MALWARE BLUES

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 16

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #16: Malware Blues

Copyright © 2016 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: January 2016

Cover By Keith Draws

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

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With Thanks To: Ellen Clarke and Peter Long

“I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.”

Robert Oppenheimer

Chapter 1

 The view from Wyvern’s observation deck was nothing short of breathtaking. A shattered planet, flashes of brown and white, a thousand smaller pieces tumbling around each other in a frantic dance, swirling on seemingly random trajectories as gravity pulled them first one way, then another. Clouds of gas, debris too small to be made out individually, seemed to fill the void between the fragments, weaving complicated patterns that seemed the work of some demented artist, hurling his brush around the canvas of infinity.

 “This is what I signed up for,” Sub-Lieutenant Pavel Salazar said.

 Nodding, the green-haired Lieutenant Kristen Harper replied, “Bet you’re glad you agreed to come now.”

 He shrugged, and replied, “They needed a helmsman, and Alamo still had three weeks left on its refit. It was this or paperwork.”

 She looked across at him, and said, “Don’t you have a department to run?”

 “It can wait until we get back.” Glancing up at the clock, he added, “Only another three hours, and we’re on our way home.” With a frown, he said, “What do you think did it?”

 “I’m a hacker, Pavel. Not a geologist.”

 “It could have been two planets colliding, maybe some rogue wandering in from interstellar space.”

 “Billion to one.”

 “Then you think it was artificial. That someone did this?”

 With a sigh, Harper said, “I’m scared to think about it. Look at the timing, though. This is recent, only a few thousand years old. About when we know there was a war going on between the two branches of humanity. If they were throwing planet-crackers around…”

 “We couldn’t do this,” he said. “Not with the largest weapons we have.”

 “Yes, we could. If we wanted to. We could build a bomb that big, or a series of them, if there was some compelling need to wipe a world off the map.”

 “I don’t think I would want to be in a fleet that used weapons like that.”

 A speaker crackled, and the dour voice of Wyvern’s Operations Officer, Lieutenant Steven Riley, echoed around the room. “All hands to alert stations. Alpha Watch report to the bridge. Lieutenant Harper, report to the bridge.”

 “Looks like they’re singing our song,” Harper said. 

 “Yeah,” Salazar replied, taking one last look at the view before swinging across to the elevator. As the door slid shut, he said, “Know what I think?”

 “What?”

 “This would be one hell of a tourist spot. Like Saturn’s Rings, all the hotels they built out at Titan in the 21st century. I’d put a station right here, slow orbit around that mess.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Too dull for me, not for a five-day stretch.”

 With a smile, he said, “I’m sure we could find something interesting to do around here.”

 Gravity returned as the elevator dropped into the rotating section of the scoutship, and he carefully planted his feet on the deck, holding himself by the hand-holds. Wyvern was smaller than Alamo, less than a quarter the mass and length, but it was one of the latest ships in the fleet, full of the latest refinements and advancements, some of which even worked.

 The doors opened on the bridge, and he stepped out to see Wyvern’s commander, Senior Lieutenant Ryder, perched in her command chair, looking at the planet tumbling on the viewscreen. With a curt nod, the duty helmsman, a stubble-faced Sub-Lieutenant called Kline, stepped away from his console, Salazar sliding into position.

 “Target is still closing,” Lieutenant Steele reported from the tactical station. “Looks like a Mark Fourteen Fast Shuttle.”

 Salazar turned from his station, and said, “Alamo hasn’t even been issued with them yet. They were only certified a month ago,”

 “You seem well-informed, Sub-Lieutenant,” Ryder said.

 “I did a bit of work on them when I was at the Academy, sat in on a few of the final test-flights as a passenger. Those birds are fast, ma’am, and maneuverable. Better than some of the older fighters.”

 “Still no response to our hails,” the communications technician, Ortega, said. “They must be receiving us, but they don’t want to talk.”

 “Recommend interception course,” Steele said.

 “I disagree,” Riley replied. “Let them spend their fuel getting to us.”

 Frowning, Ryder said, “Sub-Lieutenant, plot an intercept course for best speed and engage when ready.”

 Nodding, he said, “Aye, ma’am,” and began to work. He agreed with Riley, and for a second thought about speaking up, but a quick glance at Ryder suggested that his intervention wouldn’t be welcome. He was a guest here, not one of the regular crew, and though superficially everything felt similar to Alamo, somehow the feel was different. Less inviting, less welcoming. He had the idea that someone was watching him, every second.

 Tapping a control, he said, “Guidance Control to crew. Stand by for acceleration in fifteen seconds.” Quickly finishing his work, he threw a switch, and the scoutship’s engines began to roar into life, throwing them on a trajectory to take them close to the approaching shuttlecraft.

 “Intercept in ninety-five seconds, ma’am,” he said.

 “Should we go to battle stations?” Riley asked.

 “Against a shuttlecraft?” Harper said.

 “Course change,” Trent, the duty sensor operator, said. “Shuttle is altering course to match speed with us. New intercept time is three minutes, ten seconds.”

 “Still no response to our hails?” Ryder asked.

 “Nothing, ma’am,” Ortega said. “I don’t understand it.”

 “Any progress on where they came from?”

 Trent, her fingers playing across her controls, said, “There’s too much mess in there for sensors to give us anything like a true picture. I can narrow it down a little, but not enough to be useful.”

 “Keep working on it.”

 “Ma’am, I recommend an evasive course. This could be a suicide strike,” Riley said.

 “I agree, ma’am,” Salazar added, earning an approving look from Riley and a frown from Ryder. “We’re doing what they want us to do at the moment.”

 “At the very least,” Riley added, “We ought to take a stronger defensive stance.”

 “Time to intercept?” Ryder asked.

 “Two minutes, twenty seconds.”

 “Very well. Steele, take us to battle stations. Salazar, I want a new course to take us back towards the hendecaspace point, and instruct the astrogation officer…”

 Interrupting, Steele said, “I don’t think so.” Somehow a pistol was in her hand, and she was pointing it at Ryder. Kline, stepping back out of the elevator, had a gun of his own, covering the room. “Salazar, maintain station keeping. We’re not going anywhere.”

 “What the hell are you doing?” Ryder asked.

 “My duty,” Steele replied. Salazar inched his hands towards the controls, ready to send the ship spiraling off in a random direction, but a bullet cracked off the panel a few inches from his fingers, leaving an angry burn on the console.

 “Get away from the helm,” Kline said. “Right now, or the next one will go into your back.”

 He glanced across at Riley, and the two of them locked eyes for a second, both leaping from their positions at the same instant, Riley heading for Kline, Salazar trying to make it to Steele. A pair of bullets flew through the air as he collided with Steele, the two of them falling to the deck, her gun rattling away. Before he could do anything, before anyone could move to support them, the elevator door slid open, and another bullet slammed into the deck by his side.

 “Freeze,” the voice said. “That means you, Ryder. Get away from that gun.”

 Salazar rolled over onto his back, and saw the furious Ryder move back to her chair. She’d been within a few inches of the pistol before the reinforcements had arrived. Kline moved over to take the helm, pushing Riley out of the way, the officer moving back to the wall with a glare.

 “Shuttle will be docked in twenty seconds. We have control of the launch bay and the engine room.”

 “Good,” Steele said. “Ma’am, I’ll need your chair.”

 “You realize this is mutiny.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “You’ll understand in a moment. Then maybe we’ll be on the same side again.”

 “Damn it, we’ve known each other for years. I trusted you.” Ryder looked her square in the eyes, and said, “Never again.”

 Salazar looked at Harper, still standing implacably on the deck. She hadn’t made a move during the fighting, and she wasn’t doing anything now. He made his way over to her, the rest of the bridge crew being corralled together by the sensor station. The newcomers he didn’t recognize, and from the look on Ryder’s expression, neither could she.

 “This was planned all along, wasn’t it,” he said. “From before we even left Yeager Station.”

 “Long before, Sub-Lieutenant,” Steele said.

 “Shuttle docking now,” Kline said. “Initiating new course.”

 “Where are we going?” Ryder asked.

 “Right now, you don’t need to know,” Kline said.

 “You will treat her with respect, Sub-Lieutenant,” Steele said. “She is still a superior officer.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” Kline replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 The elevator doors opened, and Ryder’s eyes widened as the gray-haired figure, wearing the uniform of a Commodore in the Triplanetary Fleet, stepped out onto the deck, flanked by a pair of other officers, both impeccably dressed.

 “Commodore Tramiel,” she said.

 “Senior Lieutenant Ryder,” he replied. “You run a tight ship. Infiltrating it was not an easy process, and for that you are to be commended. I see no reason why I will not retain you as her commanding officer.”

 “You’re wanted for treason,” Ryder said, bluntly. “Conspiracy, sedition, a dozen different crimes. Your rank was stripped from you, and you have no business wearing that uniform.”

 “I’m sorry you see it that way.” Tramiel looked around the deck, his eyes locking on Harper. “One of the architects of our defeat.” The hacker looked down at the ground, and he continued onto Salazar. “You, I think, will not have a place here.”

 A smile on his face, Salazar replied, “I’m glad to hear it.”

 “Insolent.” Shaking his head, Tramiel moved over to the front of the room, and said, “This is not quite what it seems. I am not here out of self-interest, for any personal aggrandizement. My goal is to save the Confederation from itself.” With a sigh, he said, “The recent elections produced a government that is incapable of protecting those we are sworn to defend, and hundreds of veterans were cast out of the military, fundamentally weakening it.”

 “You attempted a military takeover, the installation of a puppet President, and you tried to start a war!” Ryder roared.

 “Justified,” Tramiel said. “The Cabal represents the greatest threat the Confederation has ever faced, and needs to be countered before they can rearm. And now our mutual friend, Captain Marshall, has found a new foe to fight as well. We need a strong government, one willing to protect us, not a bunch of corrupt, weak politicians who will barter away the freedoms that we have fought and died for.”

 “What does that mean, exactly?” Harper asked, earning a glance of rebuke from Riley.

 “Our researchers have been working on cutting-edge technology, and have made some amazing discoveries.” Gesturing at the viewscreen, he continued, “Some of you will have wondered how this happened, and I can tell you that this planet was destroyed, the victim of a great war, thousands of years ago.”

 “And you are working on replicating the technology involved,” Salazar said. “Antimatter weapons are prohibited by the Treaty of…”

 “That is precisely what I mean!” Tramiel raged. “We need new weapons, better defenses. I want to make this ship a model for what the Confederation could be. We’re going to give the people what they want, what they need, and we have supporters back home who will help us.” Looking around the room, he said, “With your assistance, we can right the wrongs of the last election.”

 “Go to Hell,” Ryder said.

 “That goes for me,” Riley added. “As far as I’m concerned, you are a disgrace to the uniform.”

 Crossing his arms, Salazar said, “You don’t want me, anyway. I guess you’ll just have to shoot us.”

 The rest of the bridge crew looked around, but moved in behind the three officers, standing together in mutual defiance. Tramiel shook his head, staring at each in turn, before moving over to the command chair with a deep sigh.

 “A pity. I can use you, any good officers, to help save the Confederation from itself. If you will not assist me, then I must regretfully consign you to your fate.”

 “Wait a minute,” Harper said. “You’re working on new technology. That include programming?”

 “Naturally,” Tramiel said, frowning. “There are many areas where insufficient research has been undertaken. We’ve gathered some of the best equipment, and have made some major breakthroughs in understanding archeotech.”

 “Fine. I’m in.”

 “What?” Ryder said. “Harper, you can’t seriously be planning to join him.”

 Turning to face her, the hacker replied, “The Commodore is right, and we both know it. The government we fought to put into power has betrayed us, and they’re refusing to let technologies we need be released to the Fleet.” Looking at Salazar, she said, “We’ve seen strange things out there, things we don’t understand, and we know that they are hostile. There are enemies everywhere, and we’ve got to fight them any way we can.”

 For the briefest of moments, Salazar had thought that Harper was actually switching sides. Riley and Ryder still seemed convinced of it, and he struggled to rouse anger within himself, to make it seem as though he was as outraged as the rest of them.

 “Lieutenant,” he said, “We were friends. Not any more. That ends today.”

 Nodding, Harper said, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

 Tramiel frowned, then replied, “I know that man’s background. You don’t want someone like him as a friend.”

 Steele glanced at the Commodore, and said, “Are you sure you can trust her? She was one of the key figures in bringing you down, and she works for Triplanetary Intelligence.”

 “I don’t have to trust her to use her,” he replied. Looking at Harper, he added, “You understand that it will take you a long time to earn my full trust. That you will be watched, monitored.”

 “Do what you have to do, sir. Anyone can change their mind, though, can realize that they were wrong.” Looking at Salazar again, she said, “I made a mistake, and if I have to work to redeem it, then that’s what I have to do.”

 “If you are so concerned about her, Lieutenant, I’ll appoint you her watchman,” Tramiel said. “For the present, take the helm. Kline, by now the rest of the crew should have been rounded up. I want the bridge crew removed first before I speak to the others. Without their former commanders looking over their shoulders, they might be more receptive.”

 Steele took the helm as Kline rose to his feet, his pistol pointed at them, saying, “Into the elevator.” 

 The group silently did as they were bid, Ryder leading they way, her head held up in defiance. Riley, his fists balled, looked around the room as though he might make one more attempt at taking back the bridge, but at a glance from Ryder, he followed. As the doors slid shut, the last thing Salazar saw was Harper, moving to the communications station as Tramiel took the command chair, looking back with regret on her face before the elevator sped on its way.

Chapter 2

 “How long has it been?” Riley asked, sitting next to Salazar in the shuttle.

 “Thirty minutes,” Ortega replied from the chair behind. “Long enough for him to have spoken to everyone.”

 “You think anyone will go along with it?” Trent asked.

 “They’d damn well better not,” Ryder said. “I’m still finding it hard to believe that Harper changed sides like that.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “Sometimes people change. On Thule, she came damn close to throwing the mission to get hold of advanced archeotech. Maybe I should have seen this coming.”

 Glancing across at him, Riley replied, “We all should have seen it. That was fast work on the bridge, by the way. We damn near made it.”

 “Thanks,” Salazar said. “If we’d had a few more seconds.”

 “Or if Harper had made a move,” Ryder said.

 “Where do you think they are going to take us?” Ortega asked. “They must have a base somewhere in the system, but where?”

 “In the wreck of that planet,” Riley replied. “They as good as admitted that’s where they are stealing their technology from.” 

 The hatch opened, and Kline’s leering face peered in, “Launch in one minute. Strap down. We’ve disabled the transmitters in the rear section, but don’t worry. We can hear every word you say, and will take action accordingly. I suggest you sit back and enjoy the ride.”

 “Strap in, everyone,” Riley said.

 Salazar rested back in his couch, glancing to his right out of the viewport. With a loud grind, the elevator airlock engaged, the shuttle sliding through the decks and out into the coldness of space. Whoever was flying the ship was in a hurry, and the engines engaged almost before they were properly clear, hurling them away from Wyvern and on a course towards the planet.

 “Second shuttle launching,” Trent said. “I guess the crew decided to stay with us, after all.”

 “Forty on board,” Riley said. “We can guess that a good number of them were infiltrators. Maybe as many as half. We had a lot of replacements after the Battle of Hades Station.”

 “One of the big personnel transports,” Trent added. “Could get another twenty on that easily. Sir, wouldn’t they have used one shuttle if they could get away with it?”

 “Probably.”

 “Then they must both be full. Twenty-five to thirty.”

 “We’ll have enough time for roll-call when we get wherever it is we’re going,” Ryder said. “I want you all to focus on where that might be. Gather every detail, every piece of information. We’ll need it when we escape.” 

 “Assuming we do,” Ortega said.

 “Belay that talk,” Ryder replied. “Our duty is to escape and alert the Fleet about what is happening out here. To recapture our ship if humanly possible, but at a minimum to sound the warning about the danger. All of our efforts are to be focused on that end, and let me be perfectly clear. We will escape.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” Riley said.

 Salazar caught himself smiling, and Ryder said, “Something amusing, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “Nothing, ma’am. You just sound a lot like Captain Marshall.”

 “I’ll consider that to be a compliment,” she replied, turning back to the viewport. It was apparent that the shuttle pilot hadn’t bothered to follow the safety regulations that Wyvern had labored under, already closer to the ruined planet than they had been permitted to go, and from what he could tell of the flight path, they were going to get a lot closer.

 They were traveling a well-planned course, that much was certain. The maneuvers were slow and steady, following a pattern, no surprise turns to avoid unexpected contacts. He’d tried to work out some course plots when they first arrived, and Wyvern’s computer had refused to co-operate, demanding longer-term baselines of information before even attempting it.

 He looked around the shuttle, at the worn seats, the scuff-marks on the floor, the thousand trifling imperfections which did not indicate any defect in performance, but which were a testament to a well-used vessel. On a ship that had still been in the test-pilot stage, six months ago, but which looked as though it had been deployed out here for far longer than that.

 Something else caught his eye. The passenger monitor might be dark, but the positioning was wrong, out of alignment. They’d caught that in the early testing, that it was poorly placed for many of the passengers, one of the more obvious changes that were made to the final production model. Given access to a datapad and the ship’s network, he could probably date when this shuttle had been taken.

 Looking back out of the viewport, he watched as the shuttle dived into the debris cloud, passing over a pair of large fragments that seemed to be loosely orbiting each other, ducking and weaving like prizefighters trying to land the killing blow, always just out of reach. Beneath them, a trail of debris span around in crazy patterns, glinting even in the dull light of the system’s star, a shower of ice dancing through eternity.

 It was impossible to see where they were going. Try as he might, he couldn’t make out a single star as a reference point, not with all the debris scattered around. The view was spectacular, something to be savored despite their desperate situation, but it was useless, and a glance around the cabin confirmed that everyone else was rapidly coming to the same conclusion.

 The acceleration stopped, the shuttle spinning in place, and a larger fragment, one of the biggest in the cluster, came into view below. Big enough to still have an appreciable gravity field of its own, smothered in gleaming ice, and they were dropping down towards it as the engines kicked on again, slowing them down for a landing.

 Salazar tugged at his restraints, watching as the outer hull began to faintly glow. Though an orbital shuttle, it was cleared for landings on bodies with thin atmosphere, no thicker than that of Mars, and again they were pushing it to its limits as it slowed right down, riding towards the surface. Too thin for clouds, for any appreciable turbulence, it still was a testament to what this world once was, thousands of years ago.

 A mountain range lay ahead, a huge crack gouged at its heart by some unimaginable catastrophe long ago, chunks of rubble bigger than a battleship still scattered across the terrain. The shuttle slowed to a halt, riding its thrusters, and then a hatch opened up, an ancient structure, revealing a tunnel descending deep into the ground.

 All were silent as the shuttle dropped through the hatch, searchlights flashing on as it slowly descended into the gathering gloom. There was turbulence now, rocking back and forth, and he could hear a faint hiss from outside. Panicked eyes looked for the hull breach, but Salazar quickly realized that there was atmosphere coming into the cabin, his ears popping as the pressure equalized with the external air.

 Strange hieroglyphs covered the walls, more of the writing that they had encountered in the past, and he longed for a translator. After what must have been a dozen miles, they dropped through another hatch, and out into the open air, into a cavern that had to be a hundred miles across, more, and filled with a huge ocean of slowly rocking waves, white tips as they crested against a narrow, sandy beach.

 “This is impossible,” Riley said. “This world cannot have retained this.”

 “Someone made it possible,” Salazar said. “Sealed the cavern, protected some remains of this planet, for thousands, tens of thousands of years. That hatch could be just that old.”

 “And still operational?”

 “The computer systems we found on Thule had survived ten thousand years,” he replied. “I guess this civilization believed in building their equipment to last.”

 The pilot was obviously having trouble with the atmosphere, the thrusters firing at maximum to bring it down to the surface, where a cleared landing pad awaited them. With one last roar, the ship touched down, and both airlock doors flew open, removing any doubt that a breathable atmosphere awaited them outside.

 “Come on,” Trent said, throwing off her straps. “We can make a run for it.”

 “Just where do you plan to go?” Salazar asked.

 As the young crewman reached the hatch, Klein stepped out in front of them, and smiled.

 “For once we agree, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “That was you at the controls?”

 “It was.”

 “Nice flying.”

 “Thank you.” Stepping back, he said, “If you would be so good as to clear the ship, we can begin the second leg of our journey.”

 “Move out,” Ryder said, and the crew started to disembark, stepping out of the shuttle two by two and following Klein to the edge of the field. A loud whine sounded from overhead, and a second shuttle began to descend, a much larger vehicle, this one riding better in the atmosphere it was designed to cope with. 

 The cavern ceiling loomed over them as they stepped out of the hatch, all eyes ranging around its vast interior, and Salazar took a breath of clear, fresh air. It was strange to think that once this had been but a small part of a larger world, and that this was all that remained.

 “You found this?” Riley asked.

 “We did. Our experts were able to open the hatches, and this was waiting for us at the bottom of the shaft. There is more, though. Much more. You will see it in a moment.”

 From the water, a loud gurgle sounded, and as Ortega pointed at the disturbance, a shape began to break through the surface, dark gray on blue water, with a Triplanetary insignia painted on its hull.

 “A submarine?” Ryder asked. “Out here?”

 “I am told that its procurement was a challenge for our logistics team.”

 The second shuttle dropped down to rest beside the first, a cloud of dust rising that almost obscured it for a moment. Seeing the insignia of Wyvern on its side was strange, as though their last link with home was about to be torn away. The airlock opened, and a line of crewmen filed out, led by a defiant sub-lieutenant with a developing black eye.

 “Merrick, what happened?” Ryder asked.

 “Difference of opinion with one of our captors. I wanted to retake the engine room, they wanted me out.” He looked ruefully at Kline, and said, “You should see the other guy.”

 “Anyone turn?”

 “Just Harper. They paraded her around, tried to get us to follow her example, but we refused.” He spat on the ground, and added, “Eighteen here, ma’am. My guess is that the rest were infiltrators.”

 “Fifteen in total, then,” Riley said. “Mostly in the lower ranks.”

 “As enjoyable as this debate is,” Kline said, “I’m afraid I’ve got to bring it to a close.” Two crewmen pulled out a gangplank, resting it on the side of the submarine, and gestured them to climb it. “I’d be careful not to fall off. The water is full of predators, and the biochemistry is compatible enough that they’d only get a slight stomach ache.”

 “You're just full of heart, Kline,” Ryder said, leading the way, Riley and Salazar following. The gangplank wobbled with every cautious step, to the obvious amusement of the guards, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he safely reached the deck, being ushered down a hatch into another compartment. This was far more spartan than the shuttle, just a collection of metal benches running across the room, a trio of small portholes providing a dim, blue light.

 “Tourist submarine,” Merrick said. “When I was stationed on Titan, I took a couple of weeks leave on Enceladus. Over-engineered for this sort of work, though. How deep can it be?”

 The hatch slammed shut as the last crewman reached the bottom of the ladder, and the cabin immediately grew dark. A loud gurgling echoed, and the ship began to descend, rocking free as it dived under the water.

 “No exits from the cabin, ma’am,” Trent said, shaking her head. “I guess they are serious about keeping us confined.”

 “We don’t have anywhere to run, anyway,” Ortega said. “Predators in the water.”

 “I’d bet that’s just something meant to scare us,” Merrick replied. “Don’t trust anything they say without verifying it for yourself.”

 Peering out of one of the portholes, Riley said, “We’re not going down far. Seabed’s just below.” He turned, then said, “You’ve got to see this.”

 Salazar and Ryder won the race to the remaining portholes, and he saw a collection of low, brown domes, scattered across the seabed, connected with long tunnels. The material seemed to be the same as that used for the hatches, and had to be at least as old. Slowly, the submarine inched its way towards the nearest, and Salazar could just make out a portable airlock, heavily modified, connected to it.

 With a loud slam, the submarine drifted underneath the hatch, and the door opened, dropping down into the cabin, an orange light washing through.

 “Up here, on the double!” a voice yelled. “We crack this lock in one minute.”

 Once more, Ryder led the way, and the crew climbed up the ladder into a small chamber. A trio of guards were waiting for them, one of them with Lieutenant’s insignia, holding a collection of black goggles.

 “I am Lieutenant Tarrant, commander of this facility. You will place these over your eyes, and we will lead you to your,” he paused, then continued, “accommodation. Any deviation from my instructions will result in your demise.”

 “Do it,” Ryder said, snatching the first pair from the guard. Salazar took his, turning them over in his hand. Just normal image augmenters, smothered in some sort of black sealant. As he placed them on, his world went dark. He could feel a cable being thrust into his hands, being passed onto the man behind him.

 “Keep hold of the cable. That’s going to guide you. And in case some of you have clever ideas about counting steps, we’ll be taking some unnecessary detours. Move.”

 The cable tugged, and he stepped forward. Thirty pairs of boots rattled on the floor as he walked along what initially sounded like a corridor, before opening up to a larger chamber, the echoes reverberating. He heard a strange noise in the background, a series of loud cracks, and a loud, continuous crackle in the background.

 Then they returned to a corridor again, making a sharp left turn, then a right one. They seemed to walk for hours, on and on, through a combination of corridors and larger rooms, before finally the line drew to a halt, and he felt a hand snatching the goggles from his face.

 “We’re here,” Tarrant said. They were in the middle of a huge dome, empty aside from a stack of crates deposited on the ground. “I assure you that there is no value to this place whatsoever, and that you will not be disturbed. You’ll find survival equipment for a month, if you are careful with your rationing, and we’ll be making supply runs for a while.” He gestured at a nearby corridor entrance, and said, “We have this place very well-monitored, so if you need any help, just shout.” Looking around, he shook his head, and said, “Or if you decide to switch to the right side.”

 “No chance of that,” Ryder said.

 “Your choice,” Tarrant said, turning on his heel, the two guards following him. He walked into the corridor, and a pair of doors slammed shut behind him with a very final thud. A long silence filled the chamber, everyone looking around, before Ryder stepped to the front.

 “Come on, people, we’ve got work to do. Merrick, I want a full survey of our equipment. Everything we have, and any alternate uses we might put it to. Ortega, see if you can find any of the monitoring equipment. There must be some pickups around. Riley, you and Salazar will walk the perimeter, in opposite directions. I want a full sweep of this place, and I want it yesterday.” There was a pause, and she added, “Move, people. I don’t intend to stay here a second longer than I have to. Let’s find a way out of here.”

Chapter 3

 “I really wish Captain Marshall would get back,” Senior Lieutenant Margaret Orlova said, tossing the last of a stack of datapads across to Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov, acting Tactical Officer. “How does he work his way down all this paperwork?”

 “Based on the backlog, I don’t think he does,” Nelyubov replied. “We’re almost caught up, though.” Shaking his head, he added, “Didn’t Alamo used to have an Administrative Officer at one point?”

 Nodding, she said, “Remind me to suggest that we get a new one.” Her communicator buzzed, and raising it to her head, she said, “Orlova here. Go ahead.”

 “Quinn here. We’re finished.”

 “Already? That’s two days ahead of schedule.”

 “All systems go, Maggie. The gang’s been working around the clock on this one.”

 “I’m on my way,” she said, dropping the communicator into a pocket. “Come on, Frank, let’s take a look.”

 The two of them left Orlova’s cramped office, walking down the corridor to the nearest elevator, passing a gaggle of technicians arguing about one of the life support monitors. A series of crates were stacked along the wall, labels suggesting that they were ultimately destined for different parts of the ship, dumped for expediency in a dozen semi-random places.

 “Have you had the official word, yet?” Nelyubov asked, as they turned a corner.

 “About what?”

 “Maggie, you know that you’re going to be offered the Exec spot.”

 “Captain Cunningham…”

 “Has been corralled to Titan for fighter training. That’s no temporary assignment, he’ll be there for the better part of a year. Caine doesn’t want it, and neither does Quinn. Skipping over that, you are the best qualified anyway.”

 They stepped into the elevator, and she punched a control, sending them on their way.

 “There must be a hundred better qualified officers in the Fleet.”

 “Not with anything like your experience on this ship, or on the frontier.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I’m happy as Operations Officer.”

 “Why else would the Captain leave you in charge for the refit?”

 “He had to take Deadeye with him to give the Tactical briefing, and with Ryder out on a mission I’m the senior officer in the system. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re shorthanded at the moment, especially with Peter Race on his way back home.”

 Waving a datapad, he replied, “There are four ships coming on-line this year needing Lieutenant-Captains to command them. To say nothing of the normal rotation. There aren’t as many Senior Lieutenants out there as you think.”

 A smile crossing her face, she said, “You’re saying I might get it by default?”

 “No, I’m saying that they’ve got every reason to assume you’ve got the job.” He took a deep breath, and said, “The reason I’m bringing this up now is, because Jack and I both think that you’re a foregone conclusion, is that we’re going to need a new Operations Officer.”

 “Not Grant?”

 Sighing, Nelyubov said, “The man has a habit of getting on my wrong side with everything he says. I know a lot of the crew feel the same way, and there is still the Salazar business to resolve. He’s only in the job temporarily, and I think we can do better.”

 “You want the job?”

 “I’m still getting used to Tactical, thanks. Do you think we can talk Joe Kibaki into taking it on?”

 “He’s a Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Who is up for promotion for, what, the eighth time? Not to mention that he’s the most experienced Watch Officer in the whole damned fleet. I think it would be justified. Or Kelso, perhaps. There’s no rule saying that it has to be a Senior Lieutenant during the job.”

 “Leave it to Captain Marshall,” she said. “Grant isn’t that bad.”

 “You really want to be stuck on out in the dark with him for a whole year?”

 The door slid open, and they stepped out onto the deck. A small crowd had gathered, and they pushed their way through, where a beaming Jack Quinn was waiting for them, the Sensor and Systems Chiefs flanking him.

 “Ah, the Guest of Honor has arrived,” he said. “All tests and simulations are complete, and we’ve passed with flying colors. I’ve already spoken to the dockmaster, and we’re clear for a shakedown test.” Passing her a datapad, he continued, “Twelve hours, slow orbit around the moon and return. With drones already in place for a battle drill. I want to see what we can really do.”

 “Then by all means, lead the way.”

 The doors slid open, and Quinn, Orlova and Nelyubov stepped into the darkened room. Reaching across, Quinn tapped a control, and the main lights flashed on, revealing what had until a few weeks ago been the old Auxiliary Control room. All of the equipment was new, the latest designs of every station, with a holotable at the heart of the room. At the rear, another hologram displaying the status of every system on the ship, all currently a reassuring green.

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “You’re really done us proud, Jack.”

 An older, unfamiliar figure stepped into the room, looking around with a puzzled frown on his face, before finally locking on Orlova and walking across to her, a datapad in his hand. He ran a hand through his thinning gray hair, pausing to look at the holotable.

 “Sorry,” he said, turning back to Orlova. “I’d better introduce myself. I’m Professor, sorry, Senior Lieutenant John Powell. Your new Astrogation Officer. You must be Margaret Orlova.” He held out his hand, and she shook it with a bemused look on her face.

 “I wasn’t expecting anyone for a week.”

 “I was rather surprised myself,” he replied, “but a berth opened up on the Roger Malone, and I thought I might as well come early.”

 Holding a datapad, Nelyubov said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but you’re meant to be a Lieutenant Janet West.”

 “Ah, she’s gone elsewhere. The new Hercules, I believe. I’m her replacement.” Looking around, he asked, “What is this place? I’ve served on this class of ship before, but I suppose that there have been more changes than I thought.”

 While Nelyubov glanced over Powell’s orders, Orlova said, “This is our new bridge. You’re arrived just in time to watch us bring it into service, we only finished the final testing a few minutes ago.”

 “What happened to the old bridge? This used to be Auxiliary Control.”

 Quinn stepped over, saying, “We swapped them. Alamo was originally designed as a civilian ship, and there are places where it still shows. The bridge always was somewhat on the small side for a capital ship, but the heart of the ship command and control had always been intended as the sensor decks. Expanding the bridge would have meant a lot of structural work, but Auxiliary Control was right next to Storage Five, and we only had to move one interior bulkhead. It had all the command functions anyway.”

 “And he’s been planning it for the better part of a year, just waiting for someone to give him approval,” Orlova added. “Senior Lieutenant Jack Quinn, Systems Officer.” Gesturing at Nelyubov, she added, “And our Acting Tactical Officer, Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov.”

 “It’s impressive,” he said, looking across at a console. Crewmen were beginning to file in, to take their positions at the half-dozen stations, the crowd outside slowly dispersing. “Can you show me around?”

 “Guidance Control at the front,” Orlova said, pointing at a large console by the viewscreen, where a blonde midshipman was sliding into position, a tall, rangy man peering over her shoulder, “with Midshipman Foster taking the helm. On the left, Communications and Sensors, on the right, Tactical and Defense Systems.” 

 “And speaking personally, it’s a relief that we’ll now have someone dedicated to the countermeasures,” Nelyubov added.

 “Everything looks good here,” Lieutenant Kelso, the duty officer, said from behind Foster.

 “To the rear, Flight Engineering. The central table handles tactical and strategic views, as well as astrogation.”

 “So I’m not stuck down in the lower decks?” Powell said. “I must say that is excellent news. It’ll be nice to be where the action is.”

 “No, we felt that it might be a nice idea to centralize everything a little more.” She pointed at the two doors on the right, and said, “Captain’s office down by the rear holoemitter, with the head up by the helm.”

 “A bathroom right by the bridge? It would appear that this has been designed by someone who has actually served on a starship.”

 “As I said, this has been in the planning stages for a while, but it’s only now that we’ve had the opportunity to actually do it.” The door opened, and a tall, scowling figure stepped in, a pair of technicians following him, rushing to their stations. Orlova gestured at him, and said, “Lieutenant Grant, Acting Operations Officer while I’m Acting Commander. Grant, this is Senior Lieutenant Powell, our new Astrogation Officer.”

 “A pleasure,” he said. “Are we taking her out now? The crew seem to be under the impression…”

 “As soon as we’re ready,” Orlova interrupted. “Which should be any minute.” She walked over to the table and touched a control, saying, “Combat to Bridge.”

 “Bridge here, Sub-Lieutenant Kibaki speaking.”

 “Transfer all control and command systems down to us, Joe.”

 “Ready in fifteen seconds on my mark. Mark.” He paused, then said, “Feels strange to be the last duty officer up here. Like the end of an era.”

 “We’ll still be using the old bridge.”

 “Only as a back-up. It just won't be the same.” There was a brief pause, and he said, “Transfer is complete.”

 Orlova looked around the room, watching as the technicians moved into position, taking up their duty stations. One by one, systems winked into life, updates running across control position, the engineering status display winking red and amber as the start-up system ran its checks. Kelso and Grant went from station to station, monitoring systems, while Orlova started the holotable, a display of the local system appearing to fill a portion of the room. Powell walked around to the far side, looking at his controls with an approving glance.

 “Well, Grant?”

 “All systems appear nominal. I’d still like to run a full cycle before we leave.”

 “No need,” Quinn said. “We can switch back to bridge operations in a microsecond if we have to, and we’re only a short hop away from the station if the worst comes to the worst. In my opinion we can proceed on our shakedown test.”

 Nodding, Orlova replied, “I concur.” Turning to Kelso, standing in the corner, she said, “Lieutenant, take us out.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” he said with relish. “Mr. Weitzman, signal the station that we are proceeding on our planned flight path. Midshipman, initiate course.”

 “Aye, aye,” Foster said. “Main engine sequence start, one-tenth power.”

 As she engaged the control, Spaceman Hooke looked up from the countermeasures station, and said, “Problem, sir. Response time is down.”

 “Same here,” Foster replied. “Thrusters are not properly reacting to the helm.”

 “I knew it,” Grant said.

 “Let me look at that,” Quinn replied, bounding over to the station in three strides. “This isn’t a defect. There’s nothing wrong with the systems. Someone’s doing a data dump.”

 “On it,” Hooke said. “Tracking signature. They’re in Storage Four.”

 “Just down the corridor,” Orlova said, racing to the weapons locker and snatching a pistol. “Someone call Ensign Cooper, get a squad of Espatiers down here on the double. Take the bridge, Kelso, and hold this position.”

 “Wait a minute!” Nelyubov said, chasing after her, grabbing a pistol of his own, while Grant and Powell watched them leave. The two of them raced down the corridor, Orlova with a good lead and Nelyubov struggling to catch up. “Maggie, this isn’t your job.”

 “We can’t afford to wait. Any second now our hacker will know that we’re onto them.” She raced over to a door, motioning Nelyubov to the other side. “Count of three. Ready?”

 “Ready,” he said, pistol in hand.

 “Three, two, one, now,” she replied, opening the door and throwing all the internal lights to maximum, stepping in with her weapon raised, Nelyubov right behind her. The room was filled with crates, stacked five high and tied down, a few boxes open and scattered around the floor.

 A gunshot cracked out, the bullet smashing into the bulkhead to her right, and she dived into cover, taking a shot on instinct, Nelyubov diving forwards. She glanced at the far door, a red light flashing overhead, and smiled.

 “You’ve got nowhere to go,” she yelled. “Give it up!”

 A siren started to sound, and a jet of foam lanced across the room at her, the high-pressure pulse of flame retardant tossing her out of cover. She struggled on the slippery deck, Nelyubov reaching up to snatch her back into safety, but a trio of shots rang out, one of them close enough for her to feel a bullet rushing past.

 The far doors opened, and Ensign Cooper burst in, a pair of Neander troopers at his back, and before the gunman could fire again, they took him down with a trio of perfectly aimed shots.

 “Damn!” Orlova yelled, diving forwards towards the dying hacker. He was wearing a Triplanetary uniform, that of a Senior Spaceman, a datapad clutched in his hand. She looked down at him, and saw the light fade from his eyes as blood spilled out onto the deck. His head slumped to the right, and she clambered to her feet.

 “I had to take him down, Maggie,” Cooper said. “He’d have killed you with his next shot.”

 “I know,” she replied, looking down at the corpse. She reached down with a hand, brushing it across his face to close his eyes, then rose from the deck. “I want a full autopsy and identification check immediately. We need to know who he is, and where he came from.”

 “I’ll see to it right away,” Nelyubov said.

 Before Orlova could give any more orders, Harper’s voice began to echo around the room, briefly sending everyone back into cover, alert for any more signs of attack.

 “If you are hearing this message, it means that someone has attempted to use the intrusion software I designed to infiltrate a Triplanetary starship, probably the Battlecruiser Alamo. Let me first assure you that their attempts to hack your systems have failed. I made sure of that, and built in some defects to guarantee that they would be detected.”

 “Nice of you,” Nelyubov said.

 “The Scoutship Wyvern and her crew have been captured by forces under the command of Commodore Tramiel, a rogue officer who has seized this vessel with the goal of overthrowing the civilian government of the Confederation. In my judgment, this situation represents a clear and present danger to Triplanetary security, and as such I request immediate assistance. We’re in close orbit around Phaeton, and will be there until December 21st, 2170 at least. Good luck.”

 “Six days from now,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “Tight on time.”

 “What do you want to do, Maggie?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Start preparations for departure.” Her communicator chirped, and she said, “Orlova here.”

 “This is Kowalski. Someone’s just burst into the hangar deck and is holding Sub-Lieutenant Bradley hostage. Wants a shuttle and safe passage out of the system. I’ve evacuated everyone else.”

 “Tell him I’m on my way,” Cooper said, racing for the door.

Chapter 4

 Cooper stepped out of the elevator into a crowd of deck technicians, Chief Kowalski waiting for him by the door with an anxious Corporal Hunt standing next to him.

 “What’s the story, Chief?”

 The grim-faced man replied, “A woman wearing Triplanetary uniform burst into the room, fired a pair of shots into the air. I started to get everyone off the deck, and in the confusion she was able to grab Bradley and get into Shuttle Three.” He glanced at the nearest monitor panel, and said, “All shuttle systems are off, and there’s no way she can do anything from in there. Except for the in-system communicators, I left those on so we could negotiate.”

 “Corporal?”

 “Third Squad is covering the other exits in case there is any trouble, and Sergeant Gurung and Second Squad are waiting in Airlocks Nine and Twelve. I’ve got First Squad with me, but Fourth Squad is staying in the barracks on standby with Lance-Sergeant Francis, in case anything else happens. This could be a diversion.”

 “All bases covered. Good. Do we have monitoring?”

 Nodding, Kowalski said, “All internal detectors are functioning, and I’ve got people manning the monitors right now. Nothing’s moving in there without us knowing about it.”

 “Sir,” a technician said, “We’re getting a message from the shuttle, for you.”

 “For me?” Cooper asked.

 “By name, sir.”

 He walked over to the monitor panel, and asked, “This is patched into the new bridge,  right?”

 “Yes it is,” Orlova’s voice said. “Speak to them. I’m willing to offer leniency for information, as long as this ends right away. We’re hungry for intel.”

 “Thanks,” Cooper said, pausing for a second to think. “Shuttle Three, this is Ensign Cooper. Could I first have assurances that Sub-Lieutenant Bradley is alive and well?”

 “Bradley here,” his wife replied. “I’m fine.”

 “And what is your favorite color?”

 “Turquoise. This isn’t a recording.” 

 A different, higher-pitched voice took over, “Ensign, this is Spaceman Scott.”

 “Giving me your real name would be a good start.”

 “You aren’t in a position to make demands at this point.”

 “Neither are you. We have you surrounded on every side, and all your shuttle systems are under our control. By now you must know that your hacking software has been compromised, so you have no hope of escaping. If you surrender, I guarantee you a fair trial.”

 “Not much of an offer.”

 He paused, then said, “I’m in a position to sweeten the deal. My commanding officer will trade information for a recommendation of clemency. If you are willing to provide details of your mission, your organization, we’ll recommend that you are given a lighter sentence.”

 “How about this,” the voice said. “I want safe passage out of the system to a destination of my choice. The Sub-Lieutenant will come with me, and I will personally guarantee her safety and repatriation.”

 Kowalski looked at him with a grimace, and he said, “You can’t possibly think for a moment that I would agree to such a demand.”

 “How badly do you want your wife back? And don’t think about putting anyone onto the deck, or I’ll be forced to take steps that neither of us will like. How do you look in black?”

 Cooper paused, flicked a switch, and said, “Any thoughts?”

 “You can’t give into her,” Hunt said.

 “Of course not. I might have been willing to allow her to escape after giving us the information we need, but I’m certainly not letting her take a hostage along for the ride.”

 Frowning, Kowalski said, “What about pretending to go along with it. Set up an ambush on a transport or something. As soon as the shuttle docks, hit them with everything we’ve got.”

 “Wouldn’t work,” Hunt replied. “No reason for them to leave the shuttle. They’ve got food and air for a hundred man/days on board. All we’d be doing is passing off the problem to someone else. Can’t we do something to the shuttle life-support, turn the pressure down to put them to sleep?”

 Shaking his head, Kowalski said, “If I was on that shuttle, I’d have a pressure reader sitting on my lap, and be ready to go out firing if that started. Besides, there are plenty of respirators on board. Odds are we’d only be knocking out Bradley.”

 “Wait a minute,” Cooper said. “Is there a way of getting into the elevator airlock while it is in use?”

 Kowalski’s eyes seemed to bulge, and he replied, “There’s an inspection hatch, but it’s only meant to be used in emergencies. There’s almost no room in there when a shuttle is passing through. The thing is only really designed to allow a shuttle crew to get out in an emergency, and even then, it’s chancy.”

 “Let’s double up. The explosive bolts on the shuttle airlock doors. Can you arm them without anyone on board knowing about it?”

 “Well,” the chief frowned, “we own their systems, so I don’t see any reason why not.” He paused, then said, “Wait a minute, do you realize what you are talking about doing?”

 “Hunt, be ready to take your squad into the hangar deck the second I give the signal. Kowalski, arm the explosive bolts, and fire them on my signal.”

 “You won’t fit. Not wearing a spacesuit.”

 “Who said anything about a spacesuit?” he replied, heading to the access hatch. He pulled out his communicator, and said, “Patch me in. I want to still be able to talk to the shuttle.”

 “Ensign,” Hunt said, “If something goes wrong, you’ll be killed.”

 “Just another wonderful morning on the Battlecruiser Alamo,” Cooper replied, beginning his descent down the ladder. Once he reached the bottom, he said, “Shuttle Three, do you still read me?”

 “I read you. Go ahead.”

 “We have privacy. I’m willing to negotiate.”

 “I’ve given you my terms.”

 “And I’ve told you that they are unacceptable. I want my wife released, and I want the information you have. As far as I’m concerned, once I have those, you can go free. None of this is necessary.”

 “There’s a ship scheduled to leave in an hour. I want to be on board.”

 “You don’t seriously expect to take an entire crew hostage? Be reasonable.”

 She paused, then said, “You’re stalling, Ensign. Tell you what. I’ll allow the crew to evacuate on escape pods before we enter hendecaspace, and your wife can join them. In addition, I will give you the names of our other operatives on Alamo, and on Yeager Station.”

 “Give me a minute to discuss this with my commanding officer.”

 “No more than that. Shuttle Three out.”

 Cooper raced down the cramped corridor, head down low, stepping over the crates and containers that were still scattered about. At least the offer was barely plausible, and he switched channels on his communicator.

 “Cooper to Orlova.”

 “Orlova here. Go ahead.”

 “I need you to order the Angus McBride to jettison her escape pods in one minute, and to relay that feed to Shuttle Three.”

 “Cooper, I’m not giving her a transport.”

 “Of course not, but I want her to think we are.”

 There was a pause for a second, and she replied, “I’ll see that it is done. Orlova out.”

 He reached the access hatch, then looked around for the supply locker. A respirator and a length of cable. When the airlocks blew, there would be a hell of a pressure reduction, and if he didn’t restrain himself, the force would throw him down the corridor. Of course, that also meant that there was no way he would be able to get out of the way if something went wrong.

 “Cooper to Shuttle Three,” he said as he restrained himself. “We agree with one modification.”

 “And that is?”

 “We’re not giving you more hostages. The crew of the Angus McBride are going to bail out first. The ship is already prepared for a hendecaspace jump, and all you have to do is set in the course and fly her to the egress point.”

 “Cooper, don’t do it,” Bradley yelled. “You can’t trust her.”

 “Right now I haven’t got much choice,” Cooper replied. “Well, Scott, do you agree?”

 “It seems reasonable enough. I agree. I have an external sensor feed, and I’m looking at the freighter now.” A few seconds later, with an air of surprise, she said, “You actually did it.”

 “I’m keeping my end of the bargain. We’ll fly you over there under our control, and my wife can stay on board for the trip back.” 

 “Wait a minute, that wasn’t in the agreement.”

 Cooper paused, wondering if he was pushing it too far. On the other hand, he couldn’t appear to wield too much, or she’d start to think that it was too easy to be believed.

 “You can secure the docking clamps and release them once you’ve checked the systems on the McBride. We’ll be monitoring the inside of the shuttle all the way to make sure that you don’t harm my wife.”

 “Cooper, I’m not…,” Bradley began, before Scott interrupted her.

 “Evidently he’s letting emotion override his good sense. From the report I’ve read on him, that doesn’t seem out of character. Let’s get this over with. Engage the elevator airlock.”

 Taking a deep breath, Cooper tapped a control, and said, “Kowalski, engage elevator airlock. Once the upper doors are sealed, blow the doors and open the inspection hatch. Give me a two-second warning. I’m braced and ready.”

 “Are you sure about this, sir?”

 “Do it.”

 Leveling his pistol to point at the door, he braced himself, and waited. A loud, angry whine echoed from above as the elevator airlock began to engage, the shuttle being lowered down into the deck, then another, deeper noise as the upper doors started to close. The whole sequence should take less than a minute, but it seemed to be an eternity.

 “Now!” Kowalski yelled, and the world seemed to tear asunder as the hatch opened, and a brief, blinding flash that the respirator goggles struggled to compensate for as the twin airlock doors blew out, pieces of shrapnel raining down around him as the escaping air hurled him around, tossing him back and forth on the cables. Scott was sitting in the pilot’s couch, her gun in her hand, and she let off a shot to the rear of the cabin, smashing against the wall.

 Cooper, an instant too slow, fired two shots in rapid succession, the first catching her in the shoulder, the second in her leg, a loud crack as the latter hit something in a pocket. Scott dropped her weapon in pain, the agony forcing a scream, and she slumped down onto the deck. Unwrapping his restraints, he bounded in, securing her to the deck, before looking back at Bradley at the rear of the room, unconscious.

 Slamming a control, he yelled, “Kowalski, get this shuttle to the deck now, and I need a medical team on the double!”

 “Knew I shouldn’t have trusted you,” Scott mumbled, blood trickling from the hole in her shoulder.

 The shuttle rose to the deck, surrounded by troopers with guns raised, a medical team racing from the airlock with a stretcher. Hunt looked in through the opening, then gestured for the medics to enter.

 “Bradley first, Garland” Cooper ordered. “Our hijacker here can wait a moment.”

 The paramedic nodded, heading back to the rear of the cabin, kneeling down beside her unconscious form. One of the other medics leaned over Scott, bandages in hand, and at a curt nod from Cooper, took her out onto the deck, a dozen rifles pointed at her.

 “What a mess,” Kowalski said, shaking his head. “It’s going to take hours to clean that up, and days to put that shuttle back into service.”

 “Get her to clean it up,” Cooper said. “Garland, what’s the story?”

 “Decompression shock,” he replied. “Vitals seem fine, I don’t see any sign of permanent damage.” Pulling out a respirator, he placed it on her head, activating it with the flick of a switch. “We’ll get her to sickbay for a full medical, though.”

 “Thanks.”

 He stepped back onto the deck, looking down at Scott, a defiant look on her face. She looked around, as though about to say something, then jerked forward, a scream loud enough to echo from the ceiling, and defiance was replaced by fear.

 “Where am I?” she asked, tears of pain streaming down her cheeks. “What’s going on?”

 Cooper stepped over to her, and said, “You just held my wife hostage and threatened the safety of this ship. I don’t know what’s going on, but rest assured, I will.” Turning back to Garland, he said, “Get them both to sickbay on the double. And I want a fire team posted to keep an eye on this one.”

 Desperately, she said, “What’s happening? You shot me?”

 “Be grateful I shot to wound.”

Chapter 5

 “So, who is he, Doctor?” Orlova asked, looking down at the corpse lying on the table. Duquesne reached over to a wall terminal, tapping a series of instructions, and a picture of the man wearing Triplanetary uniform appeared, along with a crawl of text.

 “Lieutenant William Strong, age twenty-nine. AWOL for the past seven months, since the attempted coup.”

 Nelyubov looked at the records, and added, “Served on Commodore Tramiel’s staff for almost a year. Obviously a loyalist. Maggie, I’ve gone through the records. There are more than a hundred people listed as AWOL from around then.”

 “What?”

 “It’s been buried. Either they’ve got friends in high places back home…”

 “Or someone decided to just let them go, rather than risk bringing everything back to the surface again,” Orlova concluded. “Any indication where he has been for the last seven months?”

 “I’m no clairvoyant,” Duquesne asked, frowning. “He’s been in a low-gravity environment for at least most of that time, but aside from that, I can’t tell you anything.”

 “Low gravity,” Nelyubov mused. “Meaning a planetary surface rather than a ship.”

 “Probably.”

 “He was last stationed on Titan,” he continued. “Working in Special Projects, which could mean anything. I looked a little deeper, as far as my security clearance would take me, and it looks like the operation was closed down two weeks after he disappeared. Quite a lot AWOL. Of course, there’s nothing useful in the file regarding what they were actually doing.”

 “We’ve got our prisoner for that,” Orlova said, walking over to the door, looking through the window at the ward on the far side. “What about her?”

 “Her last name actually is Scott, strangely enough. Sub-Lieutenant Catherine Scott, late of the Gilgamesh. AWOL a week after the coup, not seen since.”

 “Physical examination?”

 “Same as the other one,” Duquesne said. “And she doesn’t remember anything.”

 “What?” Nelyubov asked. “She’s lying.”

 Shaking her head, Duquesne replied, “Not according to my professional judgment. Someone has been playing games with that young lady's brain. And, incidentally, violating almost half a dozen statues, so you can add that to the list. You can talk to her yourself, but I’ve already run a detailed neural scan. The last six months of her life are gone.”

 “How is that possible?”

 With a deep sigh, the doctor said, “In theory, memory can be erased with the destruction of neurons. More than theory. During the War, researchers on both sides did a lot of work on it, and there were reports of some success. It isn’t selective, though, not discriminative, and there is a high risk of brain damage.” She reached into a pocket, and threw a piece of scrap metal on the table. “I found that implanted in the back of her neck. A sequence of injections was administered into her, just after Cooper shot her.”

 “Can you…”

 “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Any research in this field is a violation of medical ethics, and I seem to vaguely remember swearing an oath to do no harm.”

 “I was wondering if it could be reversed,” Orlova said.

 Shaking her head, Duquesne replied, “Not a chance. Those memories are gone, forever, and the person who committed those crimes has gone with them. She wants to talk to you, by the way.”

 “Me?”

 A faint smile crossing her face, she said, “Apparently you are something of a hero to her.”

 “Damn, Doc, you fight dirty.”

  “It usually works.”

 Nelyubov looked out at Scott, still lying on the table, and said, “I don’t think Field Regulations cover this situation. She’s facing charges of treason, kidnapping, conspiracy, attempted murder…”

 “And the woman who committed all of those crimes has killed herself, effectively,” Duquesne said. “Suicide of personality. I think we’re going to need to rewrite the regulations.” Looking across at Orlova, she said, “If you want to talk to her, I’ve cleared the ward.”

 “Bradley?”

 “Is fine, and sleeping in her cabin. Best that she wakes up in her own time. Cooper’s with her, and I’ve got her under remote observation.” She shrugged, and said, “She’ll be cleared for duty in the morning.”

 “Then let’s hear what she has to say,” Orlova said, walking out of the morgue onto the ward, Nelyubov and Duquesne following her. Scott looked up as she entered, struggling to salute, her hand festooned with cables, but Orlova gestured for her to relax, taking a seat by her bedside.

 “Well, Sub-Lieutenant, you’ve got yourself into quite a situation. Do you know what happened?”

 “Doctor Duquesne filled me in on the details, ma’am. I’m willing to face charges for what I did.” Shaking her head, she said, “Though I don’t understand any of it.”

 “What is the last thing you do remember?”

 “I had a message from Commodore Tramiel, top secret. He told me that I had been selected for a secret mission, and should make my way by civilian transport to Triton Base. Details to follow.” Closing her eyes, she said, “Then everything is a blank until I woke up on your hangar deck. I’m glad Sub-Lieutenant Bradley is alright.” With a sigh, she added, “I just don’t understand why I would have wanted to kill her. None of this makes any sense.”

 “If it helps, I don’t think you did,” Duquesne said. “Didn’t you win some sort of award for marksmanship?”

 “I got a Bronze in the Interplanetary Olympics, my first year of the Academy,” she said.

 “You really think you’d miss a stationary target at thirty feet, Sub-Lieutenant? You were shooting to throw off Cooper, not kill Bradley.”

 “What’s your opinion of the government?” Nelyubov asked with a frown.

 “Be honest, Sub-Lieutenant,” Orlova added.

 Taking a deep breath, Scott said, “I think that the government needs to do more to protect its citizens, and that we need a firmer line against the Cabal. I believe that war is inevitable, and that all we are doing with the peace treaty is stalling for time, time which they will probably use more effectively than we will.” Looking across at Orlova, she said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, that’s just the way I feel about the situation.”

 “And you made those views public?”

 Nodding, she said, “Yes, ma’am.”

 “She’s telling the truth,” Duquesne said.

 “And you don’t remember anything else?”

 “No, ma’am.” Looking down at the bed, she said, “Could you please pass on to Sub-Lieutenant Bradley that I apologize for what I did. I know that doesn’t mean much.” Shaking her head again, she said, “I just don’t understand.”

 “How long will she be on the sick list, Doctor?” Orlova asked.

 “Two, three days.”

 “Just rest, for now, Sub-Lieutenant,” Orlova said, rising to her feet. “Doctor, I want Strong’s body transferred to the McBride, as well as all of your reports on what happened to her.”

 “For the record, Strong had another of those devices implanted in his neck, and it self-destructed when he died,” she said. “Whoever did this was determined to make sure that no-one could tell any tales.”

 Orlova’s communicator chirped, and she said, “Go ahead.”

 “Quinn here. I’ve finished my analysis of the datapad we found on the corpse. Scott’s was shattered, I’m afraid, and the memory had been wiped automatically. Data irretrievable.”

 “And?”

 “Harper made some serious modifications to it. Lots of intrusion software, but all of it subtly wrong. Enough that we’d spot it in a second if it was ever used. And even if they did manage to extract anything, there was a randomizer built in.”

 “Useless, then.”

 “Deliberately so. I found out how they got on board, and that was Harper again. This time she did a good job, though. I guess she wanted to make sure that her messengers got on board.”

 “Thanks, Jack, good work. Send over all of your data to the McBride. I’m going to send a full report back to Captain Marshall on Ragnarok.”

 “Will do.”

 “Jack, is Alamo ready for space?”

 There was a long pause, and he replied, “All of our repairs are completed.”

 “But?”

 “We’ve got quite a few untested new systems. We really need a shakedown cruise to test them out. I’ve run simulations, but that isn’t any substitute for the real thing.”

 “What does your gut tell you?”

 “We’re ready.”

 “I’ll settle for that. Orlova out.” Turning to Duquesne, she said, “Keep an eye on our patient, Doctor.”

 “That’s what I’m here for. Just a glorified babysitter.”

 With a smile, Orlova walked out into the corridor, Nelyubov following her. Without a word, she stepped into the elevator, punching a button for the new bridge. She looked down at her datapad, going over the ship status reports. All hands were on board for the shakedown cruise anyway, and Alamo was loaded with supplies for the long-duration cruise that no-one had admitted they were preparing for.

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

 “No,” she said. “I’m not going to let that stop me, though.”

 “You’re taking a big risk, leaving Yeager Station undefended. We’re the first line of defense against attacks from the Cabal, the Not-Men, even the United Nations.” He raised a hand, and said, “I’m not arguing with you, just making the point.”

 “True.”

 “And we both know that this is a trap. Commodore Tramiel may be many things, but he isn’t stupid. We have to assume that Harper sent that message because she was allowed to send it, whether or not she knew it. He wants us to go out there.”

 “Also true.” With a sigh, she said, “The secret to avoiding a trap is knowing that it exists. We have a six-day window to catch him and recover our people, and in my judgment, he represents a clear and present danger to the security of the Confederation. If we could, I’d pass it back to Captain Marshall, or Vice-Admiral Remek, but we haven’t got time to wait for them to give approval.”

 He nodded, and said, “As I said, I’m not arguing with you. I’d probably be doing exactly the same if our roles were reversed. I’m just pointing out the alternatives.”

 “Good. I’d like you to act as my executive officer, if you can do that and handle Tactical at the same time.”

 With a frown, he replied, “You do realize that there are three people ahead of me in seniority. Quinn, Powell and Grant.”

 “Jack doesn’t want it, I don’t know Powell well enough to know if he is up to it, and as for Grant, well, I need someone I trust.”

 With a shrug, he said, “So I get it by default.”

 “Hell, I can’t give it to Carpenter, and Harper isn’t here,” she said with a smile.

 “I’ll take it,” he replied, as the doors opened. The two of them walked across the corridor and into the new bridge, Grant and Powell looking at projections at the command holotable, the rest of the crew at their stations.

 “Sit-rep, Grant,” Orlova asked.

 “All systems nominal, and I’ve arranged for extra security at key locations,” Grant said. “I’ve also taken the liberty of preparing a preliminary report to pass on to Captain Marshall at Ragnarok. We are ready for space.”

 “What makes you think we’re going out?” Nelyubov asked.

 He shrugged, and said, “I read a transcript of that message. I’ll state for the record that I disagree with the decision, and must point out that you do not have the authority to enter into the course of action that you are planning to undertake, but it was always a foregone conclusion that we’d be heading out after Wyvern. There doesn’t seem to be any point wasting time having an argument that I’m not going to win.”

 Nodding, Powell said, “I have already plotted a course to take us to Phaeton, to the safe egress point in the system. Actually, I’m looking forward to this. A planet destroyed by some catastrophe recently enough that we can take a good look at the processes involved. It promises to be truly fascinating.”

 “Let’s hope that we get sufficient time to study it. Lieutenant Grant, if you wish, I will make a note of your protests in my log.”

 “I do.”

 “If anyone else wishes to register such a protest, please do so now.”

 Kelso stepped forward, datapad in hand, and at her disappointed look, said, “No, not that, ma’am. Shuttle Two has departed for the station with the body of Lieutenant Strong on board. We’ve already got a replacement heading out, and it should catch up with us well before we reach the egress point. Alamo is ready for space, ma’am.”

 “What about Scott?” Nelyubov asked.

 “I’m keeping her on board. I know she doesn’t have any memory of the last few months, but she might prove useful, nevertheless.”

 “Under guard,” Grant said.

 “Naturally, Lieutenant. Please pass the word to Ensign, no Sergeant Gurung that I would like a trooper to be with her at all times. Someone experienced enough to spot any false moves.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” he said, nodding, stepping over to a comm terminal to give the orders.

 Looking around the room, she said, “I know we were wanting more time to get this ship ready, but that’s a luxury the current situation will not permit us. We have a lot of new systems, and we’re going to have to test them in action. I know I can count on all of you to do your best. Lieutenant Kelso, you may take us out.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” he said, stepping into position behind the helm. “Spaceman Weitzman, contact Traffic Control and inform them that we are leaving the system.”

 “Our flight path is clear to the egress point,” Spinelli said from the sensor station.

 “Thank you. Midshipman, take us out.”

 “Aye, sir,” Foster said, running her hands eagerly over the controls. Orlova smiled as she watched her work. With a series of light taps, Alamo began to drift clear of its mooring point, slowly drawing away from the station, before pivoting wildly to port, sliding around in position to point towards the exit point. She ran the thrust up carefully, building the acceleration, and the ship began to speed out of the system.

 A flash of green light drew her back to the holotable, Powell hunched over his panel, entering commands, a trajectory plot through other-dimensional space appearing in the middle of the room.

 “Message from Yeager Station, ma’am,” Weitzman said. “Wishing us good luck, and good hunting.”

 “Egress point in two minutes, thirty seconds,” Foster added. “Course is computed and laid in.” 

 “All decks report ready,” Nelyubov said, glancing across from his station. 

 “Mr. Weitzman, contact the station again. Request all information on the planet and system we’re heading for. Top priority download.”

 Frowning, Grant said, “They won’t have anything we don’t.”

 “Let’s make sure, Lieutenant.”

 “Data upload complete,” Weitzman said, a puzzled look on his face.

 “Thank you, Spaceman.”

 As Orlova looked at the course track, a brief shudder of doubt began to run through her mind, a last-minute, nagging worry that she was doing the right thing. Powell looked up, smiled, and nodded, and she turned to face the viewscreen.

 “You have the call, Midshipman. Jump to hendecaspace at your discretion.”

 “Aye, ma’am. I have the call.”

 A brief moment later, and the familiar blue flash raced across the viewscreen, the ship making the transition to another dimension. Too late for any second thoughts. Now they were committed to the jump, whatever might be waiting for them on the other side of it.

Chapter 6

 “How do you feel?” Cooper asked, looking down as Bradley as she slowly woke up.

 “Like someone hit me on the head with a wrench,” she replied. “What happened?”

 “I had to improvise a bit. Partial decompression of the shuttle cabin. Which apparently made you hit your head on the cabin wall. Doc’s checked you out, and you’re back on duty in the morning.”

 Struggling to rise, she said, “What time is it?”

 “Twenty-hundred and change. We’re in hendecaspace, and Chief Kowalski’s seen to the shuttles.”

 “I’ll be surprised if he hasn’t traded them away.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Give me a hand.”

 “Wait a minute,” he replied. “You’ve had a head injury, and…”

 “I’m hungry, I want dinner, and I want to eat it in the mess.” She smiled, and added, “I feel fine. Just a little stiff and sore, and a walk will do me good.” Pulling herself to her feet, she started to walk towards the door, slightly unstable, and Cooper followed her, accepting reality and taking her arm.

 Carefully, he escorted her down the corridor, and after a few moments her footsteps became more confident, and she glanced at his arm. Ignoring the hint, he continued to hold on, and she shook her head with a smile as they stepped into the elevator.

 “Where are we going, anyway?”

 “Out to the brown dwarf star Wyvern was investigating. It doesn’t even have a name, just a long catalog number. Looks like I’m going to get some action again.” Shaking his head, he said, “I’ve never been on board one of that class of ship. I see many long hours pouring over deck plans ahead.”

 The door paused, and the gray-haired Powell stepped in, looking at the two of them.

 “Are you heading to the mess? I confess I am still trying to find my way around on this ship.”

 “That’s right,” Bradley said. “I saw you when you came on board.”

 “Ah, yes, Sub-Lieutenant Bradley. I presume this is your husband?”

 “Ensign Gabriel Cooper, sir.”

 “Eh?” He looked at his rank insignia in brief befuddlement, and said, “I was forgetting. I’ve been out of uniform for so long that it seems strange to wear one of these again. That, and all of the ranks were different before. John Powell, and I don’t think we need to bother with the formalities, do we?”

 The doors opened, and they stepped out onto the deck, Bradley said, “Call me Barbara, and the reprobate locked to my arm is Gabe.”

 “This was your idea,” Cooper said, “but we’re going to do it my way. I don’t want to have to listen to a ten-minute rant from Duquesne because you’ve fallen over and hit your head again.”

 “That’s right,” Powell said. “You were the one that woman took hostage. Terrible situation. Tell me, are things always like this on Alamo?”

 “Usually,” Cooper replied.

 “Good,” he said with a smile. “I was hoping you’d say that. A nice, interesting cruise would suit me just fine.” They stepped into the mess, walking over to the fabricators. A small crowd had built up, most of the tables full of crewman relaxing after the stress of getting the ship ready for space.

 Alone, at a table in the corner, Scott sat, poking at a plate of food while Corporal Pavlov watched her, standing by the wall next to her with a glass of juice in his hand, his pistol ostentatiously at his belt. She looked up at Bradley, then looked down at the deck, her cheeks reddening.

 “Well, let’s see what we’ve got,” Powell said. “This looks a lot more advanced than the equipment we had in the War, though I doubt the end result will be much better. I presume chicken is still relatively safe.”

 “Usually,” Cooper said.

 Tapping for chicken salad, Powell was rewarded with a plate of food that looked borderline edible. With a shrug, Cooper copied him, but Bradley entered a code, a gloppy mess of red and brown smothering a plate of pasta sliding out of the slot.

 “What is that?”

 “Food,” she said. “They added some new programs.”

 “Must you always be the one to test them?” Cooper asked.

 “Now, where shall we sit?” Powell asked. “Over there.” He walked towards Scott’s table, taking a seat opposite her, and gestured for the others to join him. The would-be hijacker looked up at his approach, shock on her face, and seemed to retreat into herself as Cooper stepped over.

 “I think we’d prefer other company, if you don’t mind.”

 Looking around the room, Powell said, “Well, most of the other tables seem crowded, and I really don’t like knowing that there is someone sitting on their own who doesn’t want to be.”

 “She’s got Corporal Pavlov for company.”

 Glancing up at the fearsome Espatier, Powell said, “I think a slightly lighter touch is needed. You don’t mind me sitting with you, do you, my dear?” Scott shook her head, and he added, “Would you like me to fetch you something else? That doesn’t look particularly appetizing.”

 “No,” she said, quietly. “I’m not hungry. I should go.”

 Bradley looked as if she was about to agree, but Powell shot her a look that was briefly as cold as iron, before saying, “Not on my account. I insist that you should have something to eat. Corporal, if you would go and get one of these chicken salads for her, I would be most grateful.”

 Pavlov looked at Cooper in disbelief, and the officer said, “I’ll keep an eye, Corporal. Get yourself something to eat as well. I think we’re safe enough for the moment.”

 “My orders, sir…”

 “I’ll handle it, Volya. Go on.”

 “Looks like a good man,” Powell said, as Pavlov reluctantly moved over to the food slot. “Please, sit down.”

 Scott looked up at Cooper and Bradley, and said, “I don’t know if it means anything, but I really am sorry for what happened.” Shaking her head, she said, “It sounds so pathetic. I can’t remember any of it.”

 “Apology accepted,” Cooper said. “I think we really will find another table.”

 “Tell me,” Powell said, “I seem to remember you from the holocasts. Didn’t you win a medal for marksmanship in the ‘68 Olympics?” She nodded, and he said, “Seems astonishing that you could miss a target at such a close range.”

 “Is that true?” Bradley asked.

 “Doctor Duquesne said that,” Scott replied. “I don’t know whether I believe it or not. I don’t know how I could have done any of the things I did. The last thing I remember is being in my cabin, getting ready to go on duty, and then I wake up on Alamo’s hangar deck with a dozen rifles pointing at me.” She closed her eyes, tears beginning to well up, and said, “It’s so frustrating. What sort of a monster am I? What did I do?”

 “I don’t know,” Powell said, “and nor do any of us. And yet, the person who did those things is gone. She killed herself rather than face up to the consequences of her actions.”

 “A coward as well as a traitor,” she replied. “I don’t blame anyone for not wanting to be near me. I don’t want to be near myself.” With a sigh, she looked at Cooper, and said, “A part of me wishes that you’d shot to kill, rather than to disable.”

 Bradley sat down at the table, depositing her plate in front of her. Pavlov placed a chicken salad in front of Scott, then turned with his own food to walk to the far end of the room, taking a seat where he could still watch every move she made.

 “You really don’t remember anything?” Cooper asked

 “Some sort of implant. It wiped out the last six months of my life. Maybe I should be grateful.” Looking around the room, she said, “It’s crazy. This is what I wanted. To serve on this ship, out into the unknown. It’s why I joined the Fleet in the first place.”

 “Oh?” Powell asked.

 “I was working out where to go to school when Alamo got back from her mission to Ragnarok. They interviewed some of the senior officers, Captain Marshall, Lieutenant Orlova, Lieutenant Caine, and I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to go out there, fight the enemies of the Confederation on the frontier.” Closing her eyes, she said, “What have I done?”

 Nodding, Powell said, “And do you still feel the same way? Regardless of what the woman who died on the hangar deck thought, how do you feel?”

 “I want to help. I want to stop them. I want to do my duty.” Sighing, she added, “Not that I know what I can do. Lieutenant Nelyubov questioned me, but I can’t remember anything that will be of any help, and I know that no-one will trust me to do anything. Hell, I wouldn’t trust me. I wouldn’t go near me.” 

 Looking at Bradley, Cooper said, “Maybe something will turn up. If they don’t know that you’ve been captured, then you might be able to help us out. Perhaps some of your memories will return.”

 Shaking her head, Scott said, “Doctor Duquesne looked into it. They’re gone forever.”

 “I can’t quite imagine what that must be like,” Bradley said. “To wake up and realize that months of your life are lost.”

 “All of it feels so strange. I would never have done anything like that, would never have turned against the Confederation, and yet for some reason, I did. I betrayed my oath, I betrayed my country, and I betrayed myself.”

 “Powell to Quinn,” the old man said.

 “Quinn here,” the engineer said with a tired sigh. “What’s the problem?”

 “No problem. I just thought you might be able to use some help.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “I understand that one of the elevator airlocks is in a pretty poor condition.”

 “We’ll have it fixed before we return to normal space. It isn’t difficult work, but it’s going to be time-consuming, and everything will have to be double-checked.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Scott has volunteered to make the necessary repairs. I will vouch for her, and she will be under guard at all times.”

 “She’s the one who broke it!”

 “Then it seems only reasonable that she is responsible for the repairs.” Looking across the table, he said, “You don’t have any objection, do you, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 Leaning forward, she replied, “Anything I can do, anything that is useful. If I stay in my cabin, I’ll go crazy.” Shaking her head, she continued, “Assuming I’m not already.”

 “Well?” Powell asked.

 “Why not?” Quinn said with a resigned sigh. “I suppose I can’t turn down a spare pair of hands. Send her down, and I’ll make sure she’s got everything she needs waiting for her. It’s going to be messy as hell, though.”

 “I’m sure she can handle it. Powell out.” With a smile, he said to Scott, “I think you can take that with you. Maybe you’ll be hungrier after you’ve had a chance to do some work. Run along.”

 “Corporal,” Cooper said, “You’ve had some engineering training. Give her a hand.”

 “Aye, sir,” he replied uncertainly, as Scott snatched up the plate, heading for the door. The babble of conversation silenced for a moment as she left, all eyes on her, before resuming as the two of them vanished down the corridor.

 Bradley looked at Powell, and asked, “Why?”

 “Because, my dear, I could see myself sitting there alone at that table, longing for someone to come and talk to me, yet afraid to make the first move.”

 “What do you mean?” Cooper asked.

 “I joined, I should say re-joined, the Fleet because six months ago, my wife died.” He smiled, and said, “We met during the War, both on the same ship. I was Astrogator, she was Tactical. Four years we were here on Alamo.” He looked around, and said, “It’s good to be back.”

 “You served on this ship? I thought she was with the Orbital Patrol?”

 “It was never quite so stark as that. There was always a shortage of officers, you see. And my wife was Callistan, so I was the only interloper. After the War, we got married, and I went back to teaching Cosmology at Syrtis Tech, while she got a job teaching Literature. Both professors, both tenured, looking forward to retiring next year.”

 He paused, then said, “It only took a couple of days. Nothing they could treat, nothing they could cure. I took a month off, then went back to work.” His gaze elsewhere, he continued, “For fifteen years, we had lunch together every day, arguing about something or another, ferocious debates that we’d forgive over dinner. When I went back, the table was there, I was there, but she wasn’t. And no matter how long I waited, how hard I looked, she wasn’t there.”

 “I’m sorry,” Cooper said.

 “So, I thought I’d get a change of scenery, and I applied to return to the Fleet on a three-year tour, on the condition that I was assigned to deep-space duty, with this ship as my first choice. An old friend arranged it for me, you might know his daughter.”

 “Senator Harper?” Bradley said.

 “For a while during the War, he was my commanding officer. We still kept in touch, and he knew that I wanted to get away.” Shaking his head, he said, “I was hoping to meet Kristin again. I haven’t seen her since she was knee-high. Now we’re going to rescue her.” Pausing, he said, “I’ve heard that she went rather wild.”

 “That’s putting it mildly.”

 “I was surprised when I saw that she was commissioned.”

 Glancing at Cooper, Bradley said, “Kristen Harper is something of an experience. Nevertheless, I do count her as a friend.”

 “If I’ve said anything out of turn…”

 “Don’t worry,” Cooper said.

 Poking his fork into one of the larger pieces of chicken, he said, “I should also apologize about Scott, as well. I should probably not have dragged you over here, but I knew she would not get any peace until she had spoken to you both.”

 “She tried to hijack a shuttle,” Bradley said, “and waved a gun in my face. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t have a lot of sympathy for her.”

 “Quite understandable,” Powell said. “Nevertheless, that woman is dead, and left in her place is a very scared young woman, with the hatred of the whole ship resting on her shoulders, and a man with a gun following her around. Knowing that everything she has dreamed of, worked for, fought for is gone, and for a reason she cannot understand or explain. Perhaps I find it easier to feel sympathy.”

 “Looking at it that way…,” Bradley said.

 “I feel sorry for her. I just don’t trust her,” Cooper said. “The safety of this ship is my responsibility, and I can’t take any unnecessary risks. Letting her work in the elevator airlocks is reasonable enough, and I know that Quinn will check everything she does, but I’ve got to be careful.”

 “I know, and I agree,” Powell said. Looking down at his plate, he said, “This is beginning to congeal. Can I try a bit of yours, Barbara? I’m curious.”

 Over the loudspeaker, a voice called, “Bridge to all stations. Prepare for emergence in twelve hours. That is all.”

Chapter 7

 Every day, just before they all turned in for the night, Ryder gathered her officers together and asked the same questions. Every day each of them reported that despite all of their efforts, they had found no way to escape the dome in which they had been sealed. Many of the crewmen were on the verge of giving up, going through the motions of their duties.

 Salazar looked around, and said, “This is getting us nowhere.”

 “Have you got any better suggestions, Sub-Lieutenant?” Riley asked.

 “Any time now, the guard will come in with the rations. We should jump him.”

 Sighing, Ryder said, “I thought we’d settled that. Any attempt to break out of here must be done by stealth. The guards are under constant observation, and the alarm will be raised in a matter of seconds.”

 “Which means that speed has to override stealth. If we move quickly enough, we might have a chance.” He gestured at a snoring technician on the far side of the camp, and said, “If we don’t try something now, we never will.”

 “He’s right,” Merrick said. “As far as we can tell, we’ve been stuck here for the better part of ten days. If there was any other way out of this dome, we’d have found it.”

 “The odds against you are terrifying,” Riley said. “Even if we managed to get past the first guard, and I’m not sure that we would, we’ll be heading out into a complex we know nothing about, with no-one waiting up in orbit to help us.”

 “Someone will come,” Salazar insisted. “Don’t ask me how I know, but I know that Alamo will come and get us.”

 “In which case they should easily be able to overwhelm Wyvern, and we’ll be rescued anyway.” Ryder shook her head, and said, “I know how you feel, Sub-Lieutenant, I really do, but I can’t jeopardize the lives of this crew on a stunt.”

 “We can’t just sit here and do nothing,” Merrick insisted.

 Riley sighed, and said, “He might be right.”

 “Et tu, Steven?” Ryder asked.

 “It occurs to me that as well as prisoners, we’re also hostages. Tramiel and his happy band might be planning to barter our lives for their freedom, and while we are stuck down here, we have to go along with that.”

 Nodding, Ryder said, “You realize that there is a good chance that they have overheard all of this. We haven’t found any of the detectors, but that just means they were positioned by an expert. They’ll be ready for us.”

 “They probably will at that.”

 On the far side of the dome, a door opened, and a quintet of guards stepped inside, two of them carrying crates, the others with rifles trained and at the ready. Salazar rose, walking over to the crate, with Merrick standing by his side.

 “Stay clear,” one of the gunmen said. “Well clear, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Without warning, Riley tossed his canteen into the air, vaguely in the direction of the approaching guards, and Merrick raced forward, Salazar just behind him, diving at the two guards with the crates, trying to use them as a shield. The bottle was a distraction for the half-second they needed to get close and, as bullets cracked out all around them, Salazar dragged the guard to the ground, knocking him unconscious with a carefully-aimed punch, and snatching his pistol loose.

 “Stay still or he dies!” Salazar said. “Drop your weapons!”

 Over to his right, Merrick had subdued his assailant, and was raising a pistol towards the gunmen, saying, “Shoot us, and at least two of you die as well. And there are thirty people to take our place.”

 Two of the gunmen looked at each other, nodded, then sprinted for the door, the third one firing a pair of shots, giving covering fire as they got away. Merrick and Salazar fired together, both shots flying wild as they successfully made their escape.

 “Quickly,” he said. “After them.”

 “Wait a minute,” Riley replied. “This was far too easy.”

 “Salazar,” Ryder began, before he interrupted.

 “Ma’am, this is the nearest thing we’ve had to a chance. We can’t afford to pass it up. Even if all we get out of it is a look at whatever is on the far side of that door, it will be worth it.”

 “Go. Be careful.”

 Merrick led the way to the door, pistol in hand, Salazar close behind him. After a brief glance, Riley went after them, while Trent and Ortega started to tie up the unconscious guards. They paused at the threshold, a corridor heading left and right, with no obvious clue to guide them.

 “Left,” Riley said, and they walked through the door, Merrick taking point, Riley in the rear, with Salazar looking around, trying to find anything they might use as a landmark. The walls were bare, no sign of decoration, and the floor was plain, featureless metal. Another turn to the left, and a third, and there was still no sign of anything new.

 A brief glimpse of blue light shone through the ceiling, a skylight fifteen feet over their heads revealing the ocean that surrounded them. Riley paused for a moment, looking around, shaking his head.

 “Ten minutes, and no sign of anyone. I don’t understand it.”

 “We spent long enough walking to our cell when we arrived,” Merrick said. “If this place is such a maze, maybe they don’t mind if we get lost. That might even be the idea, to discourage us from any further escapes.”

 “No, that can’t be it,” Salazar said. “Why risk their men needlessly? There has to be something more going on.”

 A loud howl echoed down the corridor, coming from up ahead, an unearthly cry that seemed to rattle their souls to their foundations. Salazar raised his pistol on instinct, then looked at Riley.

 “What the hell was that?” he asked.

 “Maybe we should go back,” Merrick said.

 “You two were both eager to come out here,” Riley replied. “We need to investigate. I’ll take the lead, you can cover me. Keep your eyes open.”

 The group continued down the corridor, far slower than before, their eyes darting around at every shadow, every hint of movement, every unexplained sound. Salazar held his pistol at the ready as they walked, watching Riley at the front. The noise returned, a second howl, and once again they froze, looking at each other, before Merrick finally broke the silent deadlock.

 “Maybe it’s psychological warfare. Some sort of recording, a projection of our fears. Designed to scare us,” he said.

 “That sounds more plausible than some alien warrior beast lying in wait for us,” Riley said. “Move out. I’ll keep point.”

 They turned around another corridor, and found a sealed door waiting for them at the far end. Salazar breathed a sigh of relief at the sameness of the passage, but now they heard another sound, footsteps heading their way.

 “Someone’s on to us,” he said. “We’ve got to get through that door.”

 Sprinting forward, Salazar beat the others to the panel, looking for any clue about how it might open while Merrick turned to cover the rear. The corridor was bare, empty, not even a hint of any potential cover to protect them. Any firefight that took place here would be a matter of statistics, not skill. Whoever had the most weapons would win, and with two half-empty pistols between them, it seemed unlikely that the Wyvern contingent would have the advantage.

 Tapping the panel, Salazar turned to the door, looking for any reaction. There was no sign of a dataport, of anything he might be able to hack, but he didn’t have any equipment anyway. Just a standard dumb-fire revolver, and there was no chance that he would be able to shoot his way though.

 Peering over his shoulder, Riley shook his head as the footsteps grew closer, louder echoes from the far side of the corridor. Salazar turned to face them, resolving that at least he would take a couple of the traitors down with him, while Riley went to the door, rubbing his hand against the panel, trying to find any hint of a control panel.

 As shadows crept along the wall, a half-dozen figures racing towards them, the door slid open, and the three of them dashed through, sprinting into the dome beyond, ignoring the calls and shouts from the approaching enemy. With a loud clang, the door closed behind them.

 Turning to face the dome, the contrast with the one they had been imprisoned in could not have been greater. Filled with lush vegetation, insects buzzed through the air, and some small creatures skittered around their feet, heading for cover from the unfamiliar creatures.

 “Good work, sir,” Merrick said. “How did you do it?”

 “I don’t know, Sub-Lieutenant,” Riley replied, shaking his head. “Maybe I found some sort of hidden catch. Or this is some sort of a trap.”

 Nodding, Salazar said, “Maybe this is another dead-end.” He tried to peer through the undergrowth, but couldn’t see more than a few yards into the dense vegetation. The light began to dim, going from white to a dark green, and pinpoints of light began to emerge on the roof.

 “That’s impossible,” Merrick said.

 “A planetarium,” Salazar replied. “Whoever built this shelter wanted their children to know what it was like to look up at the night sky. If I had a datapad and access to a database, we could probably work out when it was built. All of the constellations will have changed.” 

 Gesturing forward, Riley said, “Over there. Something in the undergrowth.” They walked forward, taking care not to trip over the vines and roots, and tucked in behind a bush found what Riley had seen. The corpse of a human, wearing a Triplanetary uniform. What was left of it, anyway.

 Eyes wide, Merrick asked, “What could have done that?”

 “Some sort of beast,” Riley said, looking nervously around. “No, that doesn’t make sense. This environment is far too small for an apex predator.”

 “Not dead long,” Salazar said. “No sign that any parasites have been at work.”

 “How could you tell?” Merrick said, his face turning green.

 “Easy, Sub-Lieutenant,” Riley said. “Keep it together.” He reached down, brushing away a plant to reveal a glint of metal. “A revolver. Standard service issue. Two bullets left.” Looking up, he said, “Whoever he was, he had a good shot at whatever killed him.”

 Another loud howl echoed around the dome, the three of them waving their pistols around in response, trying to work out where it was coming from. Whatever it was sounded as it might be close by, hard on their trail.

 “Maybe we should go back to the door,” Merrick said, the courage gone from his voice.

 “And turn ourselves in?” Riley asked.

 “They might have been trying to warn us about something. Maybe there are some sort of beasts in here. Anything might be trapped in here, and we’re stuck with them.” He turned from the door, then froze. “Something behind us. I saw a shape, larger than a man.”

 “I didn’t see anything,” Salazar said, then a shadow seemed to dance just on the edge of his peripheral vision, and he turned an instant too late to spot it. “Wait a minute.”

 A loud grinding noise echoed through the dome, coming from the direction they had come, the doors slowly opening. Without waiting for debate, Salazar raced for the undergrowth, the others following behind him, guns at the ready, a renewed howl sounding as they forced their way deeper.

 The light grew dimmer, and it became harder for the three of them to see each other, and almost before he realized it had happened, Salazar was alone in the jungle, pushing his way through the undergrowth, having to slide his pistol into his pocket and use both hands to force his way to safety.

 Something was chasing him, something huge, but with a new search party making noise, he had the desperate, guilty hope that the beast would concentrate on the easier targets and leave him alone. He continued to ease his way through the dense vegetation, no idea where he was going, only knowing that liberty was safety.

 A fusillade of shots rang out behind him, and he instinctively tried to duck, almost tangling himself up in a pack of vines, but as another howl, perhaps a little more distant, echoed around, he realized that he wasn’t the target. Though which was Riley and which was prey was impossible to tell from where he was.

 More shots rang out, and what sounded like a full-scale battle was in progress, a very human scream following a pair of shots in rapid succession. Something grabbed at his feet, and he fell to the ground, rolling as he dropped, raising his gun, before realizing it was just a creeper, tangled at the far end around a metal bar.

 In desperation, he scraped his hands in the dirt, revealing a narrow hatch. The bar was all that remained of the opening wheel, but as he tugged at it, it turned just enough to encourage him to further effort. As sweat dropped from his face, he strained to turn it again, the stubborn metal refusing to cooperate. Looking around, he found a long piece of dead wood on the ground, and slid it behind the bar, trying to lever it open, but after only a quarter-turn, it snapped into a cloud of splinters, sending him tumbling back to the ground.

 Merrick raced out of the jungle, head turned to the rear, swinging his pistol around towards Salazar, his eyes wide with panic.

 “Damn it, I’m on your side,” Salazar said. “Help me with this.”

 Looking down at the bar, the young officer nodded, reaching down to tug it open, the two of them struggling to work the ancient mechanism. Finally, with a loud crack, the lever began to turn, swinging around quickly enough to almost knock them to the ground, and the hatch pulled free, revealing a shaft that dropped away into blackness.

 “You first,” Salazar said.

 Peering uncertainly down, Merrick said, “Anything could be down there.” Another howl answered him, and the gunfire was now notable by its absence.

 “You’d rather stay up here?”

 Without any further argument, Merrick swung down the hatch, scrambling down the ladder as quickly as he could. Salazar looked around, trying to find any sign of Riley. He heard a rustling in the undergrowth, heading towards him, and raised his pistol. An unfamiliar figure raced towards him, his face a mask of terror, but before he could reach the hatch, something snatched at his legs, sending him crashing to the ground, the crack of breaking bones followed by a last desperate scream.

 “Kill me!” he yelled, and as a series of razor-sharp tendrils leapt from the undergrowth, a larger shape behind them casting a terrifying shadow in the dim light, Salazar raised his pistol and pulled the trigger, putting a bullet in between the man’s eyes. He leapt down the shaft, hardly waiting to find the rungs of the ladder, and slammed the hatch down behind him, hoping that there would be safety in the darkness.

Chapter 8

 Harper entered a new sequence of instructions into Wyvern’s countermeasures program, Steele looking over her shoulder, checking the data input. The workspace in the communications suite was cramped enough for one, never mind two people trying to occupy the same station. The hacker turned around, shaking her head,

 “Don’t you trust me yet?”

 “No,” Steele said, bluntly. “Your conversion was a little too quick for my liking. I don’t think you are the type to change sides so easily.”

 “Lieutenant, you wouldn’t understand most of what I’m doing anyway.”

 “She’s got you there,” Tramiel said, stepping into the room. “Go up to the bridge and relieve Kline.”

 “Aye, sir,” Steele said, her gaze lingering on Harper for a second longer than the hacker liked.

 “Are you going to be watching everything I do as well?” she asked.

 “Not much point,” Tramiel said. “Your reputation precedes you. I’m quite certain that, if you wanted, you could bring down the entire onboard network. I’ve got enough people working for me who’d spot it that you wouldn’t live through it, but Intelligence has undertaken suicide missions in the past.”

 “Then you trust me?”

 He smiled, and said, “I trust that you will not harm the ship for the moment. Right now, I’m acting on the assumption that you are working some sort of long-term plan, but that gives me time to convince you that I’m in the right.”

 She turned, frowning, and said, “If you believe that, then why are you letting me have access to your systems?”

 “If we fail in combat, we’ll know who to blame. And we have quite a few tricks left to play that I haven’t told you about.” Folding his arms, he said, “Including a redundant security package that I know you’ve tried to access on three occasions. No need to make any excuse.”

 “Then why aren’t you sending me down to the surface with the others?”

 “Because I need to start winning people over, or my cause is done.” He folded his arms, and said, “Do you understand what you did when you allowed the Progressives to win that election, sign that treaty with the Cabal? More than a hundred officers were forced to leave the service, a generation that should be moving up to command cruisers and battleships right now. We need those people back.”

 “I’m not arguing with you,” she said.

 “That’s the trouble,” he replied. “We’re working on some technology that, I will admit, violates some of the treaties we’ve signed. Don’t you think that the other stellar nations have their own grey labs hidden away?” 

 “Probably.” She paused, and said, “Assuming you are right. What’s your plan?”

 “We’re going to follow in the footsteps of Alamo. Into the heart of the Cabal. With the crew I’ve assembled and the technology at my disposal, I can wrest their secrets from them, and find out what their long-term goals are. I’m convinced that means a war with the Confederation. Then we return home, present our case to the people, and they’ll throw the peace-mongers into the fire and let us do our jobs.”

 Harper froze, then said, “That isn’t what I was expecting you’d say.”

 “What, you thought I was going to try and take control of the Confederation with a couple of ships? My plan is far more wide-ranging than that. That’s why you are up here. Down on the planet are officers I can use, once I’ve completed the next stage of our mission. When the time is right, I’ll go down there and retrieve them, explain all of this, and I’m certain that most of them will come along for the ride. You, on the other hand, I cannot do without.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “You’re joking.”

 “Lieutenant, you are one of the top hackers in the Confederation, probably the best one wearing a uniform. Your father is one of the leading candidates to be the next President, no matter that he only scraped in at the last election. He’ll be proved right, and I will see to that. I need you both for the mission, and for the aftermath, but only if you truly believe in what I am setting out to accomplish.”

 “It might be possible,” she said. “I wasn’t with Alamo last time.”

 “And have regretted that ever since, I suspect.”

 “Yes,” she replied, nodding. “There would be resupply problems. Fuel, food.”

 “We’ll raid, just like during the war. Snatch fuel from transports, small bases. We can do this, Lieutenant. I’m convinced of it.” He seemed to be looking beyond her, into the future he was dreaming of. “We’ll return as heroes, and this time everyone will understand what we are trying to do.”

 “Maybe,” Harper said. “There’s a better chance that we’d be killed, or captured. Or that our presence would start a war.”

 “When we put on the uniform, Lieutenant, we knew what it might mean. And as for the latter, I’m not too worried. Our current crop of politicians might not be up to much, but they know how to crawl. I’m a rogue commander on a rogue crew, with a ship that I have hijacked. Plausible deniability.” He paused, then asked, “Under other circumstances, would you have volunteered for this mission.”

 “Yes,” she replied. “It isn’t as simple as that, not now.”

 Nodding, he said, “You’re in a difficult position.”

 A voice sounded over the loudspeaker, “Commodore to the bridge, urgent.”

 With a frown, he gestured to the door, and said, “Come on, Lieutenant. Let’s go and see what’s got Steele worried.”

 Leaving her console, Harper followed Tramiel to the bridge, her mind buzzing. The mission profile that he had outlined was tempting, and strictly from an intelligence-gathering point of view, had considerable merit to it. Enough Cabal forces had gone rogue that they would have no grounds for complaint about anything a single ship might do, and her skills could make all the difference.

 Somehow, when she’d come on board, she’d imagined some daring plan to take down the government through a second coup, a military uprising that would install Tramiel as dictator. Not a plan that under other circumstances would have been immediately approved by the Combined Chiefs. It wasn’t far from the idea that sent Alamo into the Cabal the first time around.

 The door opened, and they stepped out onto the bridge. Steele shot her a glance as she vacated the command chair, moving over to Tactical, Kline was at his customary position at the helm.

 “What’s the problem?” Tramiel asked, settling into the center seat.

 “Surface Base has missed its scheduled check-in time. I tried to signal them, but there was no reply.”

 “That’s strange. Could it be a relay malfunction?”

 The technician at the engineering station, an angry-faced man called Bacalov, replied, “I’m still getting good telemetry from our relays, but nothing from the base itself. All completely dark, like someone threw a switch.”

 Stabbing a button, Tramiel said, “Wyvern to Surface Base, come in.” He paused, then repeated, “Wyvern to Surface Base, reply at once, at once.” Looking up at the helm, he said, “Kline, take us into the cloud, as close to the planetoid as you can. I want a close range scan.”

 “Aye, sir,” Kline said, working the controls, as the roar of the scoutship’s engine began to resound through the hull. “Closest approach in five minutes.”

 “Harper, take the communications controls,” Tramiel said. “See if anyone is trying to interfere with our systems. Was there anything out of the ordinary with the last report, Steele?”

 “Nothing as of six hours ago,” she said. “The prisoners were getting a little restless, but hadn’t shown any signs of escape, and all systems were functional down there. Should I have Shuttle One prepared for launch?”

 Tramiel glanced up at the clock, shook his head, and said, “Let’s stick to the sensor check for the moment. We should be closing on range now.”

 Harper perfunctorily ran through the systems checks, and frowned as she came to the bandwidth monitor reports. Half a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours, someone had done a massive data upload to the ship, only just small enough that it didn’t crash the system. She started to look around the database, looking for any sign of the data, but everything was just as it was when they arrived here.

 Which meant that there was more than one spy on this ship. Someone had managed to dump a couple of terabytes of information onto a portable storage device. With a little time, she’d be able to work out which dataport had been used.

 “Have you found anything interesting, Lieutenant?” Tramiel said, Kline looking over his shoulder at the rear station. “You look lost in thought back there.”

 “Nothing, sir,” she lied. “I thought I’d spotted something, but it just looks like a minor glitch. Everything’s nominal now.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “Still running checks, but I don’t think there is any system-based problem preventing communications, and there’s no sign of anyone hacking into Wyvern.” Technically, both statements were true, and her poker face was good enough that Tramiel turned to Bacalov, quizzing him on diagnostic checks, though Kline’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than she was comfortable with.

 She continued to dig into the database, getting deeper and deeper into the files, trying to track down the location of the data dump. Periodically, she glanced up at the screen, watching as Kline picked his way around the scattered remnants of the planet, their target now centered on the screen.

 The data trace was far more interesting, and she called up the duty schedule, trying to work out where everyone was when the dumps took place. A few fragments remained in the system, and she pulled out a data stick, uploading a few of her personal hacking programs to run down the contents of the file.

 “Closest approach,” Kline said.

 “Running scanning trace,” Steele added. “No signs of any disturbance on the surface, no anomalous activity.” Looking up from her console, she said, “The only way we’re going to find out what is happening is if we go and take a look.”

 Nodding, Tramiel said, “I think you might be right, but not right now.” He turned to Harper, and said, “By my reckoning, Alamo should be jumping into the system in a matter of minutes.”

 “What?” Steele asked.

 “Lieutenant Harper will have found a way to send a message back to alert her people of the hijacking of this ship, as well as what she has thus far discerned of my intentions. Don’t bother to deny it, Lieutenant, I would have done the same in your place.”

 “But the timing?” Fox asked.

 “Five days for the message to get to Alamo with our infiltration team, which I am assuming acted as unknowing couriers, and five days for Alamo to jump here. If I know Captain Marshall, he won’t have waited for more than a moment to make the decision.” Glancing at his watch, he said,  “Conservatively, I am assuming he left Yeager Station two hours after the infiltrators boarded.”

 “If you knew…,” Steele said.

 “I want Alamo here, Lieutenant, and I want it very badly. This ship is not suitable for the mission profile I have in mind.” Looking around the bridge, he said, “We need something larger. And given that it was the Battlecruiser Alamo that so successfully launched the attack last time, it seems logical to use it again. I’m sure I can convince Captain Marshall of my good intentions, and we’ve got a few surprise packages to play with, just in case. I’ll want you on countermeasures, Steele.”

 “Security to the bridge,” Kline said into a microphone. “On the double.”

 Nodding, Tramiel said, “Lieutenant Harper, you are temporarily relieved of duty. Be assured that I do not hold this against you, and that I still have every intention of utilizing you as a key member of my command team in the expedition to come, but I would not ask you to take up arms against your shipmates in any fashion.”

 “Commodore, there is something you need to know,” she began, but he shook his head.

 “I told you, there’s no point attempting to deny your actions, or to dispute my assessment of your loyalty. However much you have attempted to disregard it, you are General Harper’s daughter, and I see a lot of him in you.” He smiled, and said, “That’s one of the reasons I want you for the mission.”

 “No, sir,” she began, but the doors opened before she could finish, four armed crewmen stepping out onto the bridge.

 “Dimensional instability!” Steele said. “Major, capital ship emerging.” Glancing across at a screen, she added, “It’s Alamo, sir.”

 “Battle stations,” Tramiel replied. “No sense not taking all precautions. Harper, it’s time for you to go.”

 “No, sir,” Kline said, drawing his pistol and rising from his console. “Saunders, take the helm. Drake, cover them.

 With a thin smile, Tramiel said, “Evidently I underestimated you, Harper. My compliments.”

 “Don’t rate her too highly, Commodore,” Kline said. “Though she did force my hand a little. Just to satisfy your curiosity, I was the recipient of those data dumps. Not all of us want to die in enemy territory for a country that has expelled us.” He looked at Tramiel with a sneer, and said, “You couldn’t just let us sneak away, could you. You wanted a battlecruiser. The blood I’m going to have to spill is on your hands.”

 “All the gray-tech you stole,” Harper said. “He’s got copies of it all. And everything else you’ve uncovered down on the planet.” With a sigh, she added, “For sale to the highest bidder, at a guess.”

 “Precisely,” he replied. “I’m happy to allow the Confederation to make a bid of its own. Either way, most of us would rather be rich than dead.”

 “I’ll see you burn in hell for this, Kline.”

 “The time for words is over, Commodore.” One of the crewmen dropped into position at the helm, and he continued, “Drake, take the Commodore and Lieutenant Harper down to Storage Two.”

 “Steele?” Harper said, looking at her erstwhile shipmate, whose eyes dropped to the deck. “I see.”

 “What are you going to do?” Tramiel asked, as the three guards pushed them towards the elevator.

 “Get the hell out of this system. If I have to shoot my way through Alamo to do it, so be it.”

 “You have shipmates down on the planet.”

 He shrugged, and said, “Fewer people to split the pot.”

 The doors closed, and Tramiel looked at the guards, saying, “Whatever he’s told you…”

 “We’re all in this together, Commodore. Get used to it.” Alert sirens sounded, and he continued, “Don’t worry, you’ll get your share. All of this is being done in your name, after all.”

 “I would never…”

 The door opened, and the guard said, “Across the corridor. We’ve left rations and set up a couple of cots. You’ll be in there for a while.”

 Harper looked left and right, briefly tempted to try and make a break for it, but decided that she would be unlikely to outrun a bullet, and walked over to the entrance to the cargo area, stepping inside the cold, dark room. Tramiel followed, and the door locked shut behind him, the old man dropping to his knees, looking up at Harper with tears running down his face.

 “What have I done?” he asked.

 She had no answer for him. Right now she was struggling with the same question.

Chapter 9

 Orlova studied the strategic projection displayed over the holotable, watching as the resolution improved, data pouring into Alamo’s sensor grid. She looked at the tumbling remnants of the planet at the heart of the display, a tangle of trajectory projections that constantly jumped as the computer had more time to ponder the problem.

 “Fascinating, isn’t it,” Powell said. “A jewel in the stars, beautiful and terrible. A few thousand years ago, that was a world like Earth, similar mass and atmosphere. People like us might have walked upon its surface, wondering about the stars, until their world was literally torn asunder.”

 “What do you think did it?” Grant asked. “I’m not seeing any sign of another body in the system, nothing that might have done this.”

 “Well, I suppose it is possible that we are seeing the remnants of two worlds, though I don’t think the orbital track would have worked as it did.” Glancing down at a stream of text running across the panel, he added, “And the readings we’re getting don’t seem to support such a theory, either. My guess is that it was artificial. The result of a war.”

 Turning from his station, Nelyubov said, “We’ve never built a bomb that big.”

 “Oh, you would be looking at something several orders of magnitude greater than anything on the drawing board. Something in the multi-gigaton range, definitely.” He nodded, and said, “Anti-matter, certainly.”

 “We’ve got more pressing concerns, gentlemen,” Orlova said. “The location of Wyvern, principally.”

 “I’m sorry,” Powell said. “I’ve been a Professor for so long, it’s hard to switch tracks.”

 “There’s no sign of another ship in the system,” Spinelli said. “They might have left early. If they learned that Lieutenant Harper had sent us a message, they had time to get away.”

 “Should I stand down battle stations?” Nelyubov asked.

 “No, not yet,” Orlova said.

 “It’s been an hour,” Grant said. “The crew will start to lose their edge. We can remain on alert stations, but…”

 “We will remain at battle readiness until I am certain there is no threat in this system,” Orlova said. “That swarm everyone is so interested in is full of sensor blind spots. How many probes will we need to view them all?”

 “Dozens, I would think,” Powell said. Before Orlova could press him, he tapped a sequence of commands into a panel, and said, “Thirty-one, to be specific, and more than two hours for all of them to be on-station.”

 “We’ve only got ten in inventory,” Nelyubov said.

 “Use what we’ve got. I’ll settle for taking a look behind each curtain, rather than pulling them all back,” Orlova said.

 Nodding, Powell said, “Nine probes, then, but it will take six and a half hours to cover everything. The tenth we can hold in reserve. It doesn’t actually help.”

 “See to it, then,” she ordered. “Weitzman, any response to our signals, anything at all?”

 “No sign of artificial electromagnetic activity in this system.”

 “Keep looking.”

 “Our information could be wrong,” Grant said.

 “I don’t think so,” Powell replied. “Someone has been here, and conducted a very thorough investigation.”

 “There’s no trace of that,” Grant said.

 “Exactly. I have a hard time believing in a culture that deploys anti-matter bombs without some sort of space-based presence. Where are the satellites, probes, space stations? Someone has been here, and investigated them all.”

 “That might have happened decades ago,” Nelyubov replied.

 Shaking his head, Powell replied, “By now, we’d know about it. Even if it was the Cabal, we’d have some sort of an idea from the files we’ve recovered. Some trace would be in the historical records. No, this was recent, and through. My instinct is that there is an installation somewhere in this system, hiding.” Tapping a button, he said, “First probe is away.” 

 A small dot raced away from Alamo, diving towards the shattered world, and Orlova watched as the track curved, the probe maneuvering to find its established position. She glanced across at Spinelli, and after a few seconds, the technician turned, saying.

 “Energy readings. Vessel in the fragments, heading our way.”

 “That’s nowhere near the probe track,” Grant said, shaking his head.

 “Now they know that we are onto them, though,” Orlova replied. “They’ll want to preserve as many options as they can. Frank, inform all stations that we will likely be engaging an enemy target in the next ten minutes. A stand-down for five minutes if people want it.” 

 “You’re standing down now, with an enemy ship incoming?” Grant said, frowning. “I don’t understand.”

 “Give the hands a chance to snatch a drink or a quick trip to the restroom,” Nelyubov said. “Now that we have some sort of a time-frame involved.”

 “Patch me through to Wyvern,” Orlova said, reaching for a headset. “This is Acting Captain Orlova, of the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo. Surrender and prepare to be boarded.”

 “That’s a bit strong, isn’t it?” Powell said.

 “Hopefully,” she replied. “I’m really hoping that this is all some sort of mistake.”

 “No reply, ma’am,” Weitzman said.

 “Course track has an interception in nine minutes, forty seconds, with combat range lasting for another forty seconds.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “Frank, I want a firing solution on the Wyvern as soon as you can get it. Make sure the laser is at full charge.”

 “Rules of engagement, ma’am?” he asked, formally.

 “Wait for them to fire first, then let them have it.”

 “That’s still a Triplanetary ship out there,” Powell said.

 “We have to assume that the crew has been removed, or suborned,” Orlova replied. “That looks like one of our ships, but I don’t think it is any more.” Tapping a control, she continued, “Jack, are you getting the feeds from the sensor grid?”

 “I’ve been watching Wyvern since she emerged,” Quinn replied. “I can’t see any signs of modifications, no changes in her appearance since she left Yeager Station. No sign of damage, or even repairs. As far as I can see, that’s the same vessel. I’ll keep checking, though.”

 “Thanks.” Stepping over to the viewscreen, she looked at the scoutship as it approached, shaking her head. “Why won’t you answer, damn it. Don’t make me do this.”

 “Wyvern is increasing speed,” Spinelli reported. “Course curving towards the hendecaspace point. They might be trying to flee the system.”

 Nodding, Nelyubov said, “We’ve now only got twenty-five seconds of firing window. Not long enough to disable them, even with a full salvo and laser pulse.”

 “They aren’t running,” Grant said. “Space is too damn big for that. If they were trying to get out of the system, they could take their time about it, evade us properly. This is a trap.” He looked at Orlova, and said, “I never thought I’d say this, but I recommend we fire first.”

 “I will not initiate combat with a potentially friendly ship,” Orlova replied.

 “Do we have a choice?”

 “Signal, ma’am!” Weitzman said. “It’s Lieutenant Steele. Very weak, I think she’s using a hand communicator, and there’s a lot of interference.”

 “You are sure about the identity, Spaceman?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Positive voice-match, sir.”

 “Put her through,” Orlova said.

 “Steele to Alamo, come in, please!”

 “Alamo Actual here,” Orlova replied. “We read you.”

 “Thank God. Wyvern has been taken over by rebel officers. They’re planning to flee the system, and they are holding the bulk of the crew prisoner.”

 Glancing across at Grant, Orlova said, “Have Cooper on stand-by for immediate launch. Get me an intercept vector.”

 “Maggie, six of us are free and making for the shuttle now. We think we can get off the ship, but we’re going to need your help to get to Alamo. Can you provide us with support?”

 “That’s affirmative, Steele. We’ll look after you. Get moving. Alamo out.” Looking across at Spinelli, she said, “Let me know when the shuttle launches.”

 “It’s a trap,” Grant said, bluntly.

 “Of course,” Orlova replied, pulling off the headset. “The only question I have is whether Steele knows that, or whether she has switched sides. That shuttle is not to be permitted to land on Alamo.” She paused, then said, “Once the situation with Wyvern is over, we can investigate it at our leisure.”

 “And if they are on our side, and this turns out to be real?” Powell asked.

 “Hooke,” Orlova said, “Keep them inside our counter-measure defenses. We’ll play along far enough to get them clear of the combat area, and after that they can wait a while. That shuttle has life support for weeks. They can hold on for a few hours.” She paused, then added, “Nevertheless, Frank, I want a firing solution on that shuttle. In case they’ve turned it into a missile.”

 Nodding, Nelyubov said, “Working. All missiles are ready, locked onto Wyvern, and so is the laser. If they so much as twitch, they’ll regret it.”

 “Shuttle launching,” Spinelli said. “Clear away.” He tapped a control, and the new course track appeared on the strategic view. “They’re on a divergent course. Estimated time to docking is eleven minutes and ten seconds.”

 “Well after the battle encounter,” Grant said. “Good flying, whoever they are working for.”

 “No sign of hostile measures from Wyvern,” Nelyubov said. “They’re just sitting there.”

 Frowning, Orlova said, "They don’t care that we’ll be suspicious.”

 “Or they don’t want to make the first move.”

 Spinelli said, “Small energy spike, non-hostile. Looks like an explosion in their hangar deck.” Glancing across at a monitor, he said, “Very small, but it might have done some damage. The elevator airlock doors are still open.”

 “Meaning that they can’t use their orbital shuttle,” Nelyubov said. “All of this seems pretty damn convenient.” Looking to his side, he said, “We have a firing solution on the shuttle.”

 Frowning, Orlova watched as the shuttle and the scoutship closed in, reducing the range, the time when she would have to make the decision shrinking rapidly. Twenty-four seconds now left in combat range, hardly enough time to get off a single missile salvo, never mind a second. Each shot would have to be perfect, or they wouldn’t stand a chance of stopping them.

 And yet, Grant was quite right. If they were planning to flee the system, they were doing it the hard way. There were a thousand paths to the hendecaspace point, and only one of them took them within firing range of Alamo. All of this was being set up to look perfect. Too perfect. Right down to the shuttle commanded by a former crew-member, racing in a desperate attempt to seek safety, having prevented anyone chasing after them.

 “That explosion,” she asked. “Could it have been a decoy?”

 Frowning, the duty engineering technician, Grogan, said, “A shaped charge. All the force blasted out into space. It would cause only superficial damage, nothing that would interfere with systems operation.”

 “No way to tell if that shuttle is manned,” Grant said, looking up at the readouts. “It might just have a big missile strapped to it.”

 “Life support systems are on,” Spinelli said. “Though I guess that just means they’re making it an effective decoy. Forty seconds to firing range.”

 “Do I fire, Maggie?” Nelyubov asked.

 Shaking her head, she said, “My orders stand. Wait for them to fire first.”

 “And if they don’t, you’ll let them flee the system,” he replied.

 “They’ll do something,” Grant said.

 “Two missiles won’t hurt us, not badly,” Nelyubov retorted. “That’s assuming we can’t knock them down. It’s a feint.”

 “Firing range in ten seconds.”

 “They’re just sitting there,” Powell said, shaking his head. “Drifting out of the system.”

 “Still no change to target aspect,” Spinelli said. “Now entering firing range. Twenty-three seconds to go.”

 A countdown started to tick, everyone holding their breath. Nelyubov was poised to fire, the tactical computers constantly updating their trajectory, Alamo’s nose, and its laser cannon, pointed at Wyvern. Five seconds, ten. All eyes on the sensor plot, all breath held.

 “No sign of change to… evasive, now!” Spinelli yelled.

 “What?” Foster asked, looking to Orlova for instructions, but before she could say a word a blast shook Alamo from stem to stern, the ship tossing violently to its side, the hull growling as though in agony as the armor plating ruptured, air spilling out into space.

 “Fire, Frank, fire!” Orlova yelled, and he jabbed a control, the ship rocking again as the missiles leapt from the tubes. Before he could report, another pulse of energy ripped from Wyvern, tearing into the heart of the battlecruiser, tossing it in another direction, the escaping atmosphere from hundreds of hull breaches hurling it around the cosmos, the viewscreen a chaotic dance of swaying stars, Foster desperately trying to bring the ship under control. Lights began to flicker, consoles rebooting as the power network struggled to compensate.

 “What was that?” Grant asked.

 “Particle beam, sir,” Spinelli said. “A panel dropped free, from beside the elevator airlock. The mechanism was hidden in there until the last second.” He looked across, his face stricken, adding, “I didn’t see it until it was too late.”  

 “Out of firing range,” Nelyubov said. “That blast took out all but one of my missiles, but that’s running true.”

 “Not for long,” Hooke said, his hands furiously tapping controls on the countermeasures station. “They’ve got someone good over there. It’ll never reach.”

 “Damage report,” Orlova said, looking across at the monitor station, a sea of red bathing the room.

 Grogan looked at her, and said, “Auxiliary control is gone.”

 “Gone?”

 “That blast ripped through four decks. There’s nothing left of the old bridge. The second shot took out the power distribution node, and the aft sensor station.” Shaking her head, she said,  “Damage control teams are on their way, but there isn’t much they can do.”

 “Laser status?”

 “Main engine isn’t responding,” Foster said. “I’m losing attitude control. Hull ruptures and pressure leaks all over the place.” The nose kept swimming around. “I can’t line us up for a shot, ma'am!”

 “We’re wide open,” Grant said.

 “They’re turning,” Spinelli added. “Coming around for a second pass, in about ten minutes. The shuttle is still on a direct course, heading right for us.”

 “Foster…”

 “I don’t have maneuvering control,” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air as the panel rebooted. “Damn it, what happened to redundant power systems!” 

 Grogan replied, “Fifteen minutes. In fifteen minutes we’ll get everything working again. Teams are on the way.”

 “We don’t have fifteen minutes,” Orlova said, pointing at Wyvern’s course, arcing around, the display flickering on and off. “We don’t even have ten.”

 Shaking her head, the technician said, “It’ll take that long to get to some of the damaged areas. Four whole sections are impassible.”

 “Casualty reports coming in,” Weitzman said.

 “Log them for the moment,” Orlova replied. Glancing at the shuttle, she said, “Signal all hands, stand by to repel boarders.”

Chapter 10

 “Come on, people, move it!” Cooper said, racing down the corridor. “We don’t know exactly where they are coming in, but assume multiple hostiles, and remember, they know the ship as well as we do. Watch your targets.”

 His datapad squawked, and he said, “Here it comes, Airlock One!”

 The squad followed him to the hatch, a loud clang as the docking mechanism engaged, the airlocks opening. Covering the space with his rifle, he waited for the expected grenade, for someone to emerge. When nothing happened, he peered in, then turned to Sergeant Gurung.

 “Cover me.”

 “This might be a trap. Let me, sir.”

 Ignoring him, Cooper ducked through the hatch, rifle in hand, ready to shoot at anything that moved and work out the consequences later, only to emerge into an empty passenger cabin. At the edge of his position, he saw a dancing shadow, and he fired a round on instant, blasting a hole into a swinging storage cupboard door.

 “Damn,” he said. “Alvarado, Dean, take position here. The rest of you with me.”

 He sprinted away from the shuttle, Gurung replying, “Decoy?”

 “They bailed out in their suits. We could have them hitting us from a dozen directions.” Raising his communicator, Cooper said, “All hands, brace for multiple intrusions.”

 “Why not lock down the airlocks?” Ghaisom, one of the new Neander recruits, asked. Cooper looked enviously at the easy way he kept up the furious pace, and shook his head. 

 “If we did that, they’d still get in, but more explosively. This way we keep collateral damage to a minimum.” He heard the sound of a bullet cracking against the deck, and dived into cover just in time to avoid the second shot hitting him in the forehead. Behind him, Martinez was a second too slow, blood trickling from a wound in the arm, the veteran collapsing to the deck. Mitchell dived to his side, medical kit out, while Cooper looked ahead for the target.

 “One man, in cover behind that crate. Anyone know what’s in it?” he asked.

 “Nothing explosive,” Gurung said, scanning his datapad. “Damn. Cold weather gear. Nice and dense.” Peering over the pipe he was hiding behind, he said, “He’s got the whole corridor covered.”

 Cooper’s communicator chirped again, and he replied, “Go ahead.”

 “Firing in the hangar deck,” Corporal Pavlov said. “I’m pinned down, three wounded. Need reinforcements.”

 “Hold on, we’re coming,” Cooper said. “Covering fire, Sergeant.”

 “On the count of five, sir,” he replied, raising his rifle. “Five, four, three.”

 Without waiting, the Sergeant leapt out of cover, sprinting towards his target, a shot scraping over his shoulder and slamming into the wall. Diving to the deck, he fired a desperate shot that caught the gunman in the forehead, sending him collapsing to the deck.

 “Sergeant….” Cooper began.

 “Just following your good example, sir,” he replied, wiping sweat from his forehead.

 “Two teams,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “You take Third Squad and work around the rear, up through the elevator airlocks, and I’ll take the other and charge right in. We’ll distract them, and you can take them. Clear?”

 “What about the Fourth Squad?” Corporal Hunt asked.

 “They need to guard the Bridge and Engineering, just in case. We’ve got to keep a reserve. Come on, Corporal, you’re with me.”

 “I need to stay with Martinez, sir,” Mitchell said. “I’ve got a medical team on the way. That bullet hit an artery.”

 “Follow when you can, Specialist,” Cooper said, racing towards the nearest emergency ladder. Hunt, Goodwin and Ghaisom followed him, all that was left of the squad after one brief action, and they scrambled up to the hangar deck, climbing up to the hatch that ought to put them just inside the entrance.

 “Go when I do,” Cooper said. “If you see anyone you don’t know, take them. Otherwise, run for cover and stay there. Clear?”

 “Aye, sir,” Hunt said, and Cooper threw open the hatch, pulling himself up as a bullet smashed into the deck beside him, racing for the nearest shuttle. Hunt was next, sprinting in the opposite direction, momentarily confusing the sniper, but Goodwin was less fortunate, tripping on a cable that left her easy prey for the bullet that hit her leg, her cry of agony echoing through the deck.

 Ghaisom raced after her, trying to pull her into cover, but his gallantry only earned him a bullet of his own, and he collapsed by her side, crimson blood spilling from a wound in his shoulder, his rifle clattering to the deck. Cooper looked at Hunt, then around for the rest of Second Squad. Pavlov was over in a corner with a fire team, crouched behind a stack of crates, a Neander lying just in front of one of them, his breathing growing irregular as shock set in. A second later, Gurung jumped through the hatch, evidently having decided that he couldn’t stay clear of the action, and he immediately sprinted for cover beside Cooper, throwing him a flash of a smile as he slid into position.

 Technicians were scattered across the room, most of them in cover, a few others wounded on the deck. He tried to look for the gunmen, tracking the suppressing fire to an elevator airlock.

 “Damn,” he said, pulling out his communicator. “They’ve picked the lock that Vaughan will be coming through. It’ll be a bloodbath if we don’t stop them.”

 “It’s a bloodbath now, sir,” Pavlov said. “I’ve got five wounded now. About as many of the deck technicians.”

 Glancing at his watch, Cooper said, “On the count of five, we charge. All at once.”

 “That’s not going to reduce the body count, sir,” Hunt said.

 “They might get some us, but they won’t get all of us. Keep low, zig-zag, and take shots as you move. Anyone with smoke grenades, throw them. Don’t stop for any wounded, and that definitely includes me. We mop up once the job is done.” Looking around at the devastation, he said, “And your first priority is to stop them. Regardless of damage to the deck.”

 Looking around, he saw the men tensing up, ready to make their move. If he could see it, the enemy could as well, and there was a better than even chance that they had heard every word he had said over the communications system. None of it mattered. The men were waiting for a countdown he had no intention of starting, and he just hoped that the others would have the wit to take the initiative when he made his move.

 Glancing at Gurung, the veteran flashed him a thin smile, and he realized that at least one of his platoon had worked out what he was planning. When he started, he’d have company, no matter what his orders had been. He reached down into the pouch at his belt, pulling out a pair of smoke grenades. There were too many obstructions for him to throw it at the enemy, but if he set the time delay right, he might be able to get it to them another way.

 Taking a few deep breaths, his eyes walked the path from his position to the airlock, the depression the boarding party was using as cover. He could see Steele leading the party, pointing out positions, and sighed as he saw Scott with them, hiding in a corner, her eyes locked on the floor. He looked across at Gurung and imperceptibly nodded three times. Mentally counting down those three seconds, he rolled underneath the shuttle he was hiding behind and sprinted towards the airlock, bowling the grenade underarm towards his target.

 Over to his right, Gurung was starting his own mad charge. Astonishingly, the boarding party was slow in opening fire, as though they couldn’t quite believe that two people were racing into their guns, but bullets began to rattle across the deck as they dashed forward, Corporal Hunt and his force offering belated suppressing fire.

 Each heartbeat was an eternity, one step closer to his target, an easier shot for his foe. He felt a bullet brush past his head, felt the rush of wind as it flew into a tangle of cables behind him. Finally, the grenade went off, filling the room with smoke, and his IR goggles snapped into life. They had image intensification as well, but he wanted a couple of seconds of surprise to get him into position, and he got them, jumping down into the pit and opening fire.

 Chaos and confusion reigned. He’d knocked the weapon away from one of the traitors when he landed, and managed to fire a shot in his direction, cursing as it rebounded from the deck behind him. He managed a second shot before anyone could react, felling a scowling woman standing next to Scott, her pistol dropping down to the deck as she tumbled forward.

 Three more bullets rang out at the same time, and he dropped and rolled to get out of the way, trying not to provide a stationary target. He was more skillful than his opponents, and his shot brought down his target. Then Gurung arrived, dropping on top of another of them, sending the two of them tumbling.

 Cooper turned, and saw Scott with a pistol leveled at his head. There was no time to duck, to return fire, not even to come up with some appropriate last words. She fired, and the crack of the bullet flew past his ear, bringing down a man standing behind him, the knife in his hand tumbling to the deck.

 He turned, dumbfounded, and Steele used his hesitation to duck into the crawlspace, her nearest comrade following her, leaving the others to their fate. Scott fired, narrowly missing Steele, then started after her, turning back to Cooper for a second.

 “Come on,” she said. “We might be able to catch them if we’re quick.”

 Hunt and his men were at the edge of the pit now, the last of the remaining traitors felled by a skilled punch from Gurung, and Cooper followed Scott into the tight corridors. He dropped his rifle, drawing his pistol instead, and chased after the erstwhile hijacker, not certain what to believe.

 “Third Squad, to me!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the shafts. He struggled to keep up with the agile Scott as she ducked around tight corners, nimbly leaping over stacks of crates. They were heading back towards the shuttle, where two of his guards were waiting. A series of footsteps behind him told him that reinforcements were on the way.

 Scott pushed open a hatch, ducking down as a bullet cracked over her head, then jumping over and racing forward. Cooper was only a few seconds behind her, watching as she ducked into cover behind a pair of crates. Just ahead of them Steele was standing over Dean’s twitching body, her single remaining comrade by her side.

 Cooper climbed up to the deck, Scott providing him with covering fire, keeping Steele pinned down as he made his way forward.

 “You got help coming?” she asked.

 “Third Squad.”

 “You take the left, I’ll take the right,” she replied. “Go.”

 Not waiting to argue, he raced toward, trusting his instincts, while Steele and her colleague bolted for the shuttle. His shot went wild, somewhere into the cabin, but Scott was dead center with her shot, the other traitor dropping just short of the hatch. The airlock door slammed shut before Cooper could fire again, and he dashed for the console, pounding his fist against the wall as he saw that Steele had engaged the emergency systems, tossing the shuttle away from the ship.

 Vaughan climbed up onto the deck, leveling his pistol on Scott, but Cooper waved his hand.

 “Secure your weapon, Corporal.”

 “Hunt said she was on their side.”

 “They took me prisoner, Corporal,” she replied. “Though I guess they thought they were rescuing me.”

 “I saw her kill two of them, Corporal,” Cooper added, “saving my life into the process. If this is some sort of trick, it’s hurting the bad guys more than it is hurting us. Jackson, see to these two.”

 Scott walked over to the dead traitor, kneeling beside him to take his vital signs. “Dead,” she said.

 Gurung walked down the corridor towards them, a slightly red face the only evidence of the desperate sprint he must have made to get there in time.

 “That’s true of most of them,” he added. “Six dead, three wounded, and at least two of them are probably going to be joining their friends in the near future. I’ve already called Doctor Duquesne, she’s on her way.”

 Pulling out his communicator, Cooper said, “We’ve fought back the boarding teams, but the shuttle got away. Can you track it?”

 “Full-boost back to Wyvern,” Orlova replied.

 “It’s just Steele on board. She’s going to have a very lonely ride. We’ve got the numbers down a bit for you, ma’am.”

 “Thanks, Ensign. You’d better get back to combat stations. We’ll be in firing range of Wyvern again in less than a minute. Good luck.”

 “Good hunting, ma’am. Cooper out.” Looking around, he said, “You heard her. All hands to stand-by stations. Sergeant, go and help with the wounded. Take a fire team. I’ll be along in a minute.” As the others followed his orders, he walked over to Scott, who held out her pistol, butt first.

 “Here,” she said.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “You saved my life back there.”

 “You’d have done the same for me.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “It felt right. As though I finally had a chance to pick a side.”

 Nodding, Cooper said, “First battle?”

 “That I know of.”

 “You’ll get the shakes later. Right now the adrenaline’s keeping you going. Plan to get drunk as soon as this battle is over. Depending on the circumstances, I might even join you.” Gesturing at the pistol, he said, “You might as well keep that. You’re probably the best shot on the ship, and there’s no point wasting that sort of skill if they try and board us again.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “If you were going to shoot me, you’d have done it already. Come on, let’s get down to the hangar deck and see if you are as handy with a medikit as you are with a pistol.”

 “But the ship…”

 “Maggie will find a way. She always does.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “Absolutely,” he lied.

Chapter 11

 Orlova scrolled down the datapad, looking at the initial damage report, an ever-lengthening list of crippling problems. Wyvern’s gunner had known exactly where to hit to cause the most damage, and had taken maximum advantage of his skills. She glanced up at the holodisplay, a sea of crimson and amber, and shook her head.

 “Main engines, Grogan?”

 “Six minutes, ma’am. That’s the best we can do.”

 “Firing range in four,” Spinelli said, looking up at his display. “No change to target aspect. Particle beams are still deployed, and they’ve built up their power levels to maximum.” Glancing across at Orlova, he said, “Sensor resolution is deteriorating, but I think I can target a missile right down their throats for you.”

 “No point,” Hooke said. “They’ve got all our codes. With the touch of a button they can swipe our missiles out of the air. I can’t protect them against that.” He paused, then said, “I can’t guarantee better than a ten percent success rate.”

 “That doesn’t even give us one strike,” Grant said. 

 “Laser status?” Orlova asked.

 “Still charged, and ready to fire,” Nelyubov replied. “If I can get it on target, I could knock out half a dozen of their critical systems. That’s a small ship out there.”

 At the helm, Foster’s hands continued to rattle across the controls as she fought a desperate battle to stabilize the ship. Orlova stepped forward, looking down at her work, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

 “Do the best you can, Midshipman. I know it’s difficult.”

 “If we could stop these damn hull breaches,” she said. “Even with only a quarter of the thrusters, I’d be able to get her back under control.” With a sigh, she replied, “I can’t guarantee a shot.”

 “Even if you could, they’d see it coming,” Powell said. “It wouldn’t be hard for them to get out of the way.”

 “Come on, people, we’ve got three minutes to come up with some sort of a battle plan,” Orlova said. “Damaged as we are, we’re still more than a match for a scoutship. Hooke, can you reprogram the missiles for dumb-fire?”

 “Sure, but we won’t hit anything.” 

 “We will if we get close enough,” she replied. “Start working on it.” Tapping a control, she said, “Kowalski, you got some people spare?”

 The chief replied, “What for?”

 “I need the missiles moved from the tubes to the nearest escape pods. You’ve got seventy seconds. No arguments, make it happen. Orlova out.”

 Nodding, Nelyubov said, “Clever. We won’t need to activate them until they’re close enough to spit at Wyvern. You realize there’ll be no target selection, though. Not at that range, controlled that way.”

 “Not to mention that we have no guarantee that Wyvern won’t just shoot the escape pods out of the sky,” Grant added.

 “We’ll worry about that it in a minute. Start setting up the pods to launch on my signal.” She paused, then said, “Grogan, I need a hull breach.”

 “Haven’t we got enough already?”

 “Near the launch tubes. Pick a spot and relay it to Ensign Cooper. Tell him to set charges on the hull, and to make it look good.”

 “Stealing their idea?” Nelyubov said.

 “Hopefully they’ll take it as a compliment.” She looked up at the strategic display, watching Wyvern creep closer, drifting into firing range. A hundred and fifty seconds to go. “Foster, any luck on the helm?”

 “It just isn’t working, ma’am,” she said. “She’s drifting. I can’t hold a consistent heading.”

 “Work with the pressure leaks, not against them,” Orlova muttered. “We only need to be lined up for a fraction of a second, Midshipman. Give me that shot.”

 “I’ll try, ma’am,” she said, her face fixed in a frown. She looked down at her station, her hands darting across the controls, making pin-point adjustments, her eyes locked on the status monitor.

 “Signal from Wyvern, ma’am,” Weitzman said. “I have a Captain Kline, wanting to speak to the commanding officer. He wishes to discuss terms of surrender.”

 All eyes locked on Orlova, who nodded, “I’ll speak to him in a minute.”

 Nelyubov tapped in a command, then said, “Sub-Lieutenant Ronald Kline, alternate helmsman. Passed-over twice for promotion, despite the build-up, and only transferred to Wyvern two months ago.”

 “Jumped-up bastard promoted himself,” Grant said.

 Strapping on a headset, Orlova said, “Alamo Actual to Wyvern Actual. Do you read?”

 “I read you, Alamo,” a brutal voice replied. “Your ship is crippled, your weapons useless, and I can destroy you with my next pass. I call upon you to think of your crew and surrender your vessel.”

 “We beat off your first boarding party,” she replied. “Any further attempts will meet the same response.”

 “Brave words, but you can’t back them up. I repeat, you have no chance of victory in the battle.”

 “Then why are you bothering to talk to us?”

 “I don’t want to kill more than a hundred people. Don’t make me have to destroy your ship. I promise that you and your crew will be well-treated, and that you will be repatriated to the Confederation.”

 “Our safety in exchange for our ship?” Orlova asked. She gestured at Grogan, who nodded, her hands poised over a button. At a curt signal, she depressed it, and another explosion ripped through the hull, yet another area of the ship flashing red.

 “Wait one, Wyvern.” She counted to ten, then said, “I don’t think I’ve got much choice, do I?”

 “It would appear not.”

 “More than two dozen of my crew are trapped in areas about to become uninhabitable. May I have your permission to launch escape pods?” She closed her eyes, and silently prayed. “They will stay clear of the combat area.”

 “No,” Kline replied, just as she had hoped. “They will proceed alongside Wyvern, where I will have them under our guns. Hostages for your good conduct.”

 “These are crewmen under my command…,” she began.

 “They are my guarantee that you will co-operate. Launch your pods. Our shuttle will be coming over in five minutes to formally accept your surrender, and I suggest that you treat Lieutenant Steele with more respect this time. Wyvern out.”

 “Well, you heard the man,” Orlova said. “Get those pods launched.”

 With a nod, Grant tapped a control, and five new tracks appeared on the display, leisurely drifting towards the approaching scoutship, struggling to match course and speed on their slow thrusters. A series of numbers began to appear, rapidly updating as the computer calculated the optimum firing time. On dumb-fire, that was as close as possible to the target.

 “They’ll have a chance to get a retaliatory shot off,” Nelyubov said. “I’ve got another salvo in the tubes now. At least it might serve as a distraction, if nothing else.”

 “Change to target aspect,” Spinelli said. “Course alternation. They’re moving to match with our pods. No change to firing time.”

 “Keep watching them, Spaceman,” Orlova said. “We’ve got to make this as close to time-on-target as we can. Everything at the same moment. We might not get a second chance.”

 Nelyubov nodded, his eyes locked on his control. Foster remained focused on her console, still trying desperately to bring the ship under some sort of control, and to Orlova’s rear, Grogan was keeping up a running commentary as she routed damage control teams to their stations, using every second they had to get Alamo as battle-ready as she could.

 All of them were doing their very best, but unless this plan worked, it would all be for nothing. Two shots from the particle beam at long range had been devastating. A short-range blast could wipe out the ship in seconds.

 More than sixty seconds to go, and time seemed to drag. She longed to give the order to fire, to get it over with, to end the battle in one glorious second, but they had to wait for the optimum time. A warning light flashed on, alerting her that Wyvern was now in weapons range, that particle beam still targeting Alamo. Directly at her location, if she was judging it correctly, ready to punch a hole in the side of the ship and tear the new bridge to pieces. At least if she failed, she wouldn’t have to live with it for long.

 “Ten seconds,” Nelyubov said.

 “Ride the helm, Midshipman,” Orlova added.

 “Change to target aspect!” Spinelli said. “Course change, away from the pods.”

 “Fire!” Orlova ordered, and Nelyubov tapped a control, the display zooming into the escape pods as the missiles burst out of them, as though escaping the confines of a chrysalis, tearing through space towards Wyvern. Six more missiles lanced away from Alamo, diving towards the enemy craft.

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli yelled, and Foster sent Alamo into a series of dizzying lurches and rolls as the particle beam opened up, a burst of energy scything through space. Orlova braced for the impact, for the ship to be torn asunder.

 “Miss!” Spinelli said. “By twenty meters!” 

 “They’ll fire again,” Grant warned.

 “Doesn’t matter,” Nelyubov said. “Multiple impacts, all along their hull! We’ve got them!”

 “Bringing the nose around now,” Foster said. “I’ll likely miss.”

 For an instant, Alamo was lined up with the scoutship, it’s nose tracing a trail through the stars. That was all they needed, and an ugly black burn tore across the enemy vessel, a cloud of escaping air sending it tumbling.

 Before anyone could celebrate, the hull was rocked, a scream as thousands of micro-fractures opened up, more of the atmosphere leaking out into space, sending the ship tumbling once again.

 “Damage report,” Orlova said, struggling to hang on.

 “Outer hull damage, and major!” Grogan said. “Damage control teams are on the way, but I’m evacuating all affected areas.”

 “Good God, that’s half the ship,” Grant added, his eyes wide as he looked at the board. “No internal damage, though. I’ll call that a near miss.”

 Looking across at a panel, Grogan said, “Main engines on-line! Don’t ask me how long they’ll stay that way.”

 “Foster, punch it!” Orlova said.

 “I don’t have any control at all. We could end up anywhere.”

 “Anywhere is better than here!”

 The young officer reached down, throwing a trio of levers, and Alamo’s main engines opened up. For a moment, Orlova thought that the navigation computer would crash trying to work out the course, the ship tipping and diving on its axis, rolling around as thrust built-up. With a herculean effort, Foster was at least keeping the ship vaguely heading in one direction, and a series of warning lights flashed off as Alamo lurched out of firing range.

 “Quinn to bridge,” the engineer desperately yelled. “You’ve got twenty seconds, then the whole system goes!”

 “What’s the story, Lieutenant?” Orlova asked Powell, who was frowning at the display, his hand rubbing his chin.

 “I think we’re safe for the moment. A guess is the best I can do, I’m afraid.”

 “Shut her down, Foster,” Orlova said, stepping forward. Nodding, the helmsman pulled back on the acceleration, letting the engines settle back down again. Turning to the tactical display, she watched Wyvern as the scoutship slowly drifted away. Even now, they could catch up with ease if they chose.

 “Four missile hits on the enemy ship,” Nelyubov said. “I think we got their communications control with the laser blast, and their missile tubes are destroyed. I don’t see them repairing it soon.”

 “We aren’t in much better condition,” Grogan said. “I’m still collating preliminary damage reports, but it doesn’t amount to very much.” The lights flickered again, and without a pause, she continued, “It looks like the temporary patch on the power distribution network has failed. It could be at least a day before we get back to full capacity.”

 “Which means we can’t charge the laser again,” Nelyubov added.

 “Casualty reports,” Orlova asked, bracing herself.

 Looking down at his station, Grant reported, “Fifteen dead, twenty-nine wounded. That includes the boarding party. Most of the wounded were in the hangar deck area.” He looked across at Foster, and said, “Midshipmen Petrov and Vivendi are both among the casualties.” 

 The helmsman looked pale, and Orlova said, “If you need a few minutes, Lieutenant Grant can take the helm.”

 “No, ma’am,” she replied. “I’m fine.”

 “What do we do now?” Powell asked.

 “We lick our wounds, and we work out what to do next.” She looked back at the display, Wyvern now well behind, hovering near the hendecaspace point. “Pass the word to all hands that we hurt the enemy as much as they hurt us, and that I have no intention of leaving this system until we have secured a victory.” Looking around the room, she added, “Frank, you have the deck. I’m going down the Engineering to find out just how badly we’ve been hurt.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” he said. “I have the deck.”

 Orlova stepped into the elevator, waited for the doors to close, and then permitted herself to collapse to the deck, holding her head in her hands, tears beginning to flow. Fifteen dead. Others likely to join them. More blood on her hands. She sat on the ground as the elevator skirted around damaged sections. Finally, with an effort, she rose to her feet, tugging her jacket back into position, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

 The doors opened, and she walked into the pandemonium of engineering, a dozen technicians scurrying about, Quinn holding court by a systems display.

 “Well, Jack,” she asked, stepping over to him. “Where do we start?”

Chapter 12

 The decompression alarm screamed across the compartment, Harper and Tramiel reacting instantly to the warning, scanning the outer wall to find the gap. Curls of debris twisting through the air quickly pointed them in the right direction, a slowly expanding crack that would suck all the atmosphere from the room in a matter of moments.

 “Damn it!” she yelled, tearing at the emergency kit. “Someone’s taken out all the hull patches. We’ve got no way to seal it.”

 “Wouldn’t do any good if we had any,” Tramiel replied. “That breach is getting wider. Must be a weak spot in the inner hull plating.”

 Racing to the door, Harper tried to force it open, but the room had been sealed to prevent decompression spreading to other areas, the prisoners inside evidently deemed expendable in the interests of the ship. She pounded futilely on the door, but she could hardly hear herself over the cry of the alarms. There was no chance that a theoretical guard would hear her.

 She looked at the gap, still slowly widening. It was only a matter of time before it breached totally, tossing the two of them out into space. Tramiel had staggered over to the far side of the room, tearing at the wall as he gasped in the thin air. Her oxygen-starved brain took precious seconds to work out what he was doing, trying to activate a rescue ball, and she crawled over to help him, collapsing to the deck, her head swimming.

 “Hold on, Lieutenant,” Tramiel said, as the wall panel popped out, a plastic bag sliding onto the floor. From here, the whole process was automatic, the survival kit’s sensors detecting the drop in pressure and automatically inflating, swelling to its full size in a matter of seconds.

 Harper felt hands around her waist, Tramiel pushing her into the expanding airlock before climbing in after her. The air inside felt thick enough to chew, and she took huge breaths, the fog lifting from her head, her eyes clearing. Tramiel was collapsed on the floor, the effort almost too much for him, and she pulled an oxygen mask from the wall, strapping it to his mouth. The effect was almost instant, and he began to sit up, rubbing his forehead where somehow he had acquired an angry gash in the confusion, the blood slowly dripping down his face.

 “Medikit,” he asked, and she snatched the box from its compartment, tossing it to him. While he bandaged himself up, she looked at the sensor panel. All readings had zeroed, no remaining atmospheric pressure outside. Suddenly, she felt herself tossed to the floor, the ball rolling away, the crack rapidly expanding, tossing them from the ship.

 “Damn, we were lucky,” she said. “Luckier than we had any right to be.” Looking back towards Wyvern, she saw a jagged tear down the side of the ship, almost the whole width of the compartment. To one side, she could make out other impacts, three of them, each presenting their own angry face to the cosmos, black and gray a contrast to the pale white hull. 

 Removing his mask, Tramiel said, “When we get back, I’ll be having words with the shipyard that built this crate. Ever since she launched, she’s been a maintenance nightmare. The whole damn class has.”

 “I think we’ve got bigger problems,” Harper replied. “I’ve no idea who won the battle, but someone’s going to be coming after us soon.” She looked down at Wyvern’s hangar deck, a smile creeping across her face. “Though not Kline’s happy band, not for a while.” Reaching up, she tapped a ten-digit code into the control computer, and a series of red lights began to flash across the panel.

 “What did you do?”

 “The beacon would have activated in sixty seconds. I thought it was a better idea that no-one knew we were on the run.” She looked back at Wyvern, and said, “They’re enough of a mess that they probably won’t notice us for a while. I don’t even think we’re the biggest piece of debris. We can wait until they move away, then contact Alamo.”

 Frowning, Tramiel said, “Rescue ball beacons aren’t designed to be deactivated.”

 “Let’s just say there are a few trapdoors in the control software. This isn’t the first time someone has used one of these to escape.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “You amaze me. But we’re not going back to Alamo. We’ve got to get back on board Wyvern as quickly as we can.”

 “Commodore, neither of us is armed, and even if we were, two people against a whole crew is bigger odds than I like. Right now it makes a lot more sense for us to report what we know, get some back-up.”

 “There’s more at stake than you know.”

 Frowning, she said, “If you are thinking that there is a chance for you to salvage your plan, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

 With a sigh, he replied, “We’ve been working on a lot of advanced weaponry over the last year. Finishing up projects that were started by the gray labs.” Looking down, he said, “We had some wealthy backers, and some good technicians.”

 “I know,” she said. “Why do you think I came out here?”

 “Intelligence knew what we were doing?”

 Nodding, Harper said, “We knew that you’d managed to escape with a group of like-minded officers, and that you had established a base of operations somewhere beyond our borders. When we finally tracked you down, Wyvern’s mission was to confirm the location of your base, and take appropriate action. If we could handle it ourselves, we’d bring you in. Otherwise, I’d arranged for help to be on the way.”

 “But Ryder…”

 “Didn’t know.” With a sigh, she said, “That part wasn’t my idea, I assure you, but the work you had stolen was so highly classified I barely had access to it. We couldn’t take the risk of it getting out. What we didn’t know was that you’d continued to recruit. I guess we underestimated you.”

 “Then you realize why we have to get on board.”

 “My mission was to retrieve the data if possible, destroy it if I couldn’t. I think the first goal is thoroughly wrecked, but I can still accomplish the second part of my assignment, and I think that is best served by heading over to Alamo.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “If you are thinking of pulling rank on me, I’m forced to remind you that it has already been revoked.”

 “I know,” he said. “Nevertheless, we’ve got to go back. We got further than you think.”

 “Particle beams? That was…”

 “Why do you think we came out here? To a world which was almost certainly destroyed by some hostile power, using weaponry that had never been dreamed of.”

 Her eyes widened, and she said, “You damned fool.”

 Nodding, he said, “We’ve built an antimatter bomb. Which right now is sitting in Wyvern’s Storage Four.”

 “That violates every damn treaty we ever signed!”

 “Then why were we working on it? Ask your superiors that.”

 “I don’t have to, and I shouldn’t have to tell you about it.” With a sigh, she said, “Deterrence is about having the potential ability to build such weapons, not actually doing it. Policy was to work to a point where it could be completed in six to twelve months, so if we found out that anyone else was building one, we could get there first.” Shaking her head, she added, “And what we never talked about too loudly was that every other known power was thinking along similar lines.”

 His face fell, and he said, “You didn’t know we’d taken it, did you?”

 “You did a very effective job covering your tracks, Commodore. We knew that something had been stolen, but we didn’t know what. Our guess was that you had grabbed the Cabal technology we’d been researching, some of the archeotech projects. Hell, what good is an antimatter bomb to you anyway? It’s useless in space warfare, you’d never need that much firepower to destroy a ship. The only reason…” She looked up at him, cold fire in her eyes, and said, “You were going to use it, weren’t you. You bastard.”

 He looked out of the viewport, and said, “The Cabal present a clear and present danger to the future of the Confederation. They run what is essentially a slave-based empire, a tyranny that must be destroyed.”

 “By killing millions of people?”

 “It wouldn’t come to that,” he said. “Our intelligence is that their leaders have their own world, hidden away. My plan was to find it and destroy it. The Cabal would then collapse, and the Fleet could move in.”

 “Nice and perfect,” she replied. “Only killing a few thousand people, only destroying a single planet. You disgust me.”

 “Which is better, Lieutenant? A surgical strike that kills a few thousand autocrats…”

 “And their children. Don’t forget that.”

 “Or a war that would kill millions, kill indiscriminately, and one that might lead to the end of everything we hold dear, the principles of freedom and democracy that we cling to.”

 “Principles that you were willing to abandon. Don’t you know what would have happened if you had used such a weapon? What you have risked by building it? If the other interstellar powers know, they’ll build their own. The Republic, the United Nations, maybe even the Belt. Congratulations, Commodore. You’ve reintroduced mutually assured destruction to the twenty-second century, and unleashed a weapon that can destroy whole worlds.”

 “It would have happened eventually. The technology was well within our current knowledge.”

 “Maybe,” she said. “That doesn’t justify what you have done.”

 “We can argue about all of this for days if you want, but regardless of the ethics of my actions, we have to face the reality of the situation.”

 “That you have given a planet-destroying weapon to someone willing to sell it to the highest bidder.”

 Looking down at the floor, his face reddening, he said, “I cannot and will not allow it to remain under his control. We’ve got to find a way to stop him, or die in the attempt. It is our duty as Triplanetary officers.” He glanced up, and said, “I’m sure you have something in mind that can help us out.”

 “Let’s just say that I anticipated this course of action.” She glanced out of the tiny viewport at Wyvern, slowly drifting away, and reached up for the control panel. “This is going to be entertaining.”

 “You’ve got an override for the rescue ball thrusters.”

 “We only get about a second’s burn, remember. Really, they’re only intended to help boost someone clear of a hull. Certainly they aren’t up to docking maneuvers. Not that we have an airlock anyway.” She looked at him, and said, “Fancy a swim?”

 His face dropped, and he said, “In space without a suit?”

 “I can get us to within ten meters of one of the airlocks. It should just be a case of letting escaping air push us across, hitting the emergency release, and we’re good to go. We’ve got the respirators, and they’ll give us three minutes of air. For a crossing that ought to take seconds.”

 “Meanwhile exposing ourselves to vacuum.”

 “Which, I grant you, is going to hurt like hell. Remember, this isn’t my idea, but I’m willing to take the risk if you are.”

 “One of us could go, and return with a suit for the other.”

 Bouncing a hand off the wall, Harper said, “You think we could put on a spacesuit in this bubble? Besides, as soon as we open the airlock, alarms will go off all over the ship. We’ll have a minute or two to get moving. I’ve got somewhere in mind, and it’s only a short run from the airlock I’ve selected.” She glanced up at the status monitor, and said, “We’ve got about a minute to make the decision.”

 “Do it,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t much like the idea, but I don’t think we’ve got a choice.”

 “Fine,” she replied, tapping a pair of controls together. There was a quick jolt, anti-climatically tossing them back towards Wyvern, drifting the way they had come, rising up towards one of the near-side airlocks, just over the damaged section of the ship, Harper could see a faint star behind them, with a narrow trail behind it. Alamo, almost certainly, making a burn. For a second, she contemplated overriding Tramiel and using the second pulse to throw them towards it, the thought of the safety of a friendly ship almost overwhelmingly tempting, but before she could make a decision, the second pulse fired, bringing them to a stop.

 Tramiel pulled down the respirators, tossing one to Harper while placing the other on his head. The two of them donned gloves, covering as much of their skin as they could, before moving to face the airlock – a thin, flexible door, held tight with a flimsy seal. Even so, under normal circumstances, it would be impossible to open. Reaching down to the sole of her shoe, Harper pulled out a narrow, plastic blade, and held it above the door.

 “Ready?” she asked, and Tramiel nodded. Before second thoughts and nerves could overwhelm her, she ripped at the seal, and felt herself being popped out of the rescue ball, the force of escaping atmosphere dragging her towards the ship. Her skin tingled all over, a strange chill that she knew was mostly her imagination. The respirator clamped tight to her face, a fog forming over the eyepieces.

 She crashed into the hull, bouncing back as she scrabbled for the handrail, her fingers missing it by inches. A firm hand grabbed her belt, tugging her back, and she saw Tramiel swinging from the rail, throwing her back towards the airlock as he worked the emergency control.

 The hatch slammed open, and the two of them tumbled in. Crashing into the wall by the controls, she engaged the repress circuits, and the outer door slammed shut, air quickly filling the vacuum. As the warning lights flashed off, she felt warm all around her, pulling off her respirator, a red ring around her face where the seal had pressed in.

 “Six seconds,” Tramiel said. “I was counting.”

 “Come on,” she replied. She felt like hell, but they still needed to get to safety, or the risk they had just run was for nothing. The inner door opened, and the two of them staggered down the corridor, Harper in the lead. Footsteps echoed from around a far corner, shouting and cursing, but she reached the inspection hatch she was looking for, swinging it clear with a five-digit code and a thumb-print.

 “In,” she said. “Climb.”

 Nodding, Tramiel clambered in, gasping for breath, and she pulled herself after him, closing the door just as she saw figures racing down the corridor towards her, guns drawn. Before climbing the ladder, she entered another code into the nearby access panel, and a series of lights began to flash red.

 “What was that?” Tramiel asked.

 “I just sealed every inspection hatch on the ship. They’ll have a hell of a time opening them. Probably involving explosives. Keep climbing until you get half-way up, then swing to your right. You’ll find a pair of hammocks.”

 “Hammocks?”

 “Trust me.”

 Her muscles ached by the time she reached their destination, and she gladly pulled herself sideways, sliding into position and strapping herself into the comforting cloth, tugging a black curtain by her side.

 Looking down, Tramiel said, “It’s a long way down.”

 “Better hope the cables don’t break, then. This isn’t exactly the biggest risk we’ve run today.”

 “I guess not. Are we safe here?”

 “I own the internal sensors in this part of the ship. They won’t register as anything other than empty space, with a potential hull stress in this area that ought to discourage any visitors. If anyone I don’t like does try it, they’ll get a nasty surprise.”

 “Oh?”

 “I’ve got control of the fire suppression system as well.” Pulling at a panel, she exposed a terminal, and said, “From here I can cause quite a lot of helpful mayhem. If you pull the other panel, you’ll find some emergency rations and a medical kit.” Taking a deep breath, she started to type, then slammed her fist into the wall.

 “Damn.”

 “What happened?”

 “Alamo must have knocked out the communications system. That means we can’t call them from here.” She glanced across at him, and said, “Whatever we do, we’ve only got the two of us to do it.”

Chapter 13

 Salazar and Merrick had been forced to a half-crawl as the ceiling dipped and curved. Water dripped onto them, an incessant rattling that threatened to drive them mad. It seemed like hours since they had fled into the tunnels, leaving the others behind. He could still see the look on the face of the man he had shot, killed in order to save him from a worse death. As terrible as it was, he couldn’t help but think that he would hope that someone would do the same for him, were the roles reversed, a thought that horrified and repulsed him.

 The only source of light was an eerie green glow from the ceiling, some sort of bioluminescent algae. Lifting up his boots, he saw the same hue covering their soles. The stuff was everywhere, and his face felt slimy, the muck spreading across his clothes. A disaster for a stealthy operation, that they were faintly glowing in the dark.

 In the gloom, he saw something up ahead, a flickering light, and he raised his hand for Merrick to stop, the other officer almost crashing into him in the darkness. He strained to listen for any sign of activity, but aside from the endless dripping from the roof, he couldn’t hear a thing. All was still.

 “What do you think?” Merrick whispered.

 “I think I’d better go and take a look. Wait here and watch my back.”

 Creeping forward, Salazar ducked under a low dip, his hair getting covered in the goo, then was able to rise to his feet as he walked towards the light. As he grew closer, he recognized it as a standard-issue Fleet hand torch, and he picked it up with relief. The base was wet, and not with with same mess that was covering everything. His hand came away red, and he looked down to see a trail of blood on the floor.

 Wiping it clean on his trousers, he shone the beam around, looking at the walls. There were burn marks everywhere, spent ammunition cases on the floor, even a discarded handgun. He gestured for Merrick to come forward, then looked down at the weapon. As he’d expected, it was empty, all the ammunition used. There was a mark on the wall above it, likely where someone had thrown it in a hasty retreat.

 “We missed quite a battle,” he said. “At least we know that someone got away.”

 “Not necessarily,” Merrick said, looking around, his face pale. “That creature might have taken them.”

 “There’s nothing we can do, either way. We might as well holster our pistols for all the good they did the people here.”

 Nervously looking around, Merrick replied, “This means that one of the creatures is down here with us, doesn’t it? It’s already killed one group of people, and they couldn’t stop it. What possible chance could we have?”

 “None at all if we start to panic.” With a sigh, Salazar said, “Look, I don’t like our odds any more than you do, but there isn’t anything we can do to improve them at the moment. Let’s just push ahead and try to find a way out of this maze.”

 “What if there isn’t one?”

 “Then we go back the way we came and hope the coast is clear.” He paused, then said, “If you want, you can go back now.”

 “Split up? That’s crazy.”

 “Crazy is standing around talking about this when there is something out there in the darkness hunting us down. Stay behind me, and don’t make any wild shots. Only pull that trigger if you see a target. It’ll make us too easy to track down. By anyone. You understand?”

 “Sure,” Merrick said, nodding nervously. Salazar returned to the lead, stepping down the corridor, glancing back at the terrified officer. On paper, Merrick should have more experience than he, a year extra in uniform, but his career had mostly been spent sitting behind a desk, not on active duty. Wyvern had been his first deep-space assignment, and he’d only been on board for a matter of weeks.

 Even so, he’d expect better of a qualified officer than this. Or was it that he’d been through so much in the last four months that it had changed him more than he’d thought. He tried to think back to the man who had reported on board Alamo at Ragnarok, angry and bitter, and couldn’t picture him. Couldn’t conjure up the man he had been back them. Maybe that was for the best.

 Turning off the torch and sliding it into his pocket, he steadily advanced down the tunnel. More light would be useful, but by now some of their guards would certainly be looking for them, and he didn’t see any reason to make it easy. Not that he had a plan for what to do next. Getting out of the tunnels was enough for now.

 He’d lost track of their path five turns ago, lost count of his paces even before that. The place was such a tangle that any thought of map-making was futile. If he’d had a datapad, by now they’d be on the way to getting a complete floorplan, and retracing his steps would be simple. Without such technological aids, he was reduced to fumbling in the dark.

 As he turned a corner, his foot was caught in something, and he went tumbling to the ground, rolling end over end. Merrick raced forward, firing a wild shot into the air, the ringing of a ricochet over a groaning sound. Salazar turned, looked up accusingly at Merrick, then down at the man on the floor. Pulling out the torch again, he ran it across the prone form, at the mess where his right leg had been, hastily bandaged. There was another pistol by the man’s hand, all the bullets discharged.

 “Is he dead?” Merrick asked.

 “No, not yet. I don’t think he’s far off, though.”

 “I don’t recognize him. Not someone from Wyvern. One of our captors.”

 “Pick him up.”

 “What?”

 “We’re not leaving him here, and I’m safer with a gun than you are.”

 “These people…”

 Rising to his feet, Salazar said, “Fine, go. Get out of here, and try not to leave a yellow trail behind you as you go. Whatever he has done, whatever you think, that’s still a fellow soldier down there, wearing the same uniform as we are. We are not leaving him behind, no matter what the risk. Pick him up, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

 A howl echoed through the tunnel, an ethereal sound that filled them both with dread. Unwilling to argue any longer, Merrick picked up the groaning figure, and the two of them hurried away. It was impossible to tell which direction the noise was coming from, as likely that they were racing towards the nightmare as away, but there was nothing else to do. Salazar held his pistol tightly as he raced forward, his eyes straining in the shadows.

 He kept the torch on this time, judging that the threat of the beast outweighed that of recapture. Behind him, the man continued to groan as Merrick carried him, periodic grunts from the officer as he tried to keep up. Another roar, and if he could judge, they were getting closer to it, but up ahead he could see a hatch cover, at the far end of the corridor. Given how lost they were, it was quite possible that they had walked a full circle, but it promised at least the chance of safety. 

 Merrick dashed forward, dropping the wounded man to the ground and frantically working the handle, ignoring the cry of pain from his abandoned charge. Before Salazar could chastise him, there was another howl, and he could see the creature racing towards him, this time clearly enough to haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

 It looked like a grotesque parody of a man, tentacles reaching up from its shoulders with stingers at the end, a wide, grinning mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth, armored carapace across his chest. While Merrick continued to turn the handle, Salazar opened fire, emptying his clip into the creature to no effect. Either he had missed with five shots at rapidly closing range, or the carapace was bullet proof.

 As Merrick finally got the hatch open, the creature leapt at him, one of the stingers catching him in the back, sending him collapsing to the ground, convulsing in desperate agony. Belatedly, Salazar remembered the other pistol, but it was far too late before he could take his shot, the young officer locking desperate eyes with his as blood trickled from his mouth, the creature ripping and tearing at him.

 Though he quickly glanced around him, Salazar had nowhere to run. Even if he sprinted, the creature was faster than he was, had greater endurance, and he could only postpone the inevitable by a matter of moments. He looked down at the wounded man on the ground, the pain of being dropped having roused him, his eyes full of fear. At his belt was a combat knife, and Salazar reached down, snatching it from its sheath, feeling the weight of it in his hand.

 Instinct was all that was left. No-one had ever taught him how to fight an alien creature during close-quarters combat training at the Academy, but he figured the principle was the same as ever. Go for the weak spots and hope for the best. He slashed down with the blade, hacking at one of the tentacles, and it dug into the beast’s flesh, causing a scream to issue forth from his mouth, Merrick’s body tossed against the wall, broken and forgotten like an unwanted toy.

 Another tentacle swung high, and Salazar ducked under it, trying and failing to hack at it. The arms reached forward, still covered in Merrick’s blood, and he took a step back, the knife rebounding from the carapace as he tried to stab it. Fingers reached at him, catching at his jacket, razor-sharp claws tearing through it and gouging into his flesh. Somehow he resisted dropping the knife, instead diving in for another attack.

 This wasn’t working. He could parry with the beast for a few moments more, but sooner or later he was going to die. There was only one chance left, and taking advantage of the tentacle swooping to his left, he found an opening and plunged his blade into the eye of the creature, pushing himself back, slipping on the floor and tumbling out of control, wrenching his ankle in the process. He braced himself for the death blow, but looked up to see the creature recoiling, frantically reaching for the knife, human-looking blood pouring down to the floor.

 It staggered to its knees, and noisily expired, spending its last breath on a blood-curdling scream that echoed down the tunnels, finally collapsing on the ground in a heap of dying flesh. Salazar gasped for breath, looking at the creature, eyes wide. He tensed for another attack, tried to move back, but it never came. Cautiously, he reached forward, pulling the knife free, wiping the blade clean. At least he knew where the weak spot was.

 Pulling off his jacket, he draped it across what remained of Merrick’s corpse, shaking his head. The wounded man whimpered again, and he turned his attention back to the living. Blood was spilling out of the bandage on his leg, and without a medical kit there was no way he could treat him. Just ahead of him, the hatch dangled free, open and inviting, but with his ankle as it was he would struggle to climb it by himself, still less with a man over his shoulder.

 His second pistol still had a pair of rounds in the chamber, and looking up with a rueful smile, he fired them in quick succession. If they hadn’t already made enough noise already, that would guarantee it. Slumping back to the ground, he tried to make the wounded man as comfortable as he could, hoping that help would arrive in kind.

 After a few minutes, he heard footsteps echoing down the ladder, cautiously descending, and he yelled up, “It’s all clear down here. The beast is dead.”

 There was a pause, and the footsteps grew quicker, a man dropping down the last few rungs, looking at the body of the creature in disbelief, then across at the two people on the floor.

 “He needs help,” Salazar said. “Urgently. You’ll need to get him to a medical facility at once. I just need help to stand up.” Squinting at him, he recognized Spaceman Lombardo, one of the traitorous crewmen from Wyvern. “Have you at least got a medical kit?”

 “Fitzroy’s coming down with it,” Lombardo replied. “You killed it?”

 “With this,” Salazar replied, holding up his knife. “I guess this is the moment when I give myself up. As long as I get a drink of water, that’s fine with me.” Looking at Merrick’s corpse, he added, “We’ll need to get him out of here, as well. I won’t leave him for the creatures.”

 Nodding, Lombardo said, “Lieutenant Tarrant will want to talk to you at once.” He paused, then said, “I’d better take the knife.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “You can have my parole, but I’m not giving this up. If you want to try and take it off me, you are more than welcome to try.”

 With a glance back at the creature, the guard shook his head, and said, “I’ll pass on that. Let’s get moving. There are more of those beasts about.”

Chapter 14

 Cooper looked across the barracks, shaking his head at the mess. Corporal Vaughan was running a pressure tester over the hastily repaired bulkhead, periodically gesturing for Private Watkins to add a new layer of sealant to one spot or another. Technically, they didn’t have anything to worry about, five compartments in from the outer hull, but no-one was anxious to take any chances.

 All around, the platoon were trying to put everything back into order. Bunks had to be moved back into position, rifles secured to the wall and stored for charging, and a distressing collection of debris was liberally scattered over the whole area, hastily being thrown into bags for removal later. He tried not to think about the men he had in the medical bay, ten wounded from the brief attempt to take the ship, another caught here in the barracks when the hull was breached.

 “Just about ready,” Vaughan said. “I think we’re airtight again. I’ll have one of the lads repaint the wall when we’re done.”

 “Come on, Corp, is that really important?" Watkins asked, sensing that he would be chosen to wield the brush.

 “We want to have everything nice and tidy, Private. Something I hope you remember before my next inspection of your bunk.”

 “Yes, Corporal,” he replied, shaking his head, stowing the sealant back into its box.

 Over in a corner, Scott sat on a bunk, a half-filled bag in her hands, her eyes locked on the wall. Nodding at Sergeant Gurung, he moved over to sit next to her, offering her the canteen in his hands.

 “You can go and get something to eat, if you want. If you can’t face the mess, there’s some emergency rations in the next room. Cleaning this up is our job.”

 She looked down at the bag, up at him, and said, “I’m sorry, my mind must have been wandering.” She paused, then said, “I can’t stop thinking about it. It all keeps running through my mind, again and again.”

 “Happens to everyone,” Gurung said. “You did good.”

 “I’ve never killed a man before. Never even shot at one. Just at targets on the range.”

 Nodding, Cooper said, “Want to know a little secret? Everyone feels like this the first time. After my first battle, I made a hell of a mess on the floor. The Sergeant’s right, though. You did fine. You’ve got good instincts, and you used them well.”

 The door opened, and Grant stepped in, looking down with disdain at Scott, saying, “Is this really an appropriate place for her to be, Ensign?”

 “Well, considering she is literally surrounded by Espatiers, Lieutenant, it seemed logical enough to me. Besides, we’re short-handed and in the middle of a clean-up, and I need all the help I can get.”

 Looking down at her belt, he said, “Are you aware that she is armed?”

 “I gave her the holster.”

 “Ensign, I think I had better take her personally into custody right away. Based on what I’ve seen of the security footage, there are grounds for another round of interrogation. Secure that weapon.”

 “No.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “No, I will not secure that weapon, and no, she is not going into your custody. I was assigned to guard her, and that is exactly what I am doing. I don’t know what you think you saw on the security footage, but in my judgment, there is no grounds for any suspicion.”

 “She was working with the enemy!”

 “Captured by the enemy, to be more precise. Granted that they probably thought they were rescuing her from us, something she herself has admitted.”

 Shaking his head, Grant said, “I want to question her again.” 

 “Doctor Duquesne has confirmed that she has no memory of her time with Commodore Tramiel and his men. What would be the point?”

 “Are you happy with an admitted traitor walking around the ship?”

 Scott rose, her head hanging low, saying, “I’ll come.”

 “No, you won’t,” Cooper said. Two of the troopers moved quietly to block the door. “Do you know why she has that pistol? Because she snatched it from the ground and killed one of the traitors, the real traitors, who boarded the ship. Incidentally saving my life in the process. Then she charged after Steele, and if I hadn’t slowed her up, would almost certainly have stopped her.”

 “I’ll back that up,” Gurung said, moving to stand behind Cooper. “I saw everything that happened.”

 “The footage…”

 “None of the security cameras point at that elevator airlock, and I’d set off a smoke grenade in that area. How you can possibly think that you can make anything conclusive out of a few blurred images is a mystery to me, but I will not permit you to conduct a witch-hunt based upon it.”

 Glancing at the troopers, Grant said, “Should I be nervous for my safety, Ensign?”

 “Of course not, sir. These troops are under my direct command, and will not hinder an officer in the performance of his lawful duties. Sub-Lieutenant Scott,” he made sure to stress the rank, “is safe enough where she is, and I can assure you that there will be a trooper with her at all times. Evidently for her own protection. Should there be other traitors on board, she might be in danger.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Grant said, “Are you implying that you consider she needs to be protected from me, Ensign?”

 “Take it any way you want, sir.”

 “Let’s try this dance one last time. Ensign, you will release Sub-Lieutenant Scott into my custody, and you will secure the weapon that for some unfathomable reason you have given her.”

 “No, sir.”

 “This is a direct order.”

 “And one I am not obliged have to obey. I am not in your chain of command, Lieutenant, and I report to Captain Marshall, or in his absence, the acting commander of this ship. Last time I checked, that wasn’t you. If I receive lawful orders, I will protest them, but I will obey them. Until then, she stays with us.”

 With a sigh, Grant said, “I’m sorry that you feel so obliged to protect a traitor, and that you cannot see the obvious dangers of her remaining free. Nevertheless, given that you outnumber me twenty to one, I will concede for the moment. I will be contacting Senior Lieutenant Orlova…”

 “Acting Captain Orlova,” Watkins added, earning a sharp look from Gurung.

 “And you can expect to receive such orders in the near future. If I am listened to at all, you will be censored at that time.” He turned to the door, and the troopers stepped to the side to let him go. Pausing, he added, “You should know that Private Dean died a few moments ago. Doubtless Doctor Duquesne will be contacting you shortly, but she was going right back into surgery when I left sickbay. My condolences to you all.”

 As the door closed, the room fell silent, everyone looking around. Cooper struggled to picture the youthful trooper, a rookie on her first deployment, already the veteran of operations on Thule. He tried to conjure up her face, and shook his head. Gurung looked around, then gestured at the pile of bags on the floor.

 “This mess won’t sort itself out. Snap to it.”

 Slowly, reluctantly, the troopers began to return to their work, silently stowing away the debris of battle. Where before there was banter and talk, now there was a grim silence, each of them trading off the shock of losing a comrade with the guilty relief that they had lived through another battle.

 Scott sat, dazed, and said, “I should have done more. If I’d been a few seconds faster, she would have lived.”

 “Steele pulled the trigger, not you,” Cooper said. “We’re going to see that she and the others are brought to justice. You have my word on that.”

 “And what about me? What does justice mean for me?” She looked at the door, and said, “Lieutenant Grant is right. I don’t know what I’m capable of.”

 Forcing a smile, Cooper said, “All I know is that when it really counted, when we needed you, you came through for us. You grabbed a gun and started shooting the bad guys. Without you, the Battle of the Hangar Deck would not have gone so well. Steele and the others could have rallied, and could have done anything they wanted.”

 "They had three pilots with them,” Gurung said. “The plan seems pretty damn obvious to me. Secure the deck, steal the shuttles, then pick up reinforcements from Wyvern. Throwing another twenty or thirty people into the fight would have hurt us, especially with all the other damage we’d suffered. It’s not impossible that your intervention saved the ship.”

 “My after-action report certainly says as much,” Cooper added. “Under other circumstances, you’d already have received a commendation. One that would be extremely merited. As it is, I understand that it is somewhat difficult, but I’ll be damned if I let that idiot Grant throw pointless questions at you for hours as a reward.”

 “You stick with us, Sub-Lieutenant,” Watkins said. “Keep one of us grunts with you, and I don’t think anyone will give you any trouble.”

 “Will you be censured?” Scott asked.

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “I doubt it. Maggie’s got enough to deal with as it is, without having to babysit temperamental officers.” His communicator contradicted him, and he fished it out of his pocket, trying to suppress a smile. “Barracks here. Cooper speaking.”

 “Bridge here,” Orlova’s voice said. “Lieutenant Grant has just informed me of your intransigence.”

 “I should have been more diplomatic, ma’am, but I stand by every word that I said.”

 “Somehow I thought you’d say that.” She paused, then said, “I’ve taken a look at your report. And those of Sergeant Gurung and Corporal Hunt.”

 “I stand by those, as well.”

 “If you’re willing to vouch for her good behavior, I’ll trust your judgment.” Cooper could hear a brief noise of protest from the rear, quickly silenced. “Nevertheless, my past orders stand. At least one trooper is to be with her at all times. Is that clear.”

 “As crystal, ma’am.”

 “Good. And try and at least pretend to be polite to senior officers, Ensign. One day it’ll be someone I can’t pacify. Orlova out.”

 “You see?” Cooper said, looking across at Scott with a smile. “All fine. We look after our own.”

 Shaking her head with disbelief, she said, “I tried to kill your wife, Ensign.”

 “No, you didn’t,” Gurung said. “It was theory before, it’s fact now. I saw you take that second shot. You hit a target while both of you were on the move in variable gravity over cover at long range. I’m not sure I could have taken that shot.”

 “I didn’t, remember,” Cooper said. “My shot went wide.”

 “Maybe I got lucky.”

 “Twice in two shots?”

 “I…”

 “What you did, who you were, really doesn’t mean a damn thing any more. That person’s dead. You proved that today.” Cooper placed his hand on her shoulder, and said, “On that deck, there were maybe a dozen people with sidearms training who could have picked up a weapon and opened fire. They didn’t. They headed for cover.”

 “And that was the smart thing to do,” Vaughan said. “We’re the ones with the training in close-quarters combat. Giving a shuttle technician his own gun is asking for a hole in the hull.”

 “You could have stayed down low, gone into hiding.” Shaking his head, he said, “You picked up a weapon, and you stood your ground. You stood with us. That isn’t something we forget easily, or quickly.” 

 “Goes for the rest of us, too,” Gurung added.

 “What about Grant? And the others?”

 “I get odd looks everywhere I go anyway,” Watkins said. “You get used to it.”

 “If you showered regularly, you wouldn’t have to,” Vaughan replied, getting a laugh from the rest of the platoon. “Look, you did your best to save Erin’s life, and that’s more than a lot of others did. It’s part of the game when you put on the uniform, far more so when you join the Espatiers. We’ve lost a dozen since we left Mariner. Might lose more yet. We’ll get drunk in her name when we’ve got time, same as we always do. And we never forget.”

 Cooper nodded, and said, “There’s a wall, down in the heart of the ship, close to the midshipmen’s quarters. Everyone who has given their lives for this vessel is listed there. Name, rank, time of death. There must be more than a hundred people listed there, those who have died on board while this ship has been in service. When you feel up to it, go down and take a look at it. I guess every ship has something like that.”

 “We didn’t on Thermopylae.”

 “That’s a pity. Traditions are important. I find it comforting, strangely. In ten, twenty years from now, someone will be reading through that list, will come to Private Erin Dean, and for a moment, she’ll live again. They all will.” He smiled, looked around, he said, “What is this, a symposium? Come on, let’s get this done.”

 “You heard the officer,” Gurung said. “Back to work.”

 “It’ll just get messed up again,” Watkins grumbled.

 “Then we’ll damn well clean it up again, Private,” Vaughan said. “That’s what we do.”

Chapter 15

 “You must really think I’m dangerous,” Salazar said, looking around at the dozen guards surrounding him on their way back to his cell. At the rear, the man he had saved was being carried on a stretcher, a medic periodically making adjustments to his injection armband. He tossed his knife in the air, catching it by the handle, all eyes briefly on him.

 “Don’t do that,” Tarrant said.

 “Are we actually going to have a conversation, then?”

 “I’ll speak to you when we get back to the rest of your people. I don’t see any point in repeating myself.” 

 Glancing back at the wounded man, he replied, “Unless someone’s been taking some correspondence courses that I don’t know about, we haven’t got a doctor with us. Why are you dragging that poor bastard along?”

 Turning, Tarrant barked, “Be grateful we bothered to save your worthless…” 

 Drawing his knife again, Salazar said, “I saved your crewman, remember, not the other way around. And I gave myself up. You’d never have found me down in those tunnels, and you damn well know it.”

 “He’s got a point, Lieutenant,” Lombardo said.

 “You be quiet as well,” Tarrant snapped.

 The group turned a corner, reaching the threshold of the dome, and Fitzroy raced forward to work the door. On the other side, Ryder was waiting, her arms crossed, the crew gathered behind her. Salazar nodded as he saw her, making to move over to her, but Lombardo stopped him with his arm.

 “Not just yet,” he said.

 With a shrug, Salazar remained where he was, as Tarrant stepped out to look at both groups. The stretcher was placed on the ground, the medic propping the man up to make him as comfortable as he could. He began to groan, slowly reviving, his eyes dragging open.

 “This man,” Tarrant began, pointing at Salazar, “is responsible for the deaths of at least nine people.”

 “Nine people?” Salazar said. “Did I miss something?”

 “Where are Lieutenant Riley and Sub-Lieutenant Merrick?”

 “Dead. Defying our warnings…”

 “What warnings?” Salazar asked, stepping out of the crowd, shrugging off Tarrant. “I think I see where this is heading, and if you expect me to sit back and accept some sort of drumhead trial, you’re damn well mistaken. Those creatures killed them, and your people, and you know it.”

 “Creatures?” Ryder asked.

 “We found them in one of the domes. Seven feet tall and full of teeth and claws, with a taste for humans. I managed to kill one of them, but there are more of them out there.” 

 The group murmured, and Tarrant said, “There was one, and he’s dead.”

 “That’s a lot of crap, and you know it.” Turning to Lombardo, Salazar said, “You told me there were more of them out there.”

 “I’ve heard at least two,” the technician said. “Lieutenant, he’s right.”

 “If this man and his friends hadn’t disturbed them in their nest, those people would still be here today. We went in to save them, and the price we paid was six men dead. Anything that happens now can be blamed on him.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “We were hearing those creatures long before we got into that dome, and they already had access to the tunnels, which means that they are able to get from dome to dome without using the corridors. Tell me, have you had any disappearances since you arrived here?”

 “I’ve been here for four months,” Tarrant said with a sneer, “and this is the first time we’ve had anything worse than a paper-cut. All of this is down to you.”

 Ryder stepped forward, and said, “Sub-Lieutenant Salazar acted under my authority at all times. He’s a reliable officer and I trust his word.”

 Pulling out his pistol, Tarrant said, “I ought to…”, but before he could finish his threat, a loud howl echoed through the corridors behind them, one that sent a wave of fear and revulsion running through Salazar. He glanced at Lombardo, who nodded.

 “We need to get into defensive positions, now.”

 Nodding, Ryder said, “Trent, Howard, Ortega, start moving those boxes into a barricade.”

 “No-one moves,” Tarrant said. “This is a trick. You’ve got reinforcements coming down from Alamo.” He swung around to cover the crewmen with his pistol, and said, “I’ll kill the first one who so much as blinks.”

 “Wake up, Lieutenant,” Salazar said. “These monsters are real, and this is not some sort of deception. I didn’t even know Alamo was in-system until now. We’ve got to get ready.” Turning to Lombardo, he said, “You’ve got extra weapons. We need them issued. Bullets might be more effective if we can choose our shots carefully.”

 Lombardo glanced from Salazar to Tarrant, and said, “Perhaps we should consider it, sir.”

 “Damn it, Spaceman, can’t you see what he is doing? You want to lose your percentage, spend the rest of your life in prison?”

 Taking advantage of the brief distraction, Salazar leapt forward, swinging a punch that connected perfectly with Tarrant’s chin, sending him crashing to the floor, his pistol dropping from his hand. Quickly retrieving the weapon, Salazar turned to cover the rest of the mutineers.

 “There’s been a change of command. Anyone got any objections?” They looked around, shaking their heads, and he continued, “Where are the rest of you?”

 “This is it,” Lombardo said. “There were nineteen of us originally.”

 “Lucky thirteen,” Ryder said. “Trent, Ortega, get that barricade built. Lombardo, start passing around the weapons and ammunition.”

 “Are there any more stores we can get at, quickly?” Salazar asked.

 Shaking his head, the technician said, “We only had small arms with us. Didn’t think we’d need anything heavier.” He gestured at the others, who started to pass around their spare pistols and knives. “Not much ammunition, either.”

 “We’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got,” Ryder said, as the two groups of crewman started to move as one, shifting crates and boxes around to provide some cover. At best, it would only slow them down a little, provide stable firing platforms. “Weak spots, Sub-Lieutenant?” 

 “The eyes,” he said. “Go for the eyes. Nothing else even seems to slow them down, so there’s no point in anything other than a precision shot. If you have to get in close, watch for the stingers. They’ve got some sort of paralyzing venom.”

 “Can’t we get out of here?” Ortega asked, looking around nervously.

 “Where do you want to go?” Ryder asked.

 “Up to the surface,” Trent suggested.

 Fitzroy shook his head, and replied, “Not an option. We can’t get up there without the submarine, and that’s upstairs at the moment.”

 “Can’t you contact them?”

 “We tried,” Lombardo said, looking down at Tarrant. “They didn’t respond.”

 Another loud howl filled the room, and Salazar could hear the sound of footsteps approaching. The wounded man was placed carefully behind the stockade, Tarrant’s unconscious form dragged next to him. They might outlive the rest of them if this went wrong.

 “Wait for it,” Salazar said, taking his place at the side of the barrier. He placed his knife in front of him where he could grab it in a second, and hefted his pistol in his hand. Six shots was all he had to work with, and he was luckier than most. He cursed as he heard a crack, someone wasting a round.

 “Fire discipline, damn it,” Ryder said. “Pick your shots!”

 The door opened, and a quintet of the monsters burst into the dome, tirelessly sprinting towards them, their cold, dead eyes staring at them as though they were able to turn them to dust with a thought. More shots went off, futilely bouncing off their hides, not even slowing them down.

 “The eyes!” Salazar said. “Go for the eyes! Don’t take a shot unless you can bring them down!” He leveled his pistol, resting it on his arm, and pulled the trigger, the bullet bouncing off the creature’s forehead. Cursing under his breath, he fired again, and this time was luckier, the beast tumbling back, writhing in desperate agony as the bullet found its way into his brain, bringing him to the ground.

 On the far side, another fell, Lombardo waving his gun in the air in obvious glee, but that still left three of them charging forward, pausing for a second before simultaneously jumping over the stockade in a single bound, a fusillade of wasted shots bouncing off their sides as they landed, each of them snatching one of the defenders, tearing and ripping at them as blood spurted into the sand.

 Throwing his pistol away, Salazar snatched his knife and dived onto the nearest creature, slashing at one of the tentacles, trying to drag it away. He heard a cracking sound up ahead, a beast being brought down to the ground by a dozen crewmen attempting to pin it in position. As the creature he was fighting finished with its first victim, it turned to him, a maniacal glee in its eyes.

 He reached up with his knife, trying to stab the creature in the eye, but the blade was turned away by a tentacle, his weapon thrown from his hand. Its arms reached up, the razor-sharp claws dripping blood as they hacked down, but Ryder got in between them with a second to spare, sending all three of them tumbling away.

 Desperately, Salazar snatched at his knife, diving back towards the beast as it began to attack Ryder, stabbing into her side. Before it could respond, he had slashed it across the eye, then turned the blade to drive it in, blood spurting forth as it collapsed onto Ryder, her cries of agony echoing around the room.

 Another of the beasts had been killed, two other crewmen having given their lives for the cause, but the third looked triumphantly down, Howard’s body in its hands. Salazar looked around for his discarded pistol, and he and Lombardo fired at the same time, the creature tumbling back, dead.

 Suddenly, the dome was still and silent, just the gasps and cries of the wounded. He looked down at the macabre scene behind the useless barricade, at the dead and the dying sprawled on the ground, and looked around at the survivors of the battle.

 “I need the medics to start triage on the wounded,” he ordered, trying to fill the vacuum. “Others to get the bodies of these creatures out of the way, on the double. I need a weapons check.” Glancing around, he saw Lombardo, looking down at the body of the creature. “You’re a Petty Officer, right? I need a weapons and ammunition check.”

 “Aye,” he said, dazed. “Aye, I’ll get on it right away.”

 “How’s Ryder?” he asked, looking down at the medic.

 “Not good. Chest wound. There’s not much I can do about it down here. She needs proper medical attention within the next few hours.” Glancing at the other wounded, he added, “She’s one of the lucky ones. I don’t think most of the others will make it.”

 “Do the best you can with what you have,” he replied. “And sort out stretchers. We’re not going to stay here.” Looking around, he said, “This place isn’t defensible.”

 “You think there are more of them out there?” Fitzroy asked.

 “We’ve got to assume that.” He shook his head, and said, “Not to mention that something is helping them. Is everyone here?”

 “Yes,” Fitzroy replied, frowning. “What do you mean?”

 “The doors opened. And before, they were able to get down the shafts into the tunnels, but I don’t see how their hands could have worked the mechanism. That means that whatever system is controlling this complex has decided that it is going to help those bastards wipe us out.”

 “Traitors!” Ortega said, looking down at Trent’s body.

 “This isn’t us!” Fitzroy replied. “Our people have been down here for months, and they’ve never reported any sign of trouble until now. Don’t you think we’d have gone by now if we knew these creatures were here?”

 “What the hell was the plan, anyway?” Salazar asked. He tapped Tarrant’s body, and said, “He was saying something about a cut.”

 Fitzroy looked at Lombardo, and said, “We stole gray-tech from the Confederation archives. Top-secret projects. Commodore Tramiel wanted to use it to take on the Cabal, but Kline and Tarrant were against it.” He looked down at the ground, and said, “They convinced us that we could sell it back to the Confederation, in exchange for a pardon and some money. We’d be worth millions, they said.”

 “They’d sell them to the highest bidder,” Ortega said. “Whether or not it was the Confederation.” 

 “We wouldn’t have stood for that,” Lombardo said.

 “Has it occurred to you that might be why you’ve been left down here?” Salazar replied. “Either because Kline thought that you might not be willing to accept the best offer, or to give him a bigger cut of the profits for himself?”

 “He wouldn’t do that,” Fitzroy insisted, but his expression was far less certain.

 “When was the last time you heard from Wyvern?”

 “Nine hours ago, at the last check-in.”

 “And the submarine on the surface, is anyone with that?”

 “I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe those creatures are up there as well.” He shook his head, and said, “We’ve got no way out of here, have we? We’re all going to die here.”

 “Cut that out, Spaceman,” Salazar said. “We’re not going to die down here. I’m not going to let that happen. Is the communications relay still working?”

 “It is.”

 “And Tarrant said that Alamo is in-system.”

 “The last message we had, Wyvern was planning to engage it in battle, to attempt to force it to surrender. We’ve heard nothing since. We don’t even know who won.”

 With a smile, Salazar said, “My guess based on that would be that Alamo did. Put me through to them.”

 “Wait a minute,” another crewman said. “We’re all wanted for treason, mutiny, and a hundred other offenses. All we get if we go home is life in prison.”

 “Maybe,” Salazar said. "Have you finished your check, Lombardo?”

 Nodding, he replied, “Twenty effectives, two walking wounded, five wounded who might be saved. Everyone has a pistol, and we have eighty-one rounds of ammunition.”

 “That’s your answer right there,” Salazar said, stepping over to the crewman. “What’s your name?”

 “Fox, sir. Spaceman Third. I was just out of training when this happened. I’ve got a kid I’ve never seen.” He looked up, eyes wide, and said, “They promised us amnesty, sir. Can you offer that?”  

 “No,” he replied, bluntly. “All of you have committed serious offenses against the Confederation, and you’re going to have to face the consequences of those actions. I can’t make any promises to you, though if you agree to follow me, I will provide a character reference at your court-martial.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I’ll tell you this, though. None of you has committed a capital crime. If you stay here, you’ll face a death sentence as soon as the ammunition runs out.”

 Looking around at the group, he said, “I mean to get out of here, and I mean for us all to get away. We’re going to have to work together if that’s going to happen.” Looking at the young spaceman, he said, “I’ll get you home, Fox. One way or another.”

 Nodding, Lombardo said, “We’re ready to move out on your order, sir. I’ll organize stretcher bearers.”

 “Keep our best shots free,” he said.

 “I have Alamo for you, sir,” Fitzroy said. “Alamo Actual on the line.”

 Nodding, he took the headset, and began, “Salazar to Alamo. Come in, please.”

Chapter 16

 Orlova sat back, looking out at the tumbling fragments of the planet spinning around each other, admiring the panoramic view from the observation deck. There was no-one else up here, the rest of the crew frantically working to get the ship ready for action, to face off against Wyvern in the inevitable second battle. Reaching down to her datapad, she played Salazar’s message again.

 “I have twenty-seven people, including seven wounded, in need of immediate evacuation from the planetoid. We can’t hold out for long, and suspect that the creatures are waiting for us up on the surface. Our supplies of ammunition are limited, and I have reason to believe that more of them will be attacking us soon.”

 “Hold on, Pavel,” her recorded voice replied. “Your message is received, and understood. We’ll do everything we can for you. Pass on details of your location, and we’ll start working out an evacuation plan. Orlova out.”

 She clicked the playback off, looking out of the viewport once again. To get in, they’d have to send the shuttles past Wyvern. An unknown quantity at the moment. That would be easy compared to what they would face on the surface, and while plasma weapons would certainly make short work of them, it still meant more casualties.

 Then there was the escape. This time Wyvern would be waiting for them, and Alamo would have to go in again, facing those particle beams, the weapons that had come close to destroying the ship last time. It was risking more than a hundred lives to save less than thirty. Every instinct told her to go in, to launch the operation, but at the back of her mind was a voice screaming at her that it was a mistake, that she was only going to get more of her people killed, that they should leave the system and escape.

 The longer she thought about it, the more powerful that voice became, and she knew that it was only going to get worse. Salazar had called twenty minutes ago, and she had to make a decision. If the group on the planet had to be abandoned, Salazar would understand. In a way, that was the worst part of all.

 The door behind her opened, and someone stepped through, standing over her shoulder and looking out at the spectacular view beyond. She glanced back, and saw Powell standing there, a frown on his face, his eyes bright as he savored the display. He looked down at her and smiled.

 “Do you mind having some company?”

 “Not at all,” she said. “I should be on the bridge anyway.”

 “They can manage without you for a moment. Nelyubov and Grant are scurrying around issuing orders, everyone snapping to. Just like old times.” He paused, then said, “Everyone wants to know what you are going to do about Salazar.”

 “So do I.”

 “The general consensus is that we should go and rescue them. That we shouldn’t leave anyone behind, especially not to a fate such as that. I confess I am not so sure.” Looking at her, he added, “Neither are you, I know.”

 “If we go in, there’s no guarantee that we’ll get out again.”

 “You don’t have to make a decision for another thirty minutes. Our orbit won’t take us to optimal launch position until then, in any case. A luxury few in your position are accorded.” He paused, then said, “You’re considering leaving the system.”

 “It’s the safest option. We can evade Wyvern and make the jump in four days.”

 “By which time, everyone on the planet below will be dead.”

 “They might be anyway if we make the attempt. Getting the shuttles in and out of that debris would be tricky enough even without an enemy ship lying in wait for them. I’d have to commit Alamo in full support, and that means another battle.”

 “One that you are not certain we can win.”

 “Not by a long shot,” she said. “We were lucky, last time. The next time might be a very different story.”

 “And you don’t want to take the risk. You know that you’d have a ship full of volunteers if you asked.”

 She smiled, and said, “This crew would try a dive through a black hole if one of their shipmates was stuck on the other side of it. There is a time and a place to call for volunteers for a mission, and this is not one of them. I’ve got to try to take a step back, to look at the big picture, to weigh the risks.”

 Turning to her, he said, “You care about your crew. That’s the mark of a good commander.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I’m just filling the chair. Only temporarily. I’m not even the Executive Officer, just the Operations Officer. If Captain Marshall was here, or Captain Cunningham for that matter, I’d be sitting down on the bridge right now wondering what was taking them so long.”

 “You’re trying to put yourself in their shoes. Trying to work out what they would do in your place.”

 She nodded, then said, “I just don’t know.”

 With a thin smile, he said, “Yes, you do. I saw you on the bridge, after the surprise attack, barking out orders, ideas flowing at a mile a minute. There was a job to do, and you did it. We got away. Your credit, as a commander.”

 “That was different.”

 “I don’t think so.” He paused, then said, “When I was thirty, I volunteered for the fleet. There was a war on, and I was a trained astrogator. They were needed. I spent ten years on this ship, one way or another, serving under four commanders. I went from being the most junior rank to a few weeks as second-in-command, during the Armistice Talks. Scariest time of my life, that I was a heartbeat away from having to make the big decisions.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Twenty-five years ago. I was still in school.”

 “Now I feel old. On my first tour out here, I ended up leading a boarding party, stripping fuel and spares from a freighter. Normal battlecruiser tactics, back then. This was, I think, at Barnard’s Star. One of the crewmen decided to be a hero, managed to take over the communicators and took some of the party hostage. I was a doctoral student, had only been wearing the uniform for a few weeks. I didn’t have the first idea what to do.”

 “What happened?”

 “There was a Sergeant with us, wounded when the hostages were taken or I’d have just turned over command to him. He told me that every big problem was just a hundred little problems all in a row, and that if I trusted my instincts and my judgment, everything would work out fine. He was right. We managed to take the renegade down, got the fuel we needed, and were on our way.” He smiled, and said, “A boring story of a long-ago war, and one I didn’t need to tell you.”

 “What do you mean?” she replied, frowning.

 “You know it already. I’ve seen your record, talked to your crew. They have faith that you’ll make the right decision. When you have to act quickly, you trust your instincts. What’s different this time? What do your instincts say?”

 “We go and get them out. Regardless of the risk. A three-shuttle assault team, two of them stripped down for maximum passenger load, the other carrying an Espatier assault team, a single squad. I’d call for volunteers, but there wouldn’t be any point. The whole platoon will sign up for it. Cooper can make the call.”

 He shrugged, and said, “Sounds to me like you’ve made your decision, and you just need someone to tell you that it’s the right one.”

 She looked up at him, and said, “It’s a risk. A big one.”

 Nodding, he replied, “I wouldn’t take it in a million years. If I was in command of this ship, we’d be heading out into free space, on an escape and evasion course, ready to make a run for the hendecaspace point as soon as we could leave the system. That doesn’t matter, though. I’m not in command, and neither is Captain Marshall, Captain Cunningham, or Flight Commander Mechnikov, for that matter. You’ve got the hot seat, and you’re the one who makes the call.” He smiled, and said, “I trust that instinct. So does the crew.”

 The door opened again, and she replied, “There’s more to it than that. I wouldn’t have believed that Steele would turn traitor, but she’s working against us now. What if Salazar is luring into a trap?”

 “No way,” Grant said, walking through the door.

 “Lieutenant…”

 “I personally think that Sub-Lieutenant Salazar is a pitiful excuse for an officer, and that he has displayed a level of risk-taking that is totally unjustified, but he would not betray the ship, the crew, or the uniform he wears. I don’t know about Steele, I’ve never met her. Salazar you can count on. I’ll vouch for him that far.”

 Turning to him, she said, “I still haven’t decided whether to launch the mission.”

 “Yes, you have,” he replied, a smile crossing his face. “Your subconscious is marking time while Alamo moves into the right position in its orbit, but all of us in this room know that the mission is going to happen. Ensign Cooper is selecting his team now.” His face darkened, and he said, “I volunteer to command the shuttle flight.”

 “That’s Bradley’s job,” Orlova said.

 “Maybe under normal circumstances, but the hangar deck is still under repair, and is going to need her personal supervision. We’re short on pilots in any case.” He looked down at her, and said, “Let me take it, ma’am.”

 She paused, nodded, and said, “Go and break the news. I’ll sign off on the mission.” Glancing up at the clock, she added, “Launch in twenty-five minutes. I’ll be heading down to the bridge in a few minutes. Have the senior staff standing by.”

 “Aye,” he said, leaving the room with a smile on his face. Orlova shook her head, watching him go.

 “Strange,” she said. “No, maybe it isn’t so strange.”

 “He’s right, you know,” Powell said. “You knew what your decision would be. All you were doing was trying to find ways to justify it to yourself.” He looked out at the view, and said, “Beautiful. This is what I’m out here for.” Pausing for a second, he said, “We’ll be seeing a lot more sights like this in the near future.”

 “You know something?”

 He shrugged, and said, “I probably shouldn’t be passing it on, I was told this in confidence, but Alamo is scheduled for a long-range exploratory mission in a couple of months. Specific details to follow. All of the business about those not-men of yours has stirred up a mess back home. There’s talk of a task force, but that’s all pointless if we don’t know where to send it.”

 “I figured as much,” she replied.

 “There was also talk of Captain Cunningham being reassigned.” 

 “Not you, as well,” she said. “Frank Nelyubov was lecturing me about that.”

 “He strikes me as a sensible man, and you seem to wear command well enough.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I haven’t got the experience for the job. I only turned thirty a fortnight ago.”

 “Congratulations.” He smiled, and added, “Have you read your own service record, lately? I don’t think you have anything to reproach yourself on in that area. Besides, it isn’t your decision. Captain Marshall will decide whether or not he wants you as his second-in-command.”

 “I’m not sure I want it. Decisions like this. I’ve watched the Captain tear himself apart over it. Hell, I’ve been there myself, on Hercules.”

 “I saw the movie.”

 Closing her eyes, she counted quickly to ten in Russian, throwing in a couple of swear words, before replying, “Don’t ever bring that up again.”

 “It was somewhat over-sensational. I suppose only you know whether or not you want it or not. There will be those who tell you that you have a duty to take it, but in this specific case, I don’t agree. When you put on the uniform, you’ve already gone further than most ever will." He paused, then said, “You will think about it, though? Not dismiss it out of hand?”

 “Oh, a part of me wants it. But not yet, not now. I don’t think I’m ready.”

 “That might be a good sign.” He rose to his feet, and said, “I suppose we’d better get back down to the bridge. I foresee some very complicated trajectory plots in my near future.”

Chapter 17

 While the deck crews frantically stripped down two of the orbital shuttles, Cooper looked across at his hand-picked assault team. Under normal circumstances, he would simply have selected a squad, but casualties during the battle had been liberally spread around the platoon, enough that any he could have picked would have needed to be reinforced.

 “Listen up,” he said. “This is a snatch-and-grab operation. We’re up against unknown hostiles, ones that we know are resistant to bullets.”

 “How can they be armor-plated, sir?” Watkins asked.

 “Not being an xenobiologist, Private, I couldn’t tell you. Perhaps you can talk with the science staff when we get back. I’m certain that our plasma weapons will work just fine, and if you are stuck with projectiles, aim for the eyes. Sub-Lieutenant Salazar assures me that those are their weak spots, and he’s killed one of them with a combat knife.”

 Gurung looked at Hunt, and said, “We don’t expect any stupid stunts like that from any of you. Just blow their bloody heads off with your plasma carbines, and keep fire discipline. We’ll be operating in an artificial environment, an undersea base, and you already had your baths for the week.”

 “The enemy are fearless, and don’t care about cover. You’ve got your combat armor, so that should help if you get into hand-to-hand combat. Watch out for the stingers, and the tentacles.” Cooper smiled, and said, “Just shoot them before you get close. And watch out for friendlies. Remember this is a rescue operation.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “Go get your equipment stowed away. We take off in four minutes. See to it, Sergeant. I’ll be along presently.”

 “Aye, sir,” Gurung said. “Come on, you apes! Who wants to live forever, anyway? Besides, you’ll be getting free drinks on the back of this story for years.”

 As the troops filed into the shuttle, Cooper raced over to the side, where his wife was supervising the technicians as they removed all the extraneous weight, others fitting auxiliary fuel tanks.

 “They’re going to be slow as hell,” she said. “Who decided that Grant should be commanding this operation?”

 “Don’t ask me,” he said, “I only work here. Don’t worry, as soon as we’re down on the deck I’m in charge.”

 “You’ve got to get there, first. Never mind the fact that we’ve got a ship armed with particle beams ready to blow us to bits, that swarm of broken junk we’re flying into is going to be murder to navigate.”

 “Baker’s a good pilot. He knows what he’s doing. And you recommended Manning for promotion last month.” He shrugged, and said, “I hear even Grant knows a little bit about flying.”

 “I ought to be taking you down myself.” Shaking her head, she said, “This is my job, Gabe, and I don’t like watching someone else forcing their way in. Grant’s a fighter pilot, not a shuttle pilot, and it’s a different skill. Trust me, I’ve done both.”

 “I assure you,” Grant said, stepping out of the elevator behind them, “I am fully certified as a shuttle pilot, and have passed all the usual tests. We will complete the mission. I guarantee it.” 

 Her face sour, Bradley said, “I know you are my superior officer, and you can court-martial me for insubordination if you want, but if this mission goes wrong because of you, I will see not only that you are held responsible, but that you are thrown out of the nearest airlock without a suit!”

 “Your husband…”

 Waving her arm at the pilots as they boarded, she said, “All of the people climbing into those shuttles are my responsibility. My pilots, my technicians, my platoon. I will not see them put at unnecessary risk. Is that clear?”

 Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Perfectly. Now if you excuse me, I need to complete pre-flight. You’d better come along, Ensign.”

 “In one minute,” he replied, watching Grant climb into the pilot’s airlock. “You really built up a head of steam there, Barbara.”

 “Something about him brings out the worst in me,” she replied. “Just take care of yourself down there, you hear? All of that applies to you, as well. Don’t take any stupid risks.”

 “I’m going down to an unknown planet to fight giant monsters,” he said. “Nothing about this mission is sane.” He smiled, and said, “I’ve got a fully-charged plasma rifle and nine very scary troopers with me. We’ll be fine.” Looking over in the corner, he saw Scott watching the troopers board, almost seeming to shrink into the corner.

 “Here to wish me luck, Sub-Lieutenant?” he said.

 She looked at the troopers, and said, “Most of the friends I’ve got on this ship are heading down to the planet. I volunteered to pilot one of the shuttles, but I suppose that was never realistic.”

 “I can see their point,” Bradley said. “I can always use a hand down here in the hangar deck, if you want.”

 "I don’t have anything else to do,” she said, with a sigh. “I’ll try and stay out of the way.”

 “Go and take a look at  Orbital One,” Bradley said, gesturing at a transfer shuttle. “Control systems have been playing up. I’ve had people working on her for hours, but can’t seem to find the fault.”

 “I’ll see what I can do,” Scott said, walking over to the far side of the deck. “Good luck, Ensign. Bring them back. Maybe something can be salvaged from this mess.”

 Watching her walk away, Cooper said, “Keep an eye on her, Barbara.”

 “Haven’t you got more important things to worry about at the moment?”

 “She saved my life, and risked her own to do it. Which means I owe her one.”

 “Skipping over that she took me hostage…”

 “As a favor, to me,” he said.

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Fine, I’ll hold her hand. Now get out of here, you’re going to miss your ride.”

 He gave her a quick hug, kissed her on the cheek, then ran for the airlock, one of the technicians giving him a cheer as he leapt on board. Sirens began to sound, and he quickly strapped himself down to the nearest chair, glancing up to make sure his equipment had been stowed.

 “I saw to it, boss,” Hunt said. “Thought you might want a few minutes.”

 “Thanks, Corporal. Everyone ready?”

 “All tucked in,” Gurung said. “This is what we all signed up for, isn’t it?”

 “Too late to request a transfer, Sarge?” Watkins asked.

 “I hear waste management needs a new filter repair technician,” Cooper said. “Fancy a career change?”

 “Only if I get to take this baby with me,” he replied, patting his plasma rifle, and a chorus of laughs echoed around the cabin.

 The overhead speaker barked into life, and Grant said, “Cycling elevator airlock. Stand by for variable acceleration and rapid course changes.”

 Cooper watched through the side viewport as the shuttle dropped down through the decks, smiling as he saw the angry burn mark that he’d caused when he’d forced his way through the emergency hatch. The damage might have been repaired, but there had been no time for aesthetic changes.

 With a lurch, the shuttle dropped down, spinning around on its thrusters as the engine roared, hurling them towards their target. As their acceleration boost, Alamo quickly receded into the distance, the view now dominated by the tumbling planet ahead.

 “What’s the plan, sir?” Rhodes asked.

 “We get down on the deck then blow away anything we see with claws and tentacles. They’ll be a submarine waiting for us, and we take it down to the undersea base and rescue our people. If all goes well, Salazar and his group will be waiting close to the airlock.”

 “How do we drive it?”

 “It can’t be that difficult,” Cooper said.

 “Don’t worry,” Gurung replied. “I’ll handle it.”

 “When did you learn how to drive a submarine?” Hunt asked.

 “Pilot,” he said. “I did a tour on Thalassa, a few years back. Lots of undersea settlements there. We used submarines on that deployment like we use shuttles here. Controls will probably be different, but I’m sure the principles are the same.”

 The shuttle rocked, and he looked out of the viewport. Grant was piling on the acceleration rapidly, and already they were approaching the outskirts of the planetary swarm. It felt strange to be seeing a world from the inside, jagged rocks tumbling around each other, trails of particles torn and twisted.

 “What’s that?” Mododkis, one of the new Neander recruits asked, pointing at a moving star. As Cooper watched, it seemed to be growing brighter, a thin trail behind it,

 “Damn,” he said. “That’s Wyvern, and by the looks of it, on an intercept course.”

 The hatch to the pilot’s compartment opened, and a white-faced Garland stepped out, saying, “Lieutenant Grant’s complements, and will you join him up on the flight deck?”

 Cooper raced past the paramedic, pushing him out of his way in his haste. Grant was sitting calmly at the controls, gesturing for Cooper to take the co-pilot’s seat. 

 “I understand you have some knowledge of countermeasure systems, Ensign.”

 “A very limited knowledge, sir.”

 “More than Garland, I suspect. Fire up the electronic defenses, and try and contact Alamo. We’re getting a lot of interference, though whether we’re being jammed or we’re getting some sort of effect from that mess around us, I don’t know.”

 “Aye, sir,” he replied, sliding into the station and strapping himself in. Sliding a headset on with one hand, he began to bring up the electronic warfare controls with the other, a series of panels lighting up. Since his last fumbling efforts in the station a year ago, he’d taken a couple of courses in countermeasure control, and this time he was far more sure of what he was doing, concentrating on his work.

 “Shuttle One to Alamo, come in, please,” he said, working the communication controls, trying to find a window to punch his message through. Grant was weaving the shuttle around fast enough that trying to aim a laser would be an exercise in futility, but he’d try it as a last resort. “Shuttle One to Alamo, please respond.”

 “This is Alamo,” a voice said, fighting over a crackle of interference. “We read you, Shuttle One, very faint. Be aware that Wyvern is vectoring in on your position. We are engaging full thrust, but will not catch up in time to help you.”

 “Understood, Alamo. Will attempt evasive maneuvers.”

 “Hold on,” Grant said, diving towards a nearby fragment of rock, close enough that Cooper make out every detail of the surface. The other shuttles followed behind them, as near as they dared, and for a moment Wyvern was out of view. Then a light flashed on the side panel, and Cooper cursed under his breath.

 “Wyvern’s got a missile lock. I’ll try and throw it off.”

 Frantically, he began to type in a series of commands, trying to scramble the lock, to hack into the enemy systems, but it was quickly obvious that they had someone skilled working for them. Any attempts he made were easily parried, and he hastily shut down the connection before they took control of the shuttle. One glance across at Grant told the pilot everything he needed to know.

 “Go for the physical countermeasures. We had the same trouble on Alamo.” He looked down at the surface, already perilously close, a tangle of peaks and valleys, and said, “The other shuttles can ride ahead. We’re going down.”

 With a long burst of the thrusters, he slowed the ship enough to pull it down towards the surface, the altimeter terrifyingly switching from miles to meters as they approached, warning alarms sounding that he turned off with a contemptuous flick of a switch. A smile began to spread across his face, the first time that Cooper had ever seen him smile, and Grant’s focus was totally on the task at hand as he dived between the peaks, skimming around outcrops of rock as though daring himself to see how low he could get.

 “They’ve lost lock,” Cooper said.

 “Pulling up,” Grant replied, his voice filled with regret. “Haven’t had as much fun as that in ages. All that paperwork they’re throwing at me up on Alamo is a lot of crap. This is what I joined up for.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper glanced across at his panel, and said, “I’d start doing it again. Wyvern is right on our tail and closing fast.” His eyes widening, he added, “They’re cranked up to full acceleration.”

 “The benefit of spending a few months watching these rocks tumble. Hold on,” he said, and they dived again, even closer than before. Skimming across a long-dead sea, the shuttle banked through a plume of debris, and Grant threw the engines up to fill, targeting a nearby fragment, a larger piece.

 “Two and Three are well ahead of us,” Cooper said. “They must have worked out which one the strike team is on.”

 “Or they’ve got something against me personally. I’m heading for that rock. With a little luck we’ll be able to skip from one to another. It’s not a long burn from there to the one we’re aiming for.”

 “I’m picking up Wyvern,” Cooper replied, looking down at the sensor display. “We’ve gained a little distance, but they’re still closing fast.”

 “To hell with it,” Grant said. “If they want to race, let’s race.” He tapped a control, and the engines roared up to full power, safety alerts screaming as he exceeded the mandated limits for the cluttered environment they were in. The shuttle lurched forward, Wyvern struggling to keep up as they dived for the barren rock. Cooper’s eyes widened as he realized what Grant was doing, going for a gravity-boost at a low level. The computer seemed to be as worried as he was, flashing warning after warning as Grant rapidly calculated the trajectory.

 “Got to get it right,” he said. “If I don’t, we could end up damn near anywhere, and they’ll have an easy shot.” The shuttle dived towards the rock, a tangle of craters and peaks worse than the last one, and Wyvern seemed to hang back, as though the ship itself couldn’t quite believe what Grant was trying. Something Cooper could well believe.

 “You ever done this before?”

 “No, but I’ve seen it done. With about a thirty percent success rate. Hold on.”

 The planetoid was only a few hundred miles across, and the chronometer told him that they’d been in close proximity for only a matter of a few seconds, a brief flash of gray against the cold black of space. His heart skipped beats, and he held his breath as he waited for closest approach, a readout giving it at a mere ninety meters.

 When they emerged around the far side, side-swiping a jagged mountain with a quick tap of the thrusters, they’d gained speed, but more importantly, thrown their trajectory out of the predicted path, out of any track a computer could have guessed.

 “They’re starting from scratch, now,” Grant said. “I make it ten minutes until we hit our target. The other shuttles will be down a minute or two before that. What does the computer give us as an estimate for Wyvern’s intercept, or have they given up.”

 “Oh, ten minutes,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “I guess we wait.”

 “Yeah. You got a deck of cards?” He shrugged, and said, “Either we’ll get there first, or we won’t. There’s nothing we can do about that now, and as my old flying instructor once said, there’s no point dying all tensed up.”

 “Just out of interest, what happened to Lieutenant Grant?” Cooper asked. “I get the feeling I'm meeting someone new here.”

 A frown on his face, he replied, “They grounded him.”

 “Big mistake.”

 “Tell me about it.”

Chapter 18

 Harper shook her head, watching the tiny sensor display as the shuttle raced over the nameless planetoid, Wyvern still inexorably closing on it. Behind her, Tramiel was squinting at his monitor, a frown spreading across his face. A series of calculations flashed on another panel, and after entering a few commands, he sighed.

 “Weapons range twenty-one seconds before they enter atmosphere. And all they’re going to need is one shot.” He slammed his hand against the wall, and added, “They probably don’t even know it. We’ve got a better baseline for Wyvern’s performance.”

 “How long?”

 “Nine minutes, twenty-six seconds.”

 “Then I’ve got time to save them.” Unstrapping from the hammock, she started to swing out, Tramiel placing a restraining hand on her arm.

 “Wait a damn minute. What do you think you are doing?”

 “I can’t do enough damage to their systems from here. If I can get to one of the bridge access stations in auxiliary control, there’s a chance I can play merry hell with their trajectory.”

 “You’ve never flown a ship in your life before.”

 With a smile, she replied, “I don't need to know. All I have to do is press buttons at random for a few seconds and spoil their course. Even I should be able to do that much. We’re only talking about a few seconds, remember.” 

 “I’ll…”

 “Don’t take this personally, but I’m forty years younger and a hell of a lot faster. Not to mention that most of the little safeguards I put in are built for one person to use, not two. Stay here and cover me on the monitors, and keep an eye on what the shuttle is doing. I don’t know what maniac is flying today, but if they have any other tricks up their sleeve, let me know. I’d hate to take this risk for nothing.”

 Frowning, he asked, “If all of your hacks were designed only for one, why was this hideout built for two?”

 “Because I’d expected to have a friend with me, and that is all you get to know. Keep me informed.”

 Pulling herself out into the shaft, leaving the confused Tramiel behind, she snatched a datapad from a hidden compartment and tapped a control, climbing up to the next deck. With luck, no-one would have noticed the alterations she’d made to the security subroutines, and she would effectively be invisible to internal sensors and monitors.

 As she rolled out into the nearest corridor, she heard footsteps approaching, and looked around, trying to find a place to hide. All the trickery she could employ wouldn’t defeat the Mark One Eyeball, and she frantically dashed into an empty cabin, closing the door behind her, hoping that the approaching figure wasn’t returning to her quarters.

 After a moment, the footsteps passed, and she cautiously left the room, pressing on to her destination. She still didn’t really trust Tramiel. While she could do everything she wanted from Auxiliary Control, it was a little obvious. The command monitors in the Captain’s Cabin would do just as well for what she wanted, and it was far less likely that she would be interrupted.

 Naturally, she was on the far side of the ship from her destination, and she made her way down the corridor as rapidly as she could, constantly alert for signs that anyone was following her, sensing eyes boring into her back from all sides. She glanced at her datapad, checking the ship’s security status, and gathered a measure of relief. They were on alert, but focused entirely on the shuttle ahead, not on an internal threat. Unless someone had detected her hacking, and was already heading towards her. Not a thought she savored.

 The cabin was unguarded, and the security lock was laughably easy to manipulate, the door sliding open in a matter of seconds. Inside, the room was a ransacked mess, the contents of Ryder’s shelves scattered around the floor or hastily thrown into a pair of plastic crates on the desk. The bed was rumpled, unmade, and a half-eaten meal was congealing on the chair next to it, some sort of nauseating garlic-based concoction.

 Wrinkling her nose at the smell, she pushed one of the crates to one side, pulling out the terminal. Entering the room had been easy, but infiltrating the command functions would be far more difficult. She cursed when she hit the first level of firewall, recognizing the program instantly as one she had written a year ago, which had yet to be rolled out to the Fleet. Someone had gone in and closed her back-doors, and she now had only a few moments to defeat a program she had spent two months working on.

 At least that meant she knew where to start. She glanced up at the clock, shaking her head. Four minutes before the shuttle was destroyed and all of this became pointless. There was a fast way and a safe way to hack into the systems, and given the countdown, it really wasn’t a choice. Alarms instantly began to sound as she smashed her way in, disregarding the detection systems, and after only a few seconds, she heard footsteps outside, a rhythmic pounding on the door.

 She wasted a second glancing across at the door. The lock would hold for a while, but as soon as some cutting equipment was brought in, she’d be caught. Another example of cost-cutting at work. Had she been on Alamo...but she dismissed that thought with a shake of the head, and got back to her job.

 The navigational controls were a tangle of confusing lines and commands, nothing she even pretended to understood. There was no way to lock out the bridge from here, for that she would have needed the facilities of auxiliary control, but she could certainly start to issue commands, and as soon as the green light of a stable connection winked on, she started to push every control in sight.

 Silence briefly reigned on the ship as the engine paused for a second, the helmsman managing to restart it. Already she could see her options becoming limited as someone up on the bridge began to counter her work, but another combination of commands sent her rolling to the side as the ship tumbled on its thrusters, tipping and rolling, threatening to throw the ship into a dangerous spin.

 There was no way to tell whether or not she had done enough to do the job. All she could do was continue to work for as long as she could, and as the whine of a cutter began to sound, she frantically queued control sequences, hoping that at least she would be able to leave a legacy of chaos behind her.

 The door burst open, and she tapped a button to activate the remainder of her mayhem, turning with her arms folded to watch Steele and two other crewmen burst in, all of them with rifles pointed at her.

 “Impressive reaction time,” Harper replied. “Not good enough, though.”

 Steele pushed past her, throwing her against the wall, while one of the others slapped hand restraints on her, the other searching for weapons.

 “What did you do?” Steele asked, looking up from the console.

 “I honestly don’t know,” Harper replied. “Nothing good, I hope.”

 Entering a series of commands, Steele pulled out a communicator and said, “It’s over. I have the terminal locked down, and she’s in custody. I’m bringing her up.” Turning to face her, she said, “You’re going to the bridge.”

 “I’ve already seen it,” she replied. “Wasn’t that impressed.”

 “Take her,” Steele said, leading the way down the corridor towards the elevator. Harper kept a steady pace, a smile on her face to mask the tension she was feeling. Capture might have been inevitable, but that didn’t mean she was happy about it.

 The ride to the bridge was quiet, all eyes on her, as though the guards expected that she would find some way to leap out of her bonds and attack them. She looked at Steele, shaking her head, trying and failing to find some trace of the woman she’d known back on Alamo.

 “I’m sure Laura Zabek would be proud of you for all of this,” she said, Steele’s eyes widening at the comment.

 “What do you know about it?”

 “Struck a nerve, have I? How do you think she would feel about you betraying everything you believed in, everything you stood for.”

 Raising her rifle, Steele said, “Keep quiet, or I’ll tell Kline that you were attempting to escape.”

 “In an elevator?”

 The door opened, and the group stepped out onto the bridge. A trajectory plot was displayed on the viewscreen, and Harper smiled as she saw the course now showed the shuttle easily escaping to the surface, well out of range of Wyvern’s particle beams. Kline was sitting in the command chair, and beckoned for her to come in, Steele sliding into the vacant tactical station.

 “It worked, then,” he began.

 Shaking her head, Harper said, “If that was a ruse, it was a damn clumsy one. You don’t have the high ground here, so stop trying to pretend that you do. Given that you’ve got two rifles on me, I don’t see why you think you need to try and place yourself in a position of strength.” Raising her chained hands, she added, “Though you have successfully trapped me, so I suppose congratulations are in order.”

 “Not to mention your friends on the surface.”

 “Who in fairly short order will, I suspect, have rescued the loyal crewmen of this ship,” she glared at Steele again, who looked down at her station, red-faced, “and be returning to Alamo.”

 “Oh, they might succeed against our garrison,” Kline said, “I’ll grant that much to you. Given that we are now in orbit, though, I don’t think there is much chance that they will get back out into space again. I can pick them off at my leisure.”

 “All this for a few credits?”

 “It doesn’t have to be that way, not if you can convince Alamo’s commander to see reason. If we are permitted to leave the system, then I will happily allow Alamo, the crew of Wyvern, and everyone else to peacefully remain. You can even have the base and its garrison, with my complements.”

 “Meaning bigger shares for those of you on board,” she replied.

 Leaning forward, he said, “I’d be willing to give you an equal share, also. In exchange for your co-operation. Otherwise, I suspect the consequences of your actions will be grave. Doubtless there will be many people happy to pay to have an agent of Triplanetary Intelligence delivered into their hands. You presumably have many secrets to tell.”

 “Very well, I’ll speak to her.”

 “It’s a trick,” Steele said.

 Shaking her head, Harper said, “I know too much to fall into enemy hands. Don’t expect me to go along with your treachery too far, but I might be able to convince Maggie to do the right thing.”

 “Give her a headset, Bacalov,” Kline said, and the communications technician passed it across, one of the guards sliding it onto her head. “Can we use a time delay?”

 Shaking his head, Bacalov replied, “Not if you want them to be sure the transmission is genuine.”

 “Then be ready to cut the channel the instant she says something I disapprove of.”

 “On it,” he replied, holding a finger over a control. “You’re on, Lieutenant.”

 “Harper to Alamo Actual. Come in, please.”

 “Harper?” Orlova’s voice replied, instantly. “What’s happening?”

 “Wyvern has the planet below interdicted, and is threatening to destroy the shuttles as they take off. They’ve offered to turn over the garrison below and take no further hostile action should you permit them to leave the system. I am also being held as a hostage. Apparently, they plan to sell me off to the highest bidder.”

 “Damn,” Orlova replied. “Harper, I…”

 “Take the bastards down, Maggie, top priority!”

 Bacalov slapped the control, and looked at Kline with alarm on his face. One of the guards tore the headset away, sending her staggering to the side.

 “I told you!” Steele said. “She’s a fanatic!”

 “You don’t have any intention of letting Alamo live through this,” Harper said. “I know all about the little secret in Storage Three, and I know that you are planning to sell it off. Even if the Confederation doesn’t make the high bid. Or perhaps you are thinking of holding it as a Sword of Damocles over our heads for a while. It doesn’t matter.”

 “You’ve just condemned your crewmates to death,” Kline said, matter-of-factly. “We almost destroyed Alamo last time, and we can gun down your friends on the surface at our leisure. I would have been happy to settle for more prisoners, even let you return home.”

 “If you’re going to kill me, Kline, please use a bullet and stop trying to talk me to death.”

 “Oh, you aren’t going to die, Lieutenant. I intend to sell you along with everything else, to the highest bidder. With a little luck, that will be the Confederation. Meaning that you get to live with what you have done here today, knowing that you are the one who has killed your friends.”

 A smile on her face, she said, “Neither of us are going to be there to see it, Kline. Betting against Margaret Orlova in battle is not a wise choice. Alamo is going to soar down like an avenging angel and send you, me, and everyone else on this ship straight to hell, and I’m going to have a front-row seat for the fun.”

 “Maybe. Though I doubt it.” Looking at the guard, he said, “Take her to the holding cell.”

 “Threat warning!” Steele said. “Alamo’s on the move, direct heading, right for us. Estimated intercept in twenty-nine minutes.”

 “Get her out of here!” Kline said, turning back to the screen. “Battle stations.”

 The guard pushed her into the elevator, the door slamming shut as it began to take them down to their destination. She might not live through the battle to come, but at least she had the satisfaction that she was likely to win it.

 “We could head for an escape pod,” she said. “I could offer amnesty if you helped me get away.”

 “Shut up,” the guard said, the doors sliding open.

 “You should have listened,” Tramiel said, bringing a baton down on his head, the guard crumpling to the floor. “She was speaking sense.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Harper said, “Security lockdown will be in effect all across the ship, and I’m guessing they’ll be on to us pretty soon. We won’t be able to hack into any of the control computers again.”

 “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan. We’re going to Storage Three.”

 Instantly, she realized what he had in mind, and nodded agreement. “Nothing like going out in a blaze of glory, I guess. Lead the way, Commodore.”

Chapter 19

 “Listen up,” Salazar said. “We’re going to have to make a run for the submarine lock. There are three shuttles waiting on the surface to take us all up to Alamo.” Looking at the nervous crew, the sullen Tarrant standing in the corner, he continued, “I’ll take up the rear. Lombardo, I want you to take point. We need the fastest route to where we’re doing, preferably sticking to the corridors.”

 “We’ll have to cross at least one dome,” he replied. “That’s all, though.”

 “Everyone make sure they have a revolver with one round in the chamber. Those not carrying stretchers get the bulk of the ammunition.”

 “What the hell can we do with one round?” Fitzroy asked.

 Gesturing at the mangled corpse of Trent, Salazar replied, “Use your imagination.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “We take our wounded with us, but if someone falls along the way, don’t wait for them. Just keep going.”

 “We should leave the stretchers behind,” Tarrant said. “The Espatiers can recover them later.”

 “Unless you are volunteering to guard them, the answer is no,” Salazar said. “We’ll take the wounded we have with us. Everyone stick together as best you can.” Glancing around, he said, “No point waiting any longer. Open the door, Lombardo. Let’s get this over with.”

 Tarrant looked as though he was going to protest again, but as the door swung open, he followed the rest of the group, cautiously making their way along the corridors, Lombardo in the lead with a wary Ortega behind him. Salazar took a last look around the room, at the sight of the battle, before following the trail, his pistol in his hand.

 The first howl came after they turned a corner, the dome out of sight, and immediately everyone started to speed up, a widening gap opening between the leading group and the stretcher party. Salazar tried to work out where it came from, but with all the echoes, it was impossible. The faint hope that they might have defeated all of the creatures was dashed, and with it, their hopes of an easy escape disappeared.

 “Get moving!” Salazar said. “Keep going forward!”

 As a second howl echoed around the corridors, some of the crewmen began to sprint, two of them moving past Lombardo, who waved his hands in attempt to keep them behind him. Ignoring him, they darted around a corridor.

 “Let them go,” Salazar said.

 “They’re heading the wrong way,” Lombardo said.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “There’s nothing we can do.”

 Turning to the left, they came to another door, which slid open to reveal a hot, fetid swamp, strange creatures running around inside, a low, ominous hum coming from within. The group paused for a moment, but another howl convinced them to move. A series of gunshots echoed from down the corridor, followed by a final, desperate scream, and they hurried through into the muck, the door closing behind them.

 He could feel the ooze running over his boots, squelching in the mud as they staggered forward. Lombardo was keeping a lead, the pace slow by necessity, the group clumping together. There was a crack from the rear, followed by an embarrassed glimpse from Ortega. An insect buzzed around Salazar’s head, jabbing him in the neck before he could slap it away.

 “Isn’t there any other way?” he yelled.

 “This is the fastest. Cuts out a quarter-mile of corridors.” Lombardo gestured ahead, and said, “Door’s only a few minutes on.” 

 Behind them, a loud rumbling noise heralded the arrival of one of the creatures, and he turned to see a beast leaping through the opening door, charging across the ground, sending splatters of fetid mud through the air as it raced towards the group. Three of the stretchers dropped to the ground as the bearers tried to save themselves, heading in every direction, while Salazar turned to stand and fight, Tarrant by his side. 

 “Hold your ground!” he yelled, before lining up a shot at the creature, still charging right for him. Taking a deep breath to steady his hand, he fired, cursing as it bounced off the creature’s armor. Tarrant’s shot was true, and the beast collapsed to the ground.

 With a quick nod, Salazar turned around, yelling, “Get back here, damn it! The beast is dead!”

 Shame-faced, the panicked crewman started to return, but a trio of howls from ahead sent them scattering again, a brief, and futile barrage of shots preceding the creatures tearing into the leading group, Lombardo tossed to the ground by one of them, the sound of bones cracking against rock as he fell on his side.

 Salazar dived for the nearest stretcher, tossing its load over his shoulder and sprinting for the exit. He felt a hand throwing him aside, sending him diving into the mud, and turned to see Tarrant snatched by a creature, the traitor giving his life to save him. Salazar’s gun was missing, but the time to fight was over.

 “With me!” he yelled, and he raced for the exit, hoping that some of the others would follow him. Ortega was by his side, dragging a stretcher behind her, and somehow Lombardo had managed to get back on his feet, urging the crew on. One by one, they started to drop, sliding into the mud as the creatures ripped into them.

 All Salazar could do was press on, trudging through the mud until reaching the blessed relief of the corridor. There was no time to pause, and no point even closing the door, a false security that would do them no good. Twenty-eight people had waded into the corridor, and only twelve were leaving it, the rest fated to remain there forever.

 “Keep moving,” Salazar said. “Lombardo, get going.”

 Nodding, he started to stagger forward, his hand clamped over his leg, and Salazar saw that the renegade technician was leaving a trail of blood behind him, still determinedly pressing on trying to keep a steady pace. None of the creatures emerged as they turned the first corner, presumably enjoying their feast.

 Salazar gasped under the load of the casualty he was carrying, finally having a chance to see that it was Ryder over his shoulder, her breath unsteady, a low moan from her lips as her painkillers started to wore off. Half a dozen of the survivors were wounded to one degree or another, and only a pair of pistols were in evidence.

 “Three turns,” Lombardo gasped, “Then a long corridor, and we’re at the lock. That’s ours, not under the control of the base systems. We installed it when we arrived. Hopefully we’ll be safe once we get that far.”

 “Unless they can tear through metal with those claws,” Ortega said. She’d abandoned the stretcher, and was now carrying her casualty in a fireman’s lift, staggering under the load.

 “Don’t be crazy, Spaceman,” Salazar said.

 “Right now, I’d believe anything,” the technician replied.

 “Just believe that we’re going to get out of here.”

 The group forced its way around the next turn, another howl echoing from behind them as they went. Wounded as they were, they couldn’t go any faster. Lombardo was slowing down, dropping back from the lead, determination in the drips of sweat on his forehead as he staggered through the pain.

 Looking behind, Salazar said, “We’re not going to make it like this. I need a volunteer.”

 “For what?” Ortega asked.

 “I’m going to try and decoy those bastards for as long as I can. Give you a chance to reach the lock. It might be lonely work, and some company would be useful.”

 “I’m with you,” Fox said, without a second’s hesitation.

 “Let me go. You’ve got a kid,” Lombardo said.

 “And you can hardly walk,” Fox replied. “Let them remember me as a hero, not a traitor.”

 Nodding, Salazar said, “You can serve with me any time, Spaceman. Get going, Lombardo. Someone else can take Ryder.” Fitzroy nodded, carefully taking his erstwhile commander and holding her up, already trudging off towards the exit.

 “Here,” the petty officer said, tossing him a pistol. “Two rounds in the chamber. Enough for emergencies.”

 “Thanks. Good luck.” Turning to Fox, he gestured back along the corridor, and said, “With me.”

 “Coming.” Fox looked back for a brief second, then followed Salazar as he charged back towards the sound of the howl, determination defeating hesitation as he followed him into battle, a combat knife flashing into his hand.

 While the wounded party fled down the corridor, the two of them retraced all too familiar steps, following the trail of blood and muck that they’d left behind them. Another howl sounded, and fear flashed into his soul, a desperate desire to run, to escape. Clutching his pistol like a lucky charm, Salazar pressed on, and saw the flash of a tentacle at the end of the corridor, just in sight.

 “This way!” he said, turning left, heading in as random a direction as he could manage, Fox easily keeping pace. “Spaceman, if you can run faster, do it. I don’t care who takes point. All that matters is that one of us gets clear.”

 “If you fall, sir, I’ll keep going. Otherwise I stick with you.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar struggled to set a faster pace, panting as he tried to keep up a sprint. With a muddy hand, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, the howls from the rear urging him on. He could hear the creature charging down the corridor, racing towards him, and idly wondered if it was intelligent enough to seek revenge for the death of its comrades.

 Turning a corner, he felt his feet catch a trailing cable, and tumbled to the ground, the pistol clattering out of his reach. He turned, twisting himself into the tangle, and reached down to try and free himself, the beast racing towards him.

 “Get out of here!” Salazar yelled, but Fox snatched the pistol from the floor, knelt down on one knee, and fired a shot into the eye of the creature, bringing it down. As Salazar struggled free, he looked at Fox, the young man’s eyes darting between the barrel of the gun and the body of the monster behind them.

 “I did it,” he said, dazed. “I didn’t think, I just did it.” 

 “We can worry about the after-action report later,” Salazar said. “We’ve got to keep moving.” Rising to his feet, he resumed his random path down the corridor, another howl sounding, this time more distant. Fox turned to follow, easily catching him in a dozen fast strides.

 “With luck, Lombardo and the others will be at the lock by now,” he said. “How well do you know the layout of this place?”

 “I did a few rounds of guard duty. Not that well. I might be able to get us there.”

 “If your memory is better than you think, we might just live through this. Take the lead.”

 Nodding, Fox pressed forward, racing down the corridor, his eyes darting about as he tried to find landmarks. Salazar concentrated on the rear, looking for any sign of pursuit. A pair of distant howls resounded along the walls, but they didn’t seem to be any nearer.

 “This way, I think,” Fox said, pointing at another door. “An unused dome, then a corridor, left-right-left-left beyond.”

 “Got it.”

 Opening the door, Fox stepped over the threshold, cautiously watching for an ambush. Salazar followed, hurrying across the room. If they ran into another creature, all they’d be able to do was choose which one of them would die first. Speed was the only weapon they had that might save them.

 The two of them sprinted across the sand, their destination a door at the far end. Another howl, this one nearer, urged them on, but Salazar was struggling, a stitch in his side, trying to keep up with the faster Fox, who slowed his pace when he saw he was drawing ahead. 

 “I told you…,” Salazar began.

 “I’m already up on charges of treason. I don’t think insubordination will make it worse.”

 They reached the door, then turned to see a creature bursting in after them, eating up the sand in slow, loping strides. The submarine lock was just a few hundred meters away, but he knew that they would never make it. Fox turned to fire, taking his shot, as Salazar worked the door, but the bullet harmlessly bounced off the creature’s carapace.

 “Go, sir,” Fox said.

 “Not a chance,” Salazar replied, grabbing his collar and tugging him on. They ran through the door, side by side, the creature gaining pace with every stride. In seconds, it would be on them, and only one of them even had a knife to defend himself with.

 “What’s through there?” Salazar asked, pointing at an open door.”

 “Barracks,” Fox breathlessly replied. “Stores.”

 “Quick,” Salazar said, racing through the door, looking around. He tipped a bunk on its side, pushing it towards the door, grinning as he saw it nicely block it. Fox raced over to another one, and the two of them pushed it on top, forming a barrier that the creature crashed into, the tentacles writhing around as it tried to pull it free. The two of them pulled back, and after a second, the creature pushed back.

 “Is there another exit?” the exhausted Salazar asked.

 “Just one way in,” Fox replied.

 Nodding, Salazar said, “I think we’re safe for the moment.”

 As a chorus of howls sounded from outside, the two of them returned to holding the barricade in place, Fox said, “Not much longer, though.”

Chapter 20

 As the shuttle dropped to the sand, Cooper stepped back into the rear cabin, pulling his plasma rifle from the charging station and hefting it in his hand. Gurung was standing at the airlock hatch, Arquos, a Neander who had already proven himself a crack shot, behind him. The doors slid open, both at once, and the Espatiers charged out onto the beach, heading towards the other shuttles, a quarter-mile distant.

 Bobbing up and down on the water, he saw what had to be the submarine, a body lying sprawled on the deck. A nightmarish howl resounded from behind him, and he turned to see a tentacled creature charging him, if anything worse than the descriptions Salazar had given them. Before he could give an order, Gurung leveled his stabilized pistol at the beast, dropping it with a single armor-piercing round.

 “I thought I ordered plasma weapons only,” Cooper said.

 “After the first,” the Sergeant replied with a shrug. “I thought the science team might want to take a look at one.”

 Pulling out his communicator, Cooper said, “Shuttles Two and Three, anything else up here?”

 “Shuttle Two, Manning here. I took one out with my landing jets when we came down. Aside from that, we’ve only seen the one you killed.”

 “Might be more out there, boss,” Hunt said. “It’s a long coastline.”

 “We ought to keep our force together,” Gurung said. “They can’t get through the shuttles, and the pilots can warn us if there’s anything waiting for us when we come back to the surface.”

 “Agreed.” Gesturing at the submarine, he said, “Think you can manage it?”

 “Watch me,” he replied, tossing his rifle to the nearest trooper and sprinting for the lake, jumping in and swimming towards the vessel. The rest of the squad chased after him to the water’s edge, plasma rifles at the ready in case the creatures turned out to be amphibious, all of them waiting for the first sign of trouble. Gurung charged through the waves, hacking at the water as he closed the distance to the submarine, finally pulling himself up onto the deck.

 Throwing open a hatch, he disappeared down into the ship, and all was quiet. Cooper waited for a moment, then pulled out his communicator.

 “Cooper to Gurung, come in.” After another minute, he replied, “Cooper to Gurung, reply at once.”

 There was a loud cry, and Cooper glanced across at Hunt, lowering his rifle to the ground. He looked at the water, but before he could put his long-forgotten swimming skills to the test, the communicator crackled into life.

 “Found someone on board who didn’t want me to borrow this tub,” Gurung said. “If there are any sharks down here, they’ll get a good feed tonight. There should be a gangplank around there somewhere. I’ll bring her in. Passenger compartment is empty and ready for you.” 

 “Thanks, Sergeant, and good work.”

 “This must be it,” Nash said, gesturing at a long strip of hull metal dumped in the sand. She walked over, and gestured for Rhodes to help her, the two of them lifting it up and carrying it to the water’s edge.

 As the submarine motored towards them, Cooper looked around the underground cavern, shaking his head. It was a beautiful haven, a bright light shining from the far side, an artificial sun that bathed down with its warmth, fresh, sweet air, a refreshing breeze, and a salty tang from the crashing waves.

 “Lovely spot for a battle,” Hunt said.

 “We always do pick the best ones, Corporal.”

 The submarine turned, drawing close, and Nash carefully spun the gangplank around, dropping it into position by the open hatch. Cautiously, Cooper led the way, careful not to look down at the water as he navigated the wobbling strip of metal, sighing with relief when he stepped down onto the deck.

 “Get over here on the double,” he said, waving at the others, before climbing down the ladder into the passenger compartment, taking a seat on the cold, hard benches at the bottom. The rest of the squad followed him, the last of them tugging the hatch closed, pushing the wheel around a few times to secure it.

 “A bit primitive, sir,” Hunt said, dropping down next to him.

 “Hold on, everyone,” Gurung said, his voice booming over the wall-mounted speakers. “I think I know how this works, but it could be a bumpy ride.”

 With a loud gurgling, the submarine began its descent, rocking back and forth as it vanished beneath the waves. The hull began to creak, Cooper glancing around, half-expecting it to cave in at any moment. Peering out through one of the portholes, he saw the light grow dimmer as they dived, the ship drifting back and forth on the current.

 “It’s amazing,” Medodkis said, his eyes filled with awe as he looked out at the view. “I never knew this much water existed. The biggest lake on Thule is a puddle compared to this.”

 “One of the perks of the job, Specialist,” Cooper replied. “We do get to see the sights.”

 “Something over there,” Nash said, pointing. “Looks like some sort of dome. I guess we’ve found Salazar’s base.”

 “I just hope we’re in time. Tactical deployment, people, as soon as we dock. You know what the creatures look like now, so no excuse. Shoot at anything with more than four limbs. Medics on standby for the wounded, so I want Medodkis and Jackson at the rear.”

 “I see the docking port,” Gurung said. “Damn it all, there’s no way for me to get back to you. Just one hatch.”

 “We need you to drive us home, Sergeant. You’re the only one who can work this thing.”

 “Everyone’s taking a course in this when we get back to the ship. You hear me back there?” He paused, then said, “Stand by for hard-dock. And I mean hard, there’s a strong current. Hang on.”

 With a loud crash, the submarine slammed into the lock, the clamps sliding into place, securing them in position. Before they could make a move, the wheel on the hatch began to rotate, and the squad raised the guns to cover it. The hatch dropped down, and a familiar face looked in, a smile spreading across her face.

 “Ortega?” Cooper asked.

 “We need help,” she replied. “We’ve got a lot of wounded up here.”

 “Medodkis, you come with me. We’ll start bringing down the casualties.” Cooper climbed up the ladder, Ortega moving back to let him up, and looked around the cramped, dank shuttle lock. Nine people were packed into space sized for three, most of them with the signs of a recent battle. There was a body on the floor, one he vaguely recognized, a man weeping over the corpse. After a second, he identified her in his mind. Ryder. Puncture wounds to the leg and chest. Even Alamo’s sickbay would have struggled to save her.

 “Ensign?” a man asked, his voice weak, iron in his eyes. “We left two behind.”

 “They’re dead,” Ortega said. “They must be.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Salazar. He’s out there, somewhere, with Spaceman Fox. You’ve got to go and get them.”

 “Damn it, he didn’t have a chance,” Ortega replied, tears streaming down her face. “They gave their lives to save us. All of that is for nothing if we don’t get away.”

 The wounded man tried to stagger to his feet, saying, “Give me one of those plasma rifles, and I’ll go back for them myself. Alone, if that is what it takes.”

 “That won’t be necessary,” Cooper said.

 “Don’t you understand, I should have been the one to go back. I didn’t deserve…”

 “Easy,” Cooper replied. “I’ll go and take a look.”

 “Request permission to go along, sir,” Medodkis asked.

 “Thanks, Specialist, but you’ve got a lot of work to do here.”

 “Besides,” Hunt said, “I outrank you.”

 “Stewart?” Cooper yelled down the hatch.

 “Yes, sir?” the lance-corporal replied.

 “Take command here. Get the survivors down into the cabin, then post someone up here on lookout. If we’re not back in ten minutes, or you hear any sign of one of those creatures heading this way, get out of here.”

 “Aye, sir. If you aren’t back in ten minutes, come looking.”

 “Damn it, Stewart, this isn’t a time for heroics. If we don’t make it back in ten minutes, then we aren’t coming back at all. Understand?”

 With a sigh, he said, “Aye, sir. Acknowledged.”

 Clapping the man on the shoulder, seeing the Petty Officer’s flash on his uniform, Cooper said, “If he’s out there, we’ll get him.”

 “Thanks, sir,” the man said, his eyes closing, unconsciousness claiming him. Nash climbed up the ladder, plasma rifle at the ready, and looked at the two frowning faces of her superiors.

 “I’m faster than either of you, and I’m a better shot than Hunt, sir,” she said.

 “Can’t argue with that,” Hunt replied.

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “Fine, take point, Private.” Raising his voice, he added, “Three idiots risking their necks is more than enough. The rest of you wait here.” Looking at Hunt, he nodded, and the trooper cracked the outer lock, stepping into the bare corridor, alert for any sign of life.

 Cooper followed, doubling down the corridor, rapidly reaching a crossroads. Hunt looked at him, shaking his head. The place was a maze, and ten minutes was far too little a time for any sort of search.

 “That way,” he said, gesturing to the right. Hunt looked dubiously down the corridor, but shrugged. Salazar had a one in three chance of getting through this, assuming he was still alive at all. As they turned around a bend, a wild, desperate howl echoed around the walls, freezing them in their tracks, plasma rifles rising to their ready position, the three of them lined up. The noise of scurrying feet rattled the floor, and the trio raced forward, towards the noise, turning around another bend.

 “Look there,” Hunt said. “Blood on the floor. This might be the right track.”

 “More creatures coming, sir,” Hunt said, pointing at a turning. “Down there, I think.”

 “We’ll try the other way. Come on.”

 Hoping against hope that they were on the right path, Cooper raced down the corridor, keeping his rifle at the ready, alert for any sign of activity. A pair of bloody footprints guided them around another bend, the trio pausing at the sound of strange chattering beyond another crossroads.

 “Go now!” Cooper said, racing to the right, where a dozen of the creatures were packed around a doorway, turning to run towards them the instant they saw them. The three troopers fired together, trails of green fire leaping through the air, the beasts burned to death where they stood, a final howl marking their passing.

 “Cooper?” Salazar’s voice yelled from behind the barricade. “Is that you?”

 “The reinforcements are here,” Cooper replied. “We’ve got to move quickly. I’m guessing there are more of those creatures coming.”

 “More and more every minute,” Salazar said, pushing the twin bunks out of the way. Fox followed up, dazed, looking at the three troopers as though in disbelief that help had finally arrived.

 “Either of you hurt?” Hunt asked.

 “We’re fine,” Salazar said. “Did you find the others?”

 “Nine of them.” Cooper replied. “Ryder didn’t make it, I’m afraid.”

 Salazar looked at Hunt, and with a deep sigh, said, “Let’s get the hell out of here. The sooner we’re out of this place, the better.”

 The five of them quickly ran back down the corridor, another series of howls chasing them. Hunt hung back, taking the rear, while Nash moved up to take point, Cooper keeping an eye on the two they had rescued. With a loud crack, Hunt fired, taking out another creature, but the blast carried on into the wall, a series of black lines forming in the material, steam forcing itself through at high pressure.

 “It’s going to go!” Hunt yelled. “Run!”

 Forgetting any thoughts of stealth or defense, the group sprinted down the corridor, taking the twists and turns back towards the submarine lock. The desperate howls were drowned out by the ever-louder hissing, water forcing itself into the ancient structure. As they turned the last corner, they could see Jackson and Rhodes waiting, beckoning them in, but at that second the weakened wall finally gave, sending a tidal wave of water rushing through the corridors.

 Desperately, they tried to outrun it, but the torrent caught them before they’d got halfway there, picking them up and hurling them towards the far wall. Jackson dropped down the hatch, caught off-guard by the first wave, but Rhodes held on, forcing the hatch to stay open as the five of them crashed into the wall. The trooper reached for Nash, pulling her in, then reached out for Fox, but the remainder were too far away.

 “Get out of here!” Cooper yelled.

 “Not a chance,” Rhodes said, tossing Fox down the hatch towards the submarine, the clatter from the bottom suggesting that the crewman had missed every rung in the desperate rush to safety. Hunt reached for the ladder, Salazar giving the trooper a push in the right direction. Water was pouring down the hatch, the veteran caught with it, tumbling down.

 “Some rescue,” Salazar said, Cooper reaching back for him, pulling him back towards the submarine. Rhodes extended his hand to grab them, and by some miracle, managed to drag them in. Salazar was the last to leave, taking a look back at the corridor before slamming down the hatch and climbing down the ladder. Water dripped everywhere, as they dropped into the submarine, they were wading up to their knees.

 “Go, Sergeant!” Cooper said. “Get us out of here!”

 “On our way. It’ll take a few minutes. We’re overloaded.”

 “Just get us back to the surface,” he replied, crashing down on a couch. He looked around at the survivors, huddled together at one end of the cabin, the two medics going through the wounded.

 “I thought there were twenty-eight of you,” Cooper said.

 “There were.”

 Glancing across at the group, he said, “I need to know who to put under arrest.”

 “What?” Salazar said.

 “Some of them must have been among the group that hijacked Wyvern, kept you prisoner.”

 A thin smile creeping across his face, Salazar glanced at Fox, looked around at the battered  survivors, nursing their wounds on the deck, and replied, “I suppose it’s possible, but for the life of me, I can’t remember, and somehow I don’t think that anyone else will, either. What do you say, Spaceman? How’s your memory today?”

 “Terrible, sir,” Fox replied.

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “Crazy.” The submarine lurched down, and with a loud rumble, began its long ascent to the surface. “Less work for me, I guess. It’s already been a long day, and it isn’t over yet.” Gesturing at the surface, he said, “Wyvern’s hanging over us in orbit. Getting back to Alamo isn’t going to be easy.”

 “Story of my week,” Salazar replied, slumping back against to the wall.

Chapter 21

 The strategic view was a nightmare of tangled rocks and sensor blind spots, Wyvern’s image turning opaque to indicate that the computer was only guessing its current location, reliant on a projected path, rather than relying on any current information. She looked across at Nelyubov, who shook his head.

 “They’re not coming out to us.”

 “Message from assault team,” Weitzman said. “Rescue party is on the way, and they expect to take off in twelve minutes.” He turned from his station, and added, “With eleven survivors. No casualties in the Espatier force.”

 “Eleven out of twenty-eight,” Orlova said with a sigh. “It must have been sheer hell down there.”

 “Change to target aspect!” Spinelli said. “Just had a reading for a moment. I think they’re going for a new orbit.”

 “Not coming out of the field?” she asked.

 “No, ma’am, nowhere near enough of a thrust vector.” He looked across, and said, “They’re going for a low pass over the landing area, in nine minutes.”

 “A targeted orbital bombardment,” Nelyubov said. “If they got low enough, the surface atmosphere is next to nothing. Kline wants to make sure that no-one gets home.”

 “Or he’s raising the stakes, hoping that we’ll give in to his demands,” Orlova said.

 “We’re running out of options,” he replied, glancing across at his station. “Even if the shuttles could launch sooner, they’d never be able to get past the orbital blockade. Maybe we could stall, try to buy some time.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “That wouldn’t work on me, and I doubt it will work on him. Midshipman, how long to intercept Wyvern, assuming a straight-line trajectory?”

 “We can’t,” Foster began. 

 “How long?” Orlova asked, interrupting her.

 “Six minutes, ten seconds,” Powell offered.

 Taking a deep breath, she said, “Well, Midshipman, do you want a chance to show off your flying skills?”

 “You want to take Alamo into that mess?” Nelyubov said, shaking his head. “It’s a big enough risk for a shuttle, never mind a battlecruiser.”

 “I can do it,” Foster said, nodding. “I’d like to give it a try, anyway.”

 “There’s no chance we’ll avoid impacts,” Nelyubov pressed. He frowned, then added, “Our missiles are useless against Wyvern anyway. We could use them to try and knock any incoming targets off-course. It might work.”

 “Quinn,” Orlova said, tapping a computer. “I assume you’re monitoring. Is Alamo up to this?”

 “The power distribution relays are being held together with duct tape and prayer, Maggie, so try not to make the ride too rough.”

 “We’ll do what we can. Sit on them, Jack. Bridge out.” Looking around the bridge, she smiled, then said. “Full power to engines, Foster. Take us into the planet.” Tapping a control, Orlova said, “Now hear this. All hands stand by for extremely variable acceleration and rapid course changes. There will be no advance warning. Damage control teams stand by for multiple impacts. Bridge out.”

 “Midshipman,” Powell said, “Keep your heading straight and level for the present. I’ll get you a more exact course projection in a minute, but you’ll have to be ready to make second-to-second changes. There are so many sensor ghosts in there that we don’t know where all the fragments are, and we haven’t got much data on their trajectories. Try and stay clear of the larger pieces if you can.”

 “Aye, sir. Full acceleration, direct-line approach to Wyvern.”

 “Laser charged, ready to fire,” Nelyubov said. “Getting a line-of-sight shot is going to be difficult as hell, Maggie. We’ll be lucky to get a tenth of our usual range.”

 “They’ll have the same problem, Frank,” Orlova replied. “This evens the odds.”

 Alamo’s main engines began to fire, the acceleration rumbling through the decks as her course plot changed, the computer switching from green to red, urgent warnings flashing on the monitors, the planned trajectory leading to at least a dozen impacts in the distressingly near future. Spinelli was delivering a stream of readings to Powell and Nelyubov, fishing for the vital pieces of information in a sea of confused data.

 Orlova watched Foster, the helmsman’s face growing pale as she saw the maze of rocks up ahead. Her fingers slowed for a moment on the controls, before resuming again, faster than before, a grin beginning to spread across her face.

 “You’re through the wall, now, Sub-Lieutenant,” Orlova said, stepping behind her. “Try and enjoy it. Not one helmsman in ten thousand will ever get to do what you are doing now.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant?” Foster asked.

 “I’ll file the paperwork once we get through this. You’re ready. Now get to it.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” the newly commissioned officer said with renewed glee, turning back to her controls, her fingers dancing over the thrusters as she began to make pin-point course changes. Over at the holotable, Powell had a beatific smile on his face as he plotted the course corrections, the image of a man completely within his element, master of his domain. He looked across at her for a moment, and smiled.

 “Challenge of a lifetime. Thought I’d missed out.”

 “Keep us on the straight and narrow, Professor.”

 “You know, that does feel a lot better than Lieutenant,” he replied, his eyes switching back to the tangled spaghetti course he was plotting through the broken planet, a many-tentacled monster that swooped and dived around the rocks. At the rear of the bridge, Grogan looked at the status display, the holomodel of Alamo a sea of amber warning lights, trying to predict where the damage would come, where the repair teams would be needed. The Flight Engineer, if all went well, was nothing more than a spectator to a battle, and Orlova would like nothing more than for Grogan to be able to sit back and watch. Somehow, she didn’t think it would be that easy.

 “Incoming asteroid, close aboard,” Spinelli said.

 “Launching missile,” Nelyubov replied, and a dotted line raced towards one of the nearby chunks of rock, part of a cluster of a hundred. The missile flew along the guided track, hitting home. It couldn’t destroy it, not with ten times the power, but the trajectory would now take it a heart-rending fifty meters underneath the ship, rather than crashing into the sensor deck.

 Looking across at their target, Orlova said, “Wyvern hasn’t even twitched, yet. Frank, are we close to theoretical effective range yet?” 

 “In twenty seconds, but I can’t line up on them. They’re using some of the fragments for cover.”

 “Warning shot, then. I want them to know that we mean business. And get a half-salvo of missiles heading in their direction as well.”

 Turning, he said, “They won’t be in the air for twenty seconds.”

 “As long as they know we’re after them,” Orlova replied.

 “Foster,” Nelyubov said, “I want a line up in eighteen seconds. As near as you can get. Make sure they see it.”

 “Can’t do it,” she replied. “First opportunity is in thirty-one seconds. It’s dangerous around here.”

 “I’ll take what I can get. You have the call.”

 “Aye, sir,” she said, ducking around a fragment of rock, bringing them close to the surface of one of the larger fragments, soaring high over a jagged mountain range, glistening with ice. For an instant, the ruby laser reflected from the surface, the beam smashing into a fragment of rock, shrapnel flying into the air around Wyvern.

 “Change to target aspect,” Spinelli said. “Wyvern is now on an intercept course, and I’m getting an energy spike.”

 “Missiles in the air,” Nelyubov replied. “I want to try dumb-shot.”

 “They’ll dodge,” Orlova said. 

 “They will, but the rocks won’t. I want to make a mess.”

 With a smile, she said, “Make an epic mess.”

 “On it.” Before Wyvern could interfere with the missiles, he threw them onto their new trajectories, sending them diving towards nearby asteroids, taking advantage of any geological instabilities he could find, ready to shower the enemy ship with debris. Abruptly, the scoutship dived, firing its engines at full thrust, skimming dangerously close to the fragment.

 Alamo swung around, slowly ranging in towards the scoutship, Wyvern ducking towards a sensor blind spot. The display kept fading in and out, the computer attempting to match up reality with prediction, struggling to calculate the wildly divergent course plots.

 “If the computer is right,” Nelyubov said, “We’ll have a firing window in three minutes.” “Look sharp,” Orlova said, turning to the viewscreen. The computer would see it long before she did, but her eyes still bored into the display, seeking any hint of the enemy vessel curving around the planet. Nelyubov held his hand over the controls, the targeting systems racing through their checks.

 “Threat warning!” Spinelli yelled. “Four missiles, ranging directly!”

 “Four?” Grogan said.

 “Delayed salvo,” Orlova replied. “Hooke, get them out of my sky!”

 “Trying,” he said. “I think they’re on dumb-shot.”

 “Executing evasive pattern,” Foster said, her hands flying across the controls. Orlova turned to the display, looking at the trajectory plots, then raced back to the helm.”

 “Full power burn, now!”

 “Aye, ma’am,” Foster replied, her eyes filled with doubt as she ramped Alamo to maximum thrust. Sirens echoed throughout the ship, collision warning alarms, and the planetoid below started to loom large in the screen.

 Powell frowned, and Orlova turned to say, “They weren’t shooting at us. That cluster of rocks just behind us. The shrapnel would have smashed our sensor pickups to pieces across half the ship.”

 Nodding, he replied, “I thought it must be something like that.” Glancing across to a display, he said, “We’re out of the blast zone.”

 “We’re below orbital velocity!” Spinelli said. “Impact in two minutes, ten seconds.”

 “Not if I can help it,” Foster said, spinning the ship on its thrusters, the engines still firing at full thrust, hull stress warnings screaming across the bridge as she settled the battlecruiser down to a new trajectory, hurriedly boosting the ship back into orbit. For a second, she killed the engines, and Orlova looked sharply across her, before activating them again.

 “Swinging past a moonlet,” she said.

 “Enemy ship, close quarter!” Spinelli said. “Coming around the curve of the planet, closest approach in ninety seconds!”

 Looking up, Foster said, “If I try and evade, we won’t make orbit.”

 “Frank, take them! Try and knock out those damn particle beams!”

 “If you aren’t too busy, Foster, I’ll need a direct line in five seconds.”

 “That I can do,” she replied. “Five seconds, mark.”

 Orlova watched as the two ships drew closer together. Wyvern must have spent her fuel like water to get on her new orbit, but it was a nice bit of flying. Every eight minutes, they’d have an interception window of thirty seconds, with a good selection of debris to duck. None of that would be important if they got the first shot home. She glanced up at the clock, and smiled. The shuttles would be lifting from the ground in three minutes. All that now mattered was making sure they had somewhere to come home to.

 “Firing!” Nelyubov yelled. Orlova watched the display, the image of the enemy ship slowly rotating in the center of the room, and saw a narrow scar run down Wyvern’s hull. They’d done damage, that was certain, but had missed the beam array by a matter of meters.

 “Fire missile salvo, dumb-fire,” Orlova ordered. “Give them something to think about.”

 “Enemy salvo in-bound,” Spinelli said. “Intercept in ten seconds.”

 “Clumsy,” Orlova muttered. “Almost forcing us to evade.”

 “They’re moving!” Nelyubov said, “Dodging the missiles. Almost out of firing range.”

 “Whatever it takes, duck!” Orlova yelled to Foster, and she tapped a series of controls, sending Alamo rocking to the side. A blast of energy swept from Wyvern, and all of the lights on the bridge went out, the consoles rapidly rebooting.

 Grogan shook her head, throwing a switch under her console, saying, “Power network. They must have hit a node.”

 The lights snapped back on, and Orlova asked, “What’s the story, Spaceman?”

 “The running repairs failed, the whole damn lot of them.”

 “What about the back-ups?” Powell asked.

 “What do you think we were using?” Grogan snapped. She sighed, and said, “Damage control teams on the way. We’ve got a lot of damage to the outer hull, breaches in nineteen places.”

 “My port thrusters are out again,” Foster said. “If I keep evading to starboard they’ll notice.” A light flashed green on her panel, and she replied, “Orbital velocity attained. That’s something, I guess. We must have crossed the threshold before the main engines died.”

 “I can’t charge the laser,” Nelyubov said. “Can you give me…”

 “It’ll be at least ten minutes before we get the network back,” Grogan said. “I’ve lost contact with two of my teams, and another is cut off.” Pausing, she said, “I know, I know, we’ll do what we can.”

 “Make it fast, Grogan,” Orlova said. “My watch says that this part of space is going to get damn dangerous in seven and a half minutes.”

Chapter 22

 As the submarine broke surface, Salazar stuck his head up through the hatch, winning the race to be first up the ladder, Cooper and the Espatiers behind him, ready to launch an attack if more of the creatures were waiting for them. The beach looked serene for a second, but then the familiar howl sounded again, and with a sigh, he looked back down.

 “We’re going to need you and your gang, Gabe.”

 “Ready and willing,” he said, and Salazar climbed up the ladder, a borrowed plasma carbine in his hands, Cooper and the squad following him up to the deck. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was telling him that he should let someone else handle it, that this wasn’t his job, but the responsibility wouldn’t drop from his shoulders that easily.

 More than a dozen of the creatures were wandering around the shuttles, tapping the hulls, as though testing their strength, but as soon as they saw Salazar rising to the deck, they all turned and started to sprint towards the submarine, jumping into the water with a will.

 “Volley fire!” Cooper yelled, and six guns fired as one, the water instantly turning into scalding steam that roasted the creatures alive. Only one of them survived the initial blast, just out of range, and it paused for a moment as though sentient enough to contemplating running for safety, attempting to preserve its own survival. With a final scream, it charged on down the beach, gunned down by a short from Salazar’s weapon.

 “Thought you’d want it,” Cooper said, pulling out his communicator. “Grant, I need your people out on the beach to get the gangplank in position. All hatches open, we’ve got multiple casualties.”

 “On the way,” Grant replied, and Salazar frowned.

 “Grant came along?”

 “He was quite insistent about it,” Cooper said. “Walked up to Maggie and demanded that he should lead the shuttle strike. Did a pretty good job, actually.”

 The hatches opened, and a quartet of nervous crewmen filed out of the shuttles, racing for the gangplank, Grant urging them to greater speed. Another howl froze them in position, but the blast of a plasma weapon galvanized them again, another of the beasts reduced to its component atoms by a quick shot from Hunt’s rifle.

 “Move it!” Cooper yelled. “We’ve got wounded!”

 Slowly, the rest of the survivors were helped up the ladder, laboriously hoisted to the deck. Most of them were covered in bandages, medical armbands pumping painkillers into them in a bid to keep them moving, regardless of the long-term consequences.

 “Good God,” Rhodes said, pointing at the far end of the beach, a mile distant. A sea of creatures was rising from the water, a boiling tide spilling onto the shore, turning to race towards the shuttles. Salazar didn’t even try to count them, glancing across at Cooper as they approached.

 “We’ll never stop that many,” the trooper said, as the gangplank finally dropped into position.

 “Get back to your ships!” Salazar said, gesturing at the dumbstruck pilots. “We’re coming.”

 Hoisting the struggling Lombardo on his back, he bounced along the gangplank, not caring about the risk of falling in this time, sprinting for the nearest shuttles. Grant was heading for the furthest, the one that was closest to the beasts, but would likely get to it in plenty of time, while the others were all heading to the same craft as he.

 “We won’t fit everyone on one shuttle, you idiots!” Salazar said, but the terrified pilots ignored him, clambering on board.

 “Corporal, take the wounded and follow them,” Cooper said. “The rest, with me!”

 Still carrying the protesting crewman on his back, Salazar dashed across the wet sand, trying to ignore the creatures that were charging towards them, more than half the distance already eaten up, a chorus of soul-wracking screams filling the air. A pair of futile plasma blasts crashed into the sand in front of them, but they simply continued to run forward.

 Finally, Salazar reached the airlock, racing into the cabin and placing Lombardo gently on one of the passenger couches, before heading for the cockpit. With a roar, the first shuttle lifted off, Grant having realized that no-one was heading his way. For a second, he cursed, before watching the vessel dive towards the creatures, using its lateral jets to draw a trail of fire in the sand, trying to corral them away.

 The second shuttle launched, the pilots forgetting any idea of heroics, instead racing for the launch tunnel. Cooper slid into the co-pilot’s seat, sliding a headset on, and gestured at the aft cabin.

 “Fox is getting on board now. Looks like that madman’s bought us the time we need.” “Board looks green, I’m skipping pre-flight checks. Lateral thrusters on, outer hatch closing.” Salazar reached up and threw a selection of switches over his head, seemingly at random, and the main engines began to roar, kicking a cloud of sand up into the sky.

 “Shuttle Two to Alamo, do you read me?” Cooper said. “Shuttle Two to Alamo, come in, please.”

 “Nothing?”

 Looking down at his panel, Cooper said, “Everything’s working on our end. No sign of jamming.” He looked across at Salazar, and added, “Let’s hope we’ve got somewhere to return to.”

 “There’s the tunnel,” Salazar said, pitching forward, playing the thrusters around to line up. “I’m going through at full speed.” 

 “Is that safe?”

 “Safer than not having any momentum built up to dodge the missiles that Wyvern will be raining down on us when we get out into free space. Hang on.”

 Reaching down, Salazar threw the throttle to full, the acceleration pushing them back in their seats. The autopilot, registering its protests with a series of warning alarms, followed the twists and turns of the passage, ducking just underneath a low-hanging rock formation, before flashing a new series of alerts.

 “Going to manual,” Salazar said.

 “What?”

 “The configuration of the tunnel has changed. Orbital bombardment. Don’t distract me.”

 Keeping a light hand on the thrusters, trying to avoid doing more damage with over-enthusiastic pulses from the maneuvering jets, he guided the shuttle through the tunnel, skimming from one side or another to keep a straight heading, before bursting out onto the surface with a wave of flame and a sigh of relief.

 “Hit the sensors,” he said. “I need to know where I’m going.”

 “Shuttle Three to Shuttle Two! We’re under fire!”

 “Hold low,” Salazar said. “The terrain is your friend, use it. They’ll struggle to get you if you hug the canyons.”

 “I’ve found Alamo. Just curving over the far side of the planet. She’s suffered a lot of damage to the outer hull, and doesn’t seem to be maneuvering.” Looking across at the pilot, Cooper said, “She’s in a bad way. Wyvern is overhead, closing on our position.”

 “Shuttle One to Shuttle Flight,” Grant said. “We’ve got multiple missiles in-bound, but Alamo will be providing us with countermeasure support. All we have to worry about is the particle beam, so don’t get too close.”

 “Easier said than done,” Cooper replied. “Wyvern is on an intercept course.”

 “We beat them coming down, Ensign, and we’ll beat them now. Ride long and low for Alamo!”

 With a shrug, Salazar tipped the nose down, the viewscreen filled by the dead surface of the planetoid, and ramped the engines up to full thrust again, the navigation computer spitting out electronic profanities in the form of disgruntled collision reports while plotting a path through the canyons.

 “Heat spike!” Cooper said. “Two missiles up, heading for Shuttle Three.”

 “Time to play chicken,” Salazar replied, pulling back on the power and sliding the ship across on its thrusters, getting dangerously close to their counterpart. The other shuttle fired its engines, trying to widen the distance, and the pilot snatched up a microphone.

 “Hold still, damn it, I’m trying to save you!”

 “Shuttle One to…”

 “Later! Three, do what I tell you when I tell you to do it.”

 The missiles grew closer and closer, Cooper working the countermeasures station to little effect. He looked across at Salazar, the pilot’s tight on his control board despite everything he had been through in the last twenty-four hours, or, perhaps, because of it.

 With less than a second to spare, he yelled, “Break right!” and pulled in the opposite direction, Cooper pumping the physical countermeasures into their wake, a brief cloud of chaff forming. The missiles ceased to burn for a second, then locked onto Shuttle Two, the rescued ship gratefully arcing away, leaving them with two missiles on their tail.

 “Lock re-acquired,” Cooper said. “Looks like we’ve got an impact coming up in less than ten seconds.”

 “We’ll have an impact with something,” Salazar replied, tipping the nose towards a nearby mountain, a double-peak with barely enough space between them to pass through, He rode the throttle, pulling back a little, drawing the missiles in before opening up to full blast again. At the last second, he threw the shuttle to the right, diving through the narrow gap, the two missiles slamming into the peaks on either side, rocks tumbling down all around them as the warheads hit home.

 “That, Cooper, that is flying,” Salazar said, swooping down the side of the mountain range before tipping the nose up again, looking with satisfaction at the course controls. “A nice, long, easy run back to Alamo now, with any luck.”

 “Shuttle Three to Shuttle Two. Thanks.”

 “Any time, Shuttle Three.” 

 Grant’s voice broke in, saying, “Salazar’s stunt would not have been needed if you’d followed his advice, Shuttle Three. Stay low, and watch for more missiles. We’re not out of this yet. And as for you, Sub-Lieutenant, I remind you that there are a dozen other people riding with you.”

 “Noted for future reference, Lieutenant.”

 “I’m glad to hear it,” Grant said, his shuttle radically changing course, turning back the way he came.

 “Shuttle One, what the hell are you doing?” Salazar asked.

 “Wyvern’s got time to get another missile spread up. I’ve got extra fuel on board, and the capacity to give them a better target. Don’t worry about me, Sub-Lieutenant. I still just about remember how to fly this thing, and I might be able to give Alamo some help out here as well.”

 “But…”

 “Get those wounded crewmen back on board, Pavel. I’m giving you command of the Shuttle Flight. And don’t get any stupid ideas about coming out to help me. If Alamo is in as bad a state as it looks, they’re going to need everyone they can get. Grant out.”

 “Missile launch,” Cooper said. “Heading right for Shuttle One. I guess he was right.”

 “To hell with that,” Salazar replied. “Plotting course change.”

 “Pavel, there are…”

 “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Just a little high-vector burn to give him a little assist. Then one long burn home.”

 Placing his hand on his shoulder, Cooper said, “And the rest of us?” 

 Salazar turned to him, and said, “If you were in my place…”

 “Then I’d go home. And consider myself lucky. If I was alone on my shuttle, or if it was just the two of us, I’d be working on countermeasures for you right now.” Glancing down at his panel, he added, “We don’t have enough chaff to make a difference anyway.”

Looking resentfully at the sensor display, Salazar replied, “I just…”

 “I know.”

 “Plotting course for home. See if you can raise Alamo. I need to know if there is anything wrong with the docking systems, and I want Orbital One ready for immediate launch when we touch down.”

 “Pavel…” 

 Carefully adjusting the course, Salazar said, “Everything Grant said is true while I’m carrying a hold full of passengers. None of it applies once we get down on the deck. He’s going to need help out there, whether the stubborn old bastard wants to admit it or not, and I’m damn well going to give it to him. Is that understood?”

 “You’ve done everything you…”

 “I will not leave him out there alone to die,” Salazar said, half-yelling. “Sitting back on Alamo and watching the action is not an option.”

 “Is this a good time to point out I have seniority to you?”

 Tapping his wings, he said, “In the cockpit, these make me the lord of all I survey. Tell Shuttle Three to get a move on. I want to be on Alamo’s deck in three minutes.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “Yes, sir,” a smile crossing his face. “Shuttle Two to Alamo, come in, please.”

Chapter 23

 Harper and Tramiel raced down the corridor, sirens sounding all around them. Periodically, they were blocked by security bulkheads, one of them having to rapidly enter an access code to allow them to pass. She almost skidded into the last one, banging her elbow on the door, Tramiel hurriedly tapping his code.

 “How many more of these damn things?” she asked.

 “This should be the last. Just one long run down a corridor and a turn at the end.”

 As the door slowly slid open, she said, “How can such a small ship seem so big?”

 “Poor layout,” Tramiel replied, springing through.

 The pair had managed to get most of the way to their destination without running into any opposition, the crew too busy with their battle to allow them to chase down potential saboteurs, but as they approached the storage bay, they saw a pair of guards at the end of the corridor.

 With a cry, the two of them drew pistols, charging towards them, but Tramiel dived into cover, pushing Harper out of the way, and as bullets cracked over his head, brought them both to the ground with two shots, looking coldly at their bodies on the deck as he rose to his feet.

 Her eyes wide, Harper said, “No second thoughts, no hesitation?”

 “If we succeed, they’ll be dead anyway. All I’ve done is given them a head-start.” He paused, then said, “They’ve betrayed everything they ever stood for, Lieutenant. Don’t forget that.” Tapping the panel by the door, he said, “Time for you to work your magic.”

 Nodding, she slid a datarod into position, tapping a series of commands. The security here was tight, tighter than anywhere else on the ship, and the status report on her datapad made her frown.

 “Can you do it?” Tramiel asked.

 She nodded, and replied, “Every alarm on the ship will sound if I do.”

 “To hell with that. Push the button.”

 Turning back to the panel, she tapped in a long command sequence, and red lights began to flash on, warning signals everywhere alerting the bridge of what they were planning. Footsteps raced towards them, pounding the decks in a desperate bid to reach the pair before the door opened, but with a few seconds to spare, the security hatch cranked open for a second, just long enough for them to enter before it crashed shut again.

 At first glance, the anti-matter bomb was unimpressive, a vast collection of ordinary-looking cylinders and boxes connected to a central cyclotron, a low, irritating hum emanating from it. It filled the room, cables reaching across on all sides connecting it to the ship’s power network. Only a second glance revealed the complexity of the latticework surrounding it, the size of the cables a hint at the amount of the power running into the device, keeping it going. Somewhere inside was a kilogram of anti-matter, kept suspended by a network of complicated magnetic fields, a balancing act that could only end catastrophically. A year’s production from the Forward Array at Saturn, all in this room.

 “Doesn’t look like much, does it,” Tramiel said. “We didn’t have time to make it look attractive. Most of the outer casing is re-tasked standard components. The guts of the thing are special, though. That's where the magic happens.”

 “It must weigh ten tons,” she said, shaking her head. It was cold in the room, well below freezing, and she began to shiver. Imperfect insulation from the containment field.

  “It’s just about shuttle-portable, with enough internal power to keep it going for four minutes.”

 “Four minutes?”

 “A shuttle could get close enough to a planet in that amount of time to have the right sort of effect. You wouldn’t want to use one of these against a moving target anyway.” He looked at the tangle again, and said, “The end-product of a half-billion credit project. And that was just on our end. As I said, we had backers.” He sighed, and said, “And I wonder which of those backers was supporting Kline’s goal, rather than mine.”

 “The researchers…”

 “All went back home last month. We’d finished the work, and were entering the operational phase. Not that any of that means anything now.” Gesturing at the door, he said, “You’d better make sure that we aren’t disturbed.” 

 “How…”

 “Oh, setting it off is remarkably simple. Once the magnetic pressers go down, the bomb explodes. It’s eating about thirty percent of Wyvern’s power right now. That’s why I wanted to mount it on Alamo.” He shook his head, and said, “This ship was stranded in-system. It would have taken a capital ship to move it.”

 Grabbing his arm, she said, “This ship couldn’t leave the system?”

 “I counted on you to summon more impressive help for me. If I’d been able to talk to Danny Marshall,” he paused, sighed, and said, “We’d better get on with it.”

 Turning back to the door, Harper slammed a datakey inside, running a test program. She felt strange, empty inside, as behind her Tramiel started to deactivate fail-safes, breaking connections, throwing the device solely onto its limited internal power. A finished design would have protection against such acts, warning measures and fail-safes, but this was just an experimental model, a prototype. No refinements, just brutal, harsh destruction.

 “You have six minutes.” She glanced at her datapad, adding, “We just lost life support in this section.”

 “Futile at best,” Tramiel said. “There’s more than enough air in the room to last us for the rest of our lives.” He barked a laugh, then gestured at a side compartment. “I need Toolkit Seven from in there, bottom rack. Two more disconnections, and we start the countdown.”

 “Got it,” she said, walking into the room. She knelt down, frowned, and was about to turn back when the door slammed shut, sealing her out of the storage bay. “Commodore, what the hell?”

 “You’ll find an escape pod on the far side of the room,” he said. “Isolated to this section, in case we had to destroy the ship in an emergency.”

 “Get in here, then, and we’ll use it.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “It’ll be chancy enough for you to get out of the blast radius, but that’s not what I was thinking of.” Waving up a datapad, he said, “The debris field will smash Alamo into pieces. You’ve got to get clear of the jamming field and warn them.”

 “Not alone,” she said. “You don’t have to do this.”

 “Inside you will find a datapad with my dying testimony. You’ll find a lot of interesting names on there, of scientists and corporations. I’d take a long look at both.” He smiled, and said, “Despite my reputation, sometimes I’m not as naive as I seem. It occurred to me that someone might try and double-cross us, so I kept copious records. I think you’re best qualified to handle what remains of my legacy.”

 “Tell them yourself,” she said, pulling out an access hatch. “I can have this door open in thirty seconds.”

 “Lieutenant Harper, I order you to take to the escape pods.”

 “Those rules don’t apply, not here.”

 “Lieutenant Harper, I said, that is an order!”

 She paused, nodded, and said, “Very well, Commodore. If that’s the way you want it.” Turning to the pod, she added, “Under other circumstances, sir, I might have gone along with you. On your mission through the Cabal.”

 “Liar,” he replied, before adding, “Nevertheless, I appreciate the thought. Now stop wasting time and get the hell out of here!”

 Reluctantly, she turned from the door, easily spotting the hidden hatch on the wall. With the touch of a button, it slid open, revealing a small chamber beyond, a single couch surrounded by controls. Jumping in, she tapped in a sequence, and as the door closed, a voice echoed from behind her.

 “Alert. Alert. Bomb sequence activated. Bomb sequence activated. Escape shutdown is in effect.”

 She looked around, briefly panicking, but the hatch slid shut, and with a loud report as the explosive bolts fired, the pod detached from the hull, the thrusters slowly kicking her away from Wyvern, out into free space, before ramping up the acceleration as it reached a safe distance. The capsule looked very different from the standard design, tougher, stronger, faster. Another stolen prototype. Glancing back, she expected to see more points of light separating from the hull, others making their escape from the doomed ship.

 Nothing. Not a trace. Surely they wouldn’t bet their lives on trying to break through a door, with an armed man waiting on the other side, ready to gun down anyone who tried. Then it dawned on her. Somehow, the Commodore had disabled all the other escape pods. The shuttles too, no doubt. Either he had decided that there was no-one left on the ship worth saving, himself included, or he was trying to give her the best possible chance to escape. Or both.

 She glanced down at the sensor, watching as the pod blasted to a safe distance, curving to one side in a bid to get out of the way of the likely shrapnel effects. Around Wyvern, everything would be dead for tens of thousands of miles, and looking at the current course plot, Alamo was heading right into that hell. Whoever had programmed the pod’s computer had made it well clear of the dangers, and the thrusters were carefully guiding in a safe course away, heading well clear of the planetoid.

 “Harper to Alamo, come in Alamo,” she said, strapping on a headset. “Harper to Alamo. Harper to Alamo, come in, urgent.” She looked across at the telltales, all the readings green. “Alamo, Alamo, answer me. Come in, please!”

 Jamming. It had to be. Kline deciding that if he was going to die, Alamo and her crew was going to die with him. Glancing down at the thruster controls, she smiled. The computer had been carefully eking out the fuel, making it last as long as possible. She could always throw it all into one desperate kick.

 The acceleration threw her back into the couch, tossing the capsule into a new orbit, rapidly building up speed. She looked down at the sensor display, picking up a trio of shuttles, one of them heading towards Wyvern, the others about to dock. As the thrust faded, she looked down at the orbit projection, and smiled. It seemed rather fitting, strangely.

 “Harper to Alamo. Do you read me?”

 “This is Alamo,” Weitzman replied through a heavy crackle. “Stand by for Alamo Actual.”

 “Make it quick,” she said.

 “I’m here, Harper. What’s happening?”

 “In about three and a half minutes, a one-point-one kilogram antimatter bomb is going to detonate aboard Wyvern. You’ve got to get well clear of the blast radius or the shrapnel will get you.” Glancing down, she said, “Crunch the figures. You’re looking at three, four gigatons.”

 Looking at her controls, she continued, “I’m not sure if you can track me, but I’ll be pretty much back where I started when the blast goes off. I’m opening up a data feed to you now, and I want you to get all the information back to Captain Winter as soon as you make it home. Attached is an explanation to you about what happened.”

 “Hang tight. We’re…”

 “Save yourselves, Maggie. I knew what I was risking. You’ve got a little over two hundred seconds to save that ship of yours. Get to it. Harper out.”

 Leaning back in her chair, she started the data download, throwing in as much encryption as she could manage with the bandwidth. Not that it mattered too much. Orlova would make sure it was kept safe, and there was no-one else around here to listen. She couldn't send everything, not even close, but enough information to send a few hundred people to trial. Not a bad legacy for her. Or Tramiel, for that matter.

 Reaching under the chair, she found a small hip flash, mostly full, and popped open the top, taking an experimental swig, then a deeper one. The Commodore might have many flaws, but she wasn’t going to question his taste in whiskey. Tapping a control, she threw the sensor display onto the main monitor, leaving another locked onto Wyvern. With a faint tone, the download completed, and her mission with it.  

 Now all she had to do was sit back and wait for the fireworks to begin. It promised to be a show she would never forget. She took another swig, and began her short vigil, Wyvern slowly beginning to grow larger as she caught up with it. Three minutes and counting.

Chapter 24

 The shuttle rose to the level of the deck, Salazar opening the hatch before the clamps had locked into place, swinging out of the cockpit. Behind him, Cooper was yelling something, but he ran across the hangar to Bradley, a datapad in her hand. There was smoke coming out of two of the air vents, beginning to build along the ceiling, an acrid smell filling the air.

 “Is Orbital One ready?” he asked.

 “Just about, but Pavel…”

 “Gabe will explain everything. Get me up.”

 Without a further word, he dashed towards the stubby transfer vehicle, jumping through the hatch and into the cockpit with a single bound. An unfamiliar blonde was sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, who turned to him with a start as he slid into the couch. Before she could say anything, he worked the hatch shut, throwing a series of switches to activate the manual override, sending the shuttle dropping through the decks.

 “Cut all checks,” he said. “Go for ignition.”

 “Who are you?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Pavel Salazar. Sorry there wasn’t time for you to get out, but I’m in a hurry. Get on the countermeasure systems and plot me a cause to intercept Grant.”

 “Bradley to Orbital One,” a voice said. “Come in.”

 “Barbara, unless you’re about to tell me that the ship is about to blow up…”

 “In just over three minutes. We’ve only got intermittent contact with the bridge. You’re going to be on your own out there, and if we can’t get the power grid fixed, probably permanently.”

 “That’s for Quinn and his crew to handle,” Salazar replied. “Grant’s out there, and I’ve got to go and get him.”

 “Picking up two targets,” his co-pilot said. “My name’s Scott, by the way.”

 “Pleased to meet you. Enemy shuttle?”

 “Looks like an escape pod, but it’s on a damn strange course. We’d have to burn like hell to get to it.”

 “That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Bradley said. “Harper’s on that pod, and unless you can get to her, she’s going to die in about three minutes. Wyvern’s going to explode with the force of a three gigaton bomb. No time to explain the details.” There was a brief pause, and she said, “You’re clear for ignition. Got to go. Good luck.”

 The transfer shuttle dropped away from Alamo, and without waiting, Salazar fired the main engines, running the throttle to full. He glanced across at the sensor display for a half-second, then fired the thrusters to bring them around, swinging the shuttle towards Harper’s pod.

 “Give me an intercept course, best-speed.” Tapping a control, he said, “Salazar to Grant. What’s the story?”

 “What are you doing out here?”

 “I wanted a breath of fresh air.”

 An alarm went off in the background, and Grant said, “I just got two missiles launched, heading for Alamo. I’m going to try and head them off.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “You can’t have any countermeasures left, and you won’t be able to hack them. Vector to intercept Harper’s pod, and we’ll handle the missiles.”

 “That’s a negative, Orbital One. I don’t have anything like the fuel left for the job. Go get Harper, and before you argue again, consider that to be an order. I’ll handle the missiles. Grant out.”

 “Damn him,” Salazar said. “You got that course for me yet?”

 Scott nodded, and replied, “Computed and laid in.”

 Hitting a series of controls, Salazar brought the shuttle in line with the trajectory track, a series of amber lights flashing on, warnings that the planned maneuver was going to take the shuttle onto a dangerous trajectory with a supply of fuel that would be under safe limits.

 “It’s the best I can do,” Scott said, shaking her head. “If we had a few minutes longer…”

 “We don’t. Let it ride. These calculations are pretty damn conservative. We’ll be fine.” Glancing across at a monitor, he said, “Estimated time to target is ninety-five seconds. See if you can contact the pod.”

 “Orbital One to Escape Pod,” Scott said, tapping a button on her panel. “Orbital One to Escape Pod, do you read me?”

 “Kat, is that you? Why are you still on Alamo?” Harper asked,

 Salazar looked at Scott, noticed for the first time that he was sitting next to a junior officer he’d never seen before, and asked, “Who are you, anyway?”

 With a sigh, she said, “I’m Katherine Scott. Sub-Lieutenant and presumed traitor.”

 “Traitor?” Harper said. “That’s not how it happened!”

 “Threat warning!” Salazar said. “We’ll have to deal with this later. Wyvern is vectoring towards us, and they’ll be within particle beam range in forty-five seconds.” Looking up at a panel, he said, “Five seconds for dock and transfer, and three more to get the hell out of the way.”

 “Let me go,” Harper said. “I’m not recoverable.”

 “Like bloody hell,” Salazar said. “I’m tired of everyone telling me what can and can’t be done. Shut up, ma’am, and prepare for the fastest damn transfer in history. I’ll just have to dock on the first try. Scott, whoever you are, get the clamps ready and engaged, and prepare the lateral thrusters. If I have to brute-force it, I will.”

 Ignoring the babble of protests from all around him, voices from the pod, from Alamo, and from the seat next to him, he focused all his attention on the docking camera. The computer would get him to within a few meters, but would take far too long to complete the maneuver. With the touch of a button, he engaged manual controls, his finger on the slender lever that controlled the fine thrusters.

 During the Academy, this had been a game, trying certain maneuvers on manual control, attempting to beat the computer. He’d been pretty good at it, back then, but at the back of his mind was the knowledge that to get the clamps into position in less than a second would be a class record. By quite a margin. Still, he was a better pilot now than he had been then.

 Warning alerts started to sound as the braking thrust fired, curving them into the same orbit as the pod. A fuel alarm rang across the cabin, Scott having the sense of mind to immediately turn it off, but he barely registered it. His world consisted of a pair of cross-hairs, a circular hatch, and a quartet of thrusters.

 “Easy does it,” he said, as the shuttle moved into position underneath the pod. With a series of quick boosts, he pushed up, one last-second kick to the left followed by a series of loud clunks. He sat back in his chair while the lock slid open, Harper dropping down into the passenger space, slamming a control to close the hatch and eject the pod.

 “Engine burn, now!” Salazar ran the throttle to full, not caring about his trajectory. Anywhere was better than his current location, Wyvern bearing down on him, a building energy spike from the particle beams. With a second to spare, they kicked away into a higher orbit, a safe distance from the lumbering scoutship.

 Harper stepped forward, clapping Salazar on the shoulder, and said, “That is precision flying.”

 “Just another day at the office,” he replied. “Sensor tracking, Scott. How’s Grant doing?”

 She looked down, shaking her head, and said, “Two missiles on his tail, gaining ground rapidly. I make intercept in a little under thirty seconds.”

 “New course, then. Let’s go get him. I want to make this two for two.”

 Entering the calculations into the computer, Scott asked Harper, “Do you know me?”

 “Know you? I…”

 “Later!” Salazar said. “We’ll have all the time in the galaxy for your reunion when the job is done and we get back to Alamo. Now, give me that course!”

 “Plotted, laid in,” she said. “Sorry.”

 As the engines fired, Salazar brought up the sensor display once again, watching the last seconds of a masterclass in evasive maneuvers, Grant using every trick in the book, and quite a few others, to gain ground against his enemy. He was curving back towards Wyvern, placing himself on an intercept course, running the engines up as hard as he could to buy time.

 “Clever, clever,” he said. “He’s playing chicken. Gambling that Wyvern will self-destruct its missiles rather than risk taking the hit.”

 “Will it work?”

 “Depends on what sort of guts Wyvern’s commander has. Knowing Commodore Tramiel…”

 “It isn’t him,” Harper said. “Kline will do it, just for the hell of it. He doesn’t have anything left to lose.”

 For a brief second, it looked as though Grant was going to win his race, kicking his lateral thrusters at the last minute to send him over Wyvern, one of the two missiles slamming into the scout amidships, debris scattering everywhere. The second followed him up, catching him in the rear, sending the shuttle tumbling out of control.

 “Change the course,” Salazar said. “Match it. We’ll dock and get him home.”

 “Grant to Salazar,” the communicator said. “You can’t reach me. Not and get out again. From what Bradley tells me, Wyvern’s going to be a mass of irradiated debris in a little under a minute. You’ve got to get out of there, get to a safe distance, then try and get back to Alamo. If my figures are right, you’ve got the fuel reserve to pull it off.”

 “To hell with that,” Salazar said. “Scott, give me a course.”

 “Done,” she replied.

 “Engaging engines. Hold on, Lieutenant, the cavalry’s on the way.”

 “But the horse is lame, Pavel, and it isn’t going to get to me in time. Not with the load it already has on its back. You can’t make it. There isn’t time for the transfer.”

 “Harper…”

 “That was an escape pod, this is a shuttle, and the cockpit hatch is jammed, the other blocked with debris. Go back.”

 “I’m not leaving you out there to die.”

 “You don’t have a choice. Not unless you want to add three more lives to the count.” He paused, then said, “I still have one more good blast from by topside jets left. I might be able to help you get a smooth ride home. My sensors say Wyvern’s about to get one last salvo up. Bastards don’t know how to die with dignity.”

 Tears running down his cheeks, Salazar said, “I’ll decoy them away after we pick you up.”

 “Fifty seconds to docking,” Scott said. “Detonation in fifty-five.”

 “Not this time, Pavel,” Grant said, his voice soft. “I was wrong about you. You’re a hell of a pilot, and one day, you’re going to be a hell of an officer. I’m not going to waste that for a washed-up stick jockey like me. Have a good life.” He closed the channel, and through watery eyes, Salazar saw Grant execute his final maneuver, slamming his shuttle into the side of Wyvern, knocking out the launch tubes. A pair of brief flashes erupted as the warheads exploded, the crippled scoutship starting to list to the left.

 With a sigh, he said, “New course. Maximum evasive.”

 “Already got it,” Scott said.

 “Hang on,” Salazar replied. “This is going to be close.”

 The engines fired again, spilling the remains of their fuel in a final, sustained burn, that took them diving down towards Wyvern, their velocity increasing rather than decreasing, no attempt to match course, only to throw them off in a tangent. A countdown appeared on the heads-up display, thirty seconds and falling, warning alarms sounded as the shuttle drew closer and closer to the crippled vessel.

 The damage the ship had taken was astonishing, tears and gouges across the hull, black scars from laser blasts, missile shots, collisions. That it was still moving at all was astonishing, but someone on board was still attempting to change course, as though making one last, desperate attempt to save themselves.

 In an instant, the transfer shuttle had flown past the scoutship, engines still roaring, tossing it onto a divergent course that would eventually get it back to Alamo. As the countdown passed fifteen, Salazar turned to face Harper.

 “Are you sure about this explosion?”

 “It’s an anti-matter bomb, Pavel, and there’s no way to stop it. Three gigatons is a conservative yield. It could be a lot bigger.” Shaking her head, she said, “How far will we be from it?”

 “About ten thousand miles. Will that be enough?”

 “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” she said, strapping herself in. Salazar turned to face forward, resting his hands on the controls, a red light appearing over the fuel monitor. Not that it would matter in a moment, anyway. Either they would be moving fast enough to outpace the shockwave, or they’d be dead.

 “Five seconds,” Salazar said. “Hang on!”

 His hands gripped the console until his knuckles bled white, an act of desperation that couldn’t possibly do any good. The final second dropped away, and he clamped his eyes closed, the white-hot blast of the explosion still showing through the filters, even through his eyelids, burning out the aft sensor arrays.

 “Three Point Five!” Harper said, looking across at a display. Behind them, the sole surviving camera pick-up showed no trace of the scoutship, only an ever-expanding cloud of debris, one that was heading right for them, the shrapnel from both the ship and the luckless asteroid it had been near, thousands of tons of material tossed away.

 The three of them watched silently as the cloud closed on them, the shuttle’s acceleration continuing to build, the speed slowly, slowly rising as they started to outpace the rain of death to their rear. A series of alarms started to ring, radioactive micrometeorites on the rear hull, a hail-storm of fury lapping at them as they struggled to escape, and Harper pulled a patch from the repair kit, ready to seal a breach.

 It almost seemed as though the shuttle was giving them one last kick, and then the engine faded, but the track showed a clear trajectory as the cloud fell back behind them, the vessel having accelerated beyond the velocity of the expanding debris swarm. Salazar slumped forward, releasing the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

 “My God, we lived through it.”

 Nodding, Scott said, “Course track confirmed. We’ll be well clear of that cloud for at least a hundred orbits, and by then it should be well-dispersed. Alamo rendezvous in nine orbits, but they’ll have to do the fine work themselves or send another transfer shuttle for us.”

 Harper shook her head, tapping the screen, and said, “Assuming we’ve got anywhere to come back to. In about two minutes, Alamo’s going to fly right into that cloud unless they change course.”

 “The main power grid was out,” Scott said, dejected. “They can’t maneuver.”

 With a sigh, Salazar said, “Then all we can do is sit and watch. In a couple of minutes, we’ll know if we’re going to live through this or not.”

Chapter 25

 Cooper dropped down to the deck, watching Salazar leap into the transfer shuttle, almost crashing into a surprised Scott, then walked over to Bradley, looking at the chaos in the hangar. Technicians were running about, yelling orders to each other that went unheeded, medics treating a group of crewmen lying on the deck, an acrid smell filling the air.

 “What’s happening?” he asked.

 “We’re dead in five minutes if we can’t get the power grid back online, internal communications died in the last salvo, and we’ve got outer hull breaches that have isolated us from the rest of the ship. Aside from that, everything’s just fine.” She shook her head, and replied, “I’d start making for the escape pods, but I’m not sure there will be any point. There’s a huge shockwave on the way.”

 “Can they get the grid going?”

 Pulling out a datapad, she said, “The last problem is Relay Station Nine. Three decks down from here, two compartments across. Under normal circumstances we’d could get to it in sixty seconds, but the outer hull in that area is a shredded mess. There’s no way to reach it.”

 “There must be another option,” Hunt said, moving over behind Cooper.

 “We’d have to fix three other stations to do it, and lots of the outer hull is smashed up,” Chief Kowalski replied. “Relay Nine is the best option. The only option, if we’re going to do it in the time.”

 “Then we’ll have to go out onto the hull, and walk around.”

 With a sigh, Bradley replied, “Working out on the hull under gravity conditions would be a death sentence under normal circumstances, and we’re in an active combat zone. The ship is surrounded by a halo of debris, enough to tear a suit to shreds.”

 “Besides, Sheehan and Desmond tried it.” Gesturing down at the deck, Kowalski added, “Only Sheehan made it back, and if we don’t get him to sickbay in the next half-hour…”

 “Can I do the repairs?” Cooper asked.

 “Maybe, if I talk you through it,” Kowalski said. “But we just told you, there’s no way to reach them.”

 “I’d rather die trying than sit here and wait for the end. Corporal, I need a suit of space armor, on the double.”

 “Aye, sir,” Hunt replied. “Jackson, two suits of armor, on the double!” He turned, shrugged, and said, “You’re going to need a back-up, sir. Just makes sense.”

 While the two of them hastily suited up, Kowalski raced over to the nearest supply locker, bringing back a pair of small cases. He clamped one to each of their backs, tugging at them to make sure they were secure.

 “Two Number Five Toolkits. You’re going to need them.” He looked at them again, their helmet lights flashing on. “You won’t get ten feet out there.”

 “Just tell us where to go,” Cooper replied, and the two of them stepped out to the service airlock, Bradley shaking her head as the inner door closed.

 “Suit jets, sir?” Hunt asked.

 “Only thing I can think of.”

 “Not much juice in these babies.”

 They stepped out onto the deck, almost tossed clear by the force of the escaping air, and looked out across the battered, ruined outer hull. There were hull breaches everywhere, clusters of debris scattered around outside, teeth-like rips lancing up. A normal spacesuit would be in pieces in seconds, and even their armor wouldn’t survive an impact with the hull.

 “Lots of flying crap out here,” Hunt said.

 “I’ll take point. You cover.” Cooper kicked off with his suit jets, cursing as he was tossed backwards, their target in the opposite direction as the spin of the ship. More than a third of his fuel went in that initial burst, correcting the first move, and he felt a rattle on his boot, a dent where a piece of debris had rattled off. A fraction larger, and it would have pierced the armor.

 A second long pulse pushed him forwards, towards his destination. There was no airlock nearby, but that wasn’t going to be necessary, with a huge gash just by the compartment, more than large enough for him to get through. Assuming he made it in time. Hunt kicked off after him, trying to judge his takeoff better, but still burning the same amount of fuel to catch up.

 Doctrine called for them to be careful, to use a pair of safety lines, swinging from one to the other, keeping a safe distance from any damage. If he’d paid attention to the manual, he wouldn’t have stepped out of the airlock. His on-board computer attempted to plot a safe course between the debris fields and gave up, the only trajectory tracks laced with warnings of imminent death.

 “How long?” Cooper asked.

 “Three minutes, fifty seconds,” Kowalski said.

 “Full thrust, Corporal. Let’s get this over with.”

 He tapped the control for a long, loping burn, swooping across the hull, throwing in a twist at the end to avoid what almost looked like a mountain range up ahead, some interior explosion that had ripped through the hull. A loud crack snapped at his helmet, and he saw a mark on the feed, his head camera damaged by an impact. More dents appeared in his suit, all from fragments of debris too insignificant to register as part of a swarm.

 Behind him, Hunt pulsed a burn, trying to keep up with him. Belatedly, he realized that they should have at least had a line joining the two of them, but they were too far apart now to fix his mistake. He could clearly make out his goal now, though, a hundred and twenty meters ahead, and tapped a control to skim him to the left, pushing him away from a particularly large piece of spinning metal, lurching towards him dangerously quickly.

 “It’s like driving the wrong way down a road,” Hunt said. “Everyone’s coming from the other direction.”

 Hunt had pushed the other way around the debris, sending himself skimming just above a piece of hull metal. Cooper saw, glinting in the light, a long, slender cable reaching out in a loop, but before he could shout a warning, the trooper had managed to catch his foot in it, the force pulling him dangerously down to the hull. He liberally fired his suit jets, trying to pull himself clear, but crashed into the jagged remains of a sensor relay.

 “Corporal, come in,” Cooper said. “Hunt, reply at once.”

 “Suit breach,” Hunt replied. “And I think I’ve broken my damn leg.”

 “Can you get back to the airlock?”

 “I’m coming…”

 “Don’t make me drag you back! Get back to the airlock on the double.”

 “Aye, sir,” Hunt replied, his voice hollow, empty, the fight drained from him. “Returning now. Good luck.”

 Cooper paused for a second, watching to make sure that the Corporal had followed his orders, then turned again on his suit thrusters, checking his course. He was drifting slightly away from his target, and frowned as he glanced at his status monitors. No leakage from his suit, and he should be remaining steady on trajectory.

 While he tapped a control to correct his path, he glanced up at the external pressure monitor, his eyes widening as he realized he was no longer in absolute vacuum. Air was leaking from Alamo, not enough to have anything but the slightest effect, but at a level that was rapidly increasing.

 He glanced down at the hull beneath him, his eyes ranging to seek the fissure that was causing the problem. He was passing over a storage area, usually unmanned, and a low priority for repair work at the best of times, certainly not anyone’s priority now. The level began to rise, growing sharper and sharper, requiring another pulse to push him back on course.

 “Gabe! It’s about to go!” his wife yelled, and he instinctively tapped the thruster control, sending him racing forward, desperately attempting to get out of the danger area. Underneath him, a fissure suddenly ruptured across the hull, some weakness in the hull giving way, sending a blast of escaping air roaring towards him.

 Tumbling end over end, he struggled for his thruster controls, his suit burning fuel in a desperate attempt to stabilize him, warning alarms sounded as his new course threw him clear of the ship, and towards a cloud of debris large enough for him to see. A red light flashed on as his fuel level dropped below half, and while he was coming back onto a level path, he was still heading dangerously away from the ship.

 “Gabe, come in,” Bradley said. “Come in!”

 “I’m here. Suit integrity nominal. All go. Hang on.”

 “I’m looking at your course,” Kowalski said. “Put yourself onto a vector to take you clear. You ought to be able to navigate through the outer debris field with your fuel, and Orbital Two can pick you up. Sergeant Gurung is in the airlock…”

 “How long, Chief?”

 There was a pause, and he replied, “Two minutes, thirty seconds.”

 “He’ll never do it, not and complete the repairs. Don't worry, I’ve got this.” Tapping an override, disabling the proximity alarms, he twisted around, pointing for his target, adjusting his aim to compensate for the spin of the ship, then fired his jets in a long, sustained pulse.

 “What are you doing?” Bradley demanded.

 Pulling out his grapple gun, he replied, “Giving myself a chance to test my marksmanship in new and interesting ways.” A long beep told him that his fuel was dead, and his course was going to take him over his target at almost half a meter a second. He wasn’t sure what the strength of the cable he was firing was, though there were warning signs sounding at the back of his head.

 Raising the gun level, his heads-up display measured the distance and angle, and with a volley of electronic caveats, advised him to pull the trigger. The grapple raced away, seeming to curve towards the handhold he’d been aiming for, the long gash that would be his gateway to the ship. He willed it on, as though the power of his mind alone would be enough, and it locked into position, tugging him forward for a second as the cable snapped.

 “Damn it,” he said. “One chance left.” Another override beckoned, this one requiring three button presses to activate, as though his suit computer couldn’t quite believe that he would be insane enough to do it. With the final command, oxygen began to billow from his jets, pushing him slowly towards the hole. 

 “Your oxygen level is plummeting!” Bradley said. “Do you have a breach?”

 “Negative. When the cable broke, at least it killed a lot of my momentum. I should have enough in my tank to push me inside.” Another warning alarm went off, alerting him that he only had half his air remaining. “Guide me in.”

 “A little more,” Kowalski said. “Don’t go too quickly. Two minutes and counting, and Wyvern should be exploding any second underneath you.”

 “Reassuring thought,” Cooper replied, reaching out for the gap. His velocity was still too high for his liking, but his fingertips just brushed against the side, close enough that he could inch his way in, the strain almost sending him flying off again. He took another look at his monitor systems, about fifteen minutes’ worth of air left in his suit. Plenty for the task at hand.

 Climbing into the ship, he dropped down into the ruined compartment, praying that the relay station would be repairable. He looked around, pulling the toolkit from his pack, playing his helmet camera in all directions.

 “Kowalski, are you seeing this?”

 “Quinn here, Cooper,” the engineer’s voice said. “I’m two compartments over from you. I’ve got the systems on the monitor, and it looks like pretty good news. I don’t see any serious damage to the primary feed. You see that tangle on the top right corner?”

 “I see it.” He looked at a confusing array of splayed wires, a hole in the hull on the far side.

 “That’s where the primary relay control should be. The secondary should have kicked in automatically. Go down and tap the master switch.”

 “It can’t be that simple, Jack.”

 “It won’t be, but I want to try and get a diagnostic report.”

 Reaching down, Cooper gingerly touched the control, half-expecting a gigawatt shock to run through his body. A sad green light winked on for a second, before dying once again.

 “Did you get anything?”

 “Circuit malfunction. A two-credit relay, and it pops the first time we need it. I need you to replace the unit. If you look in your kit, there’s an engineer’s datapad. You’ll find a pair of data connectors at the top, underneath some flaps. Just plug in the feed, and the relay should come on again. It won't hold forever, but it'll last as long as it needs to.”

 Clanking his glove against the wall, Cooper said, “I’m having a hard enough time fishing out the datapad, Jack. I don’t have any dexterity in these things. Just plug-ins for a plasma rifle.”

 “Wyvern blew up on schedule, Gabe. We’re dead in a hundred and ten seconds if you don’t.”

 “You must have been absolute dynamic in debate class. I’ll see what I can do. Cooper out.” 

 Tugging the datapad free, he tossed the toolkit to a corner, then reached down for the control box. He could see the two connections, one of them slightly frayed, and began to try and remove it, starting with the intact one, attempting to get his thick fingers around it. He couldn’t even feel the wire, still less pull it, and any attempt would probably ruin it.

 Turning back to the toolkit, he started to rummage through it, then gave up and emptied it out onto the deck, picking through the pieces until he found a pair of tweezers. He picked them up, experimentally tugged at the cable, and started to work it free, placing the datapad next to the box with his other hand.

 With a heart-stopping snap, the cable came loose, and he guided the connector into the slot on the datapad, forcing it under the catch until it locked into the correct position. For a second, he thought he might have done enough, a blue light flashing on the datapad, but as it winked out, he turned to the remaining cable.

 Here he would need to be more careful, placing his tweezers underneath the damaged section and twisting it back and forth, trying to ease it out rather than using force. It started to move, slowly, but not far enough, and the connector still stayed resolutely in position.

 “Sixty seconds, Cooper,” Quinn said. “Come on, Gabe.”

 Taking a deep breath, he tugged at the cable, and finally it popped free. Gently sliding it into the datapad, he was rewarded with a second blue light, and an array of data began to stream down the screen, lights flashing on all around the cabin, a crackle of noise rising in the background of his helmet.

 “Internal systems are coming back!” Quinn said. “By damn, Gabe, you’ve done it!”

 “Forty-nine seconds to spare,” he replied.

 “Now hang on. We’re going to be maneuvering any second now.”

 Cooper looked around the room, pulling a half-retracted acceleration couch free from the wall, and clumsily strapped himself into it. He looked out of the gap, where the remnants of Wyvern were coming into view. All they needed now was some good flying, and they were home. Some damn good flying.

Chapter 26

 Orlova watched Wyvern explode on the viewscreen, a brief, blinding flash of light that rapidly faded to an expanding ball of debris. The scoutship had been close to an asteroid at the second of detonation, and the rock was caught in the blast, fragments ripped from it joining the blast wave. Collision alarms echoed throughout the bridge, Alamo’s trajectory taking them right into it.

 “One minute, fifty seconds,” Nelyubov said, rising from his seat.

 “Unbelievable,” Powell added. “The largest explosion ever witnessed by man, and we’ve got a front-row seat. I hope the sensor feeds are picking up some good data.”

 “That’s all you can think about?” Foster asked.

 With a smile, he replied, “Have faith. Once we get through this, I intend to spend many happy hours going over all of this.” He turned back to the holotable, and added, “Evasion course is plotted, ready for implementation.”

 “We’ve got nothing to implement it with,” Foster said. She turned to the viewscreen, saying, “It’s so damn unfair.”

 “Grogan, anything?”

 “I still don’t have any communications from the lower levels,” the technician replied, glancing up at her monitor station. “Last I heard, a team was trying to cut their way through to Relay Nine in spacesuits.”

 “One minute, thirty seconds,” Nelyubov said. “Just in case anyone’s interested.”

 “Not really,” Spinelli said. “I’d rather it be a nice surprise.”

 “I’d rather it didn’t happen at all,” Weitzman added. “Any point trying the escape pods?”

 “In that mess?” Hooke said. “You’d be torn to pieces. I’d rather get it over with quickly.”

 Orlova looked around the bridge, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, it has been an honor and a privilege…”

 “Wait!” Grogan yelled, pointing at the display, red lights flashing back to amber, “I don’t know how the hell they did it, but the main power grid is back on-line!” She started to frantically tap commands, saying, “Main engines warming up. Foster, you should be getting helm response.”

 “It’s working!” Foster said. “Implementing course, main engine sequence start.”

 “Take it easy at first,” Grogan warned. “We’re still nowhere near full power, and if you push it too hard, you’ll blow one of the relays. It’s only spit that’s holding some of them together now!”

 “If I take it easy, Spaceman, there won’t be a ship to worry about in a few minutes.” Reaching down underneath her station, she said, “Going to fine control on the throttle. Give me all the power you can.”

 With a quick pulse on the thrusters, Foster turned Alamo’s nose up and away, placing it in a pro-grade position, then ran the engines up as fast as she could. The background chant of the warning alerts changed in tone, the collision alarms replaced by hull stress warnings, the weakened hull threatening to buckle as the acceleration ramped up. One of the rear cameras showed a trail of debris following Alamo like a comet’s tail, frozen air and water glinting in the sunlight.

 Turning to the holotable, Orlova zoomed the display in as far as she could, focusing on Alamo and the expanding cloud of debris it was still heading for. Nelyubov walked over to look, no work left for him at his post, as the course projection slowly began to curve up, laboriously swinging to a safe position. 

 “Relay Two’s giving problems,” Grogan said. “I think someone’s working on it, but I’ve got to cut power.”

 “I need more thrust, not less!” Foster replied, using every trick she knew to gain speed, to push the wounded battlecruiser into a higher, safer orbit. The debris field was a couple of hundred miles across, and still expanding, washing across a second asteroid and leaving a pock-marked array of craters, dust smashing out in the opposite direction. For a brief second, the computer almost seemed to give up, the whole screen ghosting as it struggled to calculate the millions of divergent course trajectories ahead.

 Slowly, desperately, it was beginning to work, Alamo rising above the expanding cloud. After a couple of orbits, it would be too dispersed to worry about, slowly coalescing into a very temporary ring system for the shattered worldlet beneath. Even now, it was less of a threat than it had been, but as Alamo rose, it spread wider, trying to catch the ship in its net.

 “We’re going to skirt the outer limits at best,” Nelyubov said. “Weitzman, do you have any internal communications at all?”

 “Only for a couple of decks, sir,” he replied.

 “Warn anyone you can to stand by for more impacts in the outer hull, port side.”

 “Come on,” Foster said. “Come on, old girl, one more push.”

 Orlova stepped forward, resting her hand on the helm console as she watched Alamo grow closer to the cloud of death ahead of them. Foster had done everything she could do, but it wasn’t going to be quite enough.

 The ship shuddered and shook as radioactive hail rained down the starboard side, tossing the vessel around from new punctures in the hull, new pressure leaks that acted as temporary jets, Foster struggling to keep a straight heading, riding the engines. With a last, brief, smash, loud enough to set the hull ringing, they were through, and Orlova looked down at the deck, shaking her head.

 “I told you,” Powell said, a smile on his face. “Sometimes, you just have to have faith.”

 “More damage reports coming in. Can we slow the acceleration down now, please?” Grogan asked. “Other systems need power, and I’m still only at half-capability.”  

 “Cutting to one-tenth,” Foster replied. “Enough to put us into a much higher orbit, and still clear of the debris field.” She shook her head, and said, “That was too damn close.”

 “Can you get me some sort of damage report?” Orlova said, turning to Foster.

 Frowning, the engineer replied, “It looks a lot worse than it is. We’re going to need a new coating for the outer hull, and we’ve got some superstructure repair, but we can jump back to Yeager Station without it. If we can manage a couple of days without anyone shooting at us, we can get the power relays fixed.” Turning, she said, “We’ll be able to leave the system on schedule, ma’am.”

 “Communications coming back,” Weitzman said. “Getting casualty reports.” He looked across, and said, “It’s not good news. Four dead, all from the damage control crews, and nineteen injured. Doctor Duquesne is entering surgery now.”

 Nodding, Orlova replied, “Thank you, Spaceman. I’ll want their names and any details of how they died. What about our wayward children, Spinelli? How are the sensors?”

 “Resolution’s still terrible beyond our immediately local environment, ma’am. We won’t know anything until we get clear of the outer limits of the swarm. I lost track of Orbital One right as Wyvern went up.”

 Moving to her side, Nelyubov said, “Pavel knew the risk, and he accepted it gladly. If anyone could pull of a stunt like that, he could.”

 “He’d have been almost out of fuel, not enough to give himself a decent safety margin.”

 “It wasn’t just him,” Weitzman said. “Scott was in the co-pilot’s seat.”

 “What was she doing on board?” Nelyubov asked.

 “No idea, sir. I was only able to monitor at the time.”

 “Maybe she was trying to escape, to get back to her friends on Wyvern,” Foster said. “It would make sense. We were about to be destroyed, her mission completed. Hell, maybe she was just trying to run for it.” 

 “Or perhaps she decided that she would rather die with honor than live with the shame that was being loaded upon her,” Powell said. “Judge not, Sub-Lieutenant. Now that you are an officer, that’s more important than ever.”

 “Does that stand, ma’am?” Foster asked. “I mean…”

 “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. It won’t be official until we get back, but I don’t think there’s any need to bother with a commissioning board. You can put up the new insignia when you go off duty.” Shaking her head, she added, “Whenever the hell that is.” 

 “Coming through the cloud now,” Nelyubov said. “Long-range sensors are coming back. We’re gaining resolution.” He looked at the tracks, eyes ranging across a thousand pieces of shuttle-sized debris drifting in orbit. “No sign of course change, no trace of any activity in orbital space.”

 With a sigh, Spinelli said, “I guess it was too much to hope for. All that debris, the radiation field…” 

 “Orbital One to Alamo,” the speaker crackled, loaded with distortion, “Come in, please. Orbital One calling, please respond.”

 “I’ll be damned,” Nelyubov said.

 A cheer rose up from around the bridge, and Orlova replied, “Orbital One, this is Alamo, receiving you very faint, but we’ve got you. What’s your status?”

 “Our orbit is skewed all to hell and gone, but we’re stable and set for a hundred orbits. Fuel tanks drained, so someone’s going to need to pick us up. I have Lieutenant Harper and Sub-Lieutenant Scott on board, alive and well.” His voice dropped, and he added, “I was unable to retrieve Lieutenant Grant before his shuttle crashed into Wyvern.”

 “Damn it, Pavel, you just pulled off a miracle saving Harper. I’m not going to question it.” Glancing across at Weitzman, she added, “We’ll scramble Orbital Two to come and pick you up, right away. You should be back on board in a few minutes.”

 “I have the hangar deck,” the communications technician replied. “Shall I have Sergeant Gurung ride on board to act as guard?”

 “Guard?” Harper’s voice broke in. “What the hell for? Am I that dangerous?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Scott is wanted on charges of treason, mutiny and desertion,” Nelyubov explained. “She was ordered not to leave the ship, and was meant to be escorted at all times.”

 “It wasn’t my idea,” Scott said. “I was just trying to help out.”

 “For the last six months,” Harper said, “Kat Scott has been an undercover agent seconded to Triplanetary Intelligence. If it wasn’t for her, we’d never have known anything about what was going on out here. She deserves a damn medal, not…”

 The line went dead, and Weitzman started to work his board, replying, “Our end, not theirs, ma’am. We’re still having intermittent problems. Shall I try to reestablish the link?”

 “Could be tricky,” Grogan added. “We’re still getting new malfunctions cropping up.”

 “Orbital Two is launching now,” Nelyubov said. “Intercept in five minutes, back down on the deck in eleven.”

 “Let it go, then,” she replied.

 “Amazing,” Powell said, looking down at the deck. “Some of the information we’re getting in. I’ll have enough for a dozen papers here, some of the byproducts of the explosion…”

 “People died,” Nelyubov said.

 Nodding, Powell replied, “I know. Isn’t it better to think that they died for something that will make a difference, will enhance our understanding of the universe?” Tapping the panel, he said, “All of this gives their sacrifice meaning. Long after this battle is a forgotten footnote, researchers will be using this data to create new theories about the origin of the universe, new sources of power for our ships. That’s why we’re out here, isn’t it? To understand? Space cannot be conquered, it’s far too vast for that.” Suddenly conscious that all eyes were on him, he added, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make a speech.”

 “I’m glad you did,” Orlova said, clapping the old man gently on the shoulder. “Sometimes it’s too easy to lose our perspective. Frank, can you rustle up a couple of probes for data collection?”

 Nelyubov’s eyes widened, but he nodded, replying, “I think so. We’ve got a couple on Storage Five, and the launch tubes in that area are working.”

 “Then get them up, before the traces decay.” Turning to Powell, she said, “I’ll let you handle guidance and course plot.”

 “Thank you,” he replied. “You understand, don’t you.”

 “Not yet,” she said. “One day, I intend to.” Turning to Nelyubov, she continued, “You have the bridge, Frank. I’m going down to meet Orbital One when it gets in.”

 “Welcoming the returning heroes?”

 “Trying to find out what the hell all this was for.”

Chapter 27

 Salazar sat back in his chair, running through the final stages of post-flight as Orbital One rose up to the hangar deck. He looked around, shaking his head at the chaos all around him. A temporary triage facility was being supervised by Garland along one wall, and technicians were working frantically under Kowalski’s direction, attempting to restore at least a modicum of order to the area.

 The hatch cranked open, and he said, “Scott, you’d better go and report in. If anyone gives you any trouble, tell them I ordered you to come with me.”

 “You didn’t give me much choice.” Turning to Harper, she said, “You still owe me an explanation.”

 “Not in public,” she replied, glancing at Salazar. “No offense, Pavel, but this is Ultra-level classified.”

 “None taken. Go and wait in the deck officer’s room,” he said. “I’ll send Harper out to you in a minute.” Turning back to the hacker, he said, “I need to speak with you for a second.”

 “Sure,” Scott said, sliding out through the hatch to the deck beyond, walking unseen through the turmoil. Harper leaned back in her chair, turning a datapad around in her hands.

 “Pavel, there’s not much I can tell you.”

 “That’s fine,” he replied. “It’s more about what I’m going to tell you. She’s a double agent. I understand that much, and you’ll have to make it public if she’s going to get past what you’ve apparently put her through.”

 “There wasn’t a choice.”

 Raising a hand, he said, “Spaceman Third Class Fox was also working for you in an undercover capacity. I want to make sure that goes in your official report as well.”

 “No, he wasn’t. He changed sides, went with Tramiel when he first defected.”

 Sighing, Salazar said, “I don’t think you understand. You owe me twice now, once for Thule and now for that little stunt I pulled to snatch you out of the fire. I wouldn’t call it in for myself, but I’m calling it in for him. I had a chance to look at the lists for myself, and the only one among those people who came up with me from the surface registered AWOL is Fox. If we was working for you, that won’t matter.”

 Frowning, Harper said, “I don’t know.”

 “I do. I made the kid a promise, and you’re the only chance I have to keep it. For God’s sake, he has a family back home. And you know full well that he wasn’t one of the ringleaders. Just a kid those bastards dragged along for the ride, pulling him by his sense of duty.”

 She paused for a second, then said, “He’ll have to be watched. And it’ll be a very long time before he gets a deep-space assignment.”

 “If he’s got any sense, he’ll quit the Fleet while he’s ahead.”

 “You didn't,” she replied. “I'll do it. But that makes us even, Pavel. I want that understood.”

 Nodding, he said, “Completely.” He gestured at the open door, where an angry Orlova was waiting, her arms folded. “You’d better go and talk to her. If you think I’ve given you problems, I don’t think you’ve seen anything yet.”

 Rising to her feet, she paused in the hatch, and said, “Thank you. For coming after me. And I’m sorrier than you can know for what I put you and the others through. If I’d known…”

 “I know. Get going. Ma’am.”

 She smiled, then stepped out onto the deck, walking over to Orlova, who pointed at the open office door, Scott waiting inside, nervously fidgeting by the wall. The door closed and locked behind them, Orlova carefully sitting behind the desk, looking up at her.

 “Talk. And I don’t want to hear any crap about security clearance. I think I’ve earned a full and complete explanation about this miserable business, and I’m damn sure that Scott does. She was lucky not to spend the whole mission in solitary, and you did that to her.”

 Turning to Scott, Harper said, “I’m so damn sorry, but we both knew it was a risk.” She sighed, then added, “I guess you don’t remember any of it. The memory implant?”

 “I have no memory of the last six months. The last thing I recall is getting a message from Commodore Tramiel. For some reason I tried to hijack a shuttle, held a gun on a fellow officer, and tried to sabotage a battlecruiser.” She shook her head. “I just want to understand what happened.”

 Nodding, Harper said, “I guess they thought you might join their cause. You did get that message, and admitted yourself that you’d considered accepting, but you passed it along to your commanding officer.” Turning to Orlova, she continued, “Captain Gorski. Who knew enough about what was going on to pass it along to Captain Winter. While Alamo was refitting at Ragnarok, the four of us strung this together.”

 “Then I’m not a traitor?”

 “You’re a hero. You volunteered to go deep cover into Tramiel’s organization and find out what was going on out there. We knew that they’d raided the gray labs, but they’d done so much damage that we couldn’t tell what had been stolen.” She paused, then said, “We suspected the particle beams.”

 “And you didn’t give me any warning.”

 “I tried!” she said. “About a month ago, we had word that they were planning to move to the next stage of their operation. Wyvern was ordered to survey the system as a result, and I went along for the ride.”

 “Pavel as well,” Orlova said. “As I recall, you…”

 “I needed to have someone along that I could trust, absolutely.”

 “I’m sure he’d have considered it a compliment if you had told him. Damn it, why didn’t you warn us?”

 “Because I couldn’t! All of the research that was stolen was highly restricted. I had to be given special clearance.” She paused, then said, “This was meant to be an easy operation. We believed they were waiting for someone to come and pick them up. If it was just a matter of taking the base, Wyvern could probably handle it. If not, we’d wait in orbit and interdict the planetoid, and you’d have received orders in a week or two to come out and help us. That had all been arranged.” Looking down, she said, “Those orders would have warned you. If we’d spotted then when we arrived, I would have warned Ryder.”

 “What went wrong?”

 “I didn’t know, none of us knew, that Tramiel had continued to recruit. About fifteen, eighteen members of Wyvern’s crew had been suborned. They switched sides, and gave the Commodore all the time he needed to take the ship. Ultimately, he wanted Alamo, and used Wyvern, and me, as the bait to bring you here.” Looking up, she said, “Damn it, I didn’t know any of this could happen.”

 “What about me?” Scott asked.

 Shaking his head, Harper continued, “We knew that the situation was worse than we thought. That Wyvern had been taken. Tramiel wanted volunteers to scout Alamo and secure information, at least, that’s what we thought, and you volunteered, Kat. The plan was for you to get off Alamo, grab a transport, and get to Ragnarok to report in.”

 “Then I hijacked the shuttle…”

 “To preserve your cover. For all we knew, Alamo had been suborned as well and this was all some sort of trap. You had a datapad with a complete report, to be given to you, Maggie, Cooper or Bradley.”

 “It was Barbara I took hostage.”

 “Then I guess you’d have found a way to get the datapad to her when you made it off the ship.”

 Closing her eyes, Orlova said, “The datapad was destroyed when Cooper shot her. No data could be retrieved.” 

 “I couldn’t have known.”

 “Evidently.” Turning to Scott, she said, “Sub-Lieutenant, naturally you can consider all charges to be dropped. Go and see if you can help out. We’ve got a ship-sized mass of pieces that need to be put back together again. Dismissed.”

 Snapping to attention, she replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

 Before she left, Orlova said, “I think the ship could wait a few moments if you wanted to collect yourself first. Swing by the mess and get yourself something to eat. Consider it an order.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” Scott replied, leaving the room.

 “Sit down,” Orlova said, gesturing at Harper.

 “None of what happened is her fault,” Harper said, taking a chair. “I want to make that clear. I was the case officer for this operation, and I accept full responsibility for everything that happened.”

 “Good,” Orlova said. “I suppose that’s a start. Let me read something to you.” She pulled out a datapad, and said, “Dear Mrs. Dean. By now you will have received word that your daughter has died in the course of her duty. I wanted to personally let you know how much she meant to her shipmates, and that her death will be mourned by us all. Her action…”

 She stopped, lowering it to the desk, and said, “I’ve got fifty-nine of those to write, Maggie. Fifty-nine people died out here. Including damn near the entire complement of Wyvern.”

 “The mission…”

 “To hell with the damn mission,” Orlova said, leaping to her feet. “That’s not going to be much comfort to the parents, wives, husbands and children who are going to be getting a knock on the door in a few weeks to tell them that their loved one has died. God only knows what I’m going to write to the relatives of the Wyvern casualties.”

 “You weren’t in command of that ship.”

 “No, I wasn’t, but given that one of the letters I have to write is to Ryder’s husband, and that he’s going to have to work out what to tell their daughter, I don’t know who is going to do that. I’m certainly not making Salazar do it.”

 “I’ll do it,” Harper said, looking down at the deck. “I guess I’m the senior surviving officer from that ship.” She shook her head, and said, “I don’t have the first idea what to tell them.”

 Orlova took a deep breath, sat down, and said, “You should have trusted me. Confidential information or not, this was something I definitely needed to know. And hoping that a datapad would reach me…”

 “What choice did I have? This wasn’t my idea! I just ended up as the one who had to do it. Logan was supposed to handle it, but he’s been sent off to Spitfire to handle something even I don’t know about, so they dumped it on me.” She shook her head, and said, “And I know that a lot of people died. I had a good, close seat. I was willing to die myself, if that was what it took to stop that antimatter bomb falling into the wrong hands.”

 She stood up, walking to the water dispenser, splashing the cool liquid onto her face. “Commodore Tramiel died. He genuinely thought that he was doing the right thing for the Confederation. Kline tricked him, betrayed him, and so did Steele. At the end, he made good. He was the one who detonated the bomb.” She smiled, and said, “Tricking me into an escape pod in the process.” Pulling out a datapad, she added, “I have his legacy right here.”

 “What is it?”

 “Complete specifications on the antimatter bomb, the particle beams, the memory wipe, and half a dozen other pieces from the gray labs. As well as details of the companies and the people who helped funnel the funding and the equipment that made it possible. Everything’s here, Maggie. That’s what those people died for.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “I see. Now, tell me, what happens next?”

 “What do you mean?”

 “This mission was classified Ultra-level, so now what? I doubt very much that there will be a press conference when we get home. What happens to that magic datapad of yours?”

 “They’ll be a courier waiting at Yeager Station, and he’ll see it gets back to Intelligence. Ultimately, to the Combined Chiefs and the President.”

 “And then what? Do you imagine that any of these people will face prosecution for what they have done? Let me tell you what really happens next. You pass on your report, get a pat on the head and a medal, and everything about this is listed Ultra. Wyvern is officially listed as missing, as are the casualties. The survivors we’ve caught will be explained away, maybe from a shuttle we picked up.”

 “What are you getting at?”

 “All of this will be swept under the carpet, Kris. All of it. None of those people will be prosecuted, and why should they?” She sighed, and said, “That antimatter bomb we barely lived through. How the hell did a gang of traitors manage to pull that off on their own? I don’t care how much help they had. Where did they get the antimatter?”

 “The Forward Array, I guess. That’s about a year’s output.”

 “I know we’ve been out of the way for a while, but I can’t imagine that a year’s output from the Saturn antimatter collector would just disappear without anyone noticing. Not unless someone at the very top of the Confederation wanted it to.”

 “Maybe,” Harper said. “I remember a report I dug out, years ago, a plan to increase the yield of the array. It was never implemented…”

 “Officially. Maybe it was, and for the last five, six years, someone has been hiding it away, some staging area way out in deep space. Say, a brown dwarf star one jump away from a known smuggler’s den.”

 “Houston Station. What are you suggesting?”

 “Antimatter bombs. Memory wipes. Both research projects prohibited by treaty. I know how the gray labs operate. We push these projects to the point that we can finish them in short order, if we have to, but strictly research only. No-one has ever given approval for the construction of a bomb that big, and officially, no-one ever will.”

 Harper’s eyes widened, her mouth dropped open, and she said, “My God.”

 “Commodore Tramiel was obeying orders. Or Kline was, perhaps, and the Commodore was a dupe. We’ll never know whose. That bomb can only have been built with the assistance of some pretty senior people.”

 “I would never…”

 “I know. Nor would Logan, I think, but you both have superiors you report to. And so to they. Someone back on Mars is waiting anxiously for that datapad, ready to recreate their work. They don’t need all the research teams, now. All the hard work is done. My guess is they have enough antimatter somewhere to build another one in, how long? A month. Two?”

 “Three weeks,” Harper said, eyes vacant. “If they have the antimatter on hand.”

 “As little time as that.” With a deep sigh, Orlova said, “And isn’t it convenient that all the evidence is gone? All that remains is your datapad. Wyvern was destroyed, just a radioactive ring of debris, and what parts of the base aren’t flooded are filled with monsters that are almost tailor-made to kill humans. Isn’t that a coincidence. All helping to keep this dirty little secret.”

 “Not that it matters. At some point, the United Nations, the Lunar Republic, the Cabal, find out what we have done. Either their agents learn the truth, or we threaten to use one of these weapons in some crisis. Then they build their own, likely in a surprisingly short amount of time, no serious secrecy needed. Hell, their people would demand them, would shout on the streets for them! And then we live in a universe where ships like Alamo have the ability to destroy a planet.”

 “I am become death, the destroyer of worlds,” Harper muttered. Looking up, she asked, “What the hell can we do?”

 “I can do nothing,” Orlova said. “As you’ve made quite clear, this mission is under the control of Triplanetary Intelligence, and you are the case officer. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

 Harper stood up, walked to the wall, and held the datapad in her hands, saying, “The contents of this device, the information contained upon it, would revolutionize space warfare. It would change everything. If you are right, then a lot of people died for it.” She opened the waste chute, and said, “Unfortunately, I was unable to retrieve any of the data from Wyvern before the ship was destroyed.” She dropped the datapad through the hatch, and tapped a button, a light flashing on to report that the recyclers were stripping it down to its base elements for the fabricator banks. “All I got was the list of those responsible, the data I transmitted to Alamo during the battle.”

 She took a deep breath, turned to Orlova, she said, “Is this how you feel? When you take the bridge, assume command?”

 “Something like that. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s sheer hell. It’s that one percent that makes it all worthwhile.”

 “I guess so.” Harper paused, then said, “Maybe I’m finally growing up.”

 “Maybe,” Orlova said, a smile on her face. “Don’t worry about the letters. I’ll handle them. I think I know what I can write now. That they died to preserve peace, and to save the lives of everyone in the Confederation. That they did their duty, and died with honor. There are worse ways to go.”

 “Yeah,” Harper said. “I guess I’d better go see if I can help out. Computer systems look scrambled to hell.” She paused, then said, “Assuming I’m still welcome on this ship.”

 “You can serve with me any time, Lieutenant. And don’t let anyone ever tell you that you haven’t earned that rank. Dismissed.”

 Harper nodded, making for the door, then paused, turned, and stood to attention, snapping a salute. Orlova returned the gesture, shaking her head.

 “You’ve been practicing,” she said.

 “Seemed like the thing to do,” Harper replied.

Chapter 28

 Salazar walked down the corridor, a bag in his hand, looking at the names stenciled on the wall. Names and dates, in chronological order. Many of them were from before his time, crewmen who died in one battle or another, the events fading into history. Some of them had the names of the planets where they fell written next to them, Ragnarok, Driftwind, Jefferson, Thule. Others were blank, those who died on Alamo herself, giving their lives to save their crewmates.

 He reached the end of the list, and read the names that had been written on this morning, the paint still sticky. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and he looked up to see Cooper, Bradley and Scott approaching, the former carrying a paint kit of his own in his hand.

 “I think I know what you are going to do,” Cooper said. “I had the same idea.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Someone needs to. And it should be someone who knew him best, and I guess that’s me.” He pulled the applicator from his bag, connecting the paint, and pointed it at the wall. “Lieutenant Peter Grant, December 23rd, 2170.” Shaking his head, he said, “I never knew him. Not as well as I should. Maybe if he’d lived…”

 “You did everything you could to save him,” Bradley said. “I saw on the monitors. The shuttle didn’t have the fuel, the acceleration. It was all you could do to save Harper. That you managed to do that much…”

 “It wasn’t enough,” Salazar said. “It can’t be enough. If it had been enough, then he’d be here now, probably complaining about some minor infraction or another.” 

 Looking at the name on the wall, the paint slowly drying, Cooper said, “He died doing what he loved. What he was meant to be. He only really came alive when he was sitting in a cockpit. It was unfair to take that from him.” He sighed, and said, “Maybe he’d have found something else, if he’d given himself a chance.”

 “He won’t be forgotten,” Bradley said. “As long as there are people serving on this ship, they’ll know his name, and know that he died to save his shipmates. To save you, Pavel. That last missile strike would have shot you out of the sky. You didn’t have the fuel left for an evasive course, and you know it.”

 With a deep sigh, Salazar said, “My head says that you are right. My heart says that I left him behind.” He slumped to the ground, and said, “Too damn many people died today. When I gathered the two groups down on the planet, there were twenty-eight of us. And that was after the first attack. Twenty-eight people that I was responsible for.” Looking at the floor, he continued, “Eleven of us lived through it.”

 “Which is eleven more than if you hadn’t tried,” Cooper said.

 Tears forming in his eyes, Salazar looked up, and said, “Lombardo thanked me. Lying in his bed in sickbay, cables dangling out of him, and he thanked me for saving him. What the hell has he got to thank me for?”

 “Saving his life,” Orlova said, stepping down the corridor towards the group. “I see that you have saved me a job, Pavel.” She gestured at the new name on the wall, just underneath that of Ryder, and said, “I thought I’d have to do it.”

 “It seemed right that I should,” Salazar said. “I hated him. I…” He shook his head, and said, “I don’t know what I thought.”

 Nodding, Orlova looked at Scott, and said, “Sub-Lieutenant, I don’t think words can express our apologies for what we put you through.”

 “That’s fine, ma’am. You weren’t to know. I wasn’t to know.”

 “You might be interested to know that my report recommends you for an Order of Merit. At the very least, I intend to see you get the highest award I can get for you, and in my opinion, you’ve earned a damn sight more.” She paused, and said, “I understand that you have in the past expressed a desire to serve on this ship.”

 Nodding, she said, “It’s why I joined the fleet.”

 “I’d understand if you never wanted to see any of us again, but if you still want a job here, I’m pretty sure we can find something good for you.”

 Scott looked at Cooper and Bradley, and said, “I’d like that. There are people on this ship I’d be proud to serve with.”

 “I’ll make the arrangements for you.” Looking at Salazar, still slumped on the floor, Orlova said, “Do you mind giving Pavel and I the corridor? There are a few details I need to talk to him about.”

 “Sure,” Cooper said. Glancing down at Salazar, he added, “Come see me, Pavel. If there’s anything you need.”

 “Yeah,” the dejected officer replied. “I will, Gabe. Thanks.”

 As the three of them walked down the corridor, Orlova sat down next to him, and said, “A good group, Pavel. Good people.”

 “The best,” he said. “Scott was good on the shuttle. She’ll be an asset to the ship.”

 “I agree.” Pulling out a datapad, she said, “Harper submitted her report. What there is of it.” She chuckled, then said, “Let’s just say it’s going to be a lot shorter than the top brass were expecting. She mentions that Spaceman Fox was working as a double-agent, deep undercover.”

 Nodding, Salazar said, “Sounds like almost everyone on that ship was working for someone other than her Captain.”

 “Pavel, I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve gone over your report, and it seems like quite a coincidence that the only survivors we rescued are those who chose to remain loyal, rather than switching sides.”

 “I guess virtue was rewarded.”

 “None of them are willing to talk about it, though. Not a one.” Tapping a button, she said, “The only one that I could identify as a traitor was Fox. Listed as AWOL, six months ago. Last assigned to Triton Base.”

 “That must have been when he was recruited.”

 With a sigh, Orlova said, “We both know that isn’t true.”

 “Yes, it is,” Salazar said. “Read Harper’s report.”

 “Which is classified well above your clearance.”

 “You can place me on report for reading it if you want.”

 “Read it? You wrote that part.” She shook her head, and said, “I was standing outside the door. You were having quite an argument with her before she came out of the shuttle to talk to me.”

 “Look, ma’am…”

 “He’s a traitor, and a mutineer, and a deserter.”

 “He’s a kid!” Salazar snapped. “Paul Fox is a nineteen-year-old kid who thought he could save the universe. One of the most decorated officers in the Fleet, a war hero, came to him and told him that he needed him, that he could serve his people better if he came out here. What the hell did you expect him to do?”

 “Report what happened. Others did.”

 Closing his eyes, Salazar said, “I don’t know anything about that. I don’t know what was running through his mind when he made his decision, what Tramiel told him that convinced him to turn traitor.”

 “Then you admit it.”

 Turning to her, he continued, “All I know is that when I was running through the corridors with beasts right out of someone’s twisted nightmare on my tail, he volunteered to stay with me to head them off, to follow me to what was almost certain death. He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. When I fell, and I ordered him to save himself, he wouldn’t leave me.” Shaking his head, he said, “He got down onto one knee, held his pistol in exactly the way described in the training manual, and fired. Took the damn creature down with one shot.”

 Looking back at the floor, he said, “The kid’s a hero. Ma’am, he has a little baby girl back home that he has never seen. He doesn’t deserve to spend the next ten years in a military prison. He’s earned the right to go back home to his family, to be a father to his daughter, to watch her grow up.”

 “And the others?”

 “I watched Lombardo drag himself along the corridors with one leg a ruin, desperate not to slow us down, and he volunteered to stay behind. I wouldn’t let him. Watched Spaceman Fitzroy break down in tears over Ryder’s body, after he’d done everything he could to save her life. Tarrant, pushing me out of the way of one of those creatures, taking the death blow himself. Just on instinct.” Shaking his head, he said, “As far as I’m concerned, they served whatever sentence they merited down there, a hundred times over.”

 “You realize, Pavel, that refusing to give me the names, disobeying a direct order, places you right along with them. I could make a strong case for conspiracy.”

 “A commanding officer is responsible for the people under his command,” Salazar quoted. “It’s right there in the regulations, clear as anything else. I was in command, and I stand with my shipmates.” He looked at her, and said, “You can place me under arrest if you want. I understand. I knew it was a risk, going in. But I will not give you those names.”

 A thin smile creeping across her face, Orlova said, “I’m not going to arrest you, Pavel. As far as I’m concerned, those orders stand, and I have a feeling that no-one’s going to question anything that happened here too closely.” 

 “Thanks, ma’am.”

 “Let me tell you a little secret. If our roles were reversed, if Sub-Lieutenant Orlova was reporting to Acting Captain Salazar, I’d probably have done exactly the same. At least, I hope I would.” 

 “Acting Captain Salazar?” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “Fate worse than death.”

 “I thought something very similar, a long time ago. We all end up sitting in the hot seat sooner or later. You’ll have your time in the chair.” Rising to her feet, she said, “Grant said that one day, you’d make a good officer. He was wrong. You’ll make a great officer, and a great commander. You’ve got the instinct for it. Fitzroy, Lombardo, the rest of them. Have you read their reports?”

 “No.”

 “You should. I’m proud to serve with you, Pavel. You belong on this ship. It’s good to have you back.” She paused, and said, “Everyone who was down on the planet is going to be offered six months medical leave. That includes you. I don’t think anyone with argue, given what they went through. I’ve made it mandatory for Fox.” She smiled, adding, “If I hadn’t, I suspect he’d have tried to come up with an argument to stay.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “No thanks, ma’am. I’d rather stay where I am.”

 “What you went through is more than just a normal day on the bridge, Pavel. From what I’ve read, from what the others told me, you saw a sample of Hell down there.”

 “Alamo’s going out on a long-duration mission, I’m told, and I’m going with her.”

 Nodding, she replied, “I had a feeling you would say that, somehow. With the exception of Fox, none of the others agreed to take it. I think if Lombardo hadn’t been strapped to his bed, he’d have got up and walked out of sickbay there and then. Fitzroy’s down on the lower decks rewiring sensor arrays with one hand in a sling.”

 “Alamo needs replacement crew.”

 “That it does. And the less said about the circumstances under which they joined the ship, the better. Everything that happened down there is being classified Ultra. You’ll be making a report for the xenobiologists, but it’ll probably be a long time before anyone gets to read it.”

 “Fine by me,” he said. “They can lock that dead beast in a vault for the rest of eternity if they want. I hope I never see them again.”

 Nodding, Orlova said, “Unless I miss my guess, it will be an extremely long time before anyone comes back to this system. As I said, there are a lot of secrets here that are in everyone’s interests to remain buried.” Rising to her feet, she continued, “If you want my advice, you’ll go and get some rest. You might not take the long-term medical rest leave, but you’re taking the flight home off. Read a book, watch lousy movies, hit the simulators, crash out in your quarters, anything you want. You need some time to process what you’ve been through.”

 “I’m fine.”

 “Consider it an order. If you want a job to do, look after Scott. A lot of people on this ship are going to be wary about her for a while, and she’ll need a friend.”

 Nodding, he replied, “I’ll see what I can do.” Rising to his feet, he said, “I could do with some time to take a look at the paperwork, anyway. Always a backlog.”

 “Just make sure you take some time for yourself.”

 “I will.” He paused, then said, “Thanks, ma’am.”

 “I’ve been there, Pavel. I know what you are going through. What Cooper says stands with me, as well. If you ever need to talk to someone, my office door is always open. I mean that.”

 “I might take you up on that one day.”

 “If you need it.” She gestured down the corridor, and said, “You run along. I’ve got a couple of dozen things to do before breakfast.”

 “It’s almost noon, ma’am.”

 “A commander’s job is never done.”

Epilogue

 Orlova walked up to the shuttle, Quinn racing after her, a datapad clutched in his hand. She turned, taking it from him, and started to scan through it.

 “Latest progress reports on the repair work,” he said. “I thought you might want it when you briefed the Captain. We’re finishing up stress testing the new armor sections now, but everything looks fine. I think we’ve actually improved performance on the power distribution network, but I want to do a shakedown cruise to test it out.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Orlova replied, “Not another shakedown cruise.”

 “I’ve had the Professor plot a course for us, a nice two-day trip around local space, designed to take us as far away from anything interesting as possible.”

 “Three weeks,” Orlova said. “That’s damn good work, Jack.”

 Gesturing around at the bustling technicians on the hangar deck, he said, “The crew are anxious to get to our next mission. After Thule, deep space again.”

 “That isn’t confirmed, not yet.”

 “It might as well be,” Nelyubov said, stepping out of the shuttle. “We’re loaded with enough supplies for a year. They wouldn’t give us that if we were going for a run around the block.”

 “True. I’ll know more when I see the Captain.”

 “Any idea why he didn’t come straight over?” Quinn asked. “I was surprised that he went to the station, rather than us.”

 “Probably wanted to give me time to pack,” Orlova replied.

 Frowning, Nelyubov said, “You don’t honestly think…”

 “No,” she replied. “I’m joking. I hope. And about that conversation we had…”

 “About you being offered the Exec slot?”

 “If Captain Marshall offers it, I’m going to accept.”

 Nodding, he said, “That’s the best news I’ve heard today.”

 “Attention,” a voice said, echoing through the overhead speaker. “Transfer shuttle arriving.”

 The trio turned, watching the shuttle rise through the decks, the hatch opening, a familiar figure walking out, his face a frozen mask.

 “Dietz?” Orlova said. “Captain Dietz, now. Congratulations.”

 “I understand that you have some classified material for transfer to Mars,” he replied, his voice as cold as his demeanor. “I’m here to supervise the shipment, and to collect Lieutenant Harper’s report.”

 “You’ll find them both in Storage One,” Nelyubov said. “There’s an Espatier guard to get you from there to the hangar deck, all troops that were on the surface during the operation.”

 “And you’ve all signed the secrecy oaths that we sent?” 

 “Lieutenant Harper has the file.”

 “Good.” He nodded, then walked across the deck to the elevator, stepping through the door without another word, even a glance.

 Shaking his head, Quinn said, “He was always a little aloof, but that isn’t the man I knew.”

 “Old friend?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Operations, then Executive Officer up until Jefferson,” Orlova said. “Last I heard, he’d been transferred to Intelligence. I guess we just got confirmation of that.” Turning to Nelyubov, she added, “I presume the troops have been instructed to make sure that he only takes the cargo we want him to take?”

 “Don’t worry, Maggie, Harper will still be here when you get back. It isn’t like you to be quite this paranoid.”

 “I’ll be happier once we’re out in deep space again,” she replied. “See you later.”

 She stepped into the waiting shuttle, the only passenger on the trip across to the station. Normally she’d enjoy the ride, might even have taken the helm herself, but she was lost in thought, staring out of the window at the cold stars beyond, clutching Quinn’s report in her hands, turning the datapad over and over.

 “Docking in one minute,” the pilot said.

 Stepping over to the airlock, she waited for the familiar clang as the docking ports hit home. The port opened, and an unfamiliar woman wearing the uniform of a Senior Lieutenant was waiting for her, gold braid on her shoulder.

 “I didn’t know there was a Commodore on the station,” Orlova said.

 “Fleet Captain Marshall asked me to escort you to his office,” she replied. “Come with me.”

 Her silent escort led her around the concourse, through the swarming technicians and mechanics working on the station upgrade. A hundred people going about their jobs, only having to worry about the task they had been assigned. For that moment, she envied them. After a short walk, they reached the office level, and the aide gestured at her to enter the nearest room.

 “He’s expecting you,” she said. “Go right in.”

 “Thanks,” she replied. “Are you transferring to Alamo?”

 “Not at this time,” she said, her face briefly cracking to a smile. “Not at this time.”

 She walked into the room, where Marshall was sitting behind a desk, Caine standing next to him, a pile of reports in her hand. She looked up at Orlova, flashed her a smile, and walked to the door.

 “I’d better leave you two to talk. Catch you later, Danny.”

 “Have a seat, Lieutenant,” Marshall said, gesturing her to the far side of the desk. “I’m drowning in paperwork, but I’ve had a chance to go through your reports over the last week or so. They make fascinating reading.”

 “I take full responsibility for everything that happened, sir.”

 “I’m very pleased to hear it.” Picking up a datapad, he said, “Without authorization from senior command, you took a capital ship to an uncharted system, on the belief that there was an unspecified threat. A ship that you knew was already assigned to critical duties.”

 “Not for at least a fortnight, sir, and it was my judgment that the situation was urgent enough that it precluded requesting permission. In the absence of yourself and Captain Cunningham, I was the senior officer present, and I judged it within my remit to take the decision.”

 “A decision that resulted in fifty-nine deaths. To say nothing of the wounded.”

 “As I said, sir, I accept full responsibility for my actions. The crew followed my orders, and in my judgment, performed above and beyond the call of duty. I recommended commendations for Lieutenant Grant…”

 “Posthumously.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Scott, Ensign Cooper, Corporal Hunt, and Sub-Lieutenant Salazar.”

 Dropping the report to the desk, he said, “I agree with your assessment of their performance, at least. I’ve countersigned that recommendation.”

 “Thank you, sir.”

 “You were unable to capture any of the mutineers,” he said, glancing down at the desk, “Other than Sub-Lieutenant Scott and Spaceman Third Class Fox, both of whom were working as undercover operatives for Triplanetary Intelligence at the time.”

 “Our attempts to extract them ultimately proved successful.”

 Rising to his feet, he said, “At the end of the day, Lieutenant, all of this boils down to one simple fact. You took it upon yourself to take a capital ship off station, on a mission that had not been approved, without any real knowledge of the risks you were running. If it were not for some quick thinking, and some damn heroic acts on the part of members of the crew, Alamo would have been lost.”

 “I’m aware of that, sir. I'll accept the consequences of my decisions.”

 Nodding, he said, “To change the subject for a moment. Captain Cunningham has been permanently assigned as Commandant of the Aerospace Pilot’s School on Titan. He tried like hell to get out of it, but the brass wanted him for the job, and no-one else. I understand there’s talk of him getting command of a battleship at some point.”

 “We’ll all be sorry to see him go, sir.”

 “That leaves a vacancy. Alamo needs a new Executive Officer.” Turning to look at the stars, he said, “Have you any recommendations for me?”

 Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’d be honored, sir.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Not you, Maggie. After this stunt, I don’t see you as Executive Officer material. Frankly, I don’t see how you can continue as Operations Officer.”

 Her face falling, her world falling apart, she managed to say, “In that case, sir, I would recommend that you appoint Frank Nelyubov to the job. He’ll need promoting to Senior Lieutenant, but he has been an excellent second-in-command to me on more than one occasion, and I am certain that he would be up to the job.”

 Nodding, he said, “I’ll take that under advisement. It isn’t really my decision.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box. “I haven’t given you your Christmas present yet.”

 Taking the plastic box, she cracked it open, and her eyes widened at the silver eagles inside, sitting on a bed of velvet. Lieutenant-Captain’s insignia. She looked up, and Marshall smiled, leaning back on his chair.

 “Congratulations, Captain. Technically, that isn’t just from me, but from the Combined Chiefs as well. There’s a note that goes with it.” He slid another datapad across the desk. “As of this date, you are to assume command of the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo. There are mission orders attached.”

 She pulled out the insignia, holding them in her hands, and said, “I’m not ready for this.”

 “Sure you are,” he said. “If I had any doubts before, you just dispelled them. What you did, the decision you took, that isn’t the mark of an Operations Officer, or an Executive Officer, but a Commander. And a damn good one, at that. You’ve got to know when to take the big risks, and when to fold. You win on both counts.”

 “The youngest Lieutenant-Captain in the Fleet,” she said. “I turned thirty last month. Sir, I really don’t think…”

 “Five years in the Fleet, but you’ve had more command time than any other officer at Senior Lieutenant rank, and more combat stars than officers with four times your service. Recent events have meant that there is a shortage of qualified ship captains anyway.” He paused, and said, “I was sorry to hear about Ryder. She’ll be missed. I was going to give her Thunderchild.”

 He sat down, and continued, “Maggie, we can go back and forth on this for hours, but really, there’s no need. I have complete confidence in your abilities to do this, and there’s no-one else I’d rather hand over to. I’d always planned to turn her over to you at the end of the current tour.”

 “That’s three and a half years from now.”

 Shrugging, he said, “Vice-Admiral Remek informed me that if I wanted to assemble a task force to fight the not-men, or whatever we’re calling them, I have to do that here, at Yeager Station, rather than out on Alamo. She’s right.” He looked at his shoulders, and said, “I’m going to be Acting Commodore in a few weeks.”

 “Commodores have commanded ships before.”

 “You won’t give up, will you.” Leaning forward, he said, “All of this is in the report, but I’ll give you the short version now. We’re at war with the not-men, in every way that counts. Even the Senate’s going along with that. Right now we’re starving for intelligence. We don’t know the disposition of their forces, their strategic strength, we don’t even know the location of their homeworld. Sound familiar?”

 “The Cabal, before Alamo went out on its first long cruise.”

 “The Combined Chiefs have decided that what worked once might work again. Officially, Alamo’s orders are to secure Thule, but once that is over with, you’ll be heading out into unexplored space on your own recognizance to find the not-men. We’ve got a lot of ideas, and there are about ten thousand pages of reports for you to skim through, but it all adds up to less-than-educated guesswork. Alamo has to bring back the real story.”

 “It worked last time because of you, sir.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “I’m otherwise engaged. There’s only one person who can pull off this mission, and we both know it. The officer who took command of a wrecked battlecruiser with a skeleton crew, secured a vital strategic asset for the Confederation, and then led that ship into a hopeless battle that somehow, against all the odds, she managed to win. Recognize anyone?”

 “I had a lot of help.”

 “And you will this time. I’ll sign off on Frank Nelyubov’s promotion, and assignment as your second-in-command. You get Quinn, Powell, Harper. Deadeye’s staying here to command the station, and keep an eye on me.”

 “I can promote from within for Operations. Frank can cover as Tactical Officer, at least temporarily.”

 He smiled, and said, “See, you’re getting used to the idea.”

 “It’ll take me a long time for this to sink in. Sir, are you sure about this?”

 “I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.” Passing across a datapad, he said, “Just give me your thumb-print, and it’s all official.”

 She took the datapad, and said, “I just don’t feel ready for this. I can be someone’s Exec, but this is too big a jump.”

 “I felt the same way when I first assumed command. I think everyone does.” With a sigh, he said, “In an ideal world, yes, you’d have another three or four years at your current rank. We don’t have the time. Odds are we’re going to be at war within a year, and the Fleet’s going to need the best ship commanders it can get. You’ll just have to do the best you can. I know it will be enough.”

 Taking a deep breath, she pressed her thumb on the screen, and passed it back to him, replying, “When this goes wrong, they’ll blame you.”

 “That’s the spirit. I held up a shuttle for you. I understand Jack wants a shakedown cruise.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Hengist won’t be arriving with the garrison force for three days, so you’ve got time if you hurry.” Passing over another datapad, he said, “Your orders, new crew assignments, the usual admin. Have fun with that, by the way.””

 “I will.” She made her way to the door, then said, “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

 “I know that. Or you wouldn't have the job.” He smiled, then asked, “Are you going to get dressed?” He tapped his shoulders, and she shook her head.

 “I thought I’d wait until I got over to Alamo.”

 “Suit yourself. Good luck, Maggie.” 

 She stepped out of the door in a daze, the aide snapping to attention as she walked out, obviously already informed about her promotion. She glanced down at her datapad, reading the message addressed to Lieutenant-Captain Orlova, and shook her head in disbelief.

 “Are you alright, ma’am?” the aide asked.

 Nodding, she said, “I’m fine. Thank you.” Pulling her jacket straight, she said, “Captain Marshall said there was a shuttle waiting.”

 “Airlock Nine, ma’am. Just down the corridor.” She paused, and said, “The pilot won’t be available for half an hour.”

 “I think I can manage it,” she said.

 “I presumed as much, ma’am. Good luck on your voyage, and congratulations on the promotion.”

 “Thank you.” Orlova stepped down the corridor, following the curve of the station around to the airlock. The hatch was already open, and she climbed in, sliding forward into the cockpit, quickly running through the preflight checks.

 “This shuttle going to Alamo?” a strident voice asked from behind her.

 “In one minute,” Orlova replied.

 “Great.” She heard the sound of the hatch closing, someone sliding into a couch. “I’m looking forward to seeing her. First time I’ve served on anything this big. Sub-Lieutenant Isabella Guidoni, by the way. Gamma Shift Watch Officer.” 

 “Pleased to meet you,” she said. “Launching sequence start.”

 “Don’t you call senior officers ‘ma'am’ on Alamo, Spaceman?”

 She smiled, realizing that she couldn’t see her jacket while she was sitting in the couch, and said, “Sorry about that, ma'am.”

 “I'll let it pass this time. Are you new to the ship as well?”

 “In a manner of speaking, ma'am.”

 “I hear she has a brand new commander. Life's always more interesting when you have a rookie skipper at the helm.” She paused, then asked, “Are you on the deck gang, a shuttle pilot, or are you up on the bridge?”

 “I used to be,” Orlova replied. “Then they busted me.”

 “Oh?”

 “All the way down to Lieutenant-Captain.” She turned, flashed the shocked Guidoni a smile, and added, “Better strap in, Sub-Lieutenant. It’s going to be a hell of a ride.”

Thank you for reading 'Malware Blues'. 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.

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Look out for Battlecruiser Alamo: Triple-Edged Sword, coming on February 29th, 2016...