so ghastly as that.” He pulled a box out of his pocket, and passed it to Marshall, “You are hereby promoted to full Captain, with seniority going back to the start of your cruise. That’s a unanimous decision by the Combined Chiefs, by the way, and getting something like that is like herding cats. As a result, you are relieved of the command of the Battlecruiser Alamo, effective immediately.”

 “I’d expected as much, sir. The relief if not the promotion.” He looked at the golden insignia, and said, “Could this be postponed until we get back to Mars? I’d like to bring Alamo home myself.”

 “Under normal circumstances, I’d be only too happy to oblige you, but we haven’t covered the good news yet. Out there is the biggest fleet we’ve ever assembled. I’ve spent a year putting it together to take action against the Cabal, and I intend to use it. I’ve got all the authority I need, right from the top.”

 “To reinforce Hydra Station?”

 “Yes and no. Half the fleet’s going out through the Shrouded Stars, but I don’t want to leave anything in our rear. We need to push the front lines of any war as far away from our space as we can, and you have some unfinished business.”

 Marshall looked up, and said, “The fueling station. Hades.”

 “We’re going to take it, Captain Marshall. Take it and hold it. Alamo’s going home, Captain, but you’ve got one more job to do yet.” He paused for a moment, and said, “Under the circumstances, I don’t think it’s fair to make this an order…”

 “You don’t have to, sir. I volunteer.”

Thank you for reading 'Ghost Ship'. 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: Take and Hold, coming in March 2015...