NOT IN MY NAME

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 14

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #14: Not In My Name

Copyright © 2015 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: September 2015

Cover By Keith Draws

With Thanks To Ellen Clarke

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

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Since first the White Horse Banner blew free,

 By Hengist's horde unfurled,

Nothing has changed on land or sea

 Of the things that steer the world.

(As it was when the long-ships scudded through the gale

 So it is where the Liners go.)

Time and Tide, they are both in a tale--

 "Woe to the weaker -- woe! "

No charm can bridle the hard-mouthed wind

 Or smooth the fretting swell.

No gift can alter the grey Sea's mind,

 But she serves the strong man well.

(As it is when her uttermost deeps are stirred

 So it is where the quicksands show,)

All the waters have but one word--

 "Woe to the weaker -- woe! "

The feast is ended, the tales are told,

 The dawn is overdue,

And we meet on the quay in the whistling cold

 Where the galley waits her crew.

Out with the torches, they have flared too long,

 And bid the harpers go.

Wind and warfare have but one song--

 "Woe to the weaker -- woe!"

Hail to the great oars gathering way,

 As the beach begins to slide!

Hail to the war-shields' click and play

 As they lift along our side!

Hail to the first wave over the bow--

 Slow for the sea-stroke! Slow!--

All the benches are grunting now:--

 "Woe to the weaker – woe!"

A Departure, Rudyard Kipling

Chapter 1

 Sub-Lieutenant Pavel Salazar glanced up from his station at the chaos unfolding all around him. He’d only been a watch commander for two weeks, could still count on his hands the number of times he’d had the bridge, and was currently monitoring no less than a hundred ships, shuttles and transports swarming between Alamo and the station it was orbiting. Captain Marshall had ordered that the ship be resupplied as rapidly as possible, had pushed to get his task force together in as much of a hurry as he could.

 He knew why, of course. There was some sort of an unknown threat out there, a race that had attacked Yeager Station and almost wiped out its crew, then come close to taking out the battlecruiser as well. If ever there was a real and present threat to the Confederation, this was it. Not that it was the only thing they were concerned with. The United Nations to one side, the Cabal to the other, and continuing political chaos and confusion back home as a governing coalition attempted to get onto speaking terms with each other.

 Glancing across at a control, he looked at one of the freighters on the edge of the formation, and frowned. It hadn’t moved in a week, not since it had arrived, and he started to call up its details on his console, text flashing up on the viewscreen as the image zoomed onto it. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as he could see, a Rhodan-class freighter, one of the workhorses of space. It wasn’t even the only ship of its class in the system.

 Cargo was nothing strange, mostly luxury goods for shipment to the UN outpost on Luyten’s Star from the hydroponic gardens on Ragnarok. Though that seemed both mundane and peculiar at the same time. He tapped in a series of commands, bringing up the latest price indices for the Confederation and the UN, grimacing as he tried to comprehend the data.

 “Getting into the shipping business?” Midshipman Foster said from the helm. She looked at him with a sneer, and said, “I know your days here are probably numbered.”

 “Mind your station, Midshipman,” he snapped. He was right. This shipment didn’t make any economic sense at all, and it made even less sense that they’d just be floating out there. Alamo would have bought at least some of their cargo at the drop of a hat, and so would the station, especially with a growing science team down on the surface. Why bother passing through the tariff barrier if they didn’t need to. Something else about the data was nagging at him, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. Rising from his chair, he walked over to the sensor station, leaning over the shoulder of the veteran operator.

 “I want a full sensor check on the freighter Caledonia, Spaceman,” he said. “Everything you can get on it.”

 “Something wrong, sir?”

 “I’m not sure. Get all the data you can. Weitzman?” He turned to the communications station, and added, “Pull the communications logs for the last week. Anything you’ve got on the activities of the Caledonia.”

 “On it, sir.”

 “What is all this about?” Foster said. “We aren’t short on freighters out there.”

 Ignoring her, he looked up at the monitor as the ship flashed on, and tapped a command to overlay with a typical outline of a freighter of that class. Immediately, he noticed several variances. Spinelli looked up, frowning.

 “Interesting. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything, sir, though. Lots of these companies make modifications to the design.”

 “Erickson?” Salazar said, walking over to the duty engineering technician. “In your opinion, what effect would those changes have?”

 “Better sensor resolution,” she said, pointing at the detector cluster at the top of the ship. “Faster refueling, as well, I think, and a much better communications capability.”

 “How much would that cost, do you think?”

 She looked up, puzzled, and said, “I couldn’t really give you an estimate, sir, but a lot.”

 Foster stepped over beside them, looking at the screen, and said, “Refueling, sensors, comms, none of these are exactly critical systems. Nothing that a civilian ship might not have. Perhaps they’re planning to do a little trade pioneering.”

 “Maybe,” he said. “That’s a small company, though. Just two ships. Strange that they’d be willing to risk one, and that they’d have the money to throw away on unnecessary modifications.”

 “They’re civilians, Pavel,” she said, pointedly ignoring his rank. “Who knows what they might do? It’s their money to throw away.”

 “I’ve got the communications data,” Weitzman said. “No activity since they arrived five days ago. No shuttle launches, crew transfers, personal messages. Just the regular status updates sent to Station Operations, and one quick message to Alamo when they arrived in-system along similar lines.”

 “Not even shore leave?” Spinelli said.

 “With the station in its current state, that’s not surprising,” Weitzman said.

 Erickson frowned, then added, “There is something odd. Most of the freighter engineers are over on the station helping with the repairs, earning a few extra credits.”

 “Maybe Caledonia’s doing some maintenance of its own?” Foster said, but Salazar raced over to Weitzman’s station.

 “Did you say five days, Spaceman?”

 Looking down at his readout, he replied, “Four days, twenty-two hours, nine minutes and a few seconds to be exact, sir.”

 “And what is the dimensional reorientation time of a Rhodan-class transport?”

 He looked across, frowned, and replied, “About the same.”

 Walking over to the tactical display, he started to play with trajectories as Foster watched, her arms crossed. From where that freighter was, it could intercept a couple of dozen of the shuttles in flight, most of which were carrying materials vital for Alamo’s upcoming mission.

 “Weitzman, contact the Caledonia, and inform them that they should stand by for an inspection.”

 “You don’t have authority for that,” Foster said.

 “Send it, Spaceman. My order, my responsibility.”

 Weitzman nodded, replying. “Yes, sir,” as he moved to comply.

 “Pavel, this is a mistake. We’re going to have to follow up, and that’s going to waste a hell of a lot of time.”

 Walking past her, Salazar tapped a control on his console, and said, “Bridge to Deck Officer.”

 After a second, the reply came. “Bradley here. Go ahead.”

 “Is your husband with you?”

 “As a matter of fact…”

 “I want a shuttle prepped and ready for launch right away, with a squad of his Espatiers on standby.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant, you haven’t got the authority to order that,” Ensign Cooper’s voice interrupted.

 “And I wouldn’t dream of asking you to actually launch until you get that permission, but when it comes, I want you to be ready.”

 “This a surprise inspection?”

 “I don’t know,” Salazar replied. “I’d prep for anything.”

 “Always wise, Sub-Lieutenant,” Cooper said. “I’ll get things moving down here, but I can’t launch until I get senior command authority. The second we do, we’re out the door.”

 “Thanks, Ensign.” He turned off the channel, walking back to the tactical display, looking at the Caledonia as it hung in space. Foster shook her head, making her way back to the helm and crashing down into her couch.

 “You’re just making a fool of yourself,” she said.

 “Let’s double up on that,” he replied. “Make preparations to take the spin off the ship at my command.”

 “What?”

 “That’s an order. Don’t do anything until I tell you, but set it up. Erickson, start coordinating damage control teams.” He looked up at a display, and said, “Ninety seconds before they can leave the system. I wonder if they will. Anything, Weitzman?”

 “Nothing, sir.”

 “Spinelli, set up a safe haven program for the shuttles in flight. Fastest time out of the combat area when I give the word. Get it prepared.”

 He turned, asking, “Is something about to happen, sir?”

 “I hope not. But get it ready.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Aye, sir.”

 “If you really think there is something wrong, shouldn’t you alert the Captain?” Erickson said.

 “All I’ve got is a hunch,” he replied. “Nothing I can put my finger on, at least, not yet. We’ll know in a few seconds. You set up yet, Midshipman?”

 “Just about.”

 “Plot an intercept course to Caledonia. Best speed.”

 “Why not?” she replied. “Maybe we should go to battle stations as well.”

 “Anything yet, Weitzman?” he asked, turning to face the communications station.

 “Still nothing, sir. I don’t understand it. They must be receiving me.”

 “Twenty seconds,” Salazar said. His hand hovered over the controls on his console, indecision creeping into his soul. He looked up at the freighter, longing for it to make the decision for him.

 “Sir, Caledonia is on the move,” Spinelli said. Salazar looked up at the course plot, the ship’s course matching the worst-case trajectory he had calculated, heading right into the swarm of shuttles.

 Stabbing a control, he said, “Bridge to all stations. Battle stations. Battle stations. This is no drill. Captain and senior officers to combat stations, all hands stand by for variable gravity.”

 “What are you doing?” Foster said, her face locked in a snarl.

 “Take the spin off the ship, Midshipman, and implement the course for the Caledonia. Best speed.

 “I will do…”

 “You will obey orders, Midshipman,” he snapped, “or by God I will find someone who will!” Turning to Weitzman, he said, “Spaceman, get all shuttles to safe havens at once.”

 “Aye, sir,” the technician replied, locking glances with Spinelli as he rushed to obey the order, reading a series of instructions into his microphone.

 “Captain to Bridge,” a voice backed. “Salazar, what the hell is going on up there?”

 “Threat warning!” Spinelli yelled. “Multiple heat signatures from the Caledonia, sir, heading right for us. Fighters, I think.”

 “Numbers, Spaceman?”

 “Seven, correction, nine inbound. Read as United Nations design, Falcon Mark II Interceptors.”

 “Bridge, what the hell is happening?” Captain Marshall’s tone was growing more urgent.

 “We’re under attack, sir!” Salazar said. “Request permission to launch Espatier force.”

 “Do what you need to do,” he replied. “I’ll be on the bridge in one minute.”

 Alamo’s engines began to rumble as Foster turned the ship towards the freighter, a sick feeling deep within Salazar’s stomach, though whether it was from the variable gravity or the weight of responsibility, he couldn’t say.

 “Espatier Shuttle, you are clear for launch,” he said. “Make sure you stay well clear of the incoming fighters. Alamo will take the heat for you. Your objective is the Caledonia.”

 “Roger, Alamo,” Bradley said. “I’ll keep well out of their way. Shuttle out.”

 The ship surged towards the enemy as shuttles scrambled all around, anxious to get out of the way as fast as possible, heading for the station or the surface in their eagerness to avoid the fighters. As he expected, the fighter trajectories shifted, all but one of of them heading right for the battlecruiser, the lone rebel choosing to aim for the shuttle.

 He threw a series of switches, watching as missiles slid into their launch positions and the laser began to charge, the kilometer-long radiators fanning out like huge wings, ready to disperse the intense heat out into cold space. The elevator door slid open, and Captain Marshall stepped out onto the deck, Senior Lieutenant Caine, Tactical Officer, hard on his heels.

 “Report, Sub-Lieutenant,” he barked.

 “The freighter Caledonia launched nine UN fighters, targeting Alamo,” he began. “All shuttles have been ordered to disperse, and the ship will be at alert stations any time now. We have three minutes to contact, and I have an assault shuttle in the air with an Espatier squad on board.”

 “Risky, don’t you think?”

 “The enemy ship is very close to the hendecaspace point, sir, and if we are to have any chance of capturing it, we’re going to need to take a few risks. They have one fighter in-bound on the shuttle, and I recommend a course change to take a shot with the laser.”

 Caine looked across at the console, and said, “Laser will be charged in ninety seconds. I agree with the kid’s assessment, but we’ll have to be careful not to drag the fighters across with us.”

 “I concur,” Marshall said. “Midshipman, implement course change to get us within laser range of that lone fighter. Deadeye, I want a missile salvo in the air towards the others as fast as you can.”

 “On the way,” she replied, settling down at her station. Salazar stepped over to his console, glancing across at the helm and nodding, then focused on his own neglected duties. Most of the ship was reporting nicely, each department reporting that they were cleared for action.

 “We’re on the move pretty quickly, Sub-Lieutenant,” Marshall asked, settling into his command chair.

 He turned, his face reddening, and said, “I had a feeling that the ship might be up to something, sir. Nothing that I could put my finger on, but I took precautionary measures.”

 “I see,” he said. “And you didn’t tell me because?”

 “I didn’t really have anything other than my instincts to go on, sir.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant, we go to a lot of trouble to make sure that your instincts are correct. You needn’t worry about being embarrassed to come to me. If one of my officers has something to say, I’ll always listen. Having said that, good work. I think you shaved a good sixty seconds off our reaction time.”

 “I’ll bear that in mind in future, sir.”

 “Relax,” he said. “You did fine. Just that next time you can tell me first.”

 “Be careful, Danny,” Caine said. “You might be opening yourself to all sorts of wild ideas.”

 “Better that than face a surprise attack,” he replied. “How are we doing?”

 “Laser ready in ten seconds. Foster, get me a shot any time after that. I’ve got the first salvo ready to fire right after.

 “Good.” Marshall sat back in his chair, his face a model of calmness.

 “Coming around,” Foster said, her hands running across her controls. Salazar watched her work with admiration; no matter what he thought of her personality, she was good at her job.

 “Firing!” Caine said, and a beam of light briefly it up on the tactical display, the fighter at the other end disappearing as the laser burst tore it to pieces. A second later, the ship rocked back as the first wave of missiles raced from the launch tubes, the next salvo immediately dropping into position to follow it.

 “Energy spikes,” Spinelli said. “First salvo from the remaining fighters, eight missiles in the air.”

 “Countermeasures working,” Caine said, looking up at a control. “Our missiles are running true. I’ll take out theirs with my first salvo.”

 “They’ve got two missiles each?” he replied.

 Nodding, she said, “Normal configuration.”

 Salazar watched the screen, fascinated, a front-row view of the battle unfolding before him. Alamo’s missiles raced towards those of the enemy, and after another minute, there were a series of brief, bright flashes, and the screen was clear once again. Until Alamo rocked back, launching another wave into the void.

 “Enjoying the show, Sub-Lieutenant?” Marshall asked.

 “Sorry, sir,” he said, looking down at his console.

 “Don’t worry, Salazar. If you’ve done your job right up to this point you really shouldn’t have that much to do. The work will come afterwards in the clean-up.” He frowned, then said, “This is a very clumsy attack. Just brute force, and they haven’t got enough of that to do the job.”

 “Yeager Station launching a salvo, sir,” Spinelli said. “We outnumber them on missiles now.”

 “They’ve got their last salvo up, Danny,” Caine said, looking at her monitors. “They’re moving too quickly for us to get a good shot with the laser, but I don’t think we need it.”

 “Why aren’t they running?” Marshall asked. “They’ve done their job, and they can’t do anything more. Spinelli, what’s their course.”

 “Wait one, sir, they’re changing trajectory.”

 Nodding, Caine said, “Back to the carrier.” She looked across, then said, “Two of their missiles are down. As are two of ours.”

 “We have ten to their six. We can afford that.”

 “Collision course!” Spinelli said. “They’re on a direct-line course to ram into us!”

 Salazar pulled up specifications of the Falcon fighters, matching them against the ones on the screen, and frowned. They were close, very close, but there were some differences. Especially at the tip of the nose.

 “Sir, I think these have been modified for precisely this. We’ve got to shoot them down,” he said. “My guess is that they have warheads in the nose.”

 “No prisoners,” Marshall muttered.

 “I’ll try the laser,” Caine said. “Foster, get me a shot. Third salvo will be in the air in a moment. I’m focusing everything on the fighters now, Danny.”

 “I know.”

 “Which means the remaining missiles could easily get through.” She glanced across at a monitor, and said, “Four of them.”

 “Understood. We’ll deal with them if we get a chance.”

 Another enemy fighter was caught by the laser, this time astern. The pilot might have survived it, but his ship exploded a heartbeat later, nothing but twisted debris remaining. Salazar shook his head, wondering what sort of a person would willingly fly under those conditions. Knowing that whatever happened in the battle, he wasn’t coming back to the flight deck.

 “Yeager’s warheads are closing from the rear. Their countermeasures package is working well, but we’ve still got more than one each.” The ship rocked, and she said, “There’s our third salvo. We’re not going to have time for a fourth.”

 “Foster, start orienting to keep those missile hits away from critical locations.”

 “Dimensional instability, sir!” Spinelli said. “Right behind Caledonia.”

 “Who is it?” Marshall asked, urgently.

 “It’s the Wyvern, sir, and she’s launching fighters,” Spinelli said.

 “From a scoutship?” Foster asked.

 Looking up with a beaming smile, Spinelli said, “I don’t recognize the design, but they’ve got three heading for the fighters, and three heading for our incoming missiles. Fast as hell, as well, more than three times the acceleration of the Falcons.”

 “First strikes, sir,” Caine said. “Our second salvo and Yeager’s. Three enemy fighters destroyed. Just two to go.”

 “Weitzman, offer them the chance to surrender,” Marshall said.

 After a moment, the technician replied, “I’m not getting anything from them, sir.” 

 Salazar watched as the battle came to a close. The two remaining fighters continued on their course, as though hoping for some sort of ghastly miracle that would allow them to complete their work, but the new fighters were just too fast, their warheads leaping forward while Alamo’s third salvo dealt with the incoming missiles.

 “Signal from Captain Ryder, sir, on the Wyvern,” Weitzman said.

 “Put her on,” Marshall said. “Nice timing, Ryder!”

 “Glad to be of help. What do you think of my toys?”

 “What the hell are those things?”

 She beamed, then said, “My drone fighters. I’ll brief you later, but I thought you might find them useful.”

 “That’s an understatement,” he replied, turning to Salazar. “How’s our shuttle doing?”

 “Should be hitting Caledonia any second now, sir.”

 “So all we can do is wait.”

Chapter 2

 Ensign Gabriel Cooper looked up at the trajectory display, watching the shuttle curve in toward its destination, just a couple of minutes left before intercept, then turned his attention to the shuttle’s cabin, at the troopers preparing themselves for battle. He’d trained all of them himself, as good as from scratch, over the last few months on Ragnarok, taught them everything he hadn’t had the opportunity to pass on to his last command.

 Still, most of them were still rookies. Only the Sergeants and Corporals had battle experience. The Lance-Corporals had been assigned based on the performance of the troopers in training, but until a man was bloodied in battle, no-one could predict how they would react. They were running over their equipment checks properly, everything seemed to be going by the book, but there were those little touches missing. The weapons were too new, too damn clean, right from the armory with none of the hundred modifications a veteran would make.

 He looked down at his own battered rifle and smiled. A custom scope on top to replace the standard issue, a few notches on the butt, one for each battle he had lived through. He knew the gun, had used it countless times. All the training in the world couldn’t match up to the real thing, but at least this time, he’d done everything that it was practical to do.

 “Right, listen up, everyone,” he said. “In about ninety seconds, we hit the deck. Now this is a brand-new design, the latest model from the boys at R&D, so don’t be surprised if it screws up.” There was a forced chuckle, and he continued, “If it works as advertised, we’ll latch onto the hull and the systems will cut their way in, tearing a new hatch for us in less than twenty seconds. We’ll have surprise on our side.”

 Looking at the expectant faces, he continued, “Not for long, though, so take full advantage while you can. Two teams. I’ll head up to the bridge with Second Team, First Team under Corporal Hunt heads for the engines. Corporal, your priority is to stop the hendecaspace drive from firing. We don’t want any surprise trips.”

 “Yes, sir,” he replied.

 “Robertson,” he said to the medic, “You wait here at the shuttle with Sub-Lieutenant Bradley. If one of us calls for you, come in shooting. Got that?”

 “Got it, sir.”

 “Thirty seconds!” Bradley’s voice yelled over the intercom. “I’ll be dropping you right into the topside corridor if I’ve got this right. Stand-by.”

 “Weapons check,” Cooper said, looking over his rifle one more time. Low-velocity slugs so they wouldn’t penetrate the hull, underslung grenade launcher with smoke rounds loaded, a few HE safely tucked into his pocket just in case, ammunition clip full and fresh, and ten more of them on his belt.

 At least they’d upgraded their equipment a little. They’d been too reliant on their spacesuits before, but now they had helmets with comms, sensors, range-finders that they could use in breathable environments. They still weighed too much, though. He quickly checked each of the systems, green lights running down the visor one after another.

 “Brace!” Bradley yelled, and he wrapped his hand on a rail, bending his knees to absorb the impact. The shuttle slammed into the hull, and a loud crackling noise sounded from around the airlock. Amazingly, the new gadget actually seemed to be working, and in less than the advertised time, the lock opened, revealing a hole leading right into the corridor. Of course, if the shuttle left without repairs, they’d have effectively blown a hole in the side of the transport, but that seemed to come under the definition of ‘Scorched Earth’.

 “Let’s go! Team Two, with me!”

 He raced forward through the gap in the hull, his rifle in his hands, looking left and right to find the corridor empty. The four men of his fire team charged after him, Lance-Corporal Hamilton in the rear, and he raced up the corridor, heading for the blast door at the end, passing closed hatches leading down to the cargo bay.

 Behind him, he heard Corporal Hunt taking his team in the opposite direction, but he had to leave the veteran to do his job. He skidded to a halt at the door, slamming an autohacker into the dataslot, waiting impatiently for it to do its work. With a loud grinding noise, it began to open, and he fired a trio of shots through the gap on general principles, rewarded with a scream from the far side.

 “Come on!” he yelled, leading the way. Some of the crewmen looked to be preparing a last stand, but they’d designed their defenses around the airlocks, and were paying the price for that mistake. One of them lay on the floor, bleeding out, and the others turned, trying to line their rifles up, but Cooper and his people were just too quick for them, dropping them with a couple of carefully aimed shots.

 “Good work, Ham,” he said, glancing back at the grinning trooper. “The bridge is just ahead.” The five of them jumped over the half-built barricade, sprinting towards the hatch at the end of the corridor. He noted the rooms they were passing, all carefully labeled in English and French, and the neatness of this ship. This ship was brand new, the paint perfect, everything its properly place. Even the best-run ship showed its age in some ways, but not this one.

 “Alamo to Cooper,” Marshall’s voice crackled in its helmet. “We’ve got space superiority. The rest of your platoon is on the way right now. Can they come into the airlocks in the upper corridor?”

 “Affirmative, Alamo,” Cooper replied, panting as he ran. “Have Sergeant Morton do a proper door-to-door as soon as he gets here. We’re rushing things.”

 “Roger that, Cooper, we’ve got your back.”

 He reached the door, and smiled. The dataslot had been filled with some sort of glue, only just set. Someone had decided to adopt a low-tech approach to security, and he had no choice but to return the favor.

 “Bring up the charges, Rhodes,” he said, gesturing forward one of the troopers. The young Espatier reached into his bag and pulled out four small squares of white putty, stepping forward to place them into position on the door, then running detonator wires back to a control box.

 “Ensign!” Hamilton yelled, an instant before a bullet slammed into the place where he head would have been. Cooper threw himself to the deck, spinning around to see a group of pistol-wielding crewmen charging forward. A fusillade of shots rang out across the corridor, and Rhodes felt back onto the ground, a trickle of blood running from his leg.

 “Return fire!” Cooper yelled, following his own order. There was no cover here, nowhere to hide, but that applied as much to the attackers as to his own people, and he took one of them down with a carefully aimed shot. The two groups exchanged fire, the noise filling the air, and another of his troopers was hit, knocked to the floor, before the last of the attackers dropped down.

 Cooper moved over to the wounded Espatiers, looking at the vital sign indicators on their armor. Hamilton was just unconscious, a dent in his helmet, and Rhodes was stable. Both could wait for the reinforcements. He picked up the detonator, checked to make sure it wasn’t damaged, then pulled the trigger.

 The explosions ripped the door off its mounting, and Cooper raced in, the remaining two members of his squad behind them, moving to cover the technicians inside. Most of them were human, with a Neander on the far side of the room standing by the communications console, and sitting in the command chair was something else. Something almost human, but not quite.

 “I suggest you surrender,” he said, a grin spread across his face. “Right away.”

 “We’ve got you beaten,” Cooper replied.

 “Your call,” he said, reaching for a button, but Cooper was faster than he, his rifle firing and sending the creature slumping in the chair, dead from a bullet to the brain before he could move. Reaching forward, he pulled the body down, safely to the deck, then looked around the room.

 “Anyone else want to be a hero?” he asked. Turning to the rear, he said to one of the troopers, “Richards, head back to the shuttle and get Sub-Lieutenant Bradley up here. I need someone to assume command of this ship.”

 “Yes, sir,” he replied, racing down the corridor with his weapon raised.

 “And get some help for our wounded,” Cooper yelled after him. Turning back to the bridge crew, he gestured with his rifle for them to move away from their stations, and cautiously, they complied, heading over to a bare wall in the corner. “Keep them covered, McCarthy,” he ordered, and the single remaining soldier nodded, raising his rifle in as menacing a manner as he could manage.

 “Hunt, this is Cooper, what’s the story?”

 “We’re in the engine room, sir, and everything appears good from here. I think we’ve got full control of the ship.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “No, this is too easy. Too damned easy.” He walked over to the helm, tapped a couple of controls, then turned to the bridge crew, yelling, “Why don’t these systems work? Where’s the backup control?”

 None of them replied, and McCarthy said, “They look brainwashed, sir. Look at their eyes.”

 “The internal layout doesn’t match a Rhodan-class, and we don’t have time to search.” He frowned, then headed over to the security console. As with the others, he couldn’t change anything, but he could at least see what someone else was interested in, and he recognized one of the hatches from his race down the primary corridor.

 “That’s it!” he yelled. “McCarthy, hold the fort here.” He leapt through the ruined door, then sprinted down the corridor, three familiar figures heading in his direction.

 “Gabe, what the hell’s happening?” Bradley asked.

 “Bridge is locked out, I’m going to see if I can find a key. Watkins, stay with me, Robertson, go see to the wounded, and if you see anything that looks like reinforcements, send them in my direction.” As he spoke, he felt sick to his stomach, and felt himself floating up to the air in a sea of dust and debris.

 “Someone’s taken the spin off,” he said. “Not a good sign.” The door opened on a manual lock, showing a shaft leading into the heart of the ship. Pulling a grenade from his belt, he pulled the pin and threw it down, swinging out after it, pushing off on hand-holds but being careful not to get ahead of his little surprise. The light blocked out above him as Watkins dropped in after him, a little slower, a little clumsier, but coming.

 The grenade shattered at the bottom of the shaft, billowing smoke spilling out in all directions, and he fired off a couple of shots, wild and blind, hoping to at least pin someone down. Planting his feet on the deck, he pushed forward, rifle ahead of him, slapping a control on his left arm to turn his compensators on. Now at least the recoil wouldn’t throw him all over the place, not as long as the jets on his feet had fuel in them.

 Two more guards up ahead, coming into view, and these ones were better equipped, wearing armor similar to his, and weapons that looked suspiciously like UN Marshal standard issue. He fired a couple of shots in any case, then unloaded his smoke grenade clip forward, filling the corridor with blinding gas that made his eyes water. Dipping into his pocket, he found what he hoped was the HE grenade clip and locked it into position. They were deep enough inside that he wouldn’t breach the hull. Probably.

 They’d obviously been expecting a smoke grenade. The blast echoed up and down the corridors, and Watkins watched the devastation with wide eyes, his face turning pale as the floating pieces of what once were people drifted down towards him.

 Turning to him, Cooper said, “If you need to throw up, Private, get it the hell over with and follow me. We’ve got a ship to secure.”

 “I’m alright. Sir.”

 “Then let’s get on with it!” He turned, kicking off on the floor, managing to avoid the bodies as he swam down the corridor. The blast had taken out most of the walls, exposing the compartments beyond, and he quickly peered in. Supplies in one, empty quarters in the other. Hopefully the owners wouldn’t mind the impromptu remodeling.

 At the moment he wasn’t even sure he was heading in the right direction, but there was a likely-looking blast door up ahead, no-one guarding it but a winking security camera. He gestured Watkins towards it, and the private took it out with a well-aimed rifle shot, sparks flying through the air.

 “We haven’t got any explosives, sir, and they’ve sealed the dataport,” said Rhodes, the words rushing from his mouth, blending into each other.

 “There’s a way around that,” Cooper replied, bracing himself against the wall. “Shoot anything that moves.” He squeezed the trigger, and the second grenade raced towards the door, quickly followed by the third. The roar of the explosion was followed by screams, the smell of burnt flesh and electrical fire, and what had to be swearing in a language Cooper didn’t recognize. Cautiously, he drifted forward, Watkins covering him, and he peered inside.

 This had been a control center. That second grenade meant that it wasn’t any more. The two people at the door, probably the same not-humans that Alamo had dealt with before, had been killed instantly, and everyone else in the room was wounded to one degree or another, all of the systems smashed. Belatedly, Sergeant Morton drifted in, looking around with a mixture of pride and bemusement.

 “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I was informed you needed help.”

 “Just a clean-up crew, Sergeant. Get the medics in here to look after the prisoners. Let’s hope they decide to tell us what the hell all of this was about.” He looked at Watkins, the young trooper’s face still pale, and said, “Go take a drink of water, Private. Take a few minutes then report back to the Sergeant.”

 As the trooper drifted off in the direction of the nearest bathroom, the gruff Morton asked, “Troubles?”

 “First time’s always hell. I was just the same. How’d we do?”

 “Four injuries, none of them especially serious. I’ve got them on the way back to my shuttle, medical teams waiting when they get to Alamo.”

 “Bradley to Cooper,” a voice echoed. “I don’t know what you just did, but ship functions just came on-line. Someone’s done a complete dump of all the data, though. It’s going to take some serious work to reconstruct it.”

 “Get a security team over here to start the hack.”

 “Probably faster if I just call Harper, but fine.” 

 “I’ll start the door-to-door, sir,” Morton said. “Take a couple of squads, shouldn’t take long. Permission to start the prisoners fixing the hole you made in their ship, sir?”

 “Seems sensible enough. We’re not really equipped for that many prisoners anyway.” Tapping a button, he said, “Cooper to Alamo. I need medical and rescue evac for fourteen, right away. We’ve secured the freighter.” He looked around the room, and said, “Or whatever the hell this is.”

Chapter 3

 Captain Daniel Marshall browsed through the after-action report, most of it a series of guesses and half-hearted conclusions. Cunningham, his Exec, was over on the Caledonia, but aside from the obvious, that it had been converted as a light carrier, there was little more he could say. The main computer had been comprehensively wiped, and none of Nelyubov’s spooks had been able to get anything sensible out of it.

 There was a knock on the door, and Caine stepped into his cabin, throwing a datapad onto the bed before dropping down onto one of the chairs, reaching for a glass of water.

 “Having fun, Deadeye?” he asked.

 She looked daggers at him, and replied, “Salazar sent those shuttles all over the damn place. Half of them down on the planet without enough fuel to get them back up again. You try coordinating tankers for seventeen shuttles, scattered across half a hemisphere, with every freighter captain moaning that they need priorities.”

 “Haven’t you got junior officers for that?”

 With a smile, she said, “I untangled the worst parts of the mess and threw the rest at the midshipmen. Good training. Or something like that.”

 “Sadist,” he replied with a smile. “How long until we get everything loaded?”

 “A little more than a day. It’s a question of the tanker bottleneck. Remind me to requisition more tanker shuttles from Logistics.”

 Nodding, Marshall paused, then said, “He was quick off the mark, wasn’t he.”

 “Salazar?”

 “We should have caught that freighter.”

 “Maybe,” she replied, “but we haven’t exactly been sitting on our hands. He said himself that it was just a gut instinct.” She frowned, saying, “You got a problem?”

 Shaking his head, he said, “No. I just think I should have spotted that.”

 “You can’t be everywhere.”

 “I thought that was my job. Anyway, he did all the right things. I’ve noted that in my report.”

 Leaning forward, she said, “Now let’s talk about the real reason you’ve locked yourself in your cabin with a mountain of reports. That damn ship, freighter, carrier, whatever the hell it is. What does John say?”

 “He and Maggie have gone over every inch of that craft, and the best guess is that someone took the hull of a Rhodan-class and stuffed a pocket carrier inside it. Not capable of long-range operation, just a couple of jumps, which suggests that they have a base somewhere close by.”

 “I don’t like the implications of that.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “Obviously this was a false-flag operation of some kind. Someone’s trying to set up the UN.”

 “There’s an inconsistency, though,” Caine said. “How the hell did the...not-men…,”

 “We’ve really got to find a better name for them,” Marshall interrupted with a smile.

 “How did they manage to copy our technology so perfectly, so quickly? Last time we met, our systems were totally incompatible.”

 There was a knock on the door, and Orlova stepped in, a confused look on her face.

 “You wanted to see me, Captain?”

 Glancing at Caine, Marshall said, “What?”

 “I just got a message from you, telling me to report to your cabin on the double.”

 The door slid open again, and Kristen Harper, Alamo’s ace hacker, stood in the threshold, an unfamiliar woman standing behind her wearing a gray uniform. Without waiting to be invited, they entered the room, Harper sealing the hatch behind her, and planting a device on the desk, turning it on with a flick of the wrist.

 “I’m not going to ask how you broke into my cabin, hacked into the message software, or how you got someone onto this ship,” Marshall said.

 “It’s important,” she said.

 “I presumed it was. Who’s your friend?”

 The mysterious woman smiled, and said, “Your reputation precedes you, Captain Marshall. Many would not take an intrusion with such aplomb. I am Meirong Zhou, of the Lunar Republic.”

 Caine looked at Marshall, then said, “Our records don’t show any citizens of the Republic on the station. Or on any of the freighters, for that matter.”

 “I wouldn’t be much of a spy if I appeared on official records, would I, Captain?”

 With a deep sigh, Marshall looked at Harper, and said, “This had better be good.”

 “I know what that ship was, who it belonged to, and where it is going.”

 Raising an eyebrow, he replied, “Both of you take a seat. You officially have my interest.”

 “I should start,” Meirong said. “I’ve inspected the Caledonia…”

 “How the hell…,” Caine interrupted.

 “Suffice to say that I managed it,” the agent replied. “In any case, the ship is a duplicate of a Republic vessel, and from my analysis, the fighters that you fought were modifications of a Republic copy of a UN fighter.”

 “A copy of a copy?” Marshall asked. “That explains the inconsistencies.”

 “The ship, or at least, the original ship, originated in the Interplanetary War, and was designed as a Q-Carrier. The intent was to hide such vessels in convoys, and use them to give an unpleasant surprise to any attacker.”

 “Or,” Orlova said, “to launch surprise attack on convoys and installations.”

 With a thin smile, Meirong said, “Such an attack would naturally be contrary to the policies of the peace-loving peoples of Luna. In any event, the design proved more difficult than we originally hoped, and the prototypes were not completed until the war had ended.”

 “Prototypes?”

 “Two of them were built. The first, thanks to Captain Winter, is in the hands of the UN Resistance, and I am assured that he is keeping track of their activities. The second, regretfully, is in the hands of the United Nations.”

 “They stole it from the rebels,” Harper said. “A couple of years ago, UN Security managed to infiltrate the resistance, and used the ship to launch terrorist attacks on civilian targets in an attempt to break public sympathy with the rebels, as well as provide an excuse to launch an attack on the Confederation.”

 “That culminated with an attack on Spitfire Station,” Meirong said, “Where Captain Winter threatened to expose the whole story. Since then, we’ve been looking for our missing ship, with the assistance of Triplanetary Intelligence.”

 “Our spies are working with your spies?” Caine asked.

 “And have been for some time. Relations between our governments are extremely amicable at the moment, thanks in no small measure to your actions at Desdemona, Captain.”

 Folding his arms, Marshall said, “I presume you are here to take possession of Caledonia for your government?”

 Shaking her head, she said, “That is not our ship. A duplicate, built in the United Nations shipyards, is my presumption.” She pulled out a datapad, and displayed a starmap. “This information is classified at Ultra level, by both our governments.”

 “Harper, you’d…” Caine began.

 “I have Ultra classification,” she said. 

 “Much as I hate to break it to you, that’s for commissioned officers only. Not warrant officers. Hell, Danny, Maggie and I are the only ones on the ship cleared to that level on the ship. Even John Cunningham doesn’t have Ultra clearance.”

 Taking a deep breath, Harper replied, “I’m not a Technical Officer.”

 “Huh?” Marshall grunted.

 Her face reddening, she replied, “I’ve been a Lieutenant for more than a year. Promoted once.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “I needed the clearance, and as you said, I didn’t have the rank to take it. Hell, I was nominally a Spaceman First at the time. Logan arranged it for me.”

 “He just arranged it,” Caine said.

 “To Sub-Lieutenant, at the time,” she replied. “It was classified. After Haven, I was moved up a step, when it was clear that I was going to be coming back to Alamo.”

 “Are you trying to tell me,” Marshall said, “that I have had a spy on my ship for five months? Longer?”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “No, sir! I wouldn’t accept an assignment to spy on my shipmates. My job was to watch what was happening, monitor certain covert operations taking place on the station in Logan’s absence, and to alert you if anything came up that was critical to the ship, the fleet or the Confederation.”

 “And you knew that I had a Republic agent on Yeager.”

 “Her orders were quite explicit,” Meirong said. “I am here to observe, nothing more. To monitor Republic operations against the Cabal, and that is all you are permitted to know. I have already said more than I should, but in this case our interests coincide.”

 Looking at Marshall, Orlova said, “I trust her, sir.”

 “The important fact,” Harper said, “is that there is another ship out there, and that there is a secret UN installation at Luyten’s Star.”

 “Luyten’s?” Caine said. “That’s a one-horse system. A few asteroid miners, a decrepit old ground station run by prospecting biologists.”

 “That’s just a cover,” Meirong said. “It was built two years ago, as a staging area for potential attacks against the Cabal, the Republic or the Confederation. Until recently, it was under the direct control of UN Intelligence.”

 “What’s changed?” Marshall asked.

 “We don’t know,” Harper said. “Both the Republic and the Confederation had agents working there, keeping an eye in case they made a build-up. Until two months ago, it was just a staging area. A small dockyard, resource stockpile, nothing to be really concerned about. Then we lost contact with one of our operatives.” She shook her head, and said, “Frankly, I was on the verge of telling you all about this anyway. We sent in someone else, and she hasn’t reported back.”

 “Our assumption, Captain, is that the carrier was staged from that station,” Meirong said.

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “Doesn’t work. That ship only had enough fuel for two jumps, one out, one back.”

 “There’s a facility at DX Cancri that isn’t on the books. Used for smuggling to the UN. We’ve tolerated it because it’s been very useful for intelligence gathering,” Harper said, “but I think it likely that the UN are using it as well. Or someone else.”

 “The not-men,” Marshall said. “My God. They’ve taken the facility, haven’t they. Just putting it there would be a violation of interstellar law, so they can’t openly do anything about it.”

 “They’d respond, though,” said Caine, rubbing her chin. “As quickly as they could get a couple of Dreadnoughts mustered. That station would be wiped out, and the not-men would have a war in their hands.”

 “Unless there was already a war going on,” Orlova replied. “Think about it. If we hadn’t managed to get boarding parties onto the Caledonia in time, we’d have thought that it was the UN trying to launch a surprise attack on us. Say that they launched a second attack on the Cabal, using the same tactic, and were just a little bit luckier. They’ve got the original Q-carrier.”

 “The trick wouldn’t work on us,” Meirong said, “nor on the Confederation, but I doubt the Cabal would listen to our warnings. There is only one option left on the table. Alamo must launch an attack of its own, right now, before they can rally. Take out the station, the carrier, and end this threat.”

 “The UN…” Caine began.

 “Won’t say a word,” Harper said. “We’re talking about a ship that they have indicated is run by a terrorist group. They don’t dare protest – and don’t forget, during their last active phase, they attacked a Triplanetary ship as well. We’ve got good grounds. An illegal ship and an illegal base.”

 Shaking her head, Caine said, “That’s a hell of a leap into the dark. What sort of opposition are we talking about?”

 “One carrier of similar configuration to the one you just defeated so ably, and a small space station designed to be inconspicuous, which means minimal defenses. Our last survey indicated that they had a single missile satellite, four tubes in all.”

 Orlova smiled, and said, “If we load up the drone fighters, then Alamo should be able to handle it nicely.”

 Nodding, Caine added, “At the very least, we’d be able to gather sufficient intelligence that we could provide a convincing case to the Cabal. Make it clear that this is a trick, not an actual attack. I’m in favor.”

 Rising to his feet, Marshall walked towards Harper, looking down at her, and said, “I want your word as, God help me, an officer, that there is nothing else related to this mission that you are not telling me about.” 

 Pulling out a datarod, she said, “This has the full technical specifications on the Q-Carrier. Everything you’ll need to defeat it. As well as our latest intelligence on the defenses of the station we’re attacking.”

 “If nothing else, we’d be taking out a staging area that would likely be used to launch attacks upon our farthest outposts in time of war,” Meirong added. “There are significant strategic advantages in this operation.”

 Frowning, Marshall said, “All of this just seems too damn convenient to me. If someone wanted to lure us in, then this would be a good way to do it.”

 Caine nodded, replied, “I agree, but based on this information, I don’t see what else we could do. If the Cabal and the United Nations end up going to war, we’re going to get dragged in one way or another.”

 “I am certain that we have sufficient force for such an operation to be successful,” Meirong said.

 “Does that extend to your accompanying us on this mission?” Marshall asked.

 “You can trust me, Captain. If you wish me to travel with you, then I am willing to accommodate you. Though I naturally I would insist that my presence on this ship be secret.”

 “No-one saw us come up, sir,” Harper said.

 “How long to get ready, Deadeye?” Marshall asked.

 “Twenty-nine hours. Quinn’s got a long list of last-minute things to check anyway.”

 “Maggie, get those drone fighters on board. Ryder’s going to have to stay here to run the station, so you’ll need to find someone…”

 “I’ll fly them, sir,” she interrupted.

 He smiled, then said, “I had a feeling you’d say that. Then we will shape course for DX Cancri in thirty hours. I’ll brief the senior staff tonight…”

 “You can’t tell them everything, sir,” Harper said.

 “I know, Lieutenant,” he said, stressing the rank. “I presume that you are still a Technical Officer as far as everyone else is concerned.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “I’ll leave you to see to the concealment of our guest.” He looked around the room, and said, “I just hope I’m not doing something I'll live to regret.”

Chapter 4

 Salazar sat at his station, feeling Grant’s eyes boring into his neck while he worked. He was monitoring five tanker flights at once, focusing on the tracking systems, trying to unsnarl the mess he had created when he’d ordered them to disperse during the attack of the Caledonia.

 “Correct Tanker Four, course deviation one-niner,” Grant said.

 “I’ve got it, sir,” he replied.

 There was a pause, then he said, “Amend one-seven.”

 “Course correction implemented.”

 “Watch that storm front, Salazar. If it gets much worse, we’re going to have to suspend operations in that quadrant entirely.”

 He glanced down at his readout, and said, “Our projections show that it is decreasing in intensity, sir.”

 “Yours?”

 Frowning, he replied, “I requested a report from the Acting Science Officer when I came on duty, sir.”

 Sneering, Grant said, “Who is, I understand, a cosmologist.”

 Turning from his post, Spinelli said, “They’ve got better sensor analysis down there for long-term projections, sir, and the planetological suite.”

 “If you are suggesting some defect in your knowledge, Spaceman, I suggest that you work to improve it immediately.”

 Spinelli’s mouth opened, and wordlessly, he turned back to his station, shaking his head.

 “Sir,” Salazar said. “Spaceman Spinelli is a veteran with several combat stars, and an unbroken series of top ratings on his reports dating back to his first arrival on Alamo.”

 “All the more reason for him not to sit on his laurels.”

 “If you are suggesting that a member of my shift is not performing as he should, then I would welcome your recommendations in writing as to how he might be improved.”

 There was silence on the bridge, and Salazar realized that he was dancing on a very fine line between duty and insubordination. Grant stared at him for a second, then looked down at his panel, before finally deciding to reply.

 “If a senior officer directs you to make improvements to your team, then you are obligated to make changes. If you do not have the knowledge in how to strengthen your people, then it is possible that you are not qualified for your assignment. I will discuss this with the Captain at the staff meeting tonight.”

 Foster looked at him, openly grinning, and Salazar turned back to his station, looking up at the clock. Less than five minutes until the shift change. Normally he actually enjoyed being at the heart of things, sitting up on the bridge, but for once he couldn’t wait to get below decks. He concentrated on the handover report, double-checking everything, certain that other eyes than those of Sub-Lieutenant McGuire would be reading it.

 The door opened, and the first three members of Beta Shift stepped onto the deck, heading to their stations, starting the changeover. Without a word, Grant rose from the command chair, stepping into the elevator, and he couldn’t stop a sigh of relief escaping.

 “You should listen to him, you know,” Foster said. “He’s had more experience than half the people on this ship.”

 “Not Mr. Spinelli, though,” Salazar replied. “Mike, if I ever have any problem with you, I’ll let you know. I consider your current performance to be fully in accord with your past record.”

 “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.” He glared at the door, and said, “He doesn’t sit in on the other shifts.”

 “The other shifts have highly qualified officers in command,” Foster said. “Perhaps he feels that this one requires his personal supervision.”

 Handing off a datapad to her Beta Watch counterpart, Erickson stood up, brushed back her dark hair, and replied, “Assistant Operations Officer is a pretty meaningless title. I’ve never heard of one before. He’s trying to find something to justify himself.”

 “You will show more respect to senior officers, Spaceman,” Foster snapped, leaping to her feet, but Salazar put a hand on her shoulder.

 “Speaking as your senior officer, Midshipman, I’d have to say that you aren’t setting much of an example. Don’t make me file a formal report.” Looking at Erickson, he said, “With either of you.”

 The two of them glared at each other, and the elevator opened again, McGuire walking out onto the bridge with Midshipman Petrov in tow. She looked at the two glaring crewmen, shook her head, and stepped over to the command chair.

 “Did I miss something?”

 “Nothing important,” Salazar said. “Handover report is logged, we’re still monitoring the tanker load-outs, and have just landed number five on the surface. That storm seems to be fading, but keep a look out.” He looked down at his watch, and said, “We’re still scheduled for departure just after Gamma Watch is meant to come on. Might mean an early shift change.”

 “Or a later one,” Petrov grumbled.

 “A little bit of fun for us, anyway,” McGuire said. “I take the conn.”

 “I stand relieved,” Salazar replied, stepping over to the elevator. Erickson stepped in ahead of him, clutching her datapad, and Spinelli and Weitzman were engaged in an animated discussion with their counterparts. Foster stood by her station, looking down at Petrov, as the doors slammed shut.

 Reaching across, Erickson tapped for the enlisted mess, and the elevator began to move. After a moment, Salazar hit the control for the hangar deck.

 “You’re off-duty, sir,” the engineer said.

 “The drone fighters are being loaded up. I thought I’d take a look.”

 “Still want to fly fighters, sir?”

 “It’s not something you get over quickly.”

 She paused, then said, “I’m sorry. About what I said up on the bridge.”

 He shrugged, replying, “I’ve had worse than Grant riding my back before this. I dare say I will again. You get used to it after a while.”

 “He’s micromanaging, and worse still, he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing. That storm, for instance. What the hell was that about? Even I could see that it was passing.”

 “So did I, but we both spent a lot of time on Titan, and I don’t think Lieutenant Grant has ever lived on a world with an atmosphere of its own. It’s something you have to experience before you can understand it.” He smiled, then said, “I learned to fly on Titan. Gliders, then some of the airships. Flying in atmosphere is a lot more fun than flying in space. You never know what the wind is going to do next.”

 “I’m surprised you didn’t try for shuttle operations. I started out as a shuttle pilot a couple of years ago before retraining as an engineer.”

 “I thought about it, but when it came to it, my test scores were high enough to get me into the fighter training program. Besides, shuttles don’t go into battle. At least, not on purpose.” He smiled, then said, “Sorry. I must be boring you.”

 “Not at all,” she said. “I’ll try not to snap at your Midshipman again, sir. Though you really shouldn’t let her get away with so much.”

 “You’re familiar with my record, Spaceman, aren’t you?”

 “It’s what you’ve done since the Academy that counts, sir. In my opinion.” The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. Erickson stepped out, and said, “If you ever need someone to talk to, let me know. I could stand to be bored if you could.”

 He smiled, and replied, “I might take you up on that someday.”

 She returned the smile, then walked down the corridor, the doors closing behind her as the elevator continued to its destination. Salazar smiled, shook his head, then pulled out his datapad, looking at the planned jump schedule. As he thought, he’d just be coming on duty when they emerged from hendecaspace at DX Cancri. Whatever they found there, they’d be in on it.

 The doors opened again, and he stepped out onto the hangar deck, the six fighters all being raised into their mounts, high up at the top of the bay, Two of them were almost in position, the others still rising, and he strode forward, heedless of where he was going, his eye running across every detail.

 They were a lot smaller than the usual fighters, no cumbersome lifesystem to weigh everything down. A bulky communications array, double-redundant systems, and hard-points for two missiles under short, stubby wings.

 “Impressive, aren’t they,” a woman wearing Senior Lieutenant’s insignia said. “You must be Sub-Lieutenant Salazar.”

 He jerked back to reality and saluted, replying, “Yes, ma’am.”

 “Senior Lieutenant Ryder. And relax, on the hangar deck we’re all just pilots.”

 “How are they controlled?”

 She frowned, then said, “That’s the weak spot. We can control them from a command ship, but the original plan was to customize a scoutship, strip it down, and use that to control maybe eighteen of them.”

 “Eighteen?”

 “We had plans for light drone carriers. You’d be amazed how little space they’d take. They’d operate in groups of three ships, two armored scouts to escort the carrier. The whole formation would race forward, keeping the fighters reasonably tight. After about twenty thousand miles, you lose the advantage.”

 “Speed of light delay.”

 “In battle, microseconds count. The manual control is the compromise. No-one was that eager to have fully automated warships flying around in a combat zone. We have enough trouble with the missiles. One man can fly six of these. That’s the design, anyway.”

 “But if they have to stay in close…”

 She gestured over to the far side of the hangar, where a strange-shaped shuttle was sitting. A lot lighter than usual, obviously not intended for atmospheric flight, and with a small enough life-system that it could only accommodate two people. Two people who didn’t mind being friendly, at that.

 “I rode that for a year when we did the flight tests. Simulated battles, drills, engagements. We tested the hell out of them, ticked off every box.”

 “You tested them?”

 “No-one wanted the job, so I got it. I was naive enough to think that it would be a good step up in my career, that when they adopted the fighters I’d have a senior role, maybe a squadron command.” Shaking her head, she continued, “I was stupid when I was a Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “If they performed…”

 “Fighter Command is full of people who spent their careers flying fighters the old-fashioned way, and if it was good enough for them, it’s good enough for us. They buried the whole thing, and me along with it. Can you believe at one point I was one of the oldest Sub-Lieutenants in the fleet?”

 “And now you’re one of the youngest Senior Lieutenants,” Orlova said, stepping forward. “Evening, Pavel. Come to gawk at the fighters?”

 “I couldn’t resist, ma’am.”

 “Of course not,” she said. “Neither could I. And don’t worry, Simone, I’ll take good care of them while we’re borrowing them.”

 “You aren’t coming with us?” Salazar asked.

 “I have a ship of my own to worry about these days,” Ryder replied. “And someone’s got to look after the station while you all go flying across the galaxy. Maggie can handle it.”

 “It’ll help to get someone else on it, anyway. We need to get these ships into squadron service, and if we can get some actual combat out of them, we might be able to convince some of the top brass that they can’t postpone the future forever.”

 “Some hope,” Ryder said. “I chased that dream for a long time. Long enough that I almost wrecked my career doing it.”

 Stepping forward, Salazar said, “It is a pity, but I agree with you. This is the future.”

 “Going to miss the days of leaping across the skies riding fire?” Orlova asked. “A lot of good people have died far too young. Just ask the Captain if you don’t believe me.”

 “I know, but there’s a romance about this.”

 “Just like knights in armor,” Ryder said with a smile, “but I don’t think Mr. Cooper would respond well if you suggested putting his people in chainmail.”

 Gesturing towards the deck office, Orlova said, “Mind if I have a word with you for a moment?”

 With one last look at the fighters, he nodded, stepping into the office. Orlova perched on the seat, checked that the door was closed, then pulled out her datapad.

 “Operational orders have come through. We’re going to be discussing them in some detail at a long and boring meeting in half an hour or so, but the short version is that Captain Cunningham is staying behind on the station. We’re still waiting for a permanent commander, and with a squadron of scouts, the repair work, the possibility of another attack...the short version is that someone senior needs to be in charge.”

 “I understand, ma’am, but I don’t see how this relates to me.”

 “I’m going to have to spend a lot of time in the simulators over the next few weeks getting up to speed on these, which means that Lieutenant Grant is going to be picking up a lot of the slack in the administration of Operations. Now do you see?”

 “I don’t have any problem following the chain of command, ma’am.”

 “I understand there was a little altercation on the bridge earlier. A heated debate, as I heard it.”

 “Ma’am, I don’t know who…”

 “Relax. You’ve got a very protective group of crewmen there, that’s all. Consider yourself off the record.”

 He paused, then said, “Questioning the experience of Spaceman Spinelli was uncalled for, ma’am. What he was asking for was outside anything the bridge sensor station is meant to do.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “You’ll speak up for others before you speak up for yourself, won’t you.”

 “I’m in charge of Alpha Watch, and I don’t have any concerns with any of my crewmen. All of them are performing well, and with a program of drills and training updates, I am confident that they will continue to do so.”

 “You’re keeping up with changes to doctrine and equipment, then,” she said.

 “Of course, ma’am.”

 “Sometimes it takes a while for people to realize that excellence must be maintained, and that we never actually stop learning while we’re wearing the uniform. You’ve got the right attitude, Sub-Lieutenant, and I know that the Captain is happy with your performance.”

 He nodded, and said, “I’m glad to know that, ma’am.”

 “Well, know this. If anyone tries to do something unfair to you or someone on your watch, I’ve got your back. I’m Operations Officer, and the responsibility for bridge operations rests with me. Not Mr. Grant.”

 “Aye, ma’am.”

 She paused, and said, “You came very close to crossing the line, though. I watched the recording.” Raising a hand, she added, “I’ll admit you managed to stay just on the right side of it, but you need to be more careful in future.”

 “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

 “It’s not a long-term situation anyway. The word is that he’s to be promoted and assigned to command Yeager. Probably when we get back. That’s between the two of us, though. Just to let you know that there is light at the end of the tunnel.”

 “Are we still off the record?”

 “Certainly.”

 “Then I can tell you that I’ll be very pleased to hear that, ma’am. Have you any problems with my staff?”

 “I’d have already told you about them if I did.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Thank you, ma’am.”

 “I’ve been in your seat, Sub-Lieutenant, and I know it can get a little difficult at times. Oh, and one more thing.”

 “Ma’am?”

 “Don’t forget the rules about fraternization. Especially given that Kari Erickson is directly in your chain of command.”

 His mouth opened, and he replied, “How did you…”

 She beamed, and said, “Omniscience comes with the rank. Don’t worry, you’ll learn that, given time.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “I wouldn’t…”

 “I know. But that’s the sort of thing certain officers might pick up on. Just be careful.” Gesturing at the door, she said, “Come on. Let’s go gawk at those fighters some more. I could be talked into drafting you in as a sparring partner for some of my simulations.”

 With a smile, he followed her back out onto the deck.

Chapter 5

 A look around Alamo’s sickbay would convince an unaware observer that the ship had lost a major battle. A pair of orderlies were taking a body bag out into the corridor, heading for the hangar bay, and others were cleaning the medical bays, sterilizing equipment and decontaminating the walls and the floor. Cooper watched while one of them wiped clear some splatters of blood from a table, dropping the tissues into a biohazard bin.

 He stepped over to the far side of the room, to the only two occupied beds, the only ones that had been occupied by his own people. Burns was fast asleep, gently snoring, a bandage wrapped around his head. He glanced up at the monitors, nodded, then stepped over to Rhodes, who smiled as he approached.

 “Morning, sir,” the trooper said.

 “How’s the leg?”

 “Can’t complain,” he replied. “Not given everything else that happened here today.” He looked across at the bed, shuddered, and said, “Is it always like this, sir?”

 “No,” Doctor Duquesne said, walking out of her office. “Usually it’s a hell of a lot worse. Ensign, your platoon hasn’t been back on board for a day, and already my staff are working double shifts.”

 “What was the count?” he asked.

 “Four dead, the rest seriously wounded. Did you have to inflict that much carnage?”

 “They attacked us, Doctor,” he replied.

 “Yeah. And by God did they pay for it.” She turned around, issuing a sharp rebuke to one of her orderlies for missing a spot, then returned to her office.

 “I thought the medics were supposed to be friendly,” Rhodes said.

 “Think of it as motivation to get back on duty.” He looked up at the board, and continued, “Says here that you’ll be out of here in a few days. Is there anything you need?”

 “An attractive nurse and a beer,” he said with a smile. “Make that two.”

 “Nurses or beers?” Cooper replied. “Stay loose, Private.”

 He walked out of sickbay, looking at the office door and shaking his head as he strode away down the corridor. Pulling out his datapad, he scanned through the reports, frowning. They’d been damn lucky during that assault. Four injuries, two of them so minor that they were already back on duty. What troubled him more was the attitude of his men. Comparatively speaking, this one was easy. Full space superiority, reinforcements on hand, overwhelming force against inferior opposition.

 He felt someone poking him in the back, and turned to see his wife standing behind him, shaking her head.

 “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I guess my mind was wandering.”

 “Always the same after a battle. I’m getting used to it.”

 They stepped into the elevator, and he said, “Never seems to feel any easier.”

 “Perhaps it never will.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “I can’t get the look on the face of Caledonia’s captain out of my head. The way he reached for that control, I’d swear he wanted me to shoot him. The same with the others in the backup command center. They must have known that I’d blow through that door, must have seen that I was using HE in the footage.”

 “Maybe they were counting on that. From what I heard, it fits in with their behavior during the last battle. Only the strong, the winners, should survive.”

 “We’d better make sure that’s us, then.” The door opened, and they stepped out in front of the officer’s mess. “And this latest mission. Have you heard anything about it?”

 “Only that our first stop is DX Cancri, and that I’ve got to get half a dozen drone fighters and four shuttles in a space built for half that capacity. I hope they aren’t expecting fast launches, because they aren’t going to get them.”

 “Off into the dark again,” he said, stepping into the mess. He looked around the room, a thin scattering of officers scattered around, an old Lieutenant, Grant, he vaguely recalled, sitting with a blonde Midshipman, their conversation perhaps a little too quiet for comfort, and Sub-Lieutenant Kibaki over by himself in a corner. He looked up, saw them, and waved a fork in their direction.

 “What do you want?” he asked.

 “How can I choose when it is all so good?” she replied, smiling.

 He shrugged, and replied, “We’ve restocked with fresh food. It might actually be edible for once.”

 “Fine, then let’s go crazy. Salmon steaks, potatoes, asparagus. Steamed.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “Crazy is the word.” He walked over to the dispenser, inputted her order, and after frowning for a moment, punched for chicken stew for himself. Something the machines couldn’t mess up. After pausing for a second, he doubled his order to two bowls.

 The slot opened, and three trays slid out onto the counter. Two of them looked like food. The third didn’t. Carefully balancing them all in his hands, he walked over to the table and dropped them down, a trickle of stew running down the side of his bowl. He pushed the salmon over to his wife, who wrinkled her nose and reached for the second bowl of stew.

 “I knew there was a reason I married you,” she said.

 “So, how are things, Joe?” Cooper asked Kibaki.

 He shrugged, and said, “Life on this ship is always interesting. I presume you know something about the saga of our latest watch officer?”

 “Salazar?” Bradley replied. “I’ve got to admit that I was surprised to see him here.”

 “Ah, you would have been at flight school at the same time as him,” Kibaki said.

 “One class behind, but I was around for the accident. Surprised they didn’t bury him somewhere.” 

 “He’s doing fine for the moment,” Kibaki said. “A little young, a little enthusiastic, but I’m certain that he’ll learn over time.” He glanced over at the other occupied table, and said, “Our Assistant Operations Officer will likely see to that.”

 “What’s that about, anyway?” Cooper asked.

 “Captain Marshall has a slightly soft spot. He’s a couple of months away from being disqualified for flight duty, so I think he’s hoping to ease him into a line role. It’s either that or a desk job somewhere back at Mars.”

 Shaking her head, Bradley said, “Passenger, huh.”

 “What was that?” Grant said, standing up. “Who are you, anyway?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Barbara Bradley, Deck Officer as of, what, twenty-four hours ago. You must be Grant.”

 “Lieutenant Grant,” he replied, walking over to their table. “Shouldn’t you be on duty? There are still supplies to load.”

 “Even the best of us need to sleep and eat occasionally, Lieutenant.”

 “Besides,” Cooper said, “My wife was on a combat operation less than twelve hours ago. I’d say she’s earned a bit of down time.” He looked up at Grant, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Where were you?”

 “I don’t have to answer to Espatier officers,” he replied.

 “And I don’t have to answer to you. Nor does my wife, who as I understand it, is outside your chain of command. Whatever that is.”

 Grant's eyes widened, and he said, “I will speak to your superior.”

 A grin spreading across his face, Cooper said, “You'll have to shout pretty loud. My company commander’s on Mars.”

 Shaking his head, he walked off, abandoning his meal. After a brief hesitation, the midshipman ran after him. Dunking his spoon into the stew, Cooper stirred it up for a second, then took a sip.

 “Someone who wants to make friends and influence people,” Bradley said.

 Nodding, Kibaki replied, “Fortunately we’re not seeing much of him on Gamma Shift. He seems to be spending most of his time on Alpha, watching Salazar like a hawk.”

 “I’m sure that’s very helpful to the kid,” Bradley said. “Crazy.”

 “We’re lucky on this ship,” Cooper said. “Not that much dead-weight to carry around.”

 “Attention,” a voice said. “Stand by for acceleration. Hendecaspace jump in forty-five minutes.”

 “What?” Bradley looked down at her watch, and said, “They’ve jumped the gun. That’s two hours earlier than planned.”

 “I guess the Captain’s impatient to get going with whatever our secret mission is.”

 “We’re going after the not-men,” Cooper said. He looked around the table, and said, “Come on, it’s a foregone conclusion. They’ve attacked us twice now, and we can’t just sit back and let them keep attacking us.”

 “Which implies we have some sort of idea where they are coming from.”

 The door opened, and Orlova walked in, snatching a sandwich from the machine. Cooper gestured at an empty chair, and with a smile, she placed her tray down and took the vacant seat.

 “Plotting our doom?” she asked.

 “I thought we could leave that to the senior officers,” Cooper said. “Where are we going?”

 “Sorry, Ensign.”

 “More to the point, are you expecting to use my troops?” 

 “Probably. I’d brush up on your boarding procedures, though you seemed proficient enough on Caledonia.” 

 “We were lucky. Oh, and pass on my thanks to Salazar, as well. We were in the black within five seconds thanks to his advance warning. Any advantage we can get helps keep my men alive.”

 “I’ll pass that on,” she said, nodding. “How are you two, anyway? I haven’t had a chance to catch up since you got back on board.”

 “Ragnarok’s still as cold as ever,” Cooper said, “but we got a chance to take quite a bit of leave. Not that there are many vacation spots, unless you like bleak snowy wastelands.”

 “Didn’t matter during the honeymoon, though,” Bradley said, glancing at her husband.

 “True,” he replied, placing his arm around her.

 “Careful,” Kibaki said. “Grant will probably accuse you two of fraternization.”

 “After the way he was carrying on with that midshipman?” Bradley said. “Doesn’t take much guesswork to see what’s happening there.”

 “Really?” Orlova said. “That’s new. She’s Alpha Watch, as well, assigned to Salazar. I might have some words with them about that, before I have to take official notice.” She took a bite of her sandwich and her eyes widened in surprise. “This actually tastes like beef.”

 “Fancy some salmon?” Bradley asked, gesturing at the congealing plate.

 “Just because the food fabricators are capable of producing fifteen thousand recipes doesn’t mean that you should try any of them,” she said, poking dubiously at the salmon with her fork. “I’ll stick to the sandwich. I need to get back up to the bridge anyway. Lots of extra work with Cunningham staying behind. Deadeye and I are basically splitting the Executive Officer’s job between us.”

 “I’m certain that Alamo could do a lot worse,” Kibaki said.

 “Grant, for example,” Bradley said.

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “He’s a seasoned combat veteran, and I think he’s finding it hard to get used to the idea that he isn’t going to be climbing back into a cockpit again. I’m cutting him some slack, and I’d hope that everyone else will do the same.”

 “I’m just glad I report to Jack Quinn.” Bradley took a sip of her juice, and said, “Though it’s going to be tough stopping him from modifying those drone fighters. He’s already been down with a couple of his engineers.”

 “As long as we can launch the damn things,” Orlova said. “I’ve got a lot of simulator time booked in the next few days. Going to be fun learning how to fly six planes at once. Incidentally, I’ll need your recommendation for a shuttle pilot. Someone with some combat experience would be good, and before you leap to volunteer, it needs to be someone else.”

 Frowning, she said, “I’m the best qualified.”

 “You have got a flight deck to run,” Cooper said. “And a squadron of shuttles to lead. Assuming my boys will be involved in the same battle.”

 “Probably a safe bet. Give it some thought and get back to me.”

 Nodding, Bradley replied, “Might have to reach outside the department. I’m a bit short on shuttle pilots at the moment. Some clever bureaucrat identified a shortfall in the training pipeline last year, so this year all the experienced fliers are back at base catching up on all the pilots we should have trained then and need now.”

 “Give me a name and I’ll arrange the transfer. Rank does hath its privileges.” Pushing her plate away, she said, “I’d better head up to the bridge. Lots to do.”

 Nodding, Bradley said, “Yeah, I should probably make sure that everything is locked down on the flight deck. I’ll try and get back to our quarters later.”

 “Is that a promise?” Cooper said as she stood up.

 “Count on it,” she replied, and the two of them walked out of the room. Frowning, Cooper took his fork, stabbed into a piece of the salmon, and placed it carefully in his mouth.

 “Don’t tell my wife,” he said, “but this actually doesn’t taste that bad.”

 “Not everything is as it seems,” Kibaki said. “A good lesson to remember, Ensign.”

Chapter 6

 Marshall sat in his office, going over the reports on DX Cancri one last time, making sure that he hadn’t missed anything. Not that there seemed to be that much to see. Surveyed by a United Nations team just before the Interplanetary War, and only a couple of visits by Triplanetary ships since then to fill in a few blanks, both of them battlecruisers on raiding missions who had better things to do than planetary surveys.

 One of them, interestingly enough, had been Alamo itself, from when it flew the Callistan flag, and the commander in those days was unusually garrulous, his log filled with anecdotes and reminiscences. Which meant in practice, given that the ship hadn’t seen any action here, that he had a good recommendation for a bar to visit, and that was about all. The other entry was no more useful, a simple rundown of what was in the system, with an emphasis on tactical possibilities.

 Strategically, the place had some potential. At the moment it was just a frontier outpost, but with Procyon one jump away back towards Sol, and Triplanetary space a jump in the other direction, this could be a key conduit. Officially, there was no listed permanent residence here, but according to his predecessor’s scanty notes, an old bulk freighter had been placed in orbit around one of the gas giants to serve as a refueling station, considered too useful for either side to make the effort to destroy it.

 Which meant that it was smuggling for both sides, and whoever was running it was skilled at keeping the peace and maintaining his neutrality by a combination of bribery and deals with intelligence agents. Harper had hinted as much, but had been reticent when he had asked for details. Just a couple of possible contacts for fuel resupply for him to take advantage of, once he’d tested the water.

 “Tactical to all hands,” Caine’s voice echoed across the room from the ceiling speaker. “Battle stations. I repeat, battle stations. Hendecaspace emergence in five minutes. Captain to the bridge.”

 Turning off his monitor, he stood up, reaching for his jacket and swinging it across his shoulders, sliding into the sleeves. He gave it a quick tug, pulling it into position, and walked through the door onto the bridge.

 “You could just have knocked, Deadeye,” he said, looking across at her with a smile as he stepped to the command chair.

 “I thought I’d make things sound official for once.”

 “I have the conn,” he said. “How are we doing?”

 “Missiles ready, laser arming, ready to extend radiator upon our arrival in the system.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Hold on that until we spot a threat. No sense asking for trouble, and unfurling our wings could be seen as provocation. Salazar, what about the ship?”

 The young sub-lieutenant turned, replying, “I have a green board, sir. All decks and stations are cleared for action. Course plotted out of sight of the known in-system facilities.”

 “They’ll know someone is here,” Caine said, “but not who. Assuming they don’t have any ships out this far.”

 “It doesn’t matter that much if they do,” Marshall replied. “Just that we have sufficient lead time, in the event we run into some unexpected company. Mr. Salazar, I want a course plotted to take us to the tertiary in-system hendecaspace point, ready to implement on my command.”

 He nodded, turned to the helm, and said, “Get that set up, Midshipman.”

 “Aye, sir,” she replied, focusing on her work. “Emergence in ninety seconds.”

 The tactical display flashed on, and Marshall turned to look at it. Five planets and a smattering of moons, moving in their set orbits and a small green dot to represent the station. He waved his arm to focus inward, drawing the view to a closer look at their egress point. A superjovian, three times larger than Jupiter, with a couple of hundred moons around it, most of them too small to trigger a dimensional shift. It meant there were lots of places to hide in the system, but not many ways to escape.

 “I can see why the smugglers like this place,” Caine said.

 Tapping a control, Marshall said, “Maggie, you ready with your fighters?”

 “Yes, sir, and Cooper’s got three squads ready to go in case we find something to assault. One thing, though. I’ve not had a chance to try these babies out in real-world conditions yet.”

 “You’ve had time in the simulators, though?”

 “Twenty-five hours, but they’re not always completely accurate. It might be a little messy the first time out, but I’ll try and put on a good show for you.”

 “Let’s hope it isn’t needed.” He leaned forward, and said, “You have the call, Midshipman.”

 “Aye, sir. I have the call. Ten seconds to emergence, and I have your course plotted.”

 Marshall turned to face the screen, watching the countdown clock click away the last few seconds, and with a bright flash of Cerenkov blue, Alamo returned to its native dimension, the stars appearing on the screen, a dim red star on the fringes of the display. The planets on the tactical display jumped almost imperceptibly as the computer updated its data, and a series of small dots appeared, trajectory tracks overlaid.

 “Lots of activity, sir,” Spinelli said. “More than we were expecting. I’m reading sixty-three different ships in the system, all of them small. Shuttles, prospectors, I think. A few other points on some of the moons, temporary bases, maybe.” He turned, and said, “No other military craft that I can see at present. I’ll have a more thorough report in a few minutes.”

 “Comm traffic just went through the roof, sir,” Weitzman said. “I guess they’ve spotted us after all. Lots of coded signals. but I don’t recognize any of them as UN or Cabal, mostly civilian algorithms. I’m dumping the whole lot down to Security for analysis.”

 “Hold our current position,” Marshall said. “Lot more crowded than we were led to believe, Deadeye.”

 “Nothing that could threaten us, though, and most of them are well away from us.” She looked up at her display, and said, “In fact, I’d say they’re vectoring to avoid us completely. Lots of people on the move.”

 “Check that,” Marshall said, turning to Spinelli.

 “Lieutenant Caine beat me to the punch on the report, sir. About a quarter of the ships are on new courses, heading for the far side of the planet.”

 “Which means that there is something here that they are trying to cover up, and given what happened to us last week, I’m inclined to think that there is a connection.” He looked across at Weitzman, and said, “I think it’s time to break communications silence. Hail the commander of the station, and inform him that I want to speak to him privately.” Rising from his seat, he said. “Secure from battle stations, but maintain standby alert. You have the conn, Deadeye. I’ll take the call in my office.”

 “Sure you don’t want company?”

 “I suspect that whoever is running things here would be rather happier with privacy.”

 As he walked towards his office, Spinelli turned to him, saying, “Something interesting here, sir. More than half of the shuttles seem to be of the same type, and a similar age.”

 “Oh?”

 “United Nations Roughrider-class, sir.”

 “A military type,” Foster said.

 “They were,” Caine replied. “Standard UN landing shuttle during the war, but they built thousands of them. Most of them ended up being sold. This isn’t that strange.”

 “But of a similar age?” Marshall asked. “Interesting. Try and get serial numbers if you can, Spaceman. Anything we might use to tie them together.”

 “At this range, sir?”

 “Do the best you can, Spaceman.”

 Weitzman turned, and said, “I have Administrator Miller for you, sir. Standing by on encrypted channel.”

 “Whose?”

 “Ours, sir. An out-of-date Fleet code. We haven’t used it in five years.”

 “Which means the odds are that only a few other people in the system will be listening. I’d better not keep him waiting.” He stepped into his office, sat down behind his desk, and tapped the monitor to reveal a portly, balding man, red-faced, looking back at him.

 “I am not used to being put on hold, Mr…,” the man began.

 “Fleet Captain. Daniel Marshall. Commanding the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo.”

 The man’s face raced from red to white, and he replied, “Of course, all of my facilities are at your disposal, Captain, for you and your crew.”

 “I’m surprised that you didn’t already know who I was,” Marshall replied.

 “No, no,” he said. “We have no detection facilities on the far side of the moon. Scavengers, you know.” Smugglers, Marshall thought, keeping out of sight. Though that didn’t tally with the ships in the system.

 “A ship has passed through here recently, Mr. Miller. The Caledonia.”

 He looked to the side, and said, “Yes, on a scheduled run from Procyon. Was there any trouble?”

 “The registration told a different story,” he replied. “We have evidence that smuggling has been conducted using this outpost as a center. of operations.”

 “Captain, I must protest.” He made a chopping gesture, and for a second, the screen went blank, before returning. “I suggest that you consult with higher authority, Captain. Our operations here…”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “I don’t give a damn what you are smuggling past customs, Miller. I’m a task force commander, not the border patrol. When it affects the security of my station, when people’s lives are put at risk, then I care. You will turn over all records of the Caledonia’s transit to me, at once.”

 “The security of…” 

 “I am seconds away from ordering that my people come over to your station and take them by force. You will transmit all the data, and you will do it at once. And rest assured that I have an excellent team who will analyze every scrap of it, and I’m certain that they will locate any inconsistencies.”

 He looked down, and said, “Just Caledonia?”

 “Just Caledonia.”

 “I’ll have it delivered by courier within an hour. I won’t transmit sensitive information, even over a secure channel.”

 “Very wise.” Leaning back on his chair, Marshall said, “I had been led to believe that this system was out of the way, that everything was quiet here.”

 “Usually that is so, Captain, but in the last month or so, all has been chaos.” He shook his head, and said, “Do not think that this is my doing. A lot of prospectors have been coming into the system, mostly from UN space, and looking for something. All of them are tight-lipped about what.”

 “Mineral resources?”

 He snorted, replying, “In this system? There’s nothing here that anyone would give a damn about. Except this station.” He shook his head, and said, “In the past, I have always had excellent relations with the Triplanetary Confederation. I do hope that they can continue in the future.”

 With a smile, Marshall said, “Meaning that you’d rather that capital ships not come this way too often.”

 “My customers are wary of governmental organizations, Captain. Many of them with good reason. Laying my cards on the table.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “We’re passing through. It is unlikely that I will be returning this way, though I suggest that you pay closer attention to what you let through to Triplanetary space. Lest I be forced to recommend to my government that they put a permanent presence on your station.”

 “That won’t be necessary. It would help if I knew just what I am looking for.”

 “Such information is on a need-to-know basis. You don’t.”

 “I see.”

 Forcing a smile, Marshall said, “Tell you what. I’ll offer you a chance to get some money out of my crew. I’d like to send some shore leave parties across. In civilian clothes, naturally.”

 Miller beamed, and replied, “I will see that your people are made most welcome, and make arrangements with your purser regarding the necessary fees.”

 “I would also like to purchase sufficient fuel to top up my tanks.”

 The stationmaster’s eyes were gleaming now, and he replied, “My staff will contact you to make the necessary arrangements. I think you will find my prices fair. Perhaps I could send some of my traders over to your ship, to offer some luxuries to your crew?”

 “I’ll take that last under advisement. Alamo out.” He sat back on his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. With a sigh, he walked out onto the bridge, and Caine looked up at him with a grin.

 “Having trouble?”

 “I feel like I need a shower. He didn’t know, and doesn’t care what passes through. We’re getting everything he had on Caledonia, but I don’t think it’ll amount to much.”

 “So we’ve drawn a blank. What about the shuttles?”

 “If he knew what they were looking for, I suspect he’d be trying to make money out of it. We’re going to need some eyes on the station, some discreet eyes.”

 “Orlova and Harper,” she replied.

 Shaking his head, he said, “Harper’s going to have to stay here and go over the data. Someone’s going to have to go across with Maggie.”

 “Sir,” Salazar said, turning from the helm. “I’d like to volunteer.”

 “Bored on the bridge, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “I can do strong and silent, sir, and I think that’s what’s called for here.”

 “He’s got you there, Danny,” Caine said. “You might as well let him go.”

 “Very well. Tell the top eight hands on the leave roster that it’s their lucky day, and have them report to the hangar deck in civilian clothes on the double. Instruct them to carry concealed sidearms. From what I can tell they’re de rigueur over there. You can fly the shuttle over.” Looking across at the helm, he said, “Foster, you’ll have the conn.”

 “Is this necessary?” Caine said, quietly. “We know where we’re going.”

 “I don’t want to leave anything in our rear,” he replied with a whisper. “If this is a trap, I want a clear avenue of retreat.”

 Salazar logged off from his station and made for the elevator, datapad in hand, almost tripping over the step on his way off the bridge. Looking after him, Marshall frowned. Ten years ago, five years, he’d have been going with him. Shaking his head, he headed back into his office. He had a feeling that Miller was going to be generating a lot of paperwork over the next few days.

Chapter 7

 Houston Station was somehow everything that Salazar had expected and more. The docking sequence had been laborious, the primitive equipment requiring a painstaking manual approach, and the state of the airlocks little short of disastrous. Everything here seemed to be kept to the minimum possible standard, and there was only so long that you could last with such a regimen. For a while, it would stay together, but sooner or later there was going to be a disaster here.

 Which probably meant that someone was already lining up to take the place of this station. A commercial module facility could be in operation in a matter of months, with no questions asked, and everything could revert to business as usual, only with a different man at the top skimming the take.

 He felt strange out of uniform. The battered old flight jacket that Orlova had thrown at him was too comfortable. Except for whatever-it-was in the pocket, but that just terrified him. The crowd was all dressed in the same way, though, the main concourse crowded with people. Four bars that he’d seen, and another place that seemed to be a rather drunken restaurant, lots of stalls selling those thousands of near-necessities that spacers couldn’t do without.

 Gesturing over to one of the counters, Orlova said, “Go buy something.”

 “Ma’am?” he whispered.

 Rolling her eyes, she replied, “Maggie, for God’s sake. Go over there and buy something. See if you can find anything out. I’ll be on the far side of the corridor. Meet back in a minute.” Abruptly, she walked off into the crowd, leaving Salazar to meander over to one of the stalls. At random, he chose one, getting in behind an impressively-enhanced brunette whose flight jacket seemed just for show.

 Glancing down at the counter, he reached down for a pair of datasticks in a presentation box, and waved it at the tired-looking man on the other side.

 “How much for these?” he asked.

 Frowning, the man turned his gaze away from the brunette to him, and said, “Eighty credits Triplanetary.”

 He almost reached for his card, stopping himself just in time. That wasn’t the way places like this operated. Lieutenant Orlova had been very clear on that.

 “I was thinking more like forty.”

 With a sigh, the man said, “What you have there is a thousand hours of music vids from the late twentieth. Classic works. Are you really that cheap, boy?”

 The girl looked at him and giggled. Ignoring her, he replied, “There’s a quarter-inch of dust on this box. You’ve been trying to shift it for a long time, and if you’ve been trying to charge eighty credits, I’m not surprised.” He smiled, beginning to enjoy this, and glanced across at the cap in the brunette’s hands. “Tell you what. One hundred credits, for these and the cap.”

 Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see a man towering over him, wrapping an arm around the brunette. He snatched the cap from the counter, tossing a fifty-credit chit in its place.

 “That’s for the cap,” he said, then adding a five hundred credit chit. “And that’s for the damages.”

 As a fighter pilot, Salazar hadn’t paid as much attention to his unarmed combat exercises as he should have. He’d barely passed that class at the Academy. Anticipating that he was about to receive an unpleasant demonstration, he bolted for the crowd, ducking from side to side. The man chased after him, pushing the shoppers out of the way to create a clear path, and caught up in ten strides, grabbing him by the wrist and turning him around to face him.

 “Tell you what,” he barked. “I’ll let you have the first shot.”

 There wasn’t any way this was going to end well, but he balled his hand into a fist, looked up at him with what he hoped was an unnerving smile, and swung, connecting with the side of his face. Whereupon the man collapsed to the deck in a heap, his arms twitching. The crowd started to cheer, and Salazar looked down at him, shaking his head.

 “Having fun?” Orlova asked, slipping to his side.

 Wide-eyed, he said, “I guess Sergeant Knox was a better teacher than I gave him credit for.”

 “Never heard of the man,” she replied, raising her sleeve to reveal a concealed needle. “I didn’t go to the Academy, kid, but I do know one thing. Never give someone the fight they’re expecting.” She looked back, smiling, as the crowd descended on the unconscious figure like vultures, snatching everything of value from him. “You might want to have one of those with you in future.”

 He shook his head, and said, “Do you have any more tricks like that?”

 “Never show your whole hand, kid. Find out anything?”

 “That I need to work on my haggling skills.”

  “Well, while you’ve been making friends with the locals, I’ve got a lead. Apparently someone’s offering shuttles on zero-interest loans, no collateral, on the topside docking ring.”

 Frowning, Salazar replied, “They’re giving away shuttles? Why?”

 “No-one seems to know. If you don’t mind leaving your prospective girlfriend behind,” she gestured to the brunette, who was relieving the unconscious man of his wallet, “we’ll go and take a look. Remember, you’re meant to be the strong and silent type.”

 “I’ll try and keep that in mind,” he said, glancing back at the crowd. The two of them walked down the concourse. The disturbance seemed to have been soaked up into the general day-to-day life of the station; he got the impression that fights like that happened all the time. People did seem to be giving him a wider berth than before, and they stepped into an empty elevator, Orlova tapping the control for the upper level.

 “Can help to get a reputation,” she said. “Though it might mean that there are people wanting to see if they can beat you.”

 “Hopefully we’ll be off the station by the time that happens.”

 The door opened, and they stepped out into a sea of stars, a huge observation dome at the top of the station. The local star was rising around the curve of the planet, bathing them in its light, and a man sat on the far side, watching the sunrise, while two men in jumpsuits looked them over, obviously checking for weapons.

 “That was a very impressive display,” the man said, looking at Orlova. “I’d be tempted to offer you a place in my organization, though I might suggest you pick a better straight man.”

 “He’s new,” she said, “and will learn. In any case, we’re here for a shuttle. I understand you are offering them on zero-interest loans.”

 Nodding, the man replied, “That is so. My organization has come into possession of a large number of war-surplus UN shuttles, and are interested in the stimulation of trade in border systems.”

 Orlova nodded, and said, “It was my understanding that the economic possibilities of this system were limited.”

 “On the contrary,” he said. “There are many interesting mineral deposits in this system, as well as something potentially more valuable. Alien artifacts.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a slender statuette, tossing it underarm towards Salazar, who snatched it out of the air. A four-armed figure, made of some sort of black metal, intricately detailed with strange hieroglyphics.

 “How valuable could such artifacts. be?” Orlova asked.

 “Thousands of credits. It is our belief that there is a site somewhere in this system where they might be found in large numbers. Sufficient to make the owner a millionaire.”

 Salazar looked at the object, and asked, “Where was it found?”

 “By the first survey into the system, twenty years ago,” the man replied. “Unfortunately the ship was destroyed by Triplanetary raiders at the start of the war, and the records on board were lost.” He stepped forward, took the statue from Salazar, then threw it at the floor. Looking down with a smile, he continued, “These are effectively indestructible. A larger source of such metal…”

 “I understand,” Orlova said. “Well, shall we get down to business? What sort of collateral would you like?”

 While they talked, Salazar looked up, at the points of light in the sky. Some of them were moving, drifting across the sky, one of them changing course while he watched. Such was not known in nature. This wasn’t a starfield, it was tracking the shuttles.

 “What was that?” he said, focusing his attention back on the conversation.

 With a sigh, the man replied, “I was telling your employer that as well as your shuttle, you will be given a series of potential search sites that we have worked out, sufficient for more than a month’s cruise.”

 “And we have to follow that?” he asked, while Orlova looked daggers at him.

 “We certainly encourage that,” the man replied. “After all, there would be no point in two people following the same route. Though, of course, if you have other plans in mind, we have no objection. Some of our shuttles are being employed on cargo transfer, for example.”

 His eyes drifted up at the dots again, and saw that a lot of them were beginning to change course. He couldn’t astrogate in his head, no-one could, but even he could make out that they seemed to be heading in the same direction. Towards the moon. Towards Alamo. With a single, smooth motion, he pulled out his pistol, Orlova covering his move, spotting his hand heading for his pistol a second before the guards.

 “Call them off,” he said. “Right now.”

 “What are you talking about?” the man replied with a sigh. His guards pulled out their guns, covering them.

 “Your shuttles.” He gestured up at the dome, and said, “You’ve changed their course.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Crazy. Those are stars.”

 “Stars don’t move that fast,” Orlova said, pulling her communicator out of her pocket. Before she could signal, one of the guards opened fire, shooting at her hand. Salazar turned and fired, a pair of shots ringing out almost at once, and he watched the guard crumple to the floor, blood seeping out of a wound in his side. The other guard looked down at his dead comrade, his eyes widening, and sprinted for the exit, his employer hard on his heels.

 Turning back to Orlova, he saw her dropping to her knees, then collapsing on the floor. Her hand, and the communicator in it, was a bloody ruin, and the bullet had continued on into her side. She lay on the ground, spasming.

 Looking down at the carnage, Salazar reached for his communicator, then began to curse. Jammed. Carefully, gently, he picked up Orlova, cradling her in his arms, and moved into the elevator, tapping for the central concourse. She was moaning, the blood dripping down onto his uniform, and he willed the doors to open, for him to reach his destination in time.

 The doors open, and someone screamed as they saw Orlova. One of the other Alamo crewmen ran forward, a paramedic named Garland, and Salazar placed her down on the ground for him to examine. The crowd began to move forward, and he pulled out his pistol, firing a shot into the air.

 “I’ve got four shots left,” he yelled. “Anyone want them?”

 “We’ve got to get her back to Alamo,” Garland said.

 Nodding, Salazar looked around, finding a stretcher hanging behind one of the stalls. He walked over to it, snatching it from the stand, and tossing a credit chit at the protesting stallholder, probably for ten times what it was worth. While Garland eased Orlova gently onto the stretcher, another Alamo crewman came out of the crowd, saluting Salazar.

 “Where are the rest, Winslow?” Salazar asked.

 “All over the place, sir,” the technician replied. “My communicator is jammed.”

 “Mine too. Take the lead.”

 The two crewman picked up the stretcher, and started to walk down the concourse, Salazar standing over the procession with his pistol raised, his eyes darting around. He spotted a figure hiding behind one of the stalls, raising a rifle, but his finger was quicker, and with a loud crack, he caught him in the arm, sending him dropping back against the bulkhead. The crowd froze, all silent, waiting for someone to make the next move.

 “Everyone stay still!” Salazar yelled. They were halfway to the shuttle. It was unlikely that anyone could have hacked into its systems, not with Alamo’s security team running interference, but the odds were that they would have company waiting for them at the airlock. The group moved forward, Orlova arcing back, moaning, while the temporary bandage that Garland had placed on turned deep crimson.

 Another couple of Alamo crewmen waited at the airlock, a body by the ground to their side. The hatch was open, and Salazar raced in, heading for the cockpit, while Garland secured Orlova in the aft compartment. He threw switches, not bothering to request launch clearance. Stabbing a dozen override commands in a row, he closed the hatch and unlocked the docking clamps, kicking the engine to put the shuttle on a course back to Alamo.

 “...to Shuttle. What’s happening over there?” Kibaki’s voice echoed as the communicator burst into belated life.

 “Medical emergency, Garland will give you the details. I’ll be on board in,” he looked down at the navigation computer, frantically working on a course, “thirty-one minutes.”

 “Pavel, what…”

 “Get me Actual, Joe. I need to speak to the Captain. Urgent. And get the ship on alert status. You’ll understand why in a minute.”

Chapter 8

 “Why the standby alert?” Caine said, tugging on her uniform jacket as she sprinted to catch Marshall before he caught the elevator.

 “Something on the station,” Marshall said. “Maggie’s been shot. Critical condition, on her way back, while Duquesne’s pulling her hair out trying to give Garland instructions by remote. Salazar said something about inbound shuttles.” He stepped through the door, tapping for astrogation.

 “This is the bridge,” Kibaki’s voice echoed. “All hands, battle stations. Repeat, all hands, battle stations.”

 “Your decision?” Caine asked.

 “Not all of the watch officers are as eager to take us into battle as Salazar. I’ve got Frank Nelyubov heading up to mind the store for a moment.”

 The doors opened, and the two of them walked down the short corridor to the astrogation room. Lieutenant Race already had everything set up, Alamo resting at the heart of the tactical display, Grant standing at the far side of the room, his arms crossed, shaking his head.

 “I make more than fifty,” he said. “Look at that cluster up by the rings.”

 “What have we got, Lieutenant?” Marshall asked.

 “By the look of it, fifty-nine shuttles, on time-on-target collision courses with us. Whoever’s running them is being clever. They’ve still got ample maneuvering reserves.”

 “What about an analysis of the shuttles? Any special modifications?” Caine asked.

 Grant tapped another control, and a holographic display of one of the approaching craft appeared. He gestured at the rotating image, and said, “Nothing. They match the Block III model. Spinelli managed to get a couple of identification numbers from local craft, and they are definitely of United Nations origin.”

 “Time to intercept?”

 “That partly depends on us,” Race volunteered. “We can change course and head away from the system, but they’ll be here long before we can jump clear.”

 “Surely we can outmatch some shuttles,” Caine said.

 “They can always break their formation in two,” Grant said. “Or three. I wouldn’t like to see the aftermath of an impact by twenty shuttles. We’d be sitting ducks for an attack, likely for weeks, and we know that the system is close to hostiles. They’ve planned this perfectly. Those shuttles are far enough away, spread out enough, that they have the initiative.”

 “Communications?”

 “Negative,” Grant said. “The duty commtech’s been trying, but someone’s set up discriminators on their internal systems. It’s unlikely that they’ll even know that we’re trying to talk to them.”

 “They must know that they’ve been hijacked,” Race said. “That their course has been altered, and that the shuttle isn’t under their control.”

 “Not necessarily,” Caine replied. “Lots of those shuttles were on constant-boost trajectories anyway. If someone has taken over their control systems, they could easily have taken over their sensors as well.”

 “Just a minute,” Race said. “They’d…”

 “Oh,” Caine interrupted, “They’ll work it out sooner or later. But every second they wait is one less second in which they can try and fix their problems. How long have they got?”

 “Twenty hours is the shortest estimate.”

 “Even if some of them do manage to retake control,” Grant said, “how can we be sure that all of them will? Captain, I think this presents a clear and present threat to the ship, and that we must take appropriate action.”

 “What do you recommend?”

 “We have three shuttles at our disposal. And can probably requisition more from the station in relatively short order. In the time we have left, Ensign Cooper’s platoon can intercept at least nineteen of the incoming ships, rescue the passengers, and destroy them. I’ll deal with the compensation claims later.”

 “That leaves a flat forty, Lieutenant,” Caine said.

 He took a deep breath, and said, “They’ll be easy to pick off as they approach, ma’am.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Well, Lieutenant, you can sit at Tactical and do that, because I won’t, and I’m damn sure that Frank Nelyubov won’t either. I didn’t join this Fleet to shoot down civilian ships. Last minute course changes…”

 “Ma’am, they have higher acceleration than we do, especially at short bursts.” Shaking his head, he continued, “We don’t have a choice. There’s a chance some of them will save themselves anyway, and we can shoot to damage rather than destroy.”

 Reaching down for a control, Caine highlighted two freighters, hovering out at the far hendecaspace point, and said, “If we did that, the UN would go mad. Footage of a Triplanetary Battlecruiser picking off civilian shuttles one at a time? That coverage would be on the news for weeks, and the General Assembly would use that as an excuse to start a war. Damn it, this might be the whole damn plan.”

 Turning to Marshall, Grant said, “Sir, you’ve made it clear that Alamo is on an extremely important mission, one critical to Triplanetary security. Can we really afford to put that at jeopardy? Hell, for all we know those pilots all volunteered for this, might be not-men…”

 “That’s not what Salazar reported,” Marshall said. “He and Orlova got close to getting one of those ships themselves. Far more likely that they’re being used.”

 “Maybe,” Grant said. “I’m looking at trading forty lives for a hundred and twenty. Or more, if Alamo fails to complete its mission.”

 “Lieutenant,” Marshall said, looking him in the eyes, “I have no intention of committing what I consider to be a war crime with this ship. I tolerate this as a suggestion, but recommend that you do not repeat it.”

 “Aye, sir,” he said, looking down at the deck. 

 Race frowned, then said, “He might be onto something, though, sir.” He withered under Marshall’s glare, and added, “No, sir. I think that intercepting one of those shuttles at least might be worth it. If we could work out the control systems, we might have a chance at knocking out the whole system.”

 The door opened, and Harper walked in, clutching a datapad. She looked up, shook her head, and said, “I doubt that would work. If we approached one of the shuttles, they could shut down the systems.”

 “There might still be evidence, though,” Race pressed.

 “Not unless they’ve done something at the molecular level. My guess is that they’d blow up the shuttle. One way or another.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Which leaves us nowhere. We’ve got to find out where they are controlling the shuttles from.”

 Caine looked at the system schematic, sighed, and said, “There are a hell of a lot of moons in this system, Danny. Hundreds of places they could be hiding. It would take months to search them all, and we’ve got hours at best. I don’t even know where we could start looking.” 

 “What about hacking into their systems ourselves?” Marshall asked Harper. “Any chance on that?”

 “I’d need to be able to get into their systems first, and they’ve left no way in.” She smiled, and said, “Give me five minutes at their controls, and I’ll have those shuttles dancing for you.”

 Grant reached over to a headset, put it on, and said, “Bridge, this is Astrogation. Execute course change. Pick up on the shuttle to get it on board faster, and then over to the far hendecaspace point.” He looked at Marshall, and said, “It’s one way of finding out.”

 Tapping a control, Marshall said, “Mr. Kibaki, execute that command.”

 The group looked up as Alamo’s engines began to roar, the ship moving from its previous position in synchronous orbit, curving around the moon and towards the station, the trajectory plot curving past it, arcing out to its final position. There was no attempt at any intricate maneuvering, no attempt at deception, just a simple straight-line course.

 “Look,” Race said, after a few minutes. He pointed up at one of the shuttles, and said, “Course change. And another.”

 Nodding, Grant said, “I’m running the numbers now. Got it. Based on total light-speed delay, those orders came from close-by. Somewhere within a hundred thousand kilometers of us.”

 Frowning, Marshall reached for Grant’s headset, and said, “Kibaki, how long before we have the shuttle on board?”

 “Docking sequence under way now, sir.”

 “As soon as they are on board, I want a new course change implemented.”

 There was a brief pause, and the watch commander replied, “Where to, sir?”

 “Wherever the hell you want, Sub-Lieutenant. Clear of our current trajectory.”

 After a longer paused, Kibaki replied, “Aye, sir.”

 “That’s going to read well in the log,” Caine said with a smile. The engines paused for a moment as Alamo swung around into a new trajectory, Kibaki locking the ship on a course that would eventually take it on a slingshot course around the local star, in a few thousand hours.

 “Going for the scenic route,” Race said.

 “That’s Joe Kibaki,” Caine replied. “The man’s a born tourist.”

 “Course change!” Grant said. “They’re onto us. I can narrow it down more finely now. He frowned, then said, “Far side of the station. What looks like a small communications relay. Either that, or the station itself.”

 “Anyone want to toss a coin?” Harper asked.

 “My guess is the relay,” Caine said. “Something that our friends can control completely. On the station there would always be a chance of discovery, or infiltration.”

 Shaking his head, Grant replied, “I think it’s the station. With the relay as a decoy.” He shrugged, and said, “Split the difference. Launch a boarding action on the station and destroy the relay.”

 Harper looked at the display, and said, “We can’t do it.”

 Grant’s eyes narrowed, and he said, “It’s a small satellite, no more than a dozen people, and they’ll all be…”

 “One,” the hacker replied, “If it is a decoy, we’re killing civilians. Two, I think that it won’t make any difference. Any sensible programmer will have built in a fail-safe should the link-up fail. It’ll need to be disconnected.”

 Shaking his head, Grant said, “If that’s the case, we can just maneuver out of the way. Recover the crews at our leisure.”

 “No,” Caine said. “They’d just set them to self-destruct. Plot them on a course for the nearest gravity well. Or for the station, wiping that out as well.” With a deep sigh, she said, “They’re still holding us to ransom whatever happens.”

 “Where on the station would we start to look, anyway?” Race said.

 “Operations,” Grant replied. “A full-scale assault, and get Harper here into the network. Push it till it gives. Our sensor crews can check for heat dispersal, see if someone’s powering a second network. It can work.”

 Marshall looked from Caine to Grant, then turned to Harper, and said, “Are you sure you can hack their network if we give you a clear run? They might be using an unknown code.”

 “They aren’t,” she replied. “Not if they are interfacing with UN systems. And if they managed to work out a way to blend the two together, we’ve got bigger problems than this.”

 “Look, sir,” Race said. “The trajectory plots are changing. I think they’re already wise to us.”

 “They’re splitting into two groups,” Caine said. “One for a first strike, the second on standby. Covering their bases.”

 “That’s that, then,” Marshall said. “Bridge, this is the Captain. I want a message sent to the Station Administrator right now. Tell him that I am commandeering his station under, ah, Section Nine-Twenty-Eight of Treaty of Vesta. An Espatier force will be along presently. Any further communications from the station are to be ignored.”

 “Sir, you can’t telegraph our actions like that!” Grant said.

 “Cooper?” Marshall asked into his microphone. “What’s your status?”

 “My platoon is in the hangar deck, shuttles ready to launch in two minutes. Maggie’s in a hell of a mess, sir.”

 “Get over to the station. Orders to follow once you are in the air.” He glanced at Harper, and said, “Launch when Harper gets to you.”

 “Aye, sir,” the Espatier replied. “Consider it done.”

 “I’m already on the way,” Harper said, racing from the room.

 “You’ve warned them,” Grant said. “Sir, you’re sending those men into a trap.”

 “Wrong, Lieutenant,” Marshall said. “I’ve chosen to trigger the trap at a time and place of our choosing. I’m sending them over to the relay. My guess is that Caine’s right.”

 “Then…”

 Looking up at the image of the station, Marshall said, “Last time we fought these not-men, their superiority complex did the damage. I think this time we can use that to our advantage again. Cooper’s going to have to take a little detour.”

Chapter 9

 With one last scan at his datapad, Cooper looked up at his men, and said, “Listen up! This is how it works. Third Squad gets the action this time.” Flashing a smile, he continued, “That’s why you get the pleasure of my company. Sergeant Morton gets to have some fun over on the station showing off, but our job is to keep a low profile. At least, to start with.”

 “What are we doing, sir?” Lance-Corporal Stewart asked.

 “Third Squad got the best marks for zero-gravity combat, as well as spacesuit warfare. We’re going to need both of those today. Brace yourself for this one. We’re doing a five hundred kilometer spacewalk.”

 “That’s impossible,” Private Watkins blurted. Shaking his head, he said, “We never trained on anything like that.”

 “Relax,” Harper said, lounging at the back of the shuttle. “Belters do hops like this all the time, out on the double-rocks.”

 “With shuttles ready to pick them up, and no-one shooting at them,” Watkins replied.

 Corporal Vaughan frowned, asking, “Sir, you realize that they will still pick up our heat signatures. There’s no way to avoid that. And you are talking about a spacewalk lasting more than three hours.”

 “Both true,” Cooper said. “Sergeant Morton, I hope, will be causing enough of a distraction to divert attention for a while, but there is another option that should pay off for us. This shuttle, as well as the others, is going to start seeding decoys all around the station.”

 “Physical countermeasures…,” Watkins said.

 “It’ll work, Private,” Harper said. “We’re not missiles, shuttles, or anything heavy like that. Basically we’ll be swimming in a sea of confetti, all the way from the contact point. The cover will be a close-range sensor run by the shuttles of the station.”

 “Why not just use the shuttles?”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “Our pass will be at more than two hundred kilometers. We’re hoping that the enemy will conclude that we’re still looking for the source of the transmissions. Those shuttles will be conducting similar runs on both the freighters close-in on the station. Besides, we’re going to need surprise on our side.” He smiled, then said, “As we have less than sixty seconds from breaking the airlock to getting our tame hacker into their control center.”

 “One minute?” Stewart said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t seem possible.”

 “I seem to recall you taking a medal in zero-g gymnastics at the Triplanetary Olympics last year. I saw that routine of yours, and you executed it in forty-five seconds.”

 “That was different, sir,” she replied. “I had months to practice, knew every detail.”

 “You do this time.” He looked around the squad, and said, “I know that you can do this. We’re talking about a UN installation, and that means we have a good idea what the internal layout will look like. Four spokes to a core, with the core as the target. They won’t be expecting us until we’re right on their laps, so no time to defend, and you’ve got plasma rifles to play with.” He gestured up at the weapon racks, and smiled, “Just don't power them up until the last minute.”

 “What if something goes wrong?” Watkins asked.

 “Well, then, Private, you will die a slow and painful death. Or one of Alamo’s SAR shuttles will pick you up, more likely. Your navigational computers are up to this, and there’s nothing intrinsically difficult about the jump. You’ve all done untethered spacewalks before in your combat training. This is just a little longer.”

 “A record, actually,” Specialist Gonzales said, looking up from his datapad. “By more than two hundred miles.”

 “You see?” he said. “Your chance to get your name into the history books. Assuming this whole operation isn’t classified.” With a sigh, he added, “Technically, this assignment is volunteer only. If anyone wants to back out, you can stay on the shuttle and return direct to Alamo.”

 He looked around, and though he saw doubt in some of their eyes, none of them said anything.

 “Right, then. The first two shuttles are heading for the station. We’re going to go over it, drop the decoys, then bail out. Get your rifles, and suit up. We’re decompressing the cabin for this one so we can all go out together. And one more thing. If you’re first burn takes you off course, don’t be tempted to do a second. The decoys are in a nice wide cone, so you’ll still be covered, even if you aren’t on an interception course. We do this in two burns, one to accelerate, one to slow. Communications silence until the second burn. Clear?”

 “Yes, sir,” Vaughan said. The man was a veteran, recalled to duty after a long time out of the ranks. Another reason that Cooper had picked this squad. By quite a large margin, Vaughan was the most experienced NCO in the platoon, even if two of the others outranked him.

 Pulling down his suit from the rack on the wall, he watched the rest of the squad get ready for the assault, laughing and joking around, throwing mock insults at each other. A defense mechanism, anything to distract them from what they were about to do, anything to stop themselves second-guessing their actions until it was too late. He slid into his suit, tapping a control to start the power-up procedure, then reached down for his plasma rifle, clipping it to his side.

 “You’ve got five seconds to tell me if you aren’t ready yet,” he said, his voice echoing from the speaker on his chest. None of the troopers said a word, and his tactical indicator was a sea of green, so he said, “Grogan, we’re clear for depress.”

 “Roger, Ensign. Depressurizing now.”

 Amber lights began to flash around the compartment as the air pressure dropped away, turning to red as the last traces of atmosphere were sucked out of the cabin. A stream of data ran down the left side of his screen faster than he could read it, the navigation computer getting ready for the jump. He caught himself holding his breath, and forced himself to look up at his men, a smile on his face.

 “We go in ninety seconds. Everyone line up behind me at the airlock. Jump at one second intervals. If something goes wrong with your suit, step to the left and remain on the shuttle. We’ve got a twelve second window, and anyone outside that time stays on the ship. Is that understood?”

 A chorus of confirmation returned his question.

 “Communications silence from the moment I open the airlock. Any last questions?”

 Stewart replied, “This a good time to tell you about my claustrophobia?”

 “You might have left that a little too late,” Cooper replied with a chuckle. “Right, good luck, and I’ll see you all on the other side. Harper, you follow me. The rest of you in fire teams.”

 He walked over to the airlock, tapping the override to open both doors at once, and looked out into the darkness beyond. A clock flashed up on his heads-up display, counting down the seconds until he was to take his leap. He stepped forward, planting his feet on the edge of the hatch. The shuttle was just drifting at the moment, already on its trajectory.

 Then, suddenly, there were thousands more stars than there had been, as the shuttle launched its decoys and chaff, spilling out from either side of the craft into a plume that would accompany them all the way to their target. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight.

 The second arrived, and he pushed himself out, his suit jets instantly pushing him onto the correct trajectory, matching course and speed with the chaff, spinning him around. Behind him, the rest of his squad was leaping out after him, Harper, Vaughan, Stewart, Gonzales. Then a pause, a hold-up, before the next one followed. It had taken too long, and the window closed with three of his men still in the shuttle. He saw Martinez hesitate, wondering if she might make it after all, but she closed the hatch, stepping back into the airlock.

 His own orders prevented him giving any reassurance to the squad. All of them seemed to be on the correct trajectory, following the shining stars on the road to the relay station up ahead. He looked at the target again, the image intensifier throwing it into stark relief. No apparent change to target aspect, though someone would have told him by now if there was.

 Still eighty-nine percent fuel left. That first burn hadn’t done much, just make sure that they were on the right trajectory. Most of their remaining fuel would go in the deceleration burn, three hours ahead. A long time to float in the dark.

 It surprised him how disconnected he felt, as though he was all alone in the universe. His own little world, floating onwards through eternity. At least until he ran out of oxygen, in around thirty-one hours, or until someone picked him up. He couldn’t even turn to look at the station behind him, not without risking detection. Just more decoys, tumbling through the night.

 Reaching down to the keypad on his sleeve, he started to type in commands. There was no sense dwelling on any of this, nothing he could do. Some music, something nice and soft, something unobtrusive, and he could just sit back and enjoy the view. With an alarm set for two hours, fifty minutes, just in case. Though the suit would slow him down automatically, it wouldn’t do to go into battle after only having woken up a minute before.

 His precautions were wise, and his eyes drifted shut after only a few minutes. One of the marks of a true veteran was the ability to snatch sleep whenever he could, and he couldn’t think of a better time, or a more peaceful place. The blaring alarm dragged him back to reality, and as he shook his head, taking a sip of water through his helmet straw, he looked at the station again.

 Everyone was still with him, the six Espatiers who had made the jump along with Harper. Four and three, in two waves. Ordinarily he’d have left the civilian at the back, but there just wasn’t time with this assault. As soon as they knew that they were on their way, all hell was going to break loose, and every second mattered. He glanced around, trying to see some of the approaching shuttles, but all he could see was stars. Most of them the decoys, still traveling with them.

 Five minutes left. He’d assumed that the interior layout of the relay station was along the normal lines. All that really mattered was the operations room, usually at the central core. As long as that was where he expected, this would work. He tapped up a typical deckplan, briefly reviewed it, but hoped that his squad hadn’t spent the whole jump studying it, had opted to just relax instead. He should have warned them about that – over-prepare for the wrong target, and it could kill you in a battle.

 His thoughts flashed back to the shuttle, long returned to Alamo, and the three disappointed troopers on board. He’d have to have a word with them when he got back, reassure them that it wasn’t their fault, that they’d made the right call, that in fact their decision had saved the mission and that an attempt to be a hero would have placed it in jeopardy, but he doubted that any of that would matter to them right now.

 Two minutes. The jets would kick in any second. There was no sign of outer defenses, no missiles or railguns to rip them apart. Such would have been far too obvious. Inside, any second now, alarms would start to sound, and people would reach for their guns and man the defenses. He had to get there first, but as with any boarding action, the defenders had all the high cards in their hand.

 The stabilizing jets kicked in, spinning him around, and his suit jets began to fire at full thrust, slowing him down at a furious rate, matching his speed with that of the relay. Suddenly, a burst of noise began to sound into his helmet, his troopers reporting in, for no other reason than the desire to hear someone else’s voice.

 “Cooper to Alamo,” he said. “Contact in seventy seconds. Burn nominal.”

 “Roger, Ensign,” Marshall replied. “We’re all holding our breath back here. You are cleared to proceed. Good hunting.”

 “Thank you, sir. We’ll make it good.” Switching frequencies, he said, “Listen up, people. We’re three down, so change of plan. First four through the airlock run like hell for the central core. With a little luck, we might make it before they can get their defenses in position. Keep your suits on. Don’t fire first, but if you come under fire, return it instantly. You’ve got plasma weapons, which pretty much guarantees you will breach the hull.”

 “Harper, cutting in. Watch what you shoot at, especially in the operations room. I’m going to need that equipment.”

 “Roger, Harper,” Cooper said. “Forty seconds. Second group follows up, covering gaps and providing support. Alamo has a shuttle in-bound to pick us up when this is over, but that won’t be here for fifteen seconds.”

 “Nash, sir,” a deceptively soft voice replied. “What if the bad guys aren’t here?”

 “Then we’ve come a long way for nothing, Private, but that is why we do not fire first. My guess is that they’ll make themselves clear quickly enough. Hang tight.”

 The speeds were now matched, close enough that he could hang on, and he turned around to face the station, guiding himself towards the nearest airlock. Harper was thrusting ahead, ready to hack her way in if necessary. Ten seconds left, and he reached out with his hands, looking for something to grab. He crashed into the hull, pushing back for a second before snatching at an antenna complex.

 Gonzales had got closest, and swung to the airlock, triumphantly tapping the entry sequence, a smile beaming across his face for a second before it turned to horror, his body thrown back out, a bloody gouge in the middle of his suit visible as he tumbled away.

 “Let them have it!” Cooper yelled, taking a shot at the airlock with his plasma rifle. This wasn’t doctrine, not in the slightest, but the resultant ball of green flame adequately dealt with the trap, as well as resolving the problem of how to open the hatch. Both of them, actually.

 A cloud of air raced out through the hole, catching a cursing Stewart as it sent her tumbling away. Given a little time, she could work her way back, but that would take seconds they didn’t have. Cooper swung in, weapon raised, looking for a trap. Inside, three more suited figures were waiting for him, holding what looked like harpoon rifles with bulging tips. They fired first, but Cooper’s second shot smashed through their projectiles, vaporizing them before unleashing fury on the men behind the triggers. The blast ripped a hole into another compartment; there was a reason these weapons weren’t usually allowed in boarding operations.

 “Harper, go!” he yelled, and the two of them pushed forward, heading for the central core, two others right behind them. Vaughan stayed at the airlock, glancing down the side corridor, taking a shot at something. Cooper shook his head. This wasn’t a big station, and there wasn’t going to be much left of it at this rate.

 “Cooper, this is Marshall! The shuttles are on the move, course change towards the station at full thrust and override. You’ve got seconds now.”

 “Roger, Alamo, we’re at the hatch.”

 Harper got their first, tapping the control. As expected, it didn’t work, and Cooper made to raise his gun, but she shook her head. Spillover would be bound to wreck something inside. Tossing his rifle back towards Vaughan, he pulled his pistol out of his holster, Nash and Watkins following suit. The hacker frantically worked, and finally her efforts were rewarded as the hatch slid open, revealing a busy control center. within.

 The occupants had time to don their suits and get defenses ready, but Cooper and his squad were well-trained. It was an even fight as the three of them fired, carefully aiming their shots, as rifles spat out bullets towards them. Watkins tumbled out of the way, a rip in his suit, but all three of the enemy technicians fell, their suits shattered by the armor-piercing bullets. Harper dived in, headless of the risk, right for the control computer, and Cooper gestured to Nash to cover her.

 “Watkins, status?”

 The trooper had tumbled to the door, Vaughan grabbing him before he could fly through the hole in the bulkhead, and replied, “Not wounded, sir. Just embarrassed. I’m getting a patch on right now, suit integrity fine otherwise. I’ll hold out until the rescue shuttle.”

 “Confirm that, Ensign,” the Corporal added. “The lad’s fine. And Stewart is on her way in right now.”

 “Harper, what’s the story?” Marshall asked.

 “Working, working. There’s extra encryption, late-model UN stuff.”

 “You’ve got ten seconds.”

 Cooper pushed back in, looking at her work, watching data flash up on one of a dozen monitors. Harper was focused on the keyboard, her hands almost a blur, but the seconds were ticking, and even though he wasn’t a hacker, something was clear. It was going to take too long.

 “Not yet, not yet,” she muttered, and the last second flowed away. Cooper looked down at the deck, shaking his head. One man dead, and for nothing. Harper’s hands lifted from the terminal, and she looked up at him, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

 “Harper?” Marshall’s subdued voice said.

 “I couldn’t do it. Not in time.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “No. This isn’t over yet. Harper, can you hack in at all?”

 “Twenty seconds will do it.”

 “Then do it. We can’t change their course, but I’d bet there is something else we can do. Unlock their communicators for a start.”

 “Shuttle engines off,” a dejected Kibaki reported. “Likely out of fuel.”

 “I’m in,” Harper said. “Though I don’t know what good it can do. They can’t change their course.”

 “Yes they can,” Cooper replied. “I’ve done it myself. Sound the decompression alarm in all of the shuttles, right now. We’ll give them thirty seconds. Alamo, Cooper here. How much of a course change do they need at this point?”

 “In the right direction, a meter per second would be more than enough,” Kibaki said. “They haven’t even got maneuvering thrusters, though.”

 “They won’t need them for this. How are you doing, Harper?”

 “I’ve panicked them. If they are following normal drills, they’ll be in their suits by now.”

 “Blow their airlocks. Full overrides, I want a complete evacuation of the inner cabin.”

 “What?” she said.

 “That’s the velocity differential they’re going to need.”

 “And if they didn’t follow the alarm…”

 “Then they die right now instead of in thirteen hours’ time. Hit it.”

 She paused for a second, holding her hand over a control, and depressed it. He looked down at her, and realization hit him. She’d thought of it too, had set it up. She just couldn’t make the decision. Her face locked with his for a second, relief in her eyes, and he smiled.

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

 A cacophony of shouting echoed through his helmet, and it took him a few seconds to register them as cheering. Evidently it had worked.

 “Cooper, Marshall here! They’re going all over the place, but they’re going to miss the station, Alamo, and everything else. We’re getting updated course projections right now, so there’s no danger of collision. Picking them up is going to take days, but we’ve got the time to do it.”

 “Thank you, sir, but Harper was the one who made it work.”

 “Shuttle One is on the way to you right now, docking in ten minutes. Our sensors suggest that you might have to make your own way across.”

 “No problem, sir. I must report one fatality. Specialist Gonzales.”

 There was a pause, and Marshall said, “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve got an SAR shuttle on the way to retrieve the body right now. I’ll see you back on Alamo when you land. Marshall out.”

 “Aye, sir,” Cooper said, looking around at the devastation his men had wrought. Gesturing at Vaughan, he made his way down the tunnel, back out away from the core. If he was going to have to float across to the station anyway, he might as well get started now. The sooner he was out of this place, the better.

Chapter 10

 “How is she, Doc?” Marshall asked, looking down at Orlova’s still frame, festooned with wires and tubes, lying on the medical bed.

 Duquesne looked up at him, sighed, and said, “You’re lucky I didn’t have any other business today. She’ll live, and will make a full recovery.”

 Sighing in relief, he replied, “Remind me to give you a promotion at some point.”

 “I’d settle for a nice, dull life.” She looked down at Orlova, and said, “It’s going to take weeks, though. Days in here, longer off-duty.” With a thin smile, she said, “Well, light duty. That’s probably the best I can hope for, knowing Maggie. She’s going to have to get used to a new hand, for a start.”

 “You couldn’t save it?”

 “There wasn’t much left to save,” she replied, “and I had bigger problems just keeping her alive. Spinal injuries are nasty, especially up near the neck. You want to give anyone a commendation, give it to Garland. He kept her alive.”

 “He had a nice surprise waiting for him when he got back to his cabin. I promoted him to Senior Spaceman on the spot.”

 “Good. Maggie’s hand will be good as new, don’t worry about that. After a little while she won’t even be able to tell the difference in terms of performance.”

 “How long?”

 “Eight weeks is the usual time. Though she’ll have partial use as soon as she regains consciousness.” Duquesne looked at him, square in the eyes, and said, “Yes, she can keep those wings of hers, but she isn’t doing anything where reaction time is a factor for weeks. I mean that. No flying fighters, no dangerous planetary missions.”

 “Understood, Doc.” Marshall shook his head, and said, “This happens too damn often.”

 “Hey, that’s my line, Skipper,” she replied. “Maybe you’re beginning to learn yet.”

 Clapping her gently on the shoulder, he said, “You never did need to teach me. I’d be far happier if you were out of a job. Though don’t take that the wrong way.”

 “I wouldn’t complain about never having to treat anything more serious than a broken finger again.” She shook her head, and said, “You might want to have a word with Salazar at some point.”

 “Oh?”

 “He was in here during the whole procedure, out in the gallery. And afterward, as well. I had to get Joe Kibaki to take him back to his quarters, though the kid was about to drop. I think it got to him.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “I’ll see if I can straighten him out. Keep me informed about any changes, and I’d like to know when she wakes up.” He glanced down at Orlova again, and said, “And please tell her that the ship is safe and that everything is fine.”

 “Don’t make my lie to my patients,” Duquesne said. “We both know that isn’t true.”

 Turning on her heels, the doctor walked away to her office, the door closing shut behind her. Marshall looked back to Orlova again, shaking his head.

 “I thought I’d find you here,” Caine said, walking into the ward. “I got the report. I figured you’d be seeing for yourself.”

 “She was a few millimeters from death, Deadeye,” he said. “One slight twitch by that guard, and we’d be burying two people today.”

 Nodding, she replied, “They both knew the risks. I’ve arranged the funeral for tomorrow, 2100. He wanted to be buried in space.”

 “Thanks,” he said. “I should have dealt with that.”

 “You’ve had a lot on your mind.” She paused, then said, “I think it’s time to tell the others. I’ve called a staff meeting for ten minutes from now.”

 “For someone who doesn’t want the job, you make a pretty damn good Exec.”

 She shrugged, and said, “Bossing people about when everything is quiet isn’t difficult. Just don’t give me the hot seat again.” As the two of them started to walk down the corridor to the elevator, she continued, “You’ve got a decision to make, and you really need to make it now.”

 “An Acting Operations Officer,” he replied.

 “As far as I can see, you’ve got the decision you want to make, and the decision the regulations say that you should make. The question is which you are going to choose.”

 “I know what you are going to suggest.”

 “Give it to Frank. He can double up on both Operations and Security, with Harper to ride shotgun on the hackers. I wouldn’t trust her to run a department, but she’s probably up to keeping an eye on things. Or you could let Chief Washington handle Security for a bit.”

 “Grant is Assistant Operations Officer.”

 “Which we both know is a non-job.”

 “That doesn’t make a difference, does it? He’s got that job, and if I don’t move him up, it’s going to hurt his record. He deserves a fair chance…”

 “I’m thinking about the ship,” Caine said, as the two of them stepped into the elevator.

 Marshall paused, and said, “If this was a permanent arrangement, I’d pick Frank. No question. Maggie will be up and about in a few weeks, though, ready to take it on again. Given that, I don’t see that I really have a choice on this one.”

 “You’re the Captain,” she replied. “Which means you always get to make a choice.”

 “And I’ve made it.” He sighed, pulled out his communicator, and said, “Harper, I’d like you to report to the briefing room on the double.”

 There was a slight pause, and the hacker replied, “On my way. I can guess what this is about, but can’t it wait until we hit hendecaspace?”

 “Not under the circumstances,” he replied. “I’ll be vague on the details, though, as much as I can be.”

 “Aye, sir,” she said.

 Caine frowned, and said, “She might have a point, Danny.”

 “Maybe. But I’ve got a team of good officers, and I need to get them working this problem. Besides, if this hadn’t been made such a big damn secret, the false-flag tactic wouldn’t be effective in the first place.”

 The doors opened, and Marshall stepped out into the corridor, a technician saluting the two of them before darting into the elevator. Caine paused to let him pass, then followed him to the briefing room. Grant, Cooper and Nelyubov were already waiting for him, and Quinn walked in with Race a couple of strides behind.

 “We’ll get this underway right now,” Marshall said. “The first order of business concerns Senior Lieutenant Orlova. I presume you’ve all read the precis of the medical report. The short version is that she’s going to recover, but that it is going to take time. Which means I need to appoint someone to cover for her.” Nelyubov glanced at Grant, who ignored the stare. “As second-in-command of that department, that falls to Lieutenant Grant.”

 “Aye, sir,” Grant said, now returning the look to Nelyubov. “I will do my best to make sure that everything runs as smoothly as possible.”

 “Keep things ticking over,” Caine said. “Maggie will be back on her feet in less than a fortnight, so this only takes effect until then.”

 His face dropped, and Nelyubov added, “I’ll help out in any way I can, of course.”

 “That won’t be necessary,” Grant snapped, and Marshall felt a tinge of regret at his choice. Not that he could think of any alternative, and for all his faults, Grant was at least an efficient officer.

 Quinn looked around the room, and asked the question Marshall was sure was on everyone’s minds, “Sir, what are we doing here?”

 Harper walked in, taking a seat by the door, with Meirong behind her. Marshall frowned as the Republic agent walked in, but that was nothing compared to the reactions from the rest of the room.

 “What is this, sir?” Race asked.

 “We're on a secret mission,” Grant began, but the agent interrupted him.

 “Largely because of intelligence gathered by my government,” Meirong said. “As such, I have a right to be here, and I am needed here. Unless you would rather blunder into battle blind?”

 “Speaking personally,” Cooper said. “I’ll listen to whatever she has to say.”

 Looking around the room, Marshall said, “We’re heading for Luyten’s Star.”

 “What’s there?” Grant asked.

 Taking a deep breath, Harper said, “A secret UN outpost and a ship that is a slightly better version of the one we fought at Yeager Station, probably manned by the not-men, which means they’ll have some of those weapons we faced last time. I’ve got blueprints of the outpost, but I can’t tell you anything else.”

 With a smile, Caine said, “Eighteen seconds. Fastest tactical briefing I ever had. You ought to get an award.”

 “We’re attacking a UN outpost?” Quinn said. “Isn’t that, well, an act of war?”

 “They attacked us,” Marshall replied, “and besides, our belief is that this station has already been suborned. I’m not authorized to go into any details on this, but based on the intelligence I have, we can expect this one to go without any retaliation.”

 “That’s a pretty big risk,” Grant said.

 “If we want to avoid a war, we don't have a choice,” Meirong said.

 “I agree,” Marshall said. “That decision has already been taken, I want to make that clear. This meeting is about ways and means, nothing more, and I want to get you all thinking on this one.”

 “We’ll need the drone fighters,” Grant replied. “That much is clear. Sir, I volunteer to fly them.”

 “I’ll consider that,” Marshall replied. “I haven’t made a decision on that yet.”

 Leaning forward, Grant pressed, “I’ll need all the training time I can get.”

 “Then go ahead and hit the simulators,” Caine suggested. “No-one’s stopping you from getting started, or are you afraid that it will be a waste of time?”

 “I’m the best-qualified pilot on this ship,” Grant said. “That’s all.”

 “As I said, that decision will be made later, but before we leave the system. The use of the drone fighters is a given, and should help at least even the odds in a fighter duel. What worries me is that there is liable to be more to it than that.”

 “I don’t think we dare presume that the enemy won’t have one of their ships present as well,” Caine said. “Which means that this is two ships against two ships, with a station to back them up.”

 “A slightly unusual one,” Harper added. “It’s planet-side, not space-based. Easier to conceal that way.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “Which means that I’m going to have boots on the ground. I’ll take three squads.”

 “Why not all of them,” Quinn said, before nodding, and saying, “Shuttle capacity.”

 “Exactly. I’ll take Third and Forth, and reinforce from First to replace our losses to this point. This one is going to take longer.”

 “We’ll give you some time to set up, but there’s no way that you’ll get surprise this time,” Marshall said.

 “They might know that we’re coming, but they won’t know where and when. We’ve had a chance to re-learn surface combat, and I think we can put that into practice.”

 Grant nodded, and said, “It would help to co-ordinate the attack if you could outline your plans to us.”

 “I would if I’d made them. It’ll come down to a lot of factors, but we’ll be there when you need us. I think we can handle the ground side of it.” Looking around the room, he said, “Frankly, in this grunt’s opinion, you’re going to have a tougher time of it in space.”

 “They’ll deploy their laser-missiles against us again,” Race said.

 “I’ve thought of that,” Caine said. “We’ll set up a taxi-rank of missiles again, have some of them orbiting Alamo ready for the attack. The trick is going to be making sure we press this home at a time and place of our choosing.”

 “Might it be better for us to focus on the enemy warship, rather than the carrier?” Quinn asked. “The fighters can do damage, but one of those lasers would finish us off with one shot if it hit true.”

 “I’ll feed the details from our battle with Yeager Station into the simulators,” Grant said. “See what I can come up with. We can presume that the carrier won’t be armed.”

 “Not if it matches our specs,” Harper said.

 “That is also my judgment,” Meirong added. “My advice would be to launch your attack in stages, to attract the maximum attention.”

 Cooper looked at her, replying, “Just call me Ensign Decoy.”

 “Actually, I was thinking that the fighters might be more suitable for that. After all, they are, as I understand it, designed largely to be expendable.” 

 “A suicide run?” Marshall asked. “That’s a waste of twelve missiles. No, we’ll go for a coordinated attack.” He looked around the room, and said, “I want some way of dealing with those laser missiles. We can assume we’re going up against them, and we need an option that will solve the problem. You’ve got until we arrive to come up with something. All of you are combat veterans, all of you know what we’re facing, so I’m putting you all on the hot seat. Find a way to make it happen.”

 Caine glanced at Quinn, and said, “We’ll put our heads together. I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”

 “I’ll be drawing quite a bit of fabrication time in the next few days,” Cooper said. “We’ll need new uniforms, the right sort of camo pattern. Have we data on the local terrain?”

 “I’ve got some pictures,” Harper volunteered.

 “Perfect. We can do this, sir.”

 “Good. I expect reports soon. Dismissed.” The officers rose, walking out of the room, Meirong leading the way, chatting to Harper as she went back to her hiding place. Marshall watched them go, then looked down at the tactical report on his datapad. One man dead already on this mission. How many more before it was over?

Chapter 11

 Grant sat in the command chair, looking over Salazar’s shoulder as he completed the preparations for the hendecaspace jump. Regulations specified that a senior officer had to be present for any dimensional transition, and Grant had volunteered with unsurprising eagerness. Looking down at his status board, he watched the last few monitor lights flash from red to green, the remaining departments indicating their readiness for the jump.

 “I have a green board,” he said. “All departments are ready.”

 Spinelli nodded, saying, “Sensors are clear.”

 “Very well,” Grant said. “Midshipman, you have the call.”

 Salazar resisted the urge to point out that he should have given that order. A lecture on the chain of command would not be received well at this point. Instead, he sat at his console, attempting to quietly seethe.

 “Aye, sir,” Foster said, working her station. “I have the call.”

 He looked over. watching her work, and she flashed him with a look of contempt. Pretending not to notice it, he started to run a series of double-checks, making sure the jump calculations were all in the system. Everything seemed to be fine, the ship ready to make to translation to another dimension, something which gave him the shivers every time he thought about it.

 Then one of the lights flashed from green to amber, and he started to run the check program. Something with the communications systems, increased power load. Less than twenty seconds to go before the jump.

 “I have an amber light,” he said. “Communications.”

 “Recommendations?”

 “We’re still go, I think, sir.”

 “Then mind your station, Sub-Lieutenant,” Grant said, his eyes locked on the screen. “If something isn’t a problem, log it and deal with it later.”

 Frowning, he continued to run the checks. Someone was sending a message, and a pretty big one, heavily encrypted. Enough that it was taking up quite a proportion of the ship’s bandwidth.

 “Weitzman, check for transmissions,” he said.

 “I’m not picking anything up, sir,” the technician replied.

 “I have the bridge, Salazar,” Grant said.

 “Ten seconds,” Foster said.

 “I think there’s something wrong, sir. My board shows a high-density transmission, and if Weitzman’s doesn’t…”

 “Then there may be some malfunction with your console, and even if there isn’t, it won’t affect the jump!”

 Foster glanced back, and said, “Five seconds.”

 “Abort, Midshipman,” Salazar said, but before she could act, Grant leapt from his seat.

 “Belay that order. Execute jump.”

 “Sir,” Salazar said. “I…”

 “You are relieved! Clear the bridge!”

 With a flash of blinding light, Alamo jumped into hendecaspace, and the transmission terminated. He quickly ran through the logs, shaking his head.

 “It’s gone.”

 “Or it was never there,” Foster said.

 “I will report your insubordination to the Captain,” Grant said. “In the meantime, you are off the bridge. And if I have anything to say about it, you will stay that way. Leave the bridge.”

 Without a word, Salazar logged off his station and walked around the corridor to the elevator. This had a familiar ring to it, but the last time it had happened, in his heart he knew why, knew that he had deserved it. This was different. Erickson looked up at him as he walked past her station, moved to follow him, but he shook his head. Bad enough that he was in the doghouse, without the rest of the shift following suit.

 Stepping into the elevator, he pushed for his quarters, but then changed his mind, tapping for the simulator suite. Blowing up a few bad guys might help settle his nerves a little. He looked down at his datapad, scanning through the bridge logs. First there was something there, and then it was missing. There had been an amber light, though, and he was convinced that a message was being sent. Not that it would matter. Grant was acting Operations Officer, and it would take a solid reason for anyone to override his decisions. Even the Captain.

 The door opened on a quiet deck. Most of the ship was on sleep cycle at the moment, but he could hear activity in the simulator room, at the far end of the corridor. Stepping into the room, he could see one of the two pods in use, with Ensign Cooper leaning on the wall, watching a projection of a battle in progress.

 “Salazar, isn’t it?” he asked. “Aren’t you on the bridge?”

 “It’s a long story,” Salazar replied.

 “Grant relieved you?” Cooper said, shaking his head. “What’s his problem?”

 “I killed two of his pilots. That’s probably enough to sour anyone’s disposition.”

 The display faded to black, and one of the pods opened, Bradley stepping out. She looked at him, shook her head, and walked over to Cooper.

 “Barbara Bradley?” Salazar said. “I knew that you were on board, but I hadn’t had time…”

 “We’ve all been busy. Besides, we weren’t in the same class.” She glanced across at Cooper, and said, “I was there, Sub-Lieutenant, and I saw what happened. You might have more friends out there than you knew.”

 “Two people under my command…”

 She sighed, then said, “The instructors shouldn’t have thrown you in at the deep end like that. It wasn’t fair on you, and it certainly wasn’t fair on the others. You paid for their screw-up, and you know it. Always the same with the chair-warmers. Things are different out here, and I’ve heard nothing but good things about you since you arrived.”

 “Senior Lieutenant Orlova…”

 “Cut that out, as well,” Cooper said. “My darling wife is right. What the hell could you have done back there on the station? You were outnumbered, and you managed to shoot your way out of the mess and get Maggie to safety. I’ve known her for years, I consider her a friend, and I am qualified in numerous unarmed combat techniques. Do you really think we would be standing here talking if I thought you had failed in any way?”

 Managing a thin smile, Salazar replied, “I guess not.”

 Gesturing at the pods, Bradley said, “Here to work off some aggression?”

 “I thought I might.”

 “Mind fighting against some human opposition? I’ve been trying out the drone fighters. Ryder put some new programs into the system when she brought them on board.”

 “I haven’t had a chance, yet,” he said, but he walked over to the pod.

 “No time like the present. Why don’t we see what happens when two drone squadrons face each other. If the idea takes off, we might find that out soon enough.”

 “I don’t know whether to hope it does or not,” he replied. 

 “Trust me, Sub-Lieutenant, anything which increases the chance of people living through battle is a very good thing,” Cooper said. “Besides, even this grunt can see that there are numerous advantages to remote operation. I can’t understand why they haven’t thought of it before now.”

 “Too many Admirals remember the good old days when they rode fire, and forgot how many of their friends didn’t live to reach their exalted heights,” Bradley said. “I’ll take Blue, you take Red. I had it set up for Ragnarok, that suit?”

 “Fine by me,” Salazar replied. He stepped into the pod, sliding down into the pouch, and slid his datakey into the pad, the controls sliding about in the cockpit to his preferred configuration. Several displays remained in their assigned slots, the relay controls for the drone fighters. He hadn’t had time to practice, but he had brushed up on the manuals. The system seemed straightforward enough, a menu of formations to choose from as well as custom settings, options to set the aggression of the drone autopilots, lock in key targets, items to avoid.  

 He was in a Wanderer-class Shuttle, a standard design type, with a simulated pilot to fly him around. That meant he could concentrate on his squadron, and while he was waiting for Bradley to log in, he gave them a few experimental commands, watching them dart around at his instruction, while his shuttle remained in the heart of the formation. They seemed to dance across the sky in comparison to normal designs. Taking out the life-system and the cockpit made quite a difference to the power/weight ratio.

 “Blue Leader to Red Leader,” Bradley said. “I’ve logged in, and Cooper’s reset everything to zero. Are you ready?”

 “All ready here, Blue Leader,” he replied. “Ready when you signal.”

 “Let’s do this.”

 The comm chatter ceased, and Salazar looked at his sensor display. No sign of the target, which must mean that they were on the far side of the planet. He wasn’t in any rush to engage, right now his time would be spent far more profitably getting his own forces in position. He tapped a control to send one of his fighters out, spending its fuel recklessly to get it up to a point where it could monitor the far side of the planet, switching the others into a five-cornered formation around his shuttle, slowly gaining speed.

 With one eye on the sensors, he quickly set up an attack run, going through a simulated drill while he waited for Bradley to launch her move. His scout flew up into position, and after a minute he could see her coming, her fighters slowing down to come in under him, close to the planet. Getting down into the gravity well was a brave move, but it didn’t give either of them much to work with.

 Swiping a control, he let his formation drift apart, curving into a cone that could envelop the enemy forces. The single scout he left in position for a second, then, with a smile, changed its course to send it hurtling towards Bradley’s formation. At the speed it would reach, there would be little time for it to correct its course, no time to slow down, and only a very brief firing window, but that didn’t matter. Either Bradley would have to spend ordinance to stop him, or she’d spend fuel getting out of the way, and he still had two missiles now on the far side of the planet to play with.

 He’d never have ordered a pilot to make so risky a move, but having unmanned fighters allowed him to take greater risks. If it made it through the maneuver, it could be recovered eventually, even if it ended up in a crazy orbit, and if it didn’t, they could always build another one.

 Instead of choosing one option or another, Bradley opted to split the difference. Two of her fighters moved in to close on the approaching target, while the others broke off, gaining altitude to rise over them. Salazar could have altered his course to match, but instead he focused on the two targets he had been given, tweaking the trajectory to a collision course, and unleashing his missiles at the precise second.

 The whole thing was over faster than he could react. His fighter exploded, two missiles slamming into it, but while Bradley still had both of hers still intact, they’d split away from the rest of the formation. If he moved quickly, he’d have a numerical advantage, and he threw the engines of his fighters onto full, watching them fly away from his shuttle. It was still difficult to appreciate how much faster they were than conventional designs, and they were set up for an attack run remarkably quickly.

 Bradley was still keeping her remaining fighters tight to her side, in one single formation, as though she was flying them as a single, larger ship. He smiled, and spread out his craft again. That was her weak spot. She was flying one fighter with eight missiles, he was flying five with ten, and his ships cruised out around her, lining up for an attack.

 This time there was plenty of firing time, lots of opportunity to match velocities. Bradley’s remaining two craft were running their engines hard to catch up, but they wouldn’t be there in time, and nine missiles flew into the air, the autopilots moving into random walk sequences to dodge them, while he furiously worked on the countermeasures package, trying to cut down the odds.

 Trajectory tracks interlaced with each other. He wasn’t worrying about protecting his missiles, he had a second wave if he needed it, focusing instead on knocking down those of the enemy. Two, then three exploded as he broke through the firewalls, triggering the self-destruct systems that prevented him simply taking control of them for himself.

 Reaching across to a control, he fired his second salvo as the first struck home, knocking two of the enemy fighters out of the sky. He still had four left, four missiles against two, and the end came quickly, fire blossoming across the sky. One missile remained, diving towards Bradley’s shuttle.

 “Red Leader invites Blue Leader to surrender,” he said,

 “I don’t think she has much choice,” Marshall said, breaking into the channel.

 “Beat me to it, sir,” Bradley said, and the display whited out. Snatching his key, Salazar jumped out of the pod as it cracked open, standing to attention on the deck. The Captain was waiting for him, a smile on his face and a datapad in his hand.

 “At ease, Sub-Lieutenant,” he said. “I just got a report from Lieutenant Grant…”

 Cooper broke in, and said, “Hell, if he doesn’t want him, I’ll take him. I could use a second-in-command.”

 “Not so fast, Ensign,” Marshall said. “There is no record of any transmission being sent, Sub-Lieutenant, but you know that.”

 “I do, sir. My conclusion is that someone falsified the logs.”

 Nodding, he replied, “I think you are right. I’ve got an investigation starting up right now, though I already think I know the answer.” Cooper frowned and made to speak, but Marshall silenced him with a raised hand, “No need to go into that here, Ensign.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 “In any event, you’ve just solved two of my problems at once, Sub-Lieutenant, and for that I am rather grateful. Mr. Grant has indicated that he no longer wants you on the bridge staff. My expectation is that Senior Lieutenant Orlova will countermand that order when she resumes her post…”

 “You could do that right now, sir,” Bradley said.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I could, but without relieving Mr. Grant, I suspect matters would be unchanged. I do not intend to take such a step. Besides, Sub-Lieutenant, I have a more important job for you. Grant can take Alpha Watch for a while. You’re going to take the drone fighters.”

 Cooper beamed, and said, “I think that’s an excellent choice, sir. Not that I know anything about it.”

 “Well, I do,” Bradley said, “and I agree. He certainly sent me back to school.”

 “Consider yourself on these simulators full time,” Marshall said. “I’ll try and arrange for some sparring partners for you. It wouldn’t be good to face the computers every time. I might even sneak in a session myself.”

 “I’d like that, sir. Facing an Ace in combat…”

 “And beating him?” he said with a smile. “Anyway, go over the specs again, and start some practice simulations. I’ll see that you get some more up-to-date information on what you are going to be up against. Frank Nelyubov will be along with the data shortly. I’ll see about getting a co-pilot assigned.” Glancing across at Cooper, he said, “Carry on,” then left the room.

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “That isn’t going to go down well.”

 “Let me guess,” Bradley said, “Grant thought he was going to get the job.”

 “He certainly lobbied hard enough for it.”

 Looking down at the simulators, Salazar said, “Crazy how a day can turn right around. I never thought I’d actually get to fly fighters in action.”

 Clapping him on the shoulder, Bradley said, “I’m happy to have you as our first defense.” Stepping back into the simulator pod, she continued, “We’re both off-duty for a while. Gabe, why don’t you punch something interesting into the computer, and we’ll see about making it best of three?”

Chapter 12

 Marshall grunted as he climbed up the service tunnel, heading for Harper’s unofficial quarters. When she first reported on board, she’d moved out of her assigned bunk within a matter of hours, finding herself a hiding place in a little-used maintenance point, and as a reward for services rendered at Jefferson, Marshall had made it as official as he dared.

 She’d outfitted the place surprisingly well, a hammock slung in the midst of a tangle of fiberoptic cables and terminals, and she was lounging back, half-asleep, as he settled down on a half-empty crate of emergency rations beside her.

 “Morning, Captain,” she said, opening an eye.

 He shook his head, and replied, “I can’t believe you’re choosing to live here. You realize that I could assign you your own room, now. Even your official rank is high enough that you wouldn’t have to share. If that’s the problem.”

 “I like it here. I’m out of everyone’s way but also in the middle of everything. What else could I want?”

 “I suppose I see what you mean,” he said. “Still, I think I’ll keep my stateroom.”

 “Maybe when I become a Captain I’ll think the same way.”

 Frowning, he said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…”

 “You don’t see me as command material?” She giggled, then said, “Relax, sir, I wouldn’t have your job for all the credits in the Treasury. I’ve got enough cares as it is. What can I do for you? I presume it is something top, top secret.”

 Looking around, he said, “My guess is that this is the most secure place in the ship.”

 “You’d be right about that.” Lounging back, she said, "You always surprise me. I mean, Logan’s one thing. He’s playing a role, but you’re the real thing. A starship captain. I’d always assumed that you’d all be ramrod-straight discipline nuts. Like my father.”

 He smiled, then said, “Maybe we’ll all get that way eventually. I’ve gone rogue on more than one occasion myself, though I don’t make a lifestyle out of it like you do. Let’s be honest. If I was to attempt to use Service discipline on you, you’d either get yourself transferred somewhere else, or I’d end up putting you under arrest.”

 “That’s true.”

 “So I might as well consider you as an asset to my ship, and treat you accordingly. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve proven yourself enough times that I’m willing to trust you. And as strange as it sounds, I’ll trust Logan’s judgment as well. If he’s given you Ultra clearance, then I presume there’s a good reason for that.”

 “Thanks,” she said.

 “Don’t let me down. That’s all I ask.” Looking down the shaft, he said, “Are you absolutely sure that this place is secure?”

 “We’re dead if it isn’t. I’ve got this place protected with the absolute latest in Triplanetary security. A generation ahead of the systems that protect Alamo.” Forestalling him, she added, “I can tap one command and upgrade the ship if needed.”

 “Why not now?”

 “The sooner they go into mass deployment, the sooner someone will try to tap them. I’d rather keep enhanced electronic defenses on hand as a nice surprise for someone, rather than giving them a chance to snoop them out in advance. Protecting a little cubbyhole like this won’t attract any attention. Rigging them up to the bridge would.”

 Nodding, he said, “You see what I mean?”

 “I guess I do. So, now that we’ve established that no-one can overhear a word you are saying, how can I help you?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Salazar was being unusually thorough during hendecaspace entry, and he picked up on a high-bandwidth transmission being sent from Alamo. My guess is to the station, though I suppose it could have been heading for one of the transports.”

 “You aren’t worried about the destination, you’re worried about the content of the message Meirong sent.”

 He frowned, and said, “Did you…”

 “She’s by far the most likely candidate. And a lot better than I thought, if she managed to get past my security programming. I’ve been watching for this myself.” Reaching up for a terminal, she started to type, and said, “Nothing in the system, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing. Though I can see some clumsy attempts at digging. You put anyone on it?”

 “No. I didn’t see the point.”

 “Interesting.” She frowned, then said, “Watch Officer’s station, on the bridge. Looks like Grant.” Shaking her head, she said, “He really doesn’t know what he’s doing. Hacking-by-numbers. Someone ought to get him a remedial course. Hell, he’s supposed to know something about this in fighters.”

 “Never mind about that. Are you suggesting that he’s involved?” 

 “Not for a second. Just that he’s on the case as well, though given that the last attempt to access was a good three hours ago, I don’t think he went very far with it. My guess is that you have some wild accusations heading your way about Salazar.”

 Rolling his eyes, Marshall said, “Not you too.”

 “None of my business how you run your ship, Captain. Just tell me what you want hacked, and I’ll do the job. Speaking of which, I think I’ve got it. Latest Republic encryption, at least the latest we know about. To an operative on Houston Station.” She shrugged, and said, “Not one we were watching, but that isn’t really a surprise. One-shot deep-cover at a guess.”

 “What does the message say?”

 “Wait one,” she said. “I’m doing this without anyone else noticing, so I’m stealing processor time from other systems. Pass me a drink, will you?”

 He reached into a box by his side, rummaging around, and asked, “Which one?”

 “The purple one.”

 “Rather you than me.” Pulling out one of the bottles, he passed it over to her, and she took a deep swig. “Are you in for the long haul?”

 “It’s been made perfectly clear that you don’t just resign from Intelligence.”

 “That doesn’t mean you have to stay in the Fleet.”

 “True.” She paused, then said, “I guess it depends where I end up. Granted I perhaps have rather more options than most on that one. If I can serve under someone I respect, someone I get along with…”

 “Someone willing to put up with your unorthodox habits,” he added.

 She smiled, then said, “Then I don’t mind shipping out. You, Logan, Maggie. Maybe Frank.” She shrugged, continuing, “Might extend the list. Base it on who I meet.”

 “That’s an interesting condition. Not something that we usually recommend.”

 Waving around, she said, “Here I get to do something fun, and it helps out other people. That’s a double-win for me. I get the best kit to play with, and I’m not just wasting my time messing about. You’re good at that, and…” She paused, then said, “Got it.”

 “Well?”

 “Lots of tactical data. I’ll dump it on a secure datapad. Short version is that we’re getting reinforcements.”

 “What?” he said, his eyes widening.

 “Republic Battlecruiser Zheng He. That’s the flagship, isn’t it?”

 “First of a new class, right from the shipyards. Which from my recollection of the technical specs, is suspiciously similar to Alamo.”

 “No fighters, slightly smaller, slightly longer endurance. I’ll dump everything we know into your terminal, but a lot of it is guesswork.”

 He frowned, and said, “Shouldn’t I have it already?”

 “Brass takes a lot of the theories out, usually just keeps in the stuff we’re sure about. That can make for some short files. If you don’t have any objection to some of it being wrong, you might find it useful.”

 “I’ll take it,” he said. “I presume…”

 “You ask, I provide. We’ve both got Ultra clearance, I just have more time to rummage around in the files than you do.” She paused, then said, “You realize this was too damn easy.”

 “I was thinking that myself,” he said. “With the utmost respect for your talents.”

 “Two possibilities,” Harper replied. “She’d have expected that someone would pick up this message. Her government wouldn’t necessarily approve of it being passed on, but she would know that you need to know if you had reinforcements coming.”

 “Maybe. Or there’s a second level to the message that you can’t detect.”

 With a shrug, she said, “I’m not a magician. I’ll keep looking at the data, but unless you want me to have full computer access…”

 “Which would make it clear that we were on to her,” Marshall interrupted.

 “Then I don’t see any real prospect of success. Of course, both possibilities could be true. And don’t necessarily assume that her own government is telling her everything.”

 “The big question is whether you can make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

 “By the time we come out of hendecaspace I should have her route traced so she can’t signal out of the ship without us knowing about it.” She frowned, then said, “This is a big deal, you know.”

 “Why?”

 “She’s just given us a big sample of their latest encryption coding. If there is a second layer to it, well, we might not work it out in time for it to do us any good here, but as soon as we get home, we’ll have it cracked. Which gives away one of their newest codes.”

 “They’ll make more.”

 “Of course they will, and are right now, but it’s what I was saying before. You don’t throw an advantage away until you actually need it. If there is more to this than we know, then they’ve already raised the stakes pretty high.” She smiled, and said, “And no, there is nothing not germane to the mission that I haven’t told you. I’ll pass on word about the agent on Houston when we get back, though probably whoever it was will be long gone by then.”

 “I’ll leave the details to you. Keep an eye on her.”

 “I have been,” she replied. “Though obviously she’s got some tricks I don’t know about.” Frowning, she said, “Of course, we’re both making a huge assumption here.”

 “Oh?”

 “That she’s the one who sent it.”

 With a frown, Marshall dropped down the shaft, hand over hand down the ladder, musing on Harper’s last words. Everything pointed to Meirong as the one who transmitted the message, certainly, but it was such an obvious idea that it might be a double-bluff. Opening a hatch, he swung out onto the deck, looking around to see if anyone had seen him, then walked towards the elevator, pulling out his datapad and scanning the message for himself.

 It was exactly as Harper had said. A good outline of Alamo’s plan to attack the outpost, as well as details of the attempt made to use the shuttles as manned kinetic missiles. Had she asked, had Meirong offered the help, he’d have granted it without question. Even passing on details of the modifications to the shuttles would have seemed a reasonable request given the circumstances. None of this hurt Triplanetary interests in any way, which made the whole matter even more mystifying.

 “Captain?” a voice called out to him. He looked up to see Grant walking down the corridor.

 “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

 “Why is Salazar flying my fighters?”

 Taking a deep breath, Marshall replied, “Those are my fighters, Lieutenant, not yours, and I will assign them to anyone I please. His performance in the simulators has been excellent, in excess of everyone else who has tried them out. Yourself included.”

 “Simulator experience isn’t everything.”

 “Grant, if you tell me where you’ve flown drone fighters before, I’ll listen to your arguments.”

 “That isn’t germane,” he said. “I have more flight experience, practical experience against real enemies.”

 “And you don’t trust Salazar.”

 “My experience has been that his judgment has been sorely lacking whenever it was tested. People have died.”

 “He saved this ship at Yeager.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “By taking a risk that would have got him court-martialled had it not succeeded. And leaving the station he was meant to be commanding at risk of attack. Damn it, he decoyed them to attack!”

 “Grant, I’m going to say this once more, so I suggest you listen extremely carefully. Sub-Lieutenant Salazar is my choice to fly this mission. I understand that you don’t want to work with him while you are temporarily in command of the Operations division, and this seems like an excellent solution to that problem. And incidentally, if you are planning to conduct any security investigations, you will inform me first in future, or at the very least go through Lieutenant Nelyubov.”

 Grant's face reddened, and he replied, “I was checking up on the possibilities that an officer under my command had mentioned. As I expected, I found nothing.”

 “You were interfering in an investigation, the results of which are classified above your clearance level, and will refrain from such activities in future. Do I make myself clear?”

 “May I speak freely, sir?”

 Marshall looked behind him, making sure no-one else was around, and replied, “By all means, Lieutenant.”

 “He’s going to be another one of your pets, isn’t he, sir. Oh, they talk about it all the time at headquarters. Orlova, Harper, Quinn, Carpenter, Cooper. Now another member of your menagerie. This isn’t the real fleet, Captain. Back there we make decisions based on service history, based on long-term competence. You’ve managed to stick yourself in a nice little bubble out here on the frontier, using a series of lucky chances to gain a reputation that you don’t deserve, and one day it is going to come back and hit you where it hurts.” He paused, and concluded, “In my opinion, sir.”

 “Well in my opinion, Lieutenant, I’d take competence over seniority every time. You are talking about officers with countless citations for gallantry and conduct, many of which were awarded by officers over than myself. You might not like the way we do things on this ship, but if that is the case, I suggest that you apply for a transfer. I can be very efficient about arranging for such things.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “That’s the solution, then, is it? Push me out of the way? I’d advise you to listen, sir, and listen carefully. You’re giving people responsibility that they just aren’t ready for, and it’s going to get people killed.”

 “Grant, at this point I think the ship would be a damn sight safer in Salazar’s hands than it would be in yours. Or Harper’s for that matter. I think her notions of responsibility and duty are a damn sight more focused than yours. Dismissed.”

 “Sir,” he replied, saluting, and walking away.

 “And that was all off the record, Grant. A fact for which you should be most fortunate.”

 Grant paused, turned, and said, “When all this goes wrong, Captain, I think you’ll be the one who counts yourself fortunate that I didn’t put this on the record.”

Chapter 13

 Harper looked up from the watch officer’s station, a smile beaming across her face as she looked back at Marshall.

 “Ready, sir. As far as anyone knows, this is Caledonia coming into the system. Our signatures and transponders will match.”

 Grant, loitering near the rear of the bridge, said, “That won’t work if anyone takes too close a look. A visual inspection, or even some detailed scanning, will tell them exactly who we are in a matter of seconds.”

 “Seconds,” Harper said. “I don’t intend to give them that much time. Half a second after we arrive, I’ll own their relay satellites.”

 Shaking his head, Grant replied, “I’ll believe that when and if I see it. We should be at battle stations.”

 “If Harper says she can do something, I’m willing to accept her word that it will be so,” Marshall said. “As for battle stations, if we leapt into the system with radiators deploying and laser cannon charging, that would only give the game away.”

 “We’re at standby alert anyway,” Caine said. “We can be at battle stations in three minutes if we need. Relax, Grant. It’ll work.”

 “I just wish I was so sure.”

 “Thirty seconds to hendecaspace emergence,” Foster said.

 “Fine, Midshipman, you have the call,” Marshall replied.

 “Aye, sir, I have the call.”

 Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen. If all went well, Alamo would slide back into normal space hiding behind their target world, on the far side from the Q-Carrier in synchronous orbit over their ground base. It would all be over in a few seconds. Either they would have successfully camouflaged their entry into this system, or they’d be facing a fight for their lives, days before they were ready.

 Or, of course, they could just run for it, heading for another hendecaspace point and fleeing the system. And their new enemies could then use their Q-Carrier to start a war, and there would be nothing they could do to stop them. By the time that Alamo could make it back to friendly space, it would likely all be over.

 “Five seconds,” Foster said, and Harper poised her hands over her controls. Everything was set up, Alamo’s systems ready to reach out and envelop the monitoring satellites in their electronic tentacles, but if something went wrong, one of a million possible problems, it would take Harper’s quick reactions to fix it.

 The familiar blinding blue flash heralded Alamo’s return to normal space, and a deep velvet world appeared on the screen, deep blood-red seas surrounding verdant continents. Normally that would have been the focus of all attention, but not this time. This time everyone was watching Harper, her eyes locked onto the display.

 “We’re in,” she said, and Marshall finally opted to breathe again. “Their systems are telling them that the Caledonia just jumped into the system. We were visible for less than three-hundredths of a second, better than I thought.”

 “And if someone checks?” Grant pressed.

 “Then we’re dead, but they’d have to go frame-by-frame to get past the dimensional distortion. If they’ve got someone that quick over there, we’ve got bigger problems than a minor window of opportunity. I’ve set up for the next step, as well.”

 “Aye, sir,” Weitzman said, stepping over to his console, putting small black pads on Marshall’s face in key locations, tapping each one lightly to activate it. “We’ve got enough images of the not-men that you should be able to mimic one without any trouble. Do you remember the script?”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Yes, mother. Are you sure we can’t get the computers to do this?”

 Harper shook his head, and said, “Not until we get one of them to pass a true Turing test. Even then I’d be more worried about it going off-script than you. Sir. Just keep it short. I’ll start working on getting a proper map of the system.”

 “We’re being hailed, sir,” Weitzman said. “A Colonel Robinson.”

 A brief flash of doubt crossed Marshall’s mind, wondering if they had come all of this way on a wild-goose chase. So far, the humans who had been working for the not-men had all been bribed, huge sums of money used to buy their loyalty, but for all he despised UN Security, he did not imagine that their men would be easily turned.

 One look at Robinson’s face told him the truth of the matter. On the surface, he looked normal, but when he saw Marshall on his screen, his image doctored to make him look like one of the not-men, fear crept into his eyes, and sweat began to bead up. Somehow, he had been broken, his spirit crushed.

 “This is the Caledonia. We have sustained damage to our engines, navigation systems and communications, and are experiencing escalating cascade failure. Dispatch engineering teams to assist us; we cannot maneuver in normal space. And see that it is done quickly.”

 “Yes, my lord,” Robinson cringed. “It will be done.”

 The screen winked out, and Marshall shook his head, “Too easy. Too damned easy.”

 “It’s a test,” Caine said. “They’ll send engineering teams, but they’ll fill those shuttles with troops, have snoopers working all the way. That way they’re covered. If we’re who we say we are, no damage has been done. If we’re an enemy, they can work out what they are dealing with and make preparations to launch a strike.”

 Harper whistled, then said, “And they’ve got the teeth for it. I’ve got the first images of the enemy strike force in the system.” She tapped a control, and a display appeared on the viewscreen. “They’ve got the Q-Carrier, docked at what looks like a missile defense platform. That’s new, brand new.”

 Nodding, Spinelli said, “I’ve got some high-resolution shots coming up now, sir. I’d question whether it is actually operational yet. The core’s intact, but there are people working on the hull, and not all of the solar arrays look to be in position.”

 “Work on that, Spaceman,” Marshall said.

 “They’ve got one of their ships in system, sir, like the one we faced at Yeager Station,” Harper reported. “Identical down to the millimeter, as best I can tell.”

 “Consider that confirmed,” Spinelli said.

 “That’s strange,” Grant replied. “Even in ships of the same class in Triplanetary service there are some changes between individual hulls. Equipment upgrades, special modifications. We don’t even try to make them absolutely identical.”

 “Could it be some sort of deception?” Caine asked. “Are we sure that they are really there?”

 Harper frowned, looked down at her readouts, and said, “Unless something has gone very badly wrong, they don’t have any idea that I’ve taken control of their relay satellites. They wouldn’t know that they needed to institute a deception. All indications are that it is really there.”

 “At least we know what we are dealing with.”

 “I’ve spotted the ground base,” Spinelli said. “Just as advertised. Getting down there is going to be tricky, sir. They can’t fail to spot us on their instruments.”

 “That’s why we’re going to be moving to the second phase,” Marshall said.

 With a smile, Harper said, “They’re launching shuttles, sir. Two of them. Slightly larger than our designs. They’ll be around the far side of the planet in nine minutes.”

 “Recommended fighter launch in four minutes, three seconds for intercept,” Caine said. “We’re ready for immediate scramble down on the hangar deck, and our Espatier platoon is on stand-by alert.”

 “Which means we have three minutes before committal,” Marshall said. “What about the rest of the system?”

 Looking across at his display, Spinelli said, “There are a lot of blind spots, sir, but we’d have at least two days’ warning if anything came out of the nearest one. No signs of any other inhabited planets in the system, nothing to show any sign of activity. It all matches the data we received. As for the planet, again, all as advertised.”

 “A hundred and fifty seconds before we need to commit,” Foster said.

 “No change in aspect from the two ships?”

 “They haven’t moved an inch since we arrived, aside from launching the shuttles. At a guess, I’d say they were setting up the orbital defense satellite and conducting some routine maintenance. I’m picking up a few people on the outer hulls of both craft,” Spinelli said.

 “There’s a slight increase in communications traffic,” Weitzman said, “but nothing exceptional. Security is working on decoding the feeds now, but they won’t have them for at least fifteen minutes.”

 Nodding, Harper said, “They’re using a new algorithm. I recognize most of it, just a modification of one we know about. Two minutes, Captain. What are we waiting for?”

 “We’ve got the time, we might as well use it. What about the surface base?”

 Tapping a control, Spinelli brought a topographic display of the ground, wireframe contours of the features, a pair of low-slung domes at the end of a long ravine.

 “That’s a hundred miles long, sir, and they’ve got sensors rigged on top of the cliffs on either side. Bare ground all around, but the ravine itself is heavily forested.”

 “Why not use the open terrain?” Caine mused.

 “Chemicals,” Harper said. “And biologics. There are a lot of interesting resources down there in that jungle, and nominally, that’s what the base is there to extract. It would look strange if they placed it down on the wrong side of the planet.”

 “They’ll have all manner of detection down there, traps, ambushes,” Caine said. “I don’t think that Cooper can do it in five days. And if they try and go down the cliffs, we might as well drop the shuttles right on top of them.”

 “We might have to amend the timeframe of our attack,” Marshall said.

 “Speaking of which, ninety seconds,” Harper said.

 “Every hour we linger in this system is another chance for us to be detected,” Grant said, stepping forward. “I recommend an abort. Withdrawing from the area will flag to them that we’re onto them, and there’s every chance that they’ll give up their plan.”

 “Or simply proceed ahead of schedule, making sure to leave the system days before we can follow them,” Caine replied.

 “We’ve come too far to quit now,” Marshall said, glancing back at Grant. “Harper, are you sure that you have the relay satellites under your control?”

 She paused, then said, “There’s always a risk, sir. I suppose there is a chance that they might be faking it, trying to trick us, but as far as I can tell everything is proceeding according to plan.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Then we are go for the second phase. Deadeye, issue the alert scramble, and make sure that Salazar is aware of the margin of error. If anyone sees his fighters, the game is up, and we’ve got to get both of those shuttles intact.”

 “He knows that, Danny,” Caine replied.

 “I’ll monitor his flight from Astrogation,” Grant said, stepping into the elevator, the doors closing behind him.

 Looking up from her console, Caine said, “He’s on the way. Whatever happens now, we’re committed.”

 “I hope you have a very boring day, Deadeye. I guess all that we’ve got left is to sit back and watch the action.”

 “Pavel’s a good pilot, Danny. He knows what he’s doing. If anyone can pull this mission off, he will.”

 With a thin smile, he replied, “That’s a very important caveat you added there.”

 “Change of target attitude!” Harper reported. “Third shuttle now departing the Q-Carrier, smaller and faster than the others. It’s going up into a higher orbit.”

 “Any other signs of activity?” Marshall said, jumping to his feet.

 “Nothing, sir.” The green-haired hacker looked up, and said, “I might have screwed up.”

 “Or they are just being extra careful, double-checking the situation. Caine, get back on the horn with Salazar, and let him know that he has three shuttles to capture, not just two. Have SAR on standby for immediate launch.”

 “In the works,” she said, returning to her station.

  Shaking his head, Marshall watched the trajectories resolve into position, the three ships smoothly gliding on their interception course, slowly beginning to move around the planet. In a few moments, they’d spot Alamo, and while their jamming would hold the situation for a while, if just one of them got within line-of-sight of the Q-Carrier, the game was over. He walked back to his chair, sitting down, wishing that he was in a cockpit. Up here, there was nothing he could do but wait, and watch.

Chapter 14

 The alert klaxon sounded, and Salazar tossed the plastic cup he was holding to the ground, the liquid within spilling out across the launch bay as he jumped into the shuttle. All around him, technicians were frantically preparing the drone fighters for launch, somehow fitting two of them on each elevator airlock in a desperate scramble. His co-pilot was still missing, and he glanced down at his watch, silently urging him on, before Erickson sprinted across the deck, a helmet in her hands, jumping through the hatch in a single bound.

 “Aren’t you meant to be on the bridge?” he asked.

 “Last minute change of plans,” she replied. “Gregor’s down with an ear infection. I’m covering for him. Launch in thirty seconds.”

 “Preflight’s all locked in. When was the last time you flew a shuttle?”

 “Relax, flyboy, I know what I’m doing.” She slid into the pilot’s couch as he settled down at the controls, activating the start-up sequence at last, flicking switches in a now-familiar pattern painstakingly memorized over the last five days of simulations.

 “Bridge, this is Control One, ready to launch,” Erickson said.

 “Roger that, Spaceman, you have clearance. Good hunting, and watch where you’re shooting.”

 “Thank you, Bridge.” The shuttle dropped through the airlock, sliding through the double hatches until it dropped out into the cold space beyond. Up above, the other hatches were opening, each one disgorging its pair of drone fighters, all of them moving into the preset formation with the shuttle, sliding through space on their thrusters.

 “Right,” Salazar said. “This mission’s a lot more complicated than we originally thought. We were supposed to be picking up two shuttles close together, but now we’ve somehow got to manage three.”

 “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

 “Full burn on the course to intercept the first two shuttles. Let’s worry about those to begin with. I’m going to have enough on my hands managing one battle without fighting two at the same time. Though I can make sure we’ve got an edge.”

 Throwing Drones Five and Six onto an independent command track, he set them to rise to a higher orbit, high enough that they would have the advantage of the gravity gauge over the third, fast shuttle, but not so high that they would pass into line-of-sight with the enemy forces on the far side of the planet. He hoped. Acceleration pushed him back into his couch as Erickson hit the main engine, kicking them and the first four drones to their meeting with their original target.

 “Salazar, this is Alamo Actual,” a voice said. “I’m not going to back-seat drive, but we’ve got a new objective for you. We’ve got to have that small shuttle as intact as possible. The others we just need to capture. I know this isn’t going to make it easy on you, but the third stage of this plan won’t work without getting that ship back intact. Understood?”

 “Roger, Alamo,” he replied. “I’m a little vague on the details yet, but I’ll do everything I can. Estimate that we’ll intercept the first group of shuttles in ninety seconds.”

 “Negative,” Grant broke in. “I have you at contact in seventy seconds.”

 “I’m assuming they’ll turn and run once they see a squadron of fighters bearing down on them. Wouldn’t you?” Glancing up at his screen, he said, “I’m a little busy to chat right now. Shuttle out.”

 Shaking her head, Erickson said, “That bastard won’t let up, will he.”

 “That bastard is a superior officer, remember.”

 “Just a higher-ranking one,” Erickson replied.

 “How the hell did you get on bridge duty, anyway?”

 She shrugged, and said, “Quinn thought it would help season me a little. Wants to push me up to damage control supervisor, and a year as a flight engineer’s mandatory. I’d rather do this, though.”

 Throwing another switch, Salazar guided the four fighters running close to him into a crescent formation, two of them racing out in opposite directions, spending fuel to put themselves into an optimum firing position. Any moment now, any second, the shuttles would spot him.

 “We’ve got action!” Erickson yelled. “The high shuttle’s seen us. Rising at full speed.”

 “Damn,” he replied, kicking in another control to boost the two drones he had in pursuit to their top speed. “That’s earlier than I’d hoped. If he speeds up much more, he’ll go into line-of-sight.” The missile control loomed at him, so tempting, and he started to set up a firing solution.

 “Wait a minute,” Erickson said, glancing away from the hell. “You’re a bit out of range, aren’t you? We need to close in for accuracy.”

 “I’ve got four missiles up there,” he replied. “I can sure as hell spare two.” He tapped a control, and two missiles raced ahead from his drones, surging forward to fly over the shuttle, gaining speed far faster than the manned vehicle possibly could. He had one eye on the sensor monitor, tracking their trajectories.

 “What are you doing?”

 “I’m suggesting that they might want to try a different course.”

 “Ten seconds more and they get detected.” Glancing across at a second display, she said, “And we’ve got contact in forty seconds ourselves. Correction, forty-two. They must have seen us, trying for a low orbit.”

 “Jamming?”

 “All working for the moment. Harper’s box of tricks is doing the job. That won’t last forever, though.”

 “One going down, one going up,” he muttered. “This is hard enough when they’re all in the same damned place.” Tapping another control, he drew his missiles closer into the high-flying shuttle, and the pilot decided to break away at the last second, just before he could act to cover his losses and slam the warheads in anyway, regardless of orders.

 Wiping his hand across his forehead, he looked at the monitors, trying to gather all of the data, trying to make sense of it all. This whole system was a prototype, not intended for serious combat, and certainly not designed for one man to run two battles at the same time. His eyes darted from display to display, his hands moving over the controls on barely-trusted instinct, hoping that he was making the right choices.

 Ranging wide, Drones One and Four slid around the far side of the two incoming shuttles, getting in behind them with their warheads, while Two and Three continued to barrel in towards them. He kept an eye on the fuel monitors, shaking his head. Even if they could pull off this near-impossible maneuver, they still had to get back to Alamo without being detected, without passing into view from the far side of the planet, and they didn’t have much orbital space to work with. This was going to leave them with dry tanks when they got back. Optimistically.

 Up high, the two missiles were closing on the fast shuttle, driving in towards it, but the pilot was working his countermeasures as hard as he could. There was no way that they were going to get a closely-selected target, so he cut their engines, letting them drift. Two and a half minutes before they might be detected, and hopefully by then all of this would be over.

 Back in his orbit, the two shuttles were still trying to evade, and he fired a salvo of missiles, one from each of his four drones, targeting right down their throats. Precision was less important here. He wanted them damaged, not destroyed, but his orders didn’t specify that the shuttles had to be used again. The short, stubby warheads leapt from the drones, ranging towards the enemy craft, two apiece, closing in on the target. Countermeasures and evasive maneuvers didn’t count for a thing as he guided them carefully in.

  A quick glance across, another chance to wipe the sweat from his brow. The high shuttle could keep for a few seconds, long enough for him to see this down. The autopilots on the pursuing drones were staying within weapons range, even closing the gap, and the missiles were slowly dropping back.

 “Alamo, this is Salazar,” he said. “Harper, we’re go. Missile contact in five seconds.”

 “Roger that, Shuttle, I’m on it.”

 The pack of four missiles pushing ahead of the shuttle turned around, their engines firing to slow them down, to match speed with their target rather than simply slamming into them. As they grew close, their warheads detached, smaller thrusters working to latch them onto the hull of the shuttle, two on each. Within a second, their engines had died, and their thrusters were pushing them onto a new course.

 “Great work, Salazar!” Marshall said. “That’s two down! Harper’s bringing them in right now. One to go.”

 “On it, sir,” he replied. This was easier, now that he could focus all of his attention onto a single target, even if he did only have two drones, and two of the special missiles to go. Each drone was carrying one conventional missile and one techjammer, the former a backup just in case everything went to hell.

 “Anything I can do?” Erickson asked.

 “Set up for the return to Alamo,” he replied, tapping another control to make sure that Drones One to Four matched their course. “We’re running out of time.”

 He looked up at the range plot, started to take greater control of Drones Five and Six, his hands skimming across the controls as he feinted in with one, then let it slide back on reduced thrust as he brought the other forward. Then, with a single tap, he fired the last two missiles.

 This one was make-or-break, and he knew it. The techjammer missiles didn’t have the range that the others hand, only a very limited fuel capacity, another prototype weapon under test. If something went wrong, then there was no backup plan. Alamo could fire a shot with its laser cannon, bring the shuttle down, but the energy pulse would be picked up on the far side of the planet.

 He willed the two missiles in towards their target, focusing on nothing else, watching as they curved gently in, pushing past the remaining enemy shuttle, now dangerously close from completing its escape. The warheads detached, and the payloads completed their final burn, locking onto the hull.

 “That did it!” Marshall yelled. “Harper’s got the third, with just enough fuel to bring it home. Now get back yourself, as fast as you can.”

 “Roger that, Alamo. I’m on the way.” One last piece of business, and he sent the two missiles from the start of the battle, now running low on fuel, to spin down to the planet in this orbit. They’d have burned up without a trace before they could be detected by anyone on the surface, or on the far side of the planet. Now that the job was done, all he had to do was cover his tracks. 

 The shuttle engines roared as they moved to correct their velocity, slowing them down to allow Alamo to catch up with them. Up ahead, the two enemy shuttles were coasting towards the elevator airlocks, staying on the course they had originally been on before their attempt to escape, Cooper’s Espatiers ready to take the occupants into custody.

 “Damn,” he said, looking across. “Red light on Drone Four. Fuel leak.”

 “Let me take a look,” Erickson said, locking the shuttle on automatic approach as she rose from her couch, walking over to his console. She started to run a series of diagnostic checks, and shook her head. “No good. The damn thing never had enough fuel to pull this off. The defect’s in the tank itself, not the fuel lines. The gauges are messed up.”

 “How did that get through the inspections?”

 “Probably because no-one’s ever worked on anything like this before, and the deck gang would have been relying on the in-built safeties.”

 Shaking his head, he tapped another control, and said, “You can get back to the helm.”

 Frowning, she looked over his shoulder, and said, “You’re crashing it down.”

 “No choice.”

 “It’s bigger than the missiles…”

 “That’s a risk we’re going to have to take. If we’re lucky, they’ll just write it off as a meteor, something natural. If we’re lucky.”

 “And if we aren’t?”

 “Then there isn’t anything we can do about it now.” He looked back at the sensor display, watching as the fast shuttle drifted up into Alamo, he and his drones now coming in on final approach. He glanced down through one of the viewports, saw a faint point of light with a slender trail behind it, Drone Four descending to its fiery death.

 “Only one lost, Pavel,” Erickson said. “That isn’t bad.”

 “Bad enough,” he said. “We’re going to need it later. You’d better call for docking clearance. I think we’ve got everything secure out here.”

 “Right,” she said. “Damn, we’re running on fumes.”

 He looked up at the sensor display one last time. Just clear space on the readouts, no sign of the battle that had just taken place out here, nothing for the detectors on the far side of the planet to pick up. A successful operation, but only just. Fighting enemies that didn’t have any weapons, he’d almost lost control. Next time, it would be for real.

Chapter 15

 The last of the UN shuttles rose to the hangar deck, Cooper standing around with three of his squads, their weapons at the ready. Behind him, a trail of sullen prisoners were being taken to a holding area by an unhappy First Squad, a slow procession into captivity. He looked at the shuttle carefully, then down at his watch.

 “Right. It’s going to be Third and Fourth,” he said. “As well as Sergeant Morton and Specialist Jackson.”

 “Damn it,” someone from Second Squad said.

 “I don’t know who that was,” Cooper replied, “but you’ll get your chance. Someone has to stay behind to guard the ship. Grab your kit.”

 A fire team moved into position in front of the shuttle’s hatch, pistols raised and at the ready, and a technician reached across to open the door. A group of men in UN Security uniform walked out, looking around at the deck, their eyes absorbing the details they saw. One of them abruptly made a break, running for the airlock, but Corporal Pavlov took him in a running tackle, sending the two of them crashing to the floor.

 Leaving his men to deal with the new batch of prisoners, Cooper stepped into the shuttle, shaking his head as he looked around the cabin. Cramped and confined, it was going to be a tight fit to get even two squads in here, but that was the minimum to complete the operation. At least they could leave their spacesuits behind.

 “Grab your chutes,” he said, “and your kits. We’re moving out right now. Get into the ship.” Raising his communicator to his ear, he said, “Cooper to Marshall. We’re ready to begin the third phase.”

 “Understood, Ensign. Harper has control of that shuttle and will guide you to the target. How long do you need?”

 “Say seven days,” he replied. “We’ll find a way to make it work. Monitor this frequency, but if I’m calling home, something’s gone wrong.”

 “Cooper, if you need to abort, at any time, do it. We can have evac shuttles down to pick you up in fifteen minutes if necessary.”

 “Yes, sir. I understand.”

 “Then good luck, and good hunting.”

 Most of his men were in the shuttle, jostling for position. He picked up his parachute with one hand, his backpack and rifle with the other, and took his place at the head of the formation, standing in the airlock. A pair of technicians were hurriedly fitting the escape apparatus over the hatch, and he briefly paused to inspect their work, the retractable pole that would snap into place at the right time.

 As he stepped inside the hatch slammed shut, and after a moment he felt the shuttle drop down through the elevator airlock, on its way to its final destination. It felt strange to have no-one at the controls, just Harper and the duty shuttle pilot back on Alamo handling it by remote. It was a violation of half a dozen safety regulations not to have someone qualified at the helm, but given a choice between taking a trained trooper and a shuttle technician, he’d gone for the former with no hesitation.

 “Listen up,” he said. “This is the big show, people. Re-entry’s going to be tough with no couches, so hang on. We’ll be taking it as easy as we can. Make sure that you complete weapons and parachute check in plenty of time, and yes, I know we haven’t got much space in here.”

 He looked around at the eager faces, smiled, and continued, “Bail-out will be at thirty thousand feet. You’ll have your respirators on, but it’s going to be damned cold for a couple of minutes. Your parachutes will deploy at a thousand feet.” There was a murmuring around the room, and he said, “You all trained for this on Ragnarok. The atmosphere might be thicker here, but the principle is just the same.”

 “Twenty-nine thousand feet of free-fall?” Barnard said.

 “Remember your training, and you will get through this in one piece. Your parachutes know exactly what they are doing, and will guide you down to the landing point once they deploy. If something goes wrong, don’t wait too long to open the reserve.”

 “Don’t worry,” Hunt said. “We won’t.”

 “Once you get down on the deck, get rid of your parachute and proceed to the rendezvous point. Do not engage any enemy forces unless you have to. This is a stealth operation, not a one-week gun battle. You read me?”

 The shuttle lurched into free-fall as the two squads replied, “Yes, sir!”

 He started to check his weapons, running his plasma carbine through its test cycle, marveling at the weight. Another new innovation, lighter than their old weapons for ground deployment, with the compromise that it only fired half as many shots before charging. His old-fashioned projectile pistol was the back-up, complete with silencer, just in case. Fifteen clips of ammunition, half a dozen grenades, medical kit, combat datapad, rations for a week, survival kit, the list was almost endless.

 They’d come a long way in three years, though given that the kit he was carrying was a melange of US, Russian and Australian kit from the brushfire wars of more than a century ago, it wasn’t that impressive. More a question of historical research than actual technological development, though naturally the back-room crews were promising that the wonders of modern science would be deployed to ground infantry combat real soon.

 Then his parachute, strapped tightly to his back, a relic of the orbital skydiving craze that had briefly taken hold a decade ago. Naturally, something designed for the thin Martian atmosphere would melt in a second if exposed to the stresses of a denser world, but he had been assured that the principle was just the same, and that the design would work in thicker atmospheres. They’d tried them on Ragnarok, getting everyone used to the new kit, but that was a test drop onto an open field with a mug of hot cocoa waiting for them when they landed. This was a combat drop, the first real one for a century.

 The shuttle started to rock back and forth as it hit the atmosphere. All of the monitors were in German, the text unreadable without a translator he didn’t have time the use. Not that it mattered anyway. All they needed to know was when to leave the shuttle, and they’d be signaled when they hit their target altitude. Which would only be a matter of minutes from now.

 It was frustrating that there were no viewports. They were missing a great view as the ship slid into the atmosphere, and his imagination started to fill in the gaps, picturing the tongues of flame ripping around the heat shield as the shuttle made its final descent. Simply dropping down to the ground wouldn’t work, not on this mission. The enemy had to think that their shuttle had made an uncontrolled descent, destroyed on landing. Right now, Alamo was sending a faked broadcast explaining all of this. He hoped.

 The inner hatch opened, the signal for them to get ready for their descent. Outside, the launch rod was extending, and he clipped himself to the hastily fitted device. An amber warning light lit up on his respirator, and he briefly panicked before realizing that it was his medical monitor reporting elevated heart rate. No-one could blame him for that.

 “Stand ready!” he said, stepping up to the outer hatch, all that was between him and the hostile planet below. In a few seconds, there wouldn’t even be that. The shuttle was spilling velocity rapidly, but this was still going to set a few records. They couldn’t afford to take the ship too far out of a normal flight profile. The final indicator sounded as the ship went subsonic, a loud boom rattling through the cabin.

 “Any second now,” he said. Behind him, both squads were standing in a long, thin line, ready to follow him out. To make it even more interesting, they’d timed the drop for planetary night. The fun wasn’t going to end quickly. They didn’t even know for sure what the terrain was like down there, what the wildlife was like. He’d only seen animals in a zoo. Now he’d be trying to evade them.

 The hatch slid open, and he yelled, “Now, now, now!” and took a single step through the door, enough to send him sliding down the hundred-foot pole, long enough to toss him well clear of the shuttle, spinning around and around. He managed to stabilize himself, and looked back up, watching the rest of his squad follow him. Just like the last time they’d done something like this, back at Houston Station, with the difference that this time, there was no safe haven to return too if someone missed the drop.

 He looked down at the ground, his altimeter rapidly running through ever-decreasing numbers as he dived for the surface. The target was a river delta at the end of a hundred-mile canyon, an open space that had enough cover for them to easily hide if necessary. Their target was thick jungle, and all around them were high, dry uplands, scrubland and desert, where they would be spotted in moments.

 Assuming that they weren’t already being tracked down to the surface. This jump had been designed to minimize their sensor profile, but for all they knew, the not-men had some special tricks to play with, something they didn’t know about. There could be people waiting for them on the surface right now.

 Soaring past fifteen thousand feet, he tried to relax, tried to enjoy this. The odds of him ever doing anything like this again were remote, he hoped, and he certainly couldn’t complain about missing the view now. He soaked in the terrain, his eyes trying to absorb every detail, from the blood-red sea to the azure vegetation, the thin trails cutting through the jungle and the dull yellow light from the twin domes beyond, their eventual goal.

 Ten thousand feet. Not long to go know. He settled into position for his parachute to open, running one last systems check on his chest monitor. Everything seemed to be in order, but he still worried. That was as good a definition of a platoon leader’s job as he had ever heard, a professional worrier. He glanced up, trying to count his men, but the gloom was too dark, and he had to give up at twelve. There should be nineteen others above him, the two squads and his platoon sergeant.

 Turning towards the sea, he saw a brief flash as the shuttle smashed into the water, traveling at a speed high enough that there should be nothing left to investigate. The ocean floor was a thousand feet deep where they had selected, so unless the local base had a submarine on hand, there was no chance of them launching an investigation. No way for them to know who was on board, or to conduct any sort of a forensic study. Certainly not before it became a moot point, seven days from now.

 Five thousand feet, and he started taking deep breaths, his respirator giving him extra oxygen to calm him down, relax him. There was nothing he could do at this point. Either his parachute would work, or it wouldn’t. And the same applied to his men. If all went well, he’d be seeing them all on the ground in a few minutes.

 He dropped through a cloud, blind for a few seconds, and when he emerged, he’d lost sight of more of his men. The winds were tossing them around worse than he had expected, and were picking up quickly. Weather was an annoyance he had little experience of, except in books, and Ragnarok’s weather was predicted well enough to remove any surprises. All he knew was that the barometric pressure was rising, as was the humidity, but that didn’t do him any good unless he knew what it meant.

 Two thousand feet. Any second now, the parachute would open, and he could start to concentrate on the descent. He ran his hands over the straps on his backpack, on his carbine strapped to his leg, his pistol in his holster. No point getting down to the surface if he was unarmed when he got there, and the chances of a supply drop were vanishingly small.

 The jolt of the chute release came as a surprise, twenty feet sooner than he had thought. Some minor failure with the monitors, but he breathed a sigh of relief as the black canopy opened up above him, slowing his fall to a slow, gentle descent. Reaching his arms up to hold the straps, he relaxed and let the automatic systems guide his trip to the surface, making tiny adjustments to try and bring him in close to the landing site, though the winds were getting stronger, making this a losing battle. As long as they were within a few miles of each other, they ought to be able to make contact again. Just getting onto solid ground seemed like an achievement at this point.

 Everything was still flashing by, the ground racing towards him as he dropped the final few feet to the ground. He braced himself for the impact, and landed smoothly on the ground, dropping and rolling, detaching the canopy and letting it billow off. Pulling out his pistol, he switched the eyepieces on his respirator to infra-red, looking around. Nothing in sight but some small animals. At least, he presumed that was what they were. Everything was still, the night punctuated by strange grunts and growls from the undergrowth.

 Training took over. He pulled the canopy in, balling it up, then started to hack into the ground with his shovel, digging a hole to bury it. The soft ground piled up around him as he worked, sparing only a quick glance up. The last few members of his platoon were landing, scattered all over the place by the wind, but the first priority had to be covering his tracks. Stuffing the canopy into the hole, he spread the soil on top of it, making sure none of it showed. An air search wouldn’t find his footprints, but a large piece of synthosilk was another story.

 He left his rifle strapped to his leg. When powered up, it would be a heat source visible for miles, and with limited charge, he needed to save it for the final assault in any case. The wind was blowing to the north, towards the valley, and that seemed as good a place as any to begin the search for the rest of his men

 Pausing for a moment, he looked back at the blood-red sea, the product of some strange algae, according to the reports. There was a shape, something on the beach, washing up on the shore, and he raced towards it, reaching for his medical kit. It was obvious as soon as he arrived that he was too late.

 Rolling the body over, he saw the face of Private Tucker, locked in panic, the algae caked on her cheeks. Her respirator was hanging half-off her face, leaving her unprotected from the air. Likely she hadn’t even made it to the surface. Shaking his head, he reached down to sweep his hand across her face, closing her eyes.

 “Sir?” a voice said, a figure moving towards him. He raised his pistol, only to drop it down to the ground as he recognized Corporal Vaughan, racing in his direction. There was another figure behind him, standing on top of a low rise, a rifle pointed towards him.

 “It’s me,” Cooper said. “I found Tucker.”

 With a sigh, Vaughan said, “That’s two, then.” Gesturing back the way he had come, he added, “Phil Burns as well. Caught in a tree and something engaged his release. Fell a good two hundred feet.”

 “Damn it,” he replied. “We’ve only been down on the ground for a few minutes, and already we’re two men down?”

 “At least, sir. Six of us came down just over that rise, all close together. I think a lot of Fourth Squad got scattered to hell and gone.”

 “Who have you got?”

 “Jackson, Barnard, Watkins, Nash, Rhodes. All unwounded. I left the others burying Private Burns while I came down to find you.”

 “No sign of the enemy?”

 “Not a trace. I don’t think we’ve been spotted.” Glancing around, the grizzled Corporal added, “Going to be tough with just seven of us, sir. I didn’t see any more chutes coming down in this spot.”

 “Everyone knows where the target is and the general route we’re taking. Hopefully the rest of the unit will meet up with us en route. Until then we’ll just have to proceed as though this is all we’ve got.” Shaking his head, he said, “And remind me to say some harsh words to whoever designed those parachutes.”

 “Don’t worry, sir, I think we’ll all contribute to that report.”

 “Give me a hand with Tucker.” Cooper knelt down to pull her clear of the sand. “We might as well bury her next to Burns. We can’t leave her here.”

 Looking out across the water, Vaughan asked, “Do you think there might be more of them out there?”

 “There’s nothing we can do about it,” he replied. “If they came down in one piece, they should be able to make it to shore. Now come on. We’ve got to move.”

Chapter 16

 “Secure from standby alert,” Marshall said, rising from the command chair. “Reports to the Acting Operations Officer. Spinelli, I want full reports on everything in this system. If there’s a molecule out of place, I need to know about it yesterday. Weitzman, keep listening out from any activity on the planet.” Turning to Grant, he said, “I want two shuttles on permanent standby for pickup at a moment’s notice. Around the clock. Preflights completed, pilots ready for scramble. Understood?”

 “Aye, sir,” Grant said.

 “Very well. You have the conn. Deadeye, shall we go and take a look at the face of the enemy?”

 “Sounds like fun,” she replied, following Marshall into the elevator. As the doors closed, she turned to him, and said, “You can relax a bit. Everything’s going as planned.”

 “For the moment,” he said, “and we don’t know what happened down on the surface.”

 “Good,” she said. “If we’d been able to track them, so could that Q-Carrier. Cooper’s an expert, a veteran. He knows his business better than you do.” Frowning, she replied, “This is a hell of a time to start to second-guess this operation.”

 “I know,” he replied. “I just can’t get past the feeling that this is all a little convenient. We’ve followed a trail of breadcrumbs leading all the way here.”

 “Not much of a trap if we’re already suspicious.”

 “The trap works if you get caught. It doesn’t matter how nervous you are.” He paused, then said, “I want battle drills scheduled at least once a day for the next week. Don’t tell me when, either. I want to be surprised as well.”

 “Sure. I always thought that sleep was overrated.”

 The doors slid open, and they stepped through onto the cargo deck, cavernous compartments that held the near-infinite number of objects that Alamo simply couldn’t do without. The fabricator could make almost anything given time and the right materials, but there was always a long backlog on the maintenance list. It was still a lot easier just to get a new component out of a box. A fire team stood in front of Storage Seven, standing to attention as the two of them approached, snapping sharp salutes.

 “As you were,” Marshall said. “How are the prisoners, Sergeant?”

 Lance-Sergeant Francis, smiled, gesturing with her thumb at the door, and said, “Most of them are quiet as mice, sir. We had a little trouble at the hangar deck, but once we got them into the ship, they settled down nicely. Frankly, it’s a little too quiet for my liking. They might be up to something.”

 “Medical taken a look at them?” Caine asked.

 “Doctor Duquesne is in there now, checking them over. We haven’t interrogated them yet.”

 “Any ready for me to look at?”

 “I’m sure I can find one, sir.”

 “Bring one into the Supply Chief’s office. We’ll question him there.”

 There was a frown, and Francis asked, “How are we treating the prisoners, sir? Prisoners-of-war or just plain prisoners?”

 “Prisoners-of-war, Sergeant. I know that it limits our options for interrogation.”

 “Understood, sir. I’ll pass the word to the men.”

 “Danny,” Caine quietly said as they walked across the corridor, “That’s a bit of a reach. Treating them as POWs implies that there is a war going on here.”

 “We’re fighting them, missiles flying around, troops on the planet, crewmen being captured. What sort of definition of a war do you want?”

 “One that the Senate has approved.”

 He paused for a second, then said, “Fine. Log them as prisoners in the books, but I want them treated in every respect under the Fifth Geneva Convention.”

 “I agree with you, Danny, but we’ve got to be careful.”

 The Supply Chief’s office was a typical cubbyhole, stuffed between two of the cargo bays, filled to overflowing with print-outs, datapads, half-empty crates. There was a chart on the wall, a manifest dated two years ago, and a tatty jacket tossed over the back of the chair, a cot in the corner that hadn’t been made in a while.

 “Remind me to have a word with Kowalski about cleaning this place up,” Marshall said, wrinkling his nose. “What died in here?”

 “I don’t think I want to know,” Caine replied. The door opened, and Francis stood at the threshold, holding a sullen technician by the arm. She was wearing a UN Fleet uniform from a couple of changes ago, the stripes of a Technical Sergeant on her sleeve.

 “Name’s Brigit Pryce,” she said. “Maintenance Systems Technician.”

 “Thank you, Sergeant. Stand guard outside, just in case.”

 “Say one word, sir, and I’ll holler.”

 The door closed, and Marshall perched on a corner of the desk, saying, “Well, Pryce, we have a bit of a situation here.”

 “I have nothing to say,” she replied in a cold, emotionless voice.

 Looking up at Caine, he replied, “We know that your station has been taken over by an inhuman race. We know that you are no longer operating under United Nations control, and that you have undergone duress to make you work against your own people, as well as us. Strange as it may seem, we’re here to help.”

 “I have nothing to say,” she repeated.

 Caine stepped over to her, and said, “We can get you home, on a neutral ship, as soon as this is over. You will be provided with medical care, everything you need. Or, if you wish, you can claim asylum in the Triplanetary Confederation.”

 “I’ll sign off on that if you don’t think you’ll be welcomed home,” Marshall added.”

 “I have nothing to say,” she said again, still in the same dull, cold tone.

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Sergeant Francis, come in.” She stepped in, looked at the prisoner and he added, “Take her back with the others.”

 As Francis took the prisoner away, Duquesne walked out of the room, red-faced, and said, “What those bastards did to them is a damned war crime.”

 “Details, Doc,” Caine said.

 “They’ve been brainwashed. Completely. Deep hypnotic control.” Shaking her head, she said, “Drugs, conditioning, god knows what. This wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t easy. All I know is that they are totally unresponsive. It’s as if they’ve been programmed.”

 Marshall’s eyes widened, and he snatched at his communicator, yelling, “Harper, get down here, on the double!”

 “What’s up, sir?” the hacker said, walking in.

 “How the hell did you do that?” Caine asked.

 “I wanted to see the prisoners for myself. I am supposed to be your Intelligence Officer, remember.”

 “They’ve been brainwashed. Totally taken over by the enemy. Did you still have agents over there?”

 She closed her eyes, sat down cross-legged on the floor, and said, “I’ll see that their families are informed.” Looking up, she sighed, then added, “There are precautions given to deep-cover agents, in case they should be captured and subject to enemy coercion.”

 “Good God,” Duquesne said. “Do we still go in for that sort of barbarism?”

 “Sometimes there just isn’t any choice. Don’t worry, sir, your secrets are still safe.”

 “But suicide?” the doctor replied.

 “Better that than being programmed, turned into mindless sheep,” Caine said.

 “That might not be permanent,” Duquesne said, stepping forward, fury on her face.

 Marshall stepped between them, then said, “Wait a moment. Are you telling me that there might be a way to reverse the process? To restore them to their former selves?”

 “Possibly,” she replied, taking a deep breath. “We’ve never used such conditioning. I hope.” She gave Harper a pointed look, and the hacker looked down at the deck. “In any event, we have no open knowledge of it. There are records from the Three World Wars, though, when such techniques were employed. I’m going to spend a lot of time going over some pretty sick files in the next few weeks.”

 “Is there anything you need?”

 “Something to wash my brain out after I’m done,” she said. “I’ll ask if I need any of the ship’s resources. Until then, at least I can guarantee you that they won’t make any secret attempts to escape. My guess based on my observations is that while they might break for an airlock, there’s no possibility of them doing anything requiring independent thought.”

 Caine looked at the cargo airlock, then said, “Is there any chance that some of them might be faking it? Or might have some additional programming, something like that?”

 After a long pause, Duquesne said, “It might be wise to put them under guard until I can come up with something. I’ll have to run some tests, a lot of tests.” She looked down at Harper, and said, “I wouldn’t rule out them having a suicide pill of their own, for example. They’ll need to be watched.”

 “Sergeant,” Marshall said, “Round the clock, I want a full fire team on standby. With medical support, just in case.”

 “Shouldn’t we sedate them, if that’s a problem?” Francis asked.

 “For how long?” Duquesne asked. “This could take days, weeks, months. Or conceivably, never.” With a deep sigh, she said, “Unless you can find something on that Q-Carrier, or down on the base.”

 Harper looked up, then said, “I’ve got a way in, but it’s chancy.”

 “The same way you hooked into the relay satellites?”

 She nodded, saying, “The risk is that the more we use it, the more obvious it becomes, and the more likely someone’s going to start asking some pointed questions. Or fire something off into an orbit high enough that we won’t be able to intercept it with the fighters. I’m willing to give it a try, but…”

 Interrupting her, Marshall said, “No.”

 “Captain, we’re talking about sixteen human beings,” Duquesne said.

 “I’ve got more than a hundred on this ship, Doctor, all of whom I am supposed to protect to the best of my ability. To say nothing about what might happen if this ship fails in its mission.”

 “Possibilities, Captain,” the doctor replied. “There are people in there who need our help. I swore an oath…”

 “So did I. And so did you. To the Triplanetary Confederation. Right now that oath has to take precedence, and believe me, Doctor, I take no pleasure whatsoever in that fact. Do what you can for them to the limit of the ship’s resources, but there will be no attempts to hack that Q-Carrier, or the surface base, unless I personally authorize it. Is that understood, Harper?”

 Scrambling to her feet, she nodded, and said, “Understood. I’ll hang back.”

 Shaking her head, Duquesne walked out of the room. As she left, she said, “I’d better go see to my patients. No-one else seems to give a damn about them, after all.”

 The door closed, and Caine said, “That was unfair.”

 “She’s not wrong,” Marshall replied. “Maybe I ought to take the risk, but we’re pushing things enough as it is, and we might need that loophole later.” With a sigh, he said, “Now we know what we’re dealing with.”

 “Something interesting,” Caine said after a moment. “Have you gone over the list or prisoners yet?” 

 “Not properly.”

 “No officers, no senior NCOs. Pryce is about the only one we’ve got with three stripes plus.”

 “Her background is mostly in admin,” Harper said. “She only transferred to the technical branch a few months ago.” Waving a datapad, she added, “I’ll have a full report on all of them for you in an hour or so. And the fact that I’ve got access to all of their service records suggests that they aren’t very important. It isn’t heavily restricted.”

 “Makes sense if we’re talking about decoys,” Caine said. “They wouldn’t want to send any of their key personnel.”

 “That isn’t it, though. The people they sent, well, they’re up to doing some repair work, but not without supervision. Not without some higher ranking types,” Harper said. “If you are sending decoys, why send so many? And if you are going to actually send the people to do the job, why not send proper damage control teams? I don’t get it.”

 “There’s more to the picture than we have,” Marshall replied. “Among other things this is a great opportunity to get some intelligence on how the not-men operate. There’s something else that bothers me about this, as well. The principle of mediocrity.”

 Nodding, Caine said, “This place is special, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t doing this in a dozen other strategic spots on the frontier of known space. Triplanetary, Republic, UN, Cabal.”

 “I think we’d know if one of our places had been sabotaged,” Marshall began.

 “Or the Republic,” Harper interrupted.

 “But I’m not certain about the UN, and less certain about the Cabal,” he concluded. “We’re going to have to make some very discreet indiscretions, I think.”

 “Sharing classified information?”

 “Some things are better out in the open than hidden in the dark,” he replied. “I have a feeling that this is one of them.”

 “You realize what you are implying,” Caine said. “That this is part of a larger plan.”

 “We knew that much going in. What we don’t know is what the scale of this operation is, and that’s the reason I agreed to this in the first place. There’s a force out here with advanced technology and a philosophy that commits them to a war of aggression against every other intelligent life form in the galaxy, potentially. The strong shall win. That was what they said, remember.”

 “I remember,” Caine said.

 “We still don’t have any idea what’s out there. For decades after the invention of the hendecaspace drive, we sat in a few core systems, not daring to look out into the darkness, while outside people watched, waiting for a chance to attack. Now I think we’re about to pay the price for that.”

 Looking out at the prisoners again, Harper said, “I think there are people out there who already have. That Q-Carrier had a crew capacity of more than a hundred, almost the same as Alamo.”

 “There’s nothing we can do about them, Kris,” Caine said.

 “Except make damn sure that this never happens again,” the hacker said with a sigh, slouching out into the corridor. “If you need me, I’ll be in my quarters violating several regulations about the release of classified material. There might be something in my databanks that can help Duquesne out.”

 Watching her go, Marshall said to Caine, “There’s someone who has changed a bit in the last few years.”

 “You’re wrong about that, Danny,” she replied. “There’s someone who has changed a lot. You going to do anything about it?”

 “About what? You know that my hearing’s been bad lately. I really ought to get it checked at some point.”

 With a smile, she replied, “At least you haven’t changed. The one constant in a chaotic universe, Daniel Marshall’s sense of honor.”

 “Duty, Deadeye. My sense of duty.” He shook his head, and said, “What the hell have I gotten us into this time?”

Chapter 17

 Salazar looked up at his status board, red lights flashing from every panel, and sent his last two remaining drone fighters away to intercept the incoming missiles. Twelve of them, now, all of them locked on the battered Alamo, angry black gashes ripped down the side of the hull from the previous impact.

 “Keep us moving,” he yelled to Erickson, while his hands danced over the controls, flicking the fighters to a higher orbit with a prolonged burn. With a light tap, he unleashed the last remaining missiles on an intercept course, hoping for fratricide. His hopes were in vain. The first of them winked off his screen as the countermeasures picked it up, and while the other slammed into a missile with a brief, blinding flash, leaving the remaining eleven to continue inexorably on their previous path.

 Two of them he could deal with, guiding his now-useless drone fighters towards them, leaving the field clear once again. Nine now, heading right for Alamo, and all he could do was hope that the countermeasures team could deal with them. The seconds ticked by, and they continued to gain speed, racing past him. One dropped out, its engine dying, slowly curving away into eternity.

 It wasn’t necessary. Eight missiles crashing into Alamo at the same time was all that was needed, and a series of explosions rippled across the ship, the hull buckling and turning as atmosphere blew out into space, a brief cloud of gas smothering it before it dispersed, bodies tumbling clear of the wreckage, those unfortunate enough not to get to the escape pods in time.

 Not that it mattered, in the end. A last, huge explosion left the ship a twisted hulk, slowly tumbling wreckage with shrapnel erupting in all directions. Collision warning alarms sounded as some of the larger pieces headed for the shuttle, alerts for evasive action, but Salazar couldn’t see the point. The battle was over, and they had lost. He had lost. And everyone on Alamo had paid for his mistake.

 The lights came up, and the hatch of the simulator cracked open, Grant looking down at him with a sneer on his face.

 “Congratulations. You just killed everyone.”

 He looked up, nodded, and said, “Yes, sir. Can we try that again?” 

 “What’s the point?” he replied. “I threw a feint at you that any cadet would have spotted, and you fell for it in a second. As a result, Alamo is destroyed, the Q-Carrier is loose, and they only suffered a handful of casualties for their victory.”

 “I’d like to try it again, sir. That way if they tried that in a real battle, I’ll have some idea how to counter it.”

 “I don’t think you understand this. I’m going to go up and speak to the Captain. By the time I’m finished, you’ll be lucky if you’re flying a desk down in the maintenance levels.” Behind him, Foster rose from her couch, a smirk on her face.

 Rising to his feet, Salazar replied, “I am assigned to fly these fighters. I’ve taken them out once already, and in six days from now, I’m going to be doing it again. I appreciate that the odds are against me, but that simply means that I need to get in more simulator time.”

 “Not today, you don’t. Get out of that pod. I’ll log a few hours myself, and I rather suspect do better than you.”

 A croaking, hoarse voice replied, “You won’t, Grant.”

 “What are you doing up?”

 Salazar looked across to see Orlova staggering into the simulator room, holding onto a crutch, hand covered by a plasticast, gasping for breath. She looked up at Grant with eyes as cold as ice, a scowl on her face.

 “You’ve pushed the kid too far already.”

 “Shouldn’t you be in sickbay? You’re off duty, on medical leave.”

 A smile twisted across her face, and she replied, “Call Security. I haven’t had my morning laugh yet.”

 “He’s going to fail. He’s going to get us all killed, just like at Phobos. Why can’t anyone else see that?” Grant replied, pointing at Salazar.

 Glancing across at him, Orlova said, “Pavel’s got what it takes. I’ve seen him in action, and I know.”

 “In my experience…”

 “And just what experience is that, Lieutenant?” she replied, her words interspersed with hacking coughs. “Getting shot out of the sky last month in your first battle for ten years? That’s not experience, it’s an indictment.”

 “I don’t have to listen to this,” he replied.

 “No. Get out. Consider it an order.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I’m going to tell the Captain what I think. If that fails, I will put in a formal protest to the Admiralty when we get home. Someone needs to flag what is happening out here.”

 “Fine, Grant. You do that. And while you are sitting in your office writing reports, the rest of us will get on with the business of saving the Confederation. Dismissed.” Grant stormed out of the room, Foster walking behind him. “Not you, Midshipman.”

 “Ma’am, I’m off duty.”

 “Sit down and shut up,” she replied. “I’ll get to you later.”

 Salazar walked over to the side of the room, snatching a chair and sliding into position under Orlova just before she crashed down to the deck. She glanced up at him, a smile on her face.

 “Thank you for that, Sub-Lieutenant. That moron Grant is right about one thing. I’m not supposed to be here. I talked Duquesne into letting me rest in my cabin, and decided to see how you were doing.”

 “Badly, ma’am.”

 “He threw everything up to and including the kitchen sink at you, not to mention using Triplanetary tactics instead of the United Nations you were preparing for.”

 Frowning, Foster said, “Lieutenant Grant has suggested that there is a chance that they will opt to vary their strategies, to throw something unexpected. Certainly Salazar…”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Salazar,” Orlova interrupted. “Or just plain sir, if you’d rather. He outranks you.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Salazar,” Foster pressed, “should have noticed the difference.”

 Pointing up at the clock on the wall, Orlova said, “Five days, twenty-one hours before we go into battle. Always assuming that we are afforded the luxury of fighting on our own terms rather than those of the enemy, and that’s rarely a safe bet. Not long for a man to learn a completely new type of fighting, against an enemy we have faced in battle only once before. And that time, it was capital ships, not fighters. The truth of the matter is that we don’t have the first idea what tactics they are using, except that they are unlikely to be ours.”

 “I don’t see that you are making a safe assumption there, ma’am,” Foster said.

 “Think, damn it, think! They’re flying UN fighters. Which means UN tactical programming, probably UN instructors. They haven’t had time to copy our doctrines, and as far as we know, they haven’t even seen our ships in battle yet.” Shaking her head, “It’s a mistake to underestimate the enemy, Midshipman, but you’re in just as much danger if you overestimate them as well.”

 “I understand, ma’am,” she replied in a tone that suggested she didn’t.

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “Foster, you’re backing a losing horse here.”

 “Ma’am?”

 “Grant’s wrong. Dangerously so. Rest assured I am going to be back on duty soon, and as soon as all this is over, Mr. Salazar will be resuming his place on the bridge. I will be the one responsible for filling out your fitness report and evaluation, and right now, you aren’t doing very well.”

 Salazar shook his head, and said, “If I’m back on the bridge, ma’am, then she’s on my shift and reports to me. If I have any complaints about her performance, I would make them. I have not, as yet, done so.”

 Looking up at him, Orlova said, “You’d prefer to handle it within the shift, then? She’s not an officer, Pavel, not yet, and your duty is to the fleet to make sure that she does not get a commission unless she deserves it. Alamo won’t be her only posting.”

 Shaking her head, Foster replied, “I don’t believe what I am hearing.”

 “I guess I’d better give you permission to speak freely,” Orlova said.

 “Salazar kills two cadets and steals a shuttle to take a suicide strike against an enemy, and he gets promoted. I do my duty, and I’m told that I am not performing well enough to get a commission. This is insane. I can file reports too, ma’am, and rest assured I will.”

 “Mr. Salazar seems to have no problem with your performance,” Orlova replied. “If you want to complain to your mother, then that’s your business.”

 “Wait a moment,” Salazar said. “There is no need to have this discussion. As things stand I will be signing off on her Form Nine-Oh. I can’t fault her performance at her station, and I won’t stop someone speaking their mind, as long as they do it at the right place at the right time. This qualifies.”

 “Giving me orders now, Sub-Lieutenant?” Orlova said with a wry smile. “Consider yourself fortunate with your choice of watch officers, Midshipman, but be very, very careful attaching yourself too closely to Grant.”

 “Permission to leave?” she asked.

 “Dismissed.” Orlova watched her go, then turned to Salazar, and said, “She won’t be anything like as loyal to you, you know.”

 “It’s the uniform she has to be loyal to, not me. If we’re at the point when people will only follow officers they like into battle, we’ve got problems.”

 With a sigh, Orlova replied, “Oh, Sub-Lieutenant, it isn’t as simple as that. Wait until you get your turn in the hot seat, and you’ll know what it’s really about. You can give men orders, and they will obey them, but getting the best out of the people under you takes a damn sight more than simply barking orders.” She tapped her rank insignia and said, “This gives you respect, but you’ve got to earn it.”

 Frowning, Salazar said, “I don’t understand.”

 “You will. One day. It isn’t really something you can be taught. Never mind about Foster, anyway. I want to talk about you.”

 “I’m fine, ma’am.”

 “No you aren’t,” she said. “Too hell with that simulation, Grant stacked the decks against you in half a dozen ways. I saw the tapes from your last flight. Don’t get me wrong, it was an impressive performance, but…”

 “I almost lost it,” he replied. “There were a few moments, seconds, when I thought that it was all falling apart. When I saw that third shuttle arcing over in the higher orbit.”

 “The control interface isn’t designed to handle two clusters of fighters at once. It’s just a prototype, an engineering testbed. No-one thought that it would ever be handling a serious battle. You did well to keep it together at all.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “I almost threw the mission. If I’d failed, we would have been detected, and the plan would have collapsed. Right now we’d be on our way out of the system, running for home.”

 “With the best will in the world, Pavel, you can’t win them all. Sometimes the odds are too high, and the only option left on the table is to take in your chips and walk away. I learned that the hard way.”

 Sitting back down in the simulator, Salazar replied, “I’ve got to win this one, ma’am. We’re committed, and the team on the surface certainly is. Lieutenant Grant might have a point.”

 “Do you think he is better qualified to sit in that fighter? Be honest, no modesty.”

 “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

 “Then you’re going to have to do, Pavel, because you’re the best one we’ve got. In a little under six days from now you’re going to be riding fire, flying out to meet the enemy in toe-to-toe combat. You’ve got a lot of advantages to play with, remember that.”

 “It’s just...flying six fighters at once.”

 “Why didn’t you have your co-pilot with you today?”

 “She couldn’t be released from bridge duty.”

 Orlova closed her eyes, softly swearing in three languages, and said, “I’ll sort that out, at least. We’re just sitting here, and it isn’t as if there aren’t other people who can ride the Flight Engineer’s seat on the bridge.”

 “How do you do this, ma’am?” he asked.

 She smiled, and said, “I suppose I didn’t really think about it in those terms. When it really counts, you don’t have time to sit back and ponder the deeper meanings of what you are doing, no time to work out if you are good enough or not. You just do your job.”

 “But…”

 “A split-second can mean the difference between life and death, not just for you, but for everyone else around you. There isn’t time for you to think, only to act. That’s why we train your instincts, to make sure that when the moment of decision comes, you do the right thing.” She paused, then said, “I’ve seen you in action. Back at Yeager Station, but more importantly, on the bridge during the fight with Caledonia.”

 “I’ve never been more nervous in my life,” he said, “as when I sounded that battle stations alarm. All I had to go on was a gut feeling.”

 “You were right, though, weren’t you? You gave us a thirty-second head-start that made all the difference when it came to the punch. Foster would have called for back-up. Grant would have said no.”

 “What would you have done?”

 A grin spreading across her face, she said, “Honestly? I’d have gone to full alert stations about thirty seconds before you did. Hitting that button might scare the hell out of everyone, but if the only cost of a false alarm is a red-faced duty officer, that seems like a pretty small price to pay to me.”

 Glancing down, he replied, “I guess I didn’t think of it in those terms.”

 “You made it, Pavel. You got your commission, and you are now an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet. Both of which you have earned.”

 “Two men…”

 “We make mistakes. None of us is perfect. Not you, not I, not even the Captain. Though don’t let that get around. All of us make errors, and the curse of being an officer is that it is far more likely that someone will pay the ultimate price for those mistakes. I’m afraid that’s part of the curse. Did you read up about my trip on Hercules?”

 “I saw the movie.”

 Her cheeks flushing red, she replied, “Not a way to get into my good books, Sub-Lieutenant. That thing was a travesty. Did you read the after-action reports?”

 “No, they were classified.”

 “You’ve got clearance now. Take a look. I lost crewmen, lost people that I was responsible for. I told them that I would get them home, and I failed them.” Sitting straighter, she continued, “I’ve got to live with that, for the rest of my life. Just like you have to live with your mistakes. If you can’t handle it, then it’s best that we know about that now.”

 Glancing at the simulator again, he said, “What happens if I freeze up out there? If I lose control of the battle?”

 “Then, Sub-Lieutenant, what happened in that last run comes true. Alamo is destroyed, the crew killed, and your corpse ends up drifting in space forever, assuming the not-men don’t have a pendant for dissection. Does that help?”

 “No.”

 “It wasn’t meant to. We play for high stakes out here, Sub-Lieutenant, but I think you’ve got a decent set of cards in your hand. Trust yourself, and if you can’t bring yourself to do that, trust the Captain and I. Both of us think we’ve picked a winner.”

 “I’ll try, ma’am.”

 “Good. Now how about another simulation run? I think I can come up with a scenario that might test you a bit.”

 “Thank you, ma’am,” he replied, sliding back into the cockpit, the lights coming on as the systems prepared to send him into another battle to the death. His third today. It would be nice to win this time.

Chapter 18

 Cooper crept low along the gully, pistol in his hand, the rest of the squad following in his footsteps. Seven had become ten over the course of the night, which meant that only seven of his team were now missing. He knew too well where the other two were. He’d thrown the last shovel of dirt over their graves himself. Worry for the rest of his team still tugged at him, a fear that they might he like the others, at the bottom of the sea or lying on the jungle floor, but there was nothing they could do about it. There was no time for a search, not with a hundred miles of terrain to cross.

 He raised his hand, gesturing the next man in the squad to move forward and take point. He’d been in the lead for half an hour, long enough that he was beginning to get distracted. Watkins moved forward with a curt nod, gesturing for the unit to resume its advance after a few moments. Dawn would be breaking soon, and the jungle was beginning to come to life. Strange how similar it was to the terrain back on Earth, the Martian Zoo with its domed reconstruction of Borneo’s paleoforest that he’d walked through as a kid.

 Something cheeped by his shoulder, a purple and black creature swinging from the branch of a tree, its tongue leaping out to snare an insect. This place should be a haven for the genetic researchers and wildlife tourists, a surprisingly well-kept secret out in the middle of nowhere. There could be dozens more worlds like this, out in the black, known only to the few people who were around to exploit them.

 Watkins raised his hand, and the squad froze in position, slowly dropping to their knees. His pistol in his hand, Cooper cautiously advanced, moving level with the forward scout, making sure not to make a noise. The trooper gestured forward, and Cooper nodded, spotting the movement up ahead. At least two people, possibly more, advancing in their direction, and not being particularly cautious about it.

 There was a chance that this was the remainder of his men. Most of Fourth Squad was still missing, Rhodes the only member to have yet appeared, but he would have expected Sergeant Morton to take greater care. More likely this was an ambush. He gestured back for Nash and Martinez, similar enough that they could have been sisters and both highly rated as wilderness scouts, and gestured for them to hook around to investigate.

 The squad was back to the Dark Ages. No radio communication, no satellite navigation, no orbital observation. They’d have to do things the old-fashioned way, covert infiltration and infra-red filters. Not that they were as effective in this sea of life as they would have been in the arena for which they had been designed. The two troopers disappeared into the undergrowth, leaving no trace of their presence, while Cooper sat back, waiting.

 Vaughan moved up, whispering, “How long do we wait, sir? Dawn in twenty.”

 “We wait ten, then hit them hard and quick. Everyone but you and I use tranq darts. Quieter that way. We’ll keep out pistols in case we need to make some noise.”

 “We could work our way around,” the veteran replied.

 “Not in the time we have, not and get far enough away. We’re taking enough risks at the moment without traveling in daylight as well. Split the men up into fire teams. I go left, you right, on my signal.”

 “Yes, sir,” he said, creeping back to brief the men while Cooper peered off into the jungle, throwing his goggles to maximum usable magnification. No sign of anything, now. No movement, no noise, the whole jungle seeming to go still. He glanced down at his watch, and shook his head. They were cutting this too close. He made a mental note that next time, they needed to make camp with half an hour to go, enough time to scout out their site before they settled.

 Behind him, Barnard, Watkins and Rhodes moved into position to follow him in, switching to their tranq guns. The darts would make next to no noise as they flew through the air, the contents designed to knock out their opponents in seconds. They still had five days in this jungle before the attack, and they were making slow enough progress without having to evade a deliberate search.

 No sign of Nash and Martinez. They knew what they were doing, had done well enough in the training, but both of them only had one brief battle to their credit, not long enough for the lessons to sink in. One day the Triplanetary Espatier Corps would have a cadre of seasoned veterans, trained and prepared for missions such as this. Today it was a collection of rookies still learning their trade. Himself included, at least in this environment. Experience fighting in a deep space environment couldn't prepare him to fight in a jungle.

 The time was up, and he raised his fist, pumping it twice, and started to move forward, the rest of his fire team following, gently curving to the left as Corporal Vaughan’s force moved to the right. Each step was fraught with peril, undergrowth waiting to make a noise at their progress, to lure them into a trap. Anything could be waiting for them.

 Ahead, the ground began to clear, and he caught sight of an encampment being broken down, figures clearing away an oxygen tent, packing the cylinders into packs for transport, four others standing guard, none of them paying full attention. This should be easy. Then the plan collapsed while he watched, as a loud crack sounded from the opposite side of the clearing.

 Instantly, the four guards turned, firing blind into the undergrowth, and Cooper heard a scream echoing across the jungle. Leaping through the hedge on instinct, he fired two shots from his pistol at the nearest guard, the second smashing into his respirator pack, sending him dropping to the ground, desperate for breath.

 Stealth was out of the question now, the rest of his squad racing forward, firing wildly at any target, hastily reloading to conventional ammunition as their clips ran out. Two more men dropped to the ground, darts in their side, but three guards still remained, diving into prepared positions, taking cover. Cooper and his men were awfully exposed, standing out in the open, and as the first few shots smashed into the ground all around him, they dived into the undergrowth, Barnard a second too late as a bullet caught him in the foot, blood spilling out onto the ground.

 From the far side, the other fire team had finally got their act together, and the two sides now opened up into a killing ground, bullets flying through the air and catching the remaining guards in a lethal crossfire. As the last one fell, Cooper heard more crashing coming through the undergrowth, and turned to see his two scouts racing out into the compound, pausing for a second at the dying men all around them before continuing their advance.

 “Reinforcements!” Nash yelled. “On the way.”

 “Form up!” Cooper shouted. “Take cover, for God’s sake! Corporal?”

 “Out cold, sir,” Jackson yelled, dragging the unconscious Vaughan behind him, an angry gash on his forehead.

 “Move, move! Nash, how many, and where?”

 “At least twenty, moving towards us from the north.”

 “You and Martinez take up positions on either side of the squad. The rest of you form up, and fire when I give the word. You might as well switch to regular ammunition now, I think our secret’s out.”

 The squad settled into their positions, Barnard limping into the hastily improvised cover, leaning on Watkins. There was no sign of Private Roy, and Cooper looked at Jackson, who shook his head. Three confirmed dead now, and two wounded they were going to have to take with them.

 Up ahead, the second group started to move in. They must have stumbled across a major expedition, that or they had managed to get a team to investigate the shuttle crash more quickly than he had hoped. Either way, this would deal with a significant portion of their combat strength. Or end the attack right here and now. One way or another.

 “Wait for the command,” he said. “Wait for the command.”

 The troopers tensed up, lining their shots. Cooper longed for the plasma carbine at his side, but left it where it was. They were going to need all the shots they had for the attack to come. Pistols were going to have to suffice, though he did reach down for one of the grenades in his pocket, gesturing at Watkins to do the same. There were a dozen people moving up now, cautiously advancing.

 “On my word, volley fire. Pin the bastards down and nail them to the deck.”

 One more heartbeat, then another. Trying to do maximum damage. It seemed almost incredible that they hadn’t attacked yet, that they hadn’t made a move.

 “Fire!” he yelled, and the squad fired as one, his grenade soaring over to land behind the advancing troopers, the jungle echoing to the sound of an explosion ripping through the undergrowth, sending flaming shrapnel raining down on the attackers. Six of them dropped before any could return fire, their guns spitting death in their direction. 

 “On the left flank!” Martinez yelled, and Cooper turned to see five more troopers heading in their direction, weapons at the ready. Before he could even think about redeploying, they opened fire, and Rhodes took a bullet in his arm, his weapon dropping onto the floor as he rolled away into deep cover.

 They were being attacked on two sides now, the fire raining over their heads, the men scattered. A small cylinder flew through the air towards him, and he sprinted away from it, leaving the cover just before the grenade exploded, the blast knocking him to the ground. He looked up to see a rifle pointed at him, a guard staring at him lying on the dirt. His gun was at his side, no chance that he could do anything in the time.

 Then his assailant dropped to the ground, blood spilling out of his neck, crumpling to the side as Sergeant Morton raced in, leading Fourth Squad on a charge to break the back of the enemy attack, passing him as they hit the enemy in the rear, spilling rounds across the forest.

 Slamming a new clip into his pistol, Cooper yelled, “Follow me, Third Squad!” and raced after Morton, picking off a guard that had carelessly moved out of position for a second. As the remaining enemies melted into the forest, he shouted, “To me!”

 Slowly, reluctantly, his forces broke off their attack. There was no point scattering them all through the jungle to finish the last few off now, not with their position already hopelessly compromised. Morton walked towards him, a beaming smile on his face.

 “Thought you could use the assist. We must have been walking just about parallel to each other. I found a trail about a quarter-mile to the west.”

 “Your timing is excellent, Sergeant. How many have you got?”

 “Everyone but Burns and Rhodes, and I see you’ve got him with you.”

 “Burns is dead. Roy and Tucker as well.” Corporal Hunt limped in, looking around at the devastation, and Cooper said, “Take the call, Corporal. Find out who we’ve got.”

 “Genetic scavengers,” Morton said. “They’ve got a lot of equipment up there.”

 “Surprisingly well armed, Sergeant, if that was their plan.”

 “I was thinking that myself,” he replied. “There might be more going on down here than we thought.”

 Hunt looked back at Cooper, and reported, “We just lost Roy, right at the start of the battle. Vaughan, Barnard, Goodwin and myself have light injuries.”

 “How is the Corporal?”

 “Unconscious. Jackson thinks there’s a chance of concussion. The rest of us can travel, at least after a fashion. I’ve got Hopkins and McCarthy putting together a stretcher.”

 Nodding, Cooper looked around at his men, and said, “We’re moving out in five minutes. Everyone check weapons, and if you see anything lying around here we might need, grab it. Rations, weapons, medical kits.”

 “What about the bodies?” Barnard asked. “Roy…”

 “Take her with us. We’ll bury her when we make camp. Probably in about an hour. Leave the rest. My guess is that their friends will be here soon. Get moving.”

 “Risky to travel too far in the day, sir,” Morton said.

 “I know, Sergeant, but we don’t have a choice.” He gestured in the direction the Sergeant’s party had come, and said, “Head back that way, and break off your trail towards the cliff-face. Keep traveling for ninety minutes, then pick a good spot.”

 Frowning, he replied, “Thinking to yourself, sir?”

 “Giving you orders, Sergeant,” he replied. “You said it yourself. There’s something else going on here. This group must have set off days before we arrived in the system. Meaning that there is something else down here that requires serious protection.” Gesturing at the bodies, he said, “This isn’t just a couple of guards, Sergeant. Everyone here was armed.”

 “I know what you are thinking, sir, but it could just be the native wildlife.”

 “Had any insect bites yet, Sergeant? There’s enough of them around.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “No, sir.”

 “The biochemistry of everything on this planet won’t be compatible with ours. They’ve got no reason to hunt us down, not unless we provoke them. My guess is that there is someone else on this planet that they are after.”

 Placing a hand on Cooper’s shoulder, Morton said, “This isn’t your job, sir.”

 “Oh?”

 “You’re going to hang back and see who investigates the camp site, aren’t you? On the assumption that if there are any other forces wandering around down here, they’ll be interested as well.”

 “Something like that, Sergeant.”

 “You’re our officer, sir. And too important to be spared.”

 “I have no intention of throwing my life away, Sergeant. I’ll lie low here during the day, and if nothing happens, I’ll catch up with you before you move off at dusk. Worst case, we’re both heading in the same direction, and I can link back up before the attack.”

 “At least take someone with you, sir.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Not a good idea. One man can blend into the undergrowth and hide. More than that would be too easy to spot.”

 Frowning, Morton said, “You’re putting me in command of the column?”

 “That’s the idea, Sergeant. See what you can do for the wounded, but remember that we’ve got to get everyone to the landing zone at the very least.”

 “I understand that.” He paused, then said, “If you haven’t arrived by dusk, then I will send someone to come and look for you. That’s non-negotiable.”

 “Even if I give you a direct order?” Cooper replied with a smile.

 “You can court-martial me when we get home.”

 “Very well, Sergeant. You send someone back to have a look if the tactical situation permits, but just one man, and he doesn’t linger. If I’m not around, no daring heroic rescues. I don’t want anyone medal-hungry. Understood?”

 Snapping a salute, Morton said, “Understood, sir. I’ll get the men moved out, and I’ll see you at dawn.” Turning to the men, he continued, “Right, you’ve all had enough time to loiter around. Single column, Hamilton takes point, McCarthy at the rear. Move out.”

 Cooper watched the men snake away into the undergrowth, waiting for the last one to disappear from view, then headed in the opposite direction. He had to dig himself in, and quickly. Morning was coming, and he didn’t want to be out in the open when it did. After pausing to take one last look around the battlefield, he turned away, hefting his shovel in is hand, and began his vigil.

Chapter 19

 Quinn tapped the console, a grin spreading across his face, and Marshall watched as blueprints snapped into position over the desk. Caine nodded from her seat in the briefing room, and Grant looked impassively on.

 “There it is. One MIRV-inspired missile, and one that we can build with the equipment we have right here. Four warheads in one missile, but it looks like one of our normal loadouts, so it’ll be a nice surprise to the enemy.”

 Grant shook his head, and said, “I was afraid of this. Sir, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t there a reason we don’t normally deploy missiles of this type?”

 “You’re talking about reload time, aren’t you,” Quinn said.

 “How long?” Marshall asked.

 Shrugging, Quinn said, “Ten minutes.”

 Caine’s eyes widened, and she said, “Damn it, Jack, I thought you were on to something here. We normally manage an assembly and reload in thirty-five seconds.”

 “Precisely,” Grant said. “Whilst these would be tactically valuable, I don’t see the advantage if Alamo can fire ten, twelve missiles in the time it would take to launch one of these new designs.”

 “That would be true if we were going to build them as we needed them,” Quinn said. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I think we’re making a big mistake going with just-in-time weapon manufacture.”

 “Jack, we went to a lot of trouble to get combat fabricators…,” Marshall began, but the engineer shook his head with such vehemence that he was worried he might injure himself.

 “We’ve refined them, but we only started using them because we had to build them anyway, and about the only thing we had in decent numbers at the start of the Interplanetary War was light fabricators. The UN used them because of the supply chain problem.”

 “As does the Cabal,” Caine said.

 “Sure, but I’d be willing to bet my next month’s pay that they copied the idea from us.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “I’m scared to ask what your answer is.”

 “We build them in advance. Enough to fire four salvos in quick succession.”

 “Why four?”

 “That’s all we can fit in Storage Two. That’s the one with the shuttle access, and we’re going to need the large airlock. I’m drawing up plans to fit new ones in Storage One and Three, but…”

 Leaping to his feet, Grant said, “You want to put high-explosive munitions in a storage bay? One that is close to most of our critical stations? One good hit would take down the ship.”

 Quinn shrugged, and said, “Best we don’t get hit, then. I thought that was usually a good thing in any battle.”

 “Is there any way we could reinforce the compartment?” Marshall asked.

 “Reinforce…,” Grant said. “How big a yield for each warhead?”

 “Eight thousand pounds.”

 “Multiply that by twenty-four, and it isn’t good news for the entire ship. There’s a reason we do things the way we do them. There’s more than just supply here.” Turning to Marshall, he continued, “Sir, this isn’t a bad idea, but we don’t have the means to implement it. What about a compromise? Have one set ready in the launch tubes, and then switch to conventional yields.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “I agree, Jack. Follow Mr. Grant’s suggestion.”

 “Aye, sir,” Quinn replied with a frown.

 “Wait a minute,” Caine said. “That means we can’t fire any missiles until we get a good shot. We’ll want these for the capital ships, or possibly the fighters.”

 “Dealing with the laser-missiles is going to have to be Mr. Salazar’s job,” Marshall said, noting Grant’s scowl. “Our job will be to get into position to take that shot, knock down their fighters, and reduce this to a simple fight. Those laser-missiles are powerful, but they are essentially one-shot weapons. We can deal with them.”

 “I’m still concerned about our lack of countermeasure support,” Grant said. “I’ve spoken to Lieutenant Nelyubov, but he seemed to think nothing was possible.”

 “Not until we’ve got a handle on whatever the not-men are using as an operating system,” Caine said. “I’ve given orders already that we simply focus our attention on the carrier and the fighters. We’ll just have to shoot down anything from the enemy cruiser the old-fashioned way.”

 Pausing for a moment, Marshall said, “I have taken precautions to ensure that this room is secure.”

 “Glad to hear it, Danny, but why make a point of it?” Caine asked.

 “Because I have reason to believe that there are reinforcements on the way.”

 Shaking his head, Grant replied, “I’ve looked over the Strategic Plot, sir. We don’t have any ships in position to assist, unless you left orders that the Scout Squadron back at Yeager was to come and help. I’m not sure what sort of a role they could fill in any case.”

 “Did you look at the presumed disposition of Republic forces, Lieutenant?”

 “You called for help from the Lunar Republic?” Quinn asked. “Isn’t that a bit of a violation of regulations and standing orders?”

 “I didn’t actually ask for help, but I have reason to believe that help is on the way.”

 “The agent,” Caine said. “She sent a signal.”

 “Sir, I’ve looked into it,” Grant began, before Marshall stopped him.

 “People with considerably more expertise have gone into this, Lieutenant, and I assure you that a message was sent. Hell, I’ve read it.”

 “I see,” Grant replied. “What are we expecting, and when?”

 “One Republic battlecruiser, any time now. My presumption is that they will arrive in time to join us for the attack. They’ve got a stake in this as well.”

 Nodding, Caine said, “I’ve never been the sort of person who would turn down help when it is offered, Danny. I’m not sure how it’s going to work…”

 “Which is exactly the reason I’m telling you about this now, and this information is not to leave the room. I need you to study the specifications we have, and to work out where they are going to fit in the tactical plan.”

 Shaking his head, Grant replied, “That’s assuming that the Republic commander will be willing to listen to us.”

 “The Republic doesn’t put fools in commands of its capital ships, Lieutenant. I very much doubt that they won’t at least hear us out regarding a battle plan.”

 “I hope you’re right, sir, but I also hope that you’ll forgive me for being skeptical. Last I heard, Party membership was a lot more important than strategic acumen in securing flag officer rank.”

 “We’ve got our share of political creatures in the upper ranks as well, Lieutenant,” Quinn said. “No matter what we do, we can't seem to get rid of them.”

  “How can we decide what we are going to do, if we have no idea when the ships going to arrive, who is in command, or what their tactical objectives are?”

  “I'm afraid we're just going to have to deal with the situation as it evolves,” Marshall replied. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but that’s the hand that we’ve been dealt.”

 Frowning, Caine said, “Another laser battlecruiser? That’s going to be a serious advantage when it comes to the laser-missiles. They only fire them in small salvos, three at a time, so we can shoot them out of the sky before they can get close. With our MIRV round to deal with the fighters, and the rest of our missiles to knock down the carrier and the cruiser. Our drones to run interference.”

 Shaking his head, Quinn replied, “This actually sounds like a viable plan. Why am I nervous?”

 “We’re dependent on the Espatiers getting into position in the time,” Grant said. “I’d be happier if we had better updates from the assault team.”

 “Can’t risk it,” Caine said. “Not without giving away their position. We’ve covered that.”

 “Doesn’t stop me making a wish, does it?” Grant replied. “I’d like the next couple of combat drills to be against simulated Republic opposition.”

 “Worried there might be a double-cross coming, Lieutenant?” Caine asked.

 “There’s always a danger, but no. It struck me as a good way of getting our people up to speed on current Republic doctrine and equipment without having to give them classified information.”

 “Good idea,” Marshall replied. “Make it happen, Deadeye. Jack, if you can think of a better way to deploy the MIRV warheads, let me know. I suppose there’s no chance we can fit them to the fighters?”

 “Hard-points are too small. Even if we did, the fighters don’t have the processing power to handle that many missiles. They’re struggling with the load-out they’ve got. I’ll see if I can do something about that, but we don’t have the design people here.”

 “Do the best you can, Jack,” Marshall said. “Dismissed.”

 Nodding, Quinn rose, followed by Grant. Caine remained in her seat, watching the two of them go. Long experience taught her that as a rule, she was an exception to an order indicating the conclusion of a meeting.

 “It’s too easy,” she said. “That’s what’s bothering you.”

 He smiled, then replied, “It didn’t feel easy when Salazar snagged those shuttles, but I can’t quite escape the feeling that we’re dancing to someone’s tune here. We’ve got a good plan, but things are going a little too well for me to feel comfortable.”

 “There are still a lot of things that could go wrong,” she said. “We don’t know how things are going on the surface. Hell, we don’t even know that Cooper and his team made it down there in one piece. I’d bet on him pulling off the mission every time, just like you, but for once I agree with Grant. I’d be a lot happier if we had some sort of word from the surface.”

 “We won’t get that until the attack is beginning,” Marshall said. “Unless something goes wrong.”

 “In which case we abort the mission and go home. Either right to hendecaspace or running for the nearest point, with enough of a head-start that we can show them a clean pair of heels.” She shook her head, then added, “Damn it, you’re right, this is too easy. What are we missing?”

 “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. We’re not fighting humans this time, and that bugs me. For all they share the same evolutionary path, they don’t necessarily think the way we do. Evidently they’ve had plenty of opportunity to get to know us, though.” He sighed, then said, “Have you seen Duquesne’s preliminary report?”

 “No indications that any cure is possible for what they’ve been through. Intensive psychological conditioning with a drug regimen,” she said. “And since I read that this morning, I’ve had a sidearm with me at all times, loaded and ready. I’m not going to let them do that to me.”

 He nodded, and said, “I’m going to issue a general order on that later today. Lance-Sergeant Francis is checking out the sidearms for me right now. What worries me is that there might be something we’re missing.”

 “We’ve got a good idea about the capability of the carrier, and the cruiser.” She paused, then said, “You think they know Alamo is in the system.”

 “I’m working on that assumption.”

 “We sent some pretty damn convincing messages…”

 “They wouldn’t have convinced me. Not totally. And there are a hundred ways they could have checked them. We...I...assumed that they would launch an immediate attack if they found out we were here, but there’s another possibility.”

 “And that is?”

 “They captured the Q-Carrier in one piece, somehow. Presumably by deception. That’s one of the more advanced ships in the Republic Fleet. What would we do if we’d captured a ship like that? What did Logan do when he got the specifications?”

 “The ship would go right back home for analysis. After our engineers took a long look at it. We wouldn’t use it in the field.”

 “Then we have to assume that they’ve had access to that ship for long enough that they would have done it. That they have already sent back the fighters for study. What if we’ve got this wrong?”

 “You don’t think this is a false flag operation.”

 “I think it is a trap, and the Q-Carrier is the bait. They want to capture Alamo. To get a good long look at a Triplanetary battlecruiser, study every detail, and incorporate it into their own designs.”

 She frowned, and said, “You’re forgetting something, aren’t you? That ship has weapons a damn sight more powerful than anything we’ve got in our arsenal. Those laser-missiles…”

 “I know,” he replied. “Look, just drawing Alamo off-station isn’t enough. There are other ships that can take our place, and Yeager isn’t that important. A false flag operation is enough of a risk to bring us out here, but I’m not sure. Why telegraph it by launching the attack with the Caledonia? Why not use that as well?”

 “You’re saying that they’ve got something planned.”

 “I would in their place. So would you.”

 “Reinforcements?”

 “Unlikely. They’d have no way of knowing where we would jump into the system. If they had extra forces, why not mass them all in one spot? No, they’ve got something planned. I just wish I knew what it was.”

 “We’ve got some surprises of our own, Danny.”

 He nodded, then said, “I just hope it’s enough.”

Chapter 20

 Cooper settled down in his improvised shelter, trying to nap. His datapad was set up to track any sign of activity, but was waking him up every few minutes, whenever a particularly large creature passed by his camp. The latest had been a large multi-legged insect, almost two feet long, with sweeping wings that had hovered overhead, staring at him with such intensity that he’d almost tried to talk to it.

 There had been no sign of any humans approaching, not yet, and half the day had gone. A couple of hours ago he’d heard something that might have been a flyer, high over the canopy, but he hadn’t dared move out to make sure. He glanced down at his watch, taking a deep swig of water through the liquid intake on his respirator, longing for one of the oxygen tents the squad was carrying. At least he wasn’t wearing a spacesuit.

 Then there was something, movement in the undergrowth, a figure making its way to the battle site. A tall, dark-skinned man, wearing battered UN combat fatigues, carrying a rifle, looking around at the devastation and shaking his head. After a moment, he started to rummage through the discarded possessions, retrieving ammunition and ration packs from the corpses.

 Pulling out his pistol, Cooper lined up a shot, aiming for the ground by his feet. He watched the man through his scope for a moment. Whoever he was, he didn’t seem interested in recording what had happened, or caring for the dead. A scavenger, but according to the information he had, the only human occupation on this planet was the base at the far end of the valley. After one last glance, he pulled the trigger, and the man jumped back, raising his rifle.

 “Drop the weapon,” Cooper said. “You’re surrounded by a dozen men. Drop the weapon and you won’t be harmed.”

 The man looked around, trying to find the source of the voice, yelling, “Fine, you bastards, you’ve got me! I won’t be captured, I won’t be taken alive. You’ll have to kill be first.”

 “Who are you?”

 “As if you don’t know.”

 “Tell me.”

 “Sergeant Kulbir Gurung, United Nations Planetary Guard. Ninth Ranger Battalion.”

 “Anyone with you?”

 “Ask those dozen men of yours,” he replied with a smile.

 Rising to his feet, keeping his pistol leveled at Gurung, Cooper said, “Ensign Gabriel Cooper, Triplanetary Espatier Corps. Second Battalion, if you’re interested.”

 “Then this is a Triplanetary trick.”

 “No,” he replied. “You might find this hard to believe, but we’re here to help you. We’ve been attacked by the not-men as well. The trail led us back here.”

 “I don’t believe you. We’re light-years from your territory.”

 “I have a very determined commanding officer.”

 Gurung dropped to his knees, shaking his head, “I’m dreaming. Or something.”

 Stepping forward, Cooper replied, “What happened here, Sergeant? We know that the not-men took over, but we don’t know any details.”

 He looked up, and said, “What are your intentions?”

 “I’m here to destroy the ground installation. Others are dealing with the orbital forces.”

 With a deep sigh, Gurung replied, “That would be a mercy after what they did.” He paused, then said, “They might be here soon. We need to move out.”

 “I have a force over by the cliffs, to the north, camped for the day. We can link up with them.”

 “What about the rest of your men?”

 A smile spreading across his face, Cooper said, “It’s just me.”

 “Had a feeling you’d say that. We can talk on the move. I think I know where they will have headed.” Gurung walked away from the clearing, taking one last look around, and said, “Some of these people were friends of mine once.”

 Following the soldier, Cooper said, “I’m sorry. They attacked us from ambush.”

 “That’s alright, Ensign. They weren’t themselves any more.”

 As they stepped onto a trail that Cooper had missed, he asked, “How did they take over?”

 “About eight weeks ago, a ship arrived in orbit, direct from Earth. Security headquarters.” He paused, then said, “I guess you know all about what this installation was for, right?”

 “Front line for the next war against the Confederation. Or possibly the Cabal.”

 “As well as a good place for ground-forces covert-ops training. That’s what my company was doing here.”

 “Wait a minute,” Cooper said. “Are you telling me that there is an entire company of Rangers out here?”

 “Less one platoon, now,” Gurung replied, “but did you notice something when you fought them? That they weren’t fighting at their usual intensity, failing to take advantage of opportunities? They aren’t the men they were when I fought with them.”

 “To be honest, I thought they were just militia.”

 “Exactly what I mean. The soul’s been sucked out of them, Ensign. I know. I saw it happen.”

 “You were saying that a ship arrived?”

 “Had half a dozen of those bastards with them. Some sort of secret treaty between them and UN Security, something about opening up a new front with the Confederation, a covert war. We all got excited, hoping that there would be some action. The not-men that came at first were advisors, liaison, some crap like that.”

 “Then the brass left, and they moved in.”

 “Pretty much. Right after the Gladwyn Jebb jumped away, one of their ships arrived. Then they started security screenings, but the people that had them came out different. Like they wouldn’t disobey, that they’d lost all initiative.” He smiled, then said, “I was Special Ops, Ensign, so I had access to some pretty neat tech. I got some AV bugs on one of the people scheduled for a screening.” He stopped in his tracks, and shook his head. “That recording gave me enough nightmares to last for the rest of my life.”

 “Have you still got it?”

 “Right here.”

 “I’d like to copy it. We’ve got people in orbit who might be able to break the conditioning.”

 “I suppose giving you one of the datachips is the least I can do, but I don’t think you can do it. Those people are broken, Ensign, broken forever. There’s nothing left of humanity in them, just slaves to those bastards.”

 The two of them turned back to the path, walking onwards, and Cooper said, “I guess you got away then.”

 “Not at first.” He sighed, then said, “None of the officers would listen, damn it. Even the ones who hadn’t been in that room. My men and I tried to take them down ourselves, launched an assault, but it was no good. We were betrayed, and most of my platoon was captured. The rest were luckier.”

 “They escaped with you?”

 “No. They had a clean death.” He looked back at Cooper, and said, “I got away. Ran into the jungle. With a respirator, a communicator and a rifle. You’ve got a warship in orbit?”

 Nodding, Cooper said, “I didn’t come by shuttle.”

 “Good. I hope you’ve got a lot of firepower. They’ve got to be stopped.”

 “Any idea what they’re plans are? Have they infiltrated UN Security?”

 “I don’t know,” he replied. “Trust me, I didn’t stay to look. All I wanted to do was survive out here until our own forces arrived. I figured that sooner or later someone would turn up.” He shook his head, then said, “I’ve just about used up all the supply dumps I could get to. I’ve only got food and air for another few days, and one clip in my rifle. That battlefield would have been useful.”

 “When we link up with my platoon, I’ll see you get resupplied.” Cooper paused, then said, “I’ve got to ask this, Sergeant. How far are you willing to help us?”

 “Those bastards have got to be stopped,” he replied. “That is not a matter for debate or discussion. I will help you and your men in any way necessary to destroy that base, to take them down in orbit. As far as I’m concerned, it isn’t a United Nations facility any more.”

 “And if the infiltration goes further?”

 With a mocking laugh, he replied, “There are enough glory hounds in UNSEC looking for a quick win over you rebels without needing any serious convincing. They’ve tried some stupid stunts in the past. I was on the Jebb when they tried to take Spitfire Station. Hell of a lot of precious careers got wiped out over that stunt.”

 “So they’ve made an alliance.”

 “The not-men talked them into something, my guess.”

 “We’ve fought them. At Yeager Station. And we won.”

 “Good to know that they can be stopped,” Gurung replied. “Over to the right, it’s a short cut.”

 Looking around the jungle, Cooper said, “You know this terrain pretty well.”

 “Pretty damn well. I’ve been here for six months. Longer than I’d planned. This valley isn’t that big.” He pointed at a stream trickling through the woods. “We follow that. No tracks if we walk in the water. Should take us right to where your people will have made camp.”

 Frowning, he replied, “You seem very certain of that, Sergeant.”

 “Trust me, Ensign, your three-striper won’t have been able to resist using it.” Overhead, they could hear a whirling noise, something approaching from the west, from the direction of the base, and Gurung dropped to his knees. “Helicopter. They’ll be taking a look at the battle site. We’ve got to move fast and quiet.”

 “I’ll leave it to you, Sergeant. Lead the way.”

 “That’s what Rangers do,” he replied with a smile.

 For the next hour, the two men crept up the stream, periodically dropping into the water whenever one of them signaled that they feared they were being followed. The helicopter remained overhead, circling around, trying to spot them; both of them were wearing uniforms designed for maximum stealth, but if they were using efficient detectors, they should have been able to pick them off at will.

 The stream grew wider as they marched, the two of them hugging the bank, taking full advantage of the overhanging vegetation. Cooper’s clothes rapidly grew waterlogged, soaking through into his skin, the chill rising down into his feet; Gurung had rather better equipment, seemingly striding through the water as though it wasn’t there.

 Finally, the helicopter roared overhead, moving away, heading back to base, and Cooper paused for a second, rubbing his hand across his head as the noise began to fade away. Gurung turned, smiled, then froze.

 “Someone in the bushes,” he said, diving for cover.

 “Halt!” Watkins yelled, a familiar voice.

 “It’s me,” Cooper replied. “With a friend. Stay close, Sergeant, it’s one of mine.”

 Gurung turned, nodded, and said, “Well trained. My compliments. I didn’t see him until he was almost on top of us.”

 “We’re camped up ahead, sir,” Watkins replied. “Do you want me to show you the way?”

 “We’ll find it, Private. Stay on guard, but change your position. Go a little further downstream.”

 “Yes, sir,” he said, stepping back into the undergrowth, quickly disappearing from view. Cooper and Gurung walked on up the stream for another moment, before he could pick out the camouflaged oxygen tents, two of them, sitting in the mouth of the largest cave he had ever seen, more than a hundred feet high and two or three times as deep, lush vegetation surrounding it. No chance that this would ever be spotted from the air.

 “Told you he’d pick this spot,” Gurung said.

 Sergeant Morton stepped forward from the cave, regarding Gurung with a suspicious eye before saying, “I see you found someone, sir.”

 “Sergeant Morton,” Cooper said, “meet Sergeant Gurung. United Nations Rangers.”

 “Almost as good as the Espatiers,” Morton said, extending his hand. “A pleasure, Sergeant. I presume you are on our side.”

 “As long as you’re fighting those bastards in the dome, I’m with you,” he replied.

 “The Sergeant is going to need resupply, rations, and air,” Cooper said. “Might as well give you a new weapon while we’re at it. We’ve got two spare plasma carbines.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Gurung replied, “Carbines, did you say?”

 “Something a bit new. Same basic concept, but smaller and lighter, less ammunition by the same power. You can borrow one, but…”

 “You’ll want it back when all of this is over,” Gurung said. “Our boys are working on something like this anyway, but it looks as though you’ve stolen a march on us. Nice camp, by the way,” he said. “Well camouflaged. My compliments, Sergeant.”

 “That flier went over two or three times,” Morton replied. “We almost took it down twice. Probably best that we didn’t have to.” He turned around gesturing at the cave, and said, “This goes really deep. I sent a couple of people to scout the back of it. There’s a passage that seems to curve off into the cliffs. No idea how far it goes.”

 Gurung smiled, and said, “Almost the whole way to the target. Me and a couple of my mates scouted it out, just before all hell broke loose. Never did report it.”

 “Sergeant, are you telling me that there is a cave system heading right to where we need to be?”

 “Opens up two miles from the base,” he said.

 “We’ve figured another six days to get there,” Morton said.

 Shaking his head, Gurung replied, “My Rangers would be lucky to do that in the time. Why do you think that no-one came to investigate that crash site on the ground? Even without worrying about detection or ambush, it’d take a good eight, nine days.” Stepping into the cave, he looked around and added, “I was going to use this to surprise the hell out of my Lieutenant during our next training exercise. Guess we can use it now.”

 “How long to traverse the tunnels?”

 “Three, four days at the most. All underground, all undetectable. Interested?” 

 Cooper looked at Morton, and said, “Sketch out a route.” He gestured at his platoon sergeant, and the two of them stepped over to one side.

 With a glance back at Gurung, Morton quietly said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

 “That this could be a trap?” Cooper replied. “Yes, but I’m not sure what we can do about it. He’s right about the undergrowth. It’s a lot worse than I expected, and if they have low-flying air cover it’s just a matter of time before they pick us up. Besides, if he wanted to betray us, he doesn’t have to lead us anywhere to do it.”

 “True. I still don’t trust him.”

 With a smile, Cooper said, “I don’t trust anything down here. I just don’t think that we have much of a choice.”

 Looking back at Gurung, Morton said, “When you put it that way…”

 “Break camp, Sergeant. We’re going spelunking.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 As the strike force began to disassemble its equipment, packing up for a night’s travel, Cooper stepped into the cave. Water dripped down onto his shoulders, and he looked up at the green growth around the entrance. He’d never seen anything like this back on Mars. In a better world, he’d he armed with a camera rather than a carbine. Maybe next time. Right now he had a deadline to beat.

Chapter 21

 Salazar took a long sip of his juice and looked out at the viewport, watching the planet underneath him, the barren brown interspersed with green cracks of vegetation, the strange seas lapping on the coast. It looked both oddly inviting and strangely alien, a part of him longing to go down for a look himself.

 “Is it always like this?” he said, glancing at Kibaki, sitting next to him, the two of them alone on the observation deck.

 “What, the waiting?”

 “Four days we’ve been sitting up here. Three more to go. I don’t know how much more of it I can take.”

 “I’d like to say that the waiting is the hardest part, but that would be a lie. Afterwards, Pavel. That’s the hardest part. Dealing with the consequences.”

 “I know,” he said. “Still, I just want to get this over with.”

 He smiled, and said, “The impetuousness of youth.”

 “Maybe.” Glancing out at the planet again, he asked, “Mind if I ask another question?”

 “I’m not on watch for another half hour. As long as I can answer in the time.”

 “Why didn’t you ever take promotion? You must have been offered it.”

 “A few times,” he replied. “In the Titan Militia and here on this ship. It is simply that I have no wish for any higher authority. As a watch commander I have all the authority I desire, and I’m happy with the way things are, with what I do and what I see.” He smiled, then said, “If they promoted me, I would have more worries, sleep less, and spend more time doing paperwork.”

 “I never thought of it that way.”

 “Of course not,” he said. “As I said, you are young, full of fire. No doubt you have dreams of commanding a squadron in battle, or even commanding a ship of your own some day.”

 “Once.”

 “Before Phobos?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I would say that the only person still doubting your abilities is you, Pavel.”

 “Not to mention Lieutenant Grant.”

 Shaking his head, Kibaki said, “There is someone who proves my point. Left in his fighter, I venture he would be perfectly happy. The man is being promoted beyond reason.”

 “Flying a fighter is a young man’s game. It’s all about reaction time.”

 “Perhaps it is so. Still I find it unfortunate, and I must confess that I find his interventions somewhat irritating. The sixth Operations Officer we have had in five years.” He shook his head, and said, “I hope that the situation settles down soon.”

 “We’ll have Lieutenant Orlova back soon.”

 “She, perhaps, is a little hands-off, but that can be tolerated with good watch officers on duty, and at present I believe we have no problems on that score. Yourself included, if that is of interest. You lack experience, but you will gain it quickly on this ship.” He smiled, and said, “One more reason to resist promotion. Such advancement would likely mean a transfer to something less interesting, as poor Kelso found out to his displeasure.”

 “This fighter assignment isn’t permanent,” Salazar replied.

 “Of course not. Being a sensible evolutionary step, doubtless they will be filed away in some storage facility for years. Until we fight another major war, and if we are fortunate, one of those who tested them will be in a position to bring them into service. Such is often the case, in my experience. What would the Counter-Admiral commanding Fighter Command do if he only had a collection of drones under him? They might not even let him keep his wings.”

 “They’ll always be a need to have humans in control.”

 “But the romance will be gone.” He laughed, then said, “What am I saying? We cruise among the stars and see such wonders as this, and talk of losing the romance.”

 “Think we’ll get a chance to go down there?”

 “I hope so, but I doubt it. Not unless the situation is completely resolved here, and that seems unlikely.” He frowned, then said, “Lieutenant Grant still is attempting to intervene, even now you are no longer under his temporary command?”

 “I’m afraid so.”

 “Perhaps you ought to seek him out.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “I don’t have the slightest idea what I would say to him.”

 With a shrug, Kibaki said, “It would at the very least show good faith on your part if you were to make the attempt, Sub-Lieutenant. Help to render his claims baseless. That seems a small and simple thing to do, and there seems little else to do at the moment. I believe he is in his office right now.”

 “What good could it possibly do?”

 A benign smile crossing his face, the veteran replied, “It is always best to seek a negotiated solution to a problem, is it not?”

 Sighing, Salazar stood up, and said, “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

 “Quite serious. In any event, I must head down to the bridge. I might as well relieve McGuire a little early. Have a good night, Pavel, whatever you choose to do.”

 After a moment’s pause, Salazar walked to the elevator, tapping the control for officer’s country. There might be something to what Kibaki had said. Whenever they had clashed, it had always been in a crisis situation, or while they were on duty. Neither had made any attempt to settle their differences, and perhaps he should be the one to take the first step.

 Back at the Academy, before the accident, they’d always got along well enough. He’d been a good teacher, a good tactical mind, and the after-action talk-about sessions had been fun with him in the chair.

 The doors slid open, and Erickson stepped in, asking, “Going my way?”

 “Where to?”

 “I was heading down to snatch a late meal before I turned in. Just been reviewing mission data for our strike.”

 The doors closed, and he asked, “Why did you volunteer for the shuttle ride, by the way?”

 She shrugged, and said, “Grant hand-picked your second for the operation. I know the guy. Sleeps with the manual under his pillow, and an old buddy of his who’d be likely to report back anything you did wrong. I figured the mission might go better if you had someone in the cockpit who you could trust to have your back, and talked Quinn into signing off on it.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar said, “Are we really at the stage where there are factions on this ship?”

 “You know, usually I can forget you’re new to all of this, but sometimes you still sound like a rook. There are factions on every ship, Pavel. Human nature. Some people like some officers better than others, and there are those who always complain, old war buddies, a hundred little cliques. Usually not quite so bad among the officers because there aren’t as many of you, and on a ship like this which has had one skipper for so long, they’ve started to select each other.”

 “I always thought Personnel gave the orders.”

 Laughing, she replied, “Maybe for some nowhere space station or tanker, but you’re on one of the most desired postings in the Fleet. Five applicants for every posting. Our Captain gets to pick and choose, and has enough pull to make it stick. That goes double for the officers. Not as if there are that many Admirals around at the moment to interfere, either.” Shaking her head, she replied, “Long may it stay that way. My old man used to be in the UN Fleet, back before the War, and it was all bureaucracy and paperwork. Maybe when our fleet is fifty years old we’ll be the same, but we only formed up, what, five years ago?”

 “I just figured...I don’t know what I figured.”

 “Figure that the guys at the Academy don’t have much clue how things work out here on the frontier, or that they know well enough but are worried about telling you. And pray that they never work out FTL communications, because that really would mess things up. Right now a ship captain is Master Under God, and gets the last world, because often we can’t wait a month to get approval from someone else.”

 The door slid open, and Salazar stepped out, saying, “Thanks for volunteering, anyway. When I’m done with Grant, I’ll swing down to the mess if you’re still there.”

 “He call you? You know, he isn’t your department head now. You report to the Captain, so you can tell him to pound sand. Politely, of course.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Actually, I thought I’d go and see him. Try and see if I can make some sort of peace.”

 Placing her hands on her hips, Erickson replied, “I think you are being wildly optimistic. Mind if I hang around, out of sight? This ought to be worth hearing. I’ll buy you a drink afterwards down at the mess.” 

 “Everything at the mess is free.”

 She smiled, and said, “Not everything. I’ll have to introduce you to Grogan’s chemistry set sometime.”

 “I might be a while,” he said.

 “I wouldn’t bet on that. I’ll just wait back here.”

 Shaking his head again, he walked around the curve of the corridor, heading to Grant’s office. Orlova’s technically, but he’d wasted no time in moving in while she was in sickbay, using the excuse that he needed access to the special systems inside. It made sense. Up to a point.

 He stepped in, Grant looking up from some paperwork but otherwise not immediately acknowledging his presence. The door closed behind him, and he took another step forward.

 “Did you make an appointment that I forgot about, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “No, sir, I didn’t.”

 “Then if you don’t mind, I’m rather busy.”

 Sitting down opposite him, he said, “Yes, I do mind, and no, you aren’t. Countersigning field reports can wait for a while.”

 He looked up, replying, “Are you going to start telling me how to do my job now?”

 “Neither of us is doing ours particularly well at the moment.”

 “Oh?”

 “We need to talk. Sparring like this is going to hurt the ship and the mission, ultimately. It isn’t productive.”

 “Are you going to resign?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “That again?”

 “If the answer is no, then we don’t have anything to discuss.”

 “I think we do.”

 “I outrank you, Sub-Lieutenant. You would be well advised to remember that fact.”

 Taking a deep breath, Salazar said, “What is it going to take, Lieutenant? Yes, I was responsible for the deaths of two people, people I was responsible for, people I knew.”

 “I’m glad you appreciate that.” He dropped his stylus, and said, “I don’t think you belong in that uniform.”

 “May I speak freely?”

 “Anything to get this over with.”

 “If I don’t belong in this uniform, sir, then neither do you. If you see through me, then I see through you.”

 “And what exactly is it that you see?”

 “A desperate man who has made flying fighters the whole purpose of his life, and knows that he is too old to do it any more. Who knows that he’s going to be grounded, and is looking around to find that there is nothing else, nothing for him to hold on to, and so he’s lashing out at anyone around him, and grabbing onto whatever desperate straw he can find.”

 “Have you finished?”

 Placing his hands on the desk, Salazar continued, “Maggie getting wounded…”

 “First-name terms, now, is it? And who was around for that injury, Sub-Lieutenant? Who was the officer who was meant to be looking after her?”

 “Maggie getting wounded,” he pressed, “must have seemed like an offering from heaven for you, mustn’t it? A chance to try and convince Captain Marshall that you should have the job full time. He feels sorry for you, damn it, and I don’t have a single damned clue as to why.”

 “That’s enough!” Grant yelled. “That is more than enough, Sub-Lieutenant.” He took a deep breath, and said, “I look around this ship, and I see chaos and confusion that is going to get people killed. Familiarity and insubordination that is damn near enshrined into standing orders, officers promoted because people have good feelings about them.”

 “The Captain makes those decisions.”

 “That’s not good enough! This is important, damn it, this mission is too damn important for it to be thrown away because someone is trying to be nice. It’s a hostile galaxy out there, full of enemies, and we don’t need to toss away what few advantages we have. What would you do in the Captain’s position?”

 “I don’t know. I’m not afraid to admit that. But one day, I will.” He glanced down at a datapad, and shook his head, saying, “Commissioning Foster now?”

 “Someone needs to take your place on Alpha Watch.”

 “Once this mission is over, that will be me. Do you really think that the Captain is going to make your move permanent?”

 Leaning back, he said, “I do. Captain Cunningham’s back at Yeager Station, and I don’t think we’re going back there any time soon.”

 “Senior Lieutenant Caine is acting Executive Officer.”

 “For the moment, but she’s made it quite clear that she doesn’t want the job, which leaves your friend Maggie. Which means that Operations remains my department, and my problem. So I hope you enjoy flying those fighters, Salazar, because I won’t see you set foot on my bridge.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “You have just confirmed everything I have said about you. Can’t you see that? This little web falls apart at the slightest movement. You’re assuming a hell of a lot, not least that you don’t bring the department falling down around your ears.”

 “Efficiency…”

 “Doesn’t mean a damn thing after a certain level. What matters is that the crew perform well in a crunch, and you haven’t seen them through battle yet. That business back at Houston Station doesn’t count. Ensign Cooper pulled that off, without having to follow your suggestion of massacring hundreds of people.”

 “I made the safe decision. The one that would have saved the most lives at the least risk. Captain Marshall…”

 “Understands what every fighter pilot knows. That sometimes you’ve got to take the big risk or lose the whole game. You had a hell of a combat record, Lieutenant. You shouldn’t need me to remind you of that.”

 “Get out,” he said.

 “Fine, but one thing first. As Alpha Watch Officer, I have to countersign that little commissioning slip you are preparing. Not only do I not intend to do so, but I will speak to the Captain myself and inform him that in my opinion, Midshipman Foster is not ready. I think he’ll listen to me.”

 “Get out.”

 “It’s a pleasure, Lieutenant. I’ll see you on the bridge in a few days.” He walked to the door, stopped, and said, “And leave my people alone. You want to attack me, ruin my career, fine. Do what you want. But not them. They don’t have anything to do with our problems.” He stepped through the door, out into the corridor, and started to breathe heavily as the door closed. Erickson raced up to him, putting her arm around his shoulder.

 “I heard some of that,” she said. “I think they heard halfway around the deck. You really do feel protective of us, don’t you?”

 “Somehow I got the idea that an officer was responsible for the men and women under his command.”

 “Well, speaking purely for myself, thank you.” Shaking her head, she said, “Did you really expect him to be any different?”

 “I hoped. With no justification, it appears.”

 “It was probably worth a try,” she replied. Looking at the door, she added, “One of these days…”

 “Careful,” Salazar said. “You have a career.”

 “So do you. Side bet? You make Senior Lieutenant before he does.”

 “Now you’re being crazy.”

 “Maybe.” She paused, then said, “My roommate’s out for the night. I’ve got a bottle of Grogan’s Finest that’s begging to be broken, and I think you need it.”

 “You know what, Spaceman, I’m going to take you up on that.”

Chapter 22

 The caverns had proven to be everything that Gurung had promised, and everything that Cooper had feared. Four days of trudging through the tunnels, at times up to their waists in cold, clammy water, a constant drip, drip, drip from the ceiling above, had made even the most space-hardened trooper claustrophobic. He couldn’t deny, though, that they had been effective. A route taking them all the way past the enemy’s outer defenses, leaving them safely undetectable.

 One that couldn’t be used against them, either. Half a dozen well placed grenades had seen to that, though he’d been concerned about cutting off their only escape route. The idea of any sort of firefight in these tunnels filled him with dread, though. One man with a machine gun or a plasma weapon could take all of them out in less than a second, and there would be little or nothing he could do about it.

 “Halt!” Morton said, leading the column. “Daylight ahead, sir. About a mile.”

 “Thank God for that,” Watkins said.

 “You might be hoping to be back here soon enough, Private,” Morton replied. “Orders, sir?”

 “Two volunteers to scout out ahead.” Nash and Martinez looked at each other, and raised their hands in unison. “Fine, you two. Leave your heavy equipment behind. I want you to travel fast and light.”

 “Are we looking for anything specific, sir?” Nash asked.

 “Any sign of enemy activity, especially anything aerial, and the best routes to take us down to the base. Stay within a mile of the cave, and if you run into any trouble…”

 “Lead them a merry chase through the jungle,” Martinez replied. “We understand, sir.”

 “Take a day’s rations with you, just in case. And your sidearms. Be back in ninety minutes at the outside, faster if you can manage it. That should get you back before dawn.”

 The two scouts dropped their surplus kit on the ground in a heap, then started down the corridor, heading for the pinpoint of light at the far end. Even though they were heading deep into enemy territory with no prospect of support or assistance if anything went wrong, Cooper knew that everyone in the strike force would gladly trade places with them.

 “Shouldn’t we send Gurung, sir?” Robertson asked.

 Shaking his head, Gurung replied, “Your officer would be crazy to trust me out on my own, Specialist. And he is quite right to do so. If our places were reversed, I’d put him under constant guard.”

 “Thank you for that, Sergeant,” Cooper said. “Besides, I think the time has come to brief the men about what we’re going to be up against.”

 Nodding, he pulled out a combat knife, and started to draw markings in the mud, the rest of the men gathering around to watch as he drew a pair of loose circles connected by a narrow tube, scattering crosses and lines liberally around the perimeter.

 “This place, among other things, was used as a training station for protected-force training,” he began. “The final test was an attack on the base using non-lethal weapons. Laser dot markers, colored smoke, that sort of thing. One platoon would be the defenders, the other the aggressors.”

 “So there are a lot of defenses,” Morton said, shaking his head.

 “That’s the bad news. The good news is that the perimeter defenses are mostly non-lethal, at least by themselves. Blinding flares, smoke pits, tangle-foot trenches, that sort of thing.” He gestured at the marks as he spoke, pointing out the obstacles. “If you are under fire, that isn’t going to be much consolation, but it does mean that you can assume that anything outside the domes themselves will be non-lethal.”

 “Defensive doctrine?” Cooper asked.

 Gurung paused, then said, “I can only tell you what I would have done in that situation if I was following the rulebook. I don’t know what the not-men are planning, and I’ve never seen a copy of their tactical guidelines. Not even sure if they have any.”

 “There’s probably a good chance that they are following UN doctrine, though,” Hunt said. “They’ll mostly be using UN soldiers and equipment, and the defenses were laid out according to their instructions. How many of them are we looking at?”

 “Something like ten of the not-men, maybe sixty to ninety Rangers. Though I think you can assume that they will not be fighting at their best. Usual doctrine would have the fight outside the domes, in prepared defensive fortifications.”

 “Where are they?”

 He shook his head, and said, “There I can’t help you. Each defensive commander places them where he chooses. We’d just finished removing the last set when the not-men arrived.” Glancing around, he said, “Part of the training we do here is digging out such defenses. I can show you where the most common positions are, but that doesn’t mean a thing.”

 “We’ll have to use scouting for that,” Cooper said. “Hopefully Nash and Martinez will come up with something.”

 “They won’t necessarily be obvious,” Gurung replied.

 “Based on what we learned when Alamo fought them on the ground,” Morton said, “I’d assume that the not-men will employ themselves as snipers. They have a…,” he paused, and looked at Cooper, who nodded. “They have a cloaking field, essentially. A holo-projector. It doesn’t stand up to close-range scrutiny, but at long-range it was pretty damn effective, and with all of this cover around, I can see them surprising the hell out of us.”

 “Why do this at all, sir?” Vaughan asked. “Why play their game for them. We’ve got the advantage of range, as well as the advantage of surprise. I say we make them come to us, pull them out of their defenses.”

 “With a feint?” Cooper asked. “Draw them forward.”

 “Exactly. We’re ordered to take out those domes anyway. A well-aimed plasma bombardment will do that at a range of half a mile. I don’t fancy getting into a plasma duel when we’re outnumbered four to one.”

 Shaking his head, Morton said, “I like the idea in theory, but in practice I can see what goes wrong. They could cut off that strike force and wipe them out, and I don’t think we could do enough damage to their forces with the initial bombardment.”

 “They don’t have anywhere to go, though,” Vaughan said. “Not if we’ve taken out their dome.”

 “I doubt they care about that,” Cooper said.

 Nodding, Gurung added, “So far the not-men haven’t shown any special regard for their prisoners. Just expendable resources. We can’t assume that their tactics will be affected in the slightest by our removal of their long-term survival prospects. Hell, the not-men could be evacuated in a single shuttle if it proved necessary.”

 Looking at his men, Cooper said, “We’re going to have to wipe them out. We can’t even assume that a surrender would be practical. Every enemy combatant will need to be killed or incapacitated.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “I’m afraid I must concluded that given the brainwashing these soldiers have received, any surrender would most likely be a trick.”

 “That’s a violation of the Articles of War, sir,” Morton said.

 “No, he’s quite right,” Gurung said with a deep sigh. “Damn it, these are people I’ve known for years, people I’ve fought alongside before, people I’ve trained, and I’m telling you, we don’t have any choice here. After what those bastards did to them, it would be a mercy.”

 “I’m going to make this a direct order,” Cooper said. “If there is any official action taken in connection with this, then I will be the one who faces censorship and court-martial. Is that understood?”

 “You don’t have to do that, sir,” Vaughan said. “I’m willing to go on the record as agreeing with you on this one.”

 “That being the case, then,” Morton said. “We have to reduce their advantage.”

 Panting for breath, Nash sprinted down the corridor, barely managing to stop before trampling the hastily-sketched map.

 “Are you being chased, Private?” Morton asked.

 “No, Sergeant,” she replied, gasping. “A shuttle just landed. Big one, cargo type, with a couple of the not-men in it. Right out on the landing field. I got a good look at it with my scope.”

 “Martinez?”

 “She’s watching. They didn’t see us. Sir, they’re loading up the plasma weapons.”

 “What?” Cooper asked. “Are you sure? How many?”

 “Yes, sir. I know a UN plasma rifle when I see one, and by the looks of it, at least eighty, maybe more. Ammunition as well.”

 Shaking his head, Gurung said, “That doesn’t make any sense. They must know that we’re out here.”

 “Not necessarily,” Morton said. “They did a full search of the jungle and didn’t find us. They might be assuming that you and your friends launched that attack.”

 “I wouldn’t make that assumption.”

 “Then we have to assume that there is something else going on, something that requires the use of those plasma weapons elsewhere. Either somewhere else on this planet, or up in orbit.”

 Frowning, Gurung said, “We don’t have any other facilities down here. Just a few supply dumps, but they don’t amount to very much. Ration packs and an emergency communicator.”

 “Up in orbit, then. On an attack on Alamo,” Cooper said. “That’s the only thing that makes any sense at all.”

 Morton glanced down at the map, then said, “I’ll tell you one thing, sir, they’ve given us a hell of a tactical advantage. We ought to be able to wipe out the base with no difficulty at all now. Plasma carbines against rifles, pistols? No contest, not in open ground.”

 “How many shuttles do you have on the base, Gurung?” Cooper asked.

 “Four. Three surface-to-orbit, one long-range. Unless they’ve taken them up to the ships already.”

 “I doubt that,” he replied. “Too useful in place.” Looking around the room, he said, “I’m changing our battle instructions.”

 “What?” Vaughan said.

 “Our orders are to destroy this base, sir,” Morton said. “It’s a key part of the battle plan.”

 “I appreciate that, Sergeant, and that is still my intention.” He pointed at the map, and said, “Where are the shuttles?”

 “Silos at the rear,” he said, hastily drawing squares. “No significant defenses.”

 “And correct me if I’m wrong, Sergeant, but don’t Rangers also get training as shuttle pilots?”

 “Sure,” he replied with a shrug. “I’m current. Took my refresher four months ago. Why?”

 “We’ve got a chance to extend the scope of our operations significantly. Assume that they need those plasma weapons for a reason, to launch an attack on Alamo.”

 “Why not use their own?” Morton asked.

 “Because I don’t think they’ve got them. They didn’t use anything like that at Yeager Station.”

 “If that’s the case,” Watkins said, “they might be taking them up to study.”

 “Eighty weapons?” Gurung replied. “No way. Two, three, half a dozen, maybe, but why strip the base of all of its defenses if they didn’t have a real reason for it? He’s right. They’re going to use them to launch an attack. What I don’t see is what we can do about it.”

 “Attack them ourselves.”

 The men looked at each other, wide-eyed, and finally Morton said, “What do you have in mind, sir?”

 “Hit the base, hard and fast, and take one of the shuttles up into orbit. You can bet that they’ll have all sorts of jamming, and if we get lucky, they’ll assume we’re survivors from the attack.” He paused to let it sink in, and added, “Timing is going to be everything here. Understand that my primary goal is to draw back any attacking force from hitting our people, but if we can get some intelligence on the not-men, I think this is worth the risk.”

 “Not a take and hold, then, sir?”

 “Snatch, grab, and destroy. We do as much damage as we can and steal anything that looks like it might be some sort of database, before running for home. Correct me if I’m wrong, Sergeant, but the largest of those shuttles could take all of us up, right?”

 “At full load and then some, but I think it might be done.” Shaking his head, he said, “You realize that this plan is crazy.”

 “The best ones are.” Pointing at the map, he said, “The attack on this dome was primarily meant as a diversion, to draw attention away from what our orbital forces were doing. We can accomplish that more easily than we expected, but I for one don’t intend to sit down here on the surface and wait to see what is happening up there, not when I have a way of influencing events.”

 “It’s a hell of a risk,” Vaughan said, shaking his head. “A hell of a risk.”

 “Which is why I’m going to make this volunteer-only, Corporal.”

 “What the hell,” Gurung said. “Any chance to deal a dose of heavy payback on those bastards is fine with me, Ensign. I’m in.” He smiled, then said, “You know, with some training, you might even make a half-decent Ranger. Maybe.”

 “We’re doing this without approval from Captain Marshall,” Morton said.

 “As soon as we’re in the air, Alamo will pick us up,” he replied. “We’ll squirt off a signal alerting them of our intentions as soon as we can. If necessary, we can abort.”

 Shaking his head, Vaughan said, “I doubt that. Not once we’re so close to the enemy. Not and live through it.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Don’t mistake me. I’m in. But that has to be considered.”

 “I’m aware of the risks, and I’m taking this action in full appreciation of them,” Cooper said. “We now have information that Captain Marshall does not, and in my opinion we would be remiss in our duty if we did not act upon them.”

 “I don’t like this,” Morton said. “I don’t like it a bit, Ensign.”

 “He said this was volunteer,” Gurung replied. “You can stay down here if you want.”

 “I didn’t say that,” the sergeant snapped.

 “Anyone want out of this?” Cooper asked, looking around. There were some doubtful faces, a few side glances, but no-one stood up. He nodded, and said, “Fine, then. Vaughan, take a fire team forward and set up some sort of defenses at the tunnel. I want to be ready just in case we haven’t been as clever with our attack as we thought. Morton, make sure the aerial is set up and well hidden. No test transmissions, but I want to be able to pick up status updates.”

 “Yes, sir,” Morton said. “Come on, Nash, I guess you know the way.”

 “As for the rest, we’re going to make camp. Likely we’re going to be here for a few days, so we should set ourselves up as comfortably as possible.” Cracking a smile, he added, “Anyone got a deck of cards?”

Chapter 23

 Marshall was sitting in his office when the alert came. Tossing his datapad to the desk, he sprinted through the door onto the bridge, snatching his jacket from the back of his chair. Grant slid out of the command chair as he approached, and the elevator door opened to admit Caine, racing to Tactical.

 “Report, Lieutenant.”

 “Dimensional instability, sir, and big,” he said. “Spaceman?”

 Spinelli looked up at his console, and said, “Reads as four capital ships, sir. Two battlecruisers, an assault carrier, and a tanker. On the far side of the planet, close to the enemy,”

 “Reinforcements,” he said, settling down in his chair.

 “No, sir. They read as Republic.”

 “Are you sure, Spaceman?”

 “Positive, sir. I’ve matched them to known designs. Intelligence is preparing a dossier now.” His eyes widened, and he said, “Energy spikes, sir. They’re going to battle stations.”

 “That’s a third of their deep space fleet,” Caine said, shaking her head.

 “Get Meirong up here, right now,” Marshall said to Grant. “We’d better go to battle stations as well.”

 “Intercept course, sir?” Foster said.

 “Negative, Midshipman. Hold our current position.”

 The elevator doors opened again, and Meirong stepped out, a smile on her face. “I gather that our forces have arrived.”

 “I was expecting a battlecruiser. That’s a task force,” Marshall said.

 Raising an eyebrow, she said, “I’m afraid that was what I wanted you to think, Captain.” Stepping forward, she added, “Our flotilla is more than capable of dealing with the enemy forces.”

 Taking a deep breath, Marshall asked, “What are your intentions?”

 “The Q-Carrier is Republic property. We want it back. Further, we want that battlecruiser. The technological secrets it contains could be vital to Republic security.”

 “Captain,” Grant said, “That could tip the balance of power in their favor.”

 “Given that you have made use of our tactical data for this operation,” Marshall began, but she shook her head.

 “My government would be most unwilling to undertake an intelligence transfer of the sort you propose. Consider that the data we have shared has been to our mutual gain thus far. How would it be to our advantage to pass on the secret of the laser-missile?” Shaking her head, she said, “When captured, they will be prizes of war.”

 “You seem very confident of success,” Caine said. 

 “With overwhelming force at our disposal? We have this well planned.” Crossing her arms, she said, “Whilst your assistance would be appreciated, it is not required. If you wish to sit and watch the action, that would be acceptable to our government.”

 “Republic vessels are entering combat range, sir,” Spinelli said. “Enemy fighters launching.”

 “What are your orders, sir?” Foster asked. “I have an intercept course ready if you want it.”

 “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “Hold station, Midshipmen. Let’s watch the show.”

 “Missiles launching, sir,” Spinelli said. “Both sides. Four laser-missiles, twelve conventional. Ten fighters heading for the battlecruisers.”

 Marshall watched the tactical display, totally detached from the action. He’d spent four days planning this out in his head, working out how to take Alamo into battle with those enemy ships, how to mitigate their advantages, and now the battle was taking place without him. It felt strange, to say the least.

 A second wave of laser-missiles launched, eight of them now in the air, and the Republic missiles curved to intercept them. Just as he would have done. The fighters weren’t much of a threat until they got closer, they could wait. The tracks began to close in towards each other, preparing to meet on the far side, the battlecruisers slowly moving towards each other while the two carriers hung back. Standard doctrine, on both sides.

 “I still wonder…,” he began to say, but just before the missiles were to intercept, the laser-missiles fissioned, each into four smaller fragments, and he leapt to his feet.

 “Weitzman! Warn the Republic ships!”

 “Sir?”

 It was too late. Far too late. He’d expected some sort of a surprise package, and there it was. The enemy had managed to launch multiple warheads as well, splitting their laser-missiles into four independent warheads. Eight could be dealt with, knocked out by counter-missiles, but thirty-two was enough to overwhelm any defense systems. That each would be less powerful didn’t seem relevant as they exploded, thirty-two beams of light racing forward to the Republic flotilla, lingering for only microseconds but long enough to do the damage.

 Cold status updates flashed across the screen, columns of figures telling the grim story, followed by shots from the orbiting satellites. The assault carrier had been torn into two pieces, a few shuttles racing away from the expanding debris cloud, pilots ready to launch who had somehow managed to get out in time. Both of the Republic battlecruisers were still maneuvering after a fashion, their hulls burned and pitted from the savage attack.

 Then came the fighters, swooping in to unleash their missiles, all concentrating on the leading ship. Twenty missiles dived forward as one, closing the range far too rapidly to be intercepted, too quickly for countermeasures to stop more than a handful of them. Sixteen explosions tore into the ship, atmosphere spilling out in all directions to toss it around like a ship in a storm, bodies tossed out into space from breached compartments.

 “Good God,” Marshall said.

 Behind him, Meirong was gripping the back of his chair, her knuckles white, her eyes locked on the horror taking place in front of them. The bridge was silent, all attention on the massacre unfolding on the far side of the planet. The single remaining battlecruiser had somehow launched another salvo, still pushing forward, but the tanker was unashamedly running, heading away from the planet at maximum acceleration. Ultimately, it would do no good. The fighters were returning to the carrier to rearm, and with no opposition, they could launch a second strike on the untouched auxiliary at any time within the next hour.

 “We’re getting distress signals, sir,” Weitzman said. “From the escape pods on the shuttles.” He sighed, and added, “I think most of them are automated. I doubt they all have people onboard.”

 “I think they can make Alamo,” Spinelli said. “Do you want me to work out a course plot and get them here?”

 “I’ll get the shuttles ready to evacuate the ground team,” Caine said. “If we use all three, we can add enough fuel to get them down and up again with some room for evasive maneuvers. Recommend that we use the fighters to give them orbital cover.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “No.”

 “Danny, if we’re going to get them out, it has to be now. While the enemy forces are distracted with the battle. If we wait, it’ll all be over, and we won’t have a chance to get them back. We can’t leave them down there.”

 “Shuttles launching from the Q-Carrier,” Spinelli said. “Heavy assault craft, on intercept course for the remaining battlecruiser. Estimated time to intercept is nine minutes.”

 “There it is,” Caine said. “They wanted a sample of our technology. Looks like they’ll get a Republic ship instead of a Triplanetary one.”

 “You can’t just sit here,” Meirong said. “My fleet…”

 “Your fleet,” Caine replied. “Not ours. Didn’t you say a few minutes ago that our assistance was not needed, that you had overwhelming force?” Pointing at the display, she said, “That’s what’s left of your overwhelming force. One crippled battlecruiser and a tanker that’s running for its life. Don’t even suggest that we’re going to throw ourselves into the fire as well.”

 “Weitzman,” Marshall said, calmly. “Break silence with the assault team. Request a status update.”

 “Aye, sir,” the communications technician replied.

 “It won’t take them long to burn out a landing zone with their plasma carbines,” Caine said. “Shall I get the shuttles in the air?”

 “Not yet,” he said.

 Weitzman turned, frowning, and said, “They’ve transmitted code-signal Spartacus, sir. Ready for assault on your command.”

 “How the hell did he manage that?” Foster asked. “Seven days in less than four?”

 “Very well,” Marshall said. “Transmit code-signal Caesar.”

 “Wait a minute,” Caine said. “You mean Brutus, don’t you? Prepare for evacuation?”

 “No, I don’t, Deadeye. We’re going to attack. Midshipman…”

 “You can’t take us into that!” Caine said. “Danny, we’ll be torn apart. Thirty-two laser pulses would reduce Alamo to component particles, before we even get close to them.”

 “Why don’t we use multiple-launch weapons, Deadeye?”

 She took a deep breath, and said, “They might not have the same restrictions to their fabricators. For all we know, this is normal.”

 “Then why didn’t they use them at Yeager Station? My guess is that they have shot their bolt. Right now their fighters are unarmed, they’ve used their surprise advantage, and we have a second ship to provide backup. None of that will be true if we wait even five minutes.”

 “Besides,” Grant said, frowning, “Sometimes you have to take the big risk or lose the whole game.”

 Caine looked at him, shaking her head, and said, “I hope you know what you are doing, Danny.”

 “So do I,” Marshall replied. “Weitzman, contact those Republic shuttles, and tell them to hold into a parking orbit for the present. Get me information on their status. If they’re full of Republic Marines, they might be able to play a part in this battle yet. Midshipman, implement that interception course of yours, maximum speed.”

 “Caesar code transmitted, sir,” Weitzman said. “I have the commander of the Zheng He for you.”

 “Put him on. Caine, get our fighters in the air.”

 “Aye,” she replied, tapping a control, “Drone Squadron, launch. Clearance on request.” Glancing across at a panel, she said, “They’re in the elevators now. In space in thirty seconds.”

 “Good. I’ll tell Salazar where he is going in a minute.”

 The viewscreen winked to a view of a battered bridge, a pair of technicians applying a temporary hull patch behind a man wearing a tattered Republic uniform, a blood-soaked bandage around his arm.

 “Alamo, I’m going to evacuate. Request fighter cover and a safe haven for my crew,” he began.

 “Negative, Zheng He.”

 “Damn it, Captain, we need your help!”

 “And you’re getting it. Are your sensors operating?”

 He shook his head, and said, “Most of our exterior instruments are gone.”

 “Spinelli, set up a data feed. I need them to be able to see what’s happening.” Turning back to the screen, he said, “We’re going to take these bastards down, and I need your help to do it. If I can deal with the incoming shuttles, will you stay in the fight.”

 The man frowned, turned off screen for a second, then replied, “How far are you willing to go with this?”

 “All the way.”

 With a sigh, he said, “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

 “Not if you want to save your ship.”

 Looking across at a panel, he said, “I’m ordering all non-essential personnel to take to the shuttles, heading for the tanker. They might survive this if the rest of us don’t. Enough of us will be staying behind to give you the support you want.”

 “Thank you, Captain.” 

 “My pleasure.” He paused, then said, “Taking you out of the loop wasn’t my idea.”

 “I presumed as much. Good hunting.”

 “Likewise.”

 Alamo rocked, six new tracks appearing on the tactical display, and Caine said, “Fighters away, sir. Heading right for the battle.”

 “So are we, sir,” Foster said, as Alamo’s engines roared into life, kicking her forward towards the enemy ships. “I’m taking the spin off the ship.”

 “We’re committed,” Grant said. “Any second now the Q-Carrier will see us coming around the far side of the planet.” Glancing up at a monitor, he added, “The fighters will be in the battle area in five minutes.”

 “Get me Salazar,” Marshall said.

 “You’re on, Captain,” Weitzman replied after a second.

 “Flight Leader, this is Alamo Actual.”

 There was a slight delay, then Salazar said, “Reading you, Alamo.”

 “You get first crack at this, Leader. Four shuttles heading in. Make a maximum mess of them, then mop up as many of the fighters as you can. You should have an open run for a few minutes. Take full advantage of it.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 Marshall glanced up at the tactical display, “Alamo will be in the battle about four minutes after you. Keep those ships busy until we can get there. Zheng He will give you tactical support until then, but it might need protecting.”

 There was a chuckle in Salazar’s voice as he replied, “You want me to protect the Republic battlecruiser, attack the shuttles coming out and the fighters returning, and cause maximum mayhem? Sounds like a true opportunity to excel, sir.”

 “I knew you’d take it in the spirit it was intended, Sub-Lieutenant. Good luck, and good hunting. We’ll see you shortly.”

 “I’ll try and save you a few bad guys. Salazar out.”

 Caine stood up, walking over to Marshall’s chair, and said, “You know how much fire that kid’s going to be up against. Another salvo of laser-missiles, and if they have the same capabilities as the first two waves…”

 “I know. Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”

 “You’re sending that kid to his death if it does.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “It won’t be the first time, Deadeye, and damn it all to hell, it probably won’t be the last.” Gesturing at the display, he said, “There are only a handful of people who could live through that fire. I think I just sent one of them into the fight.”

 “I hope so.”

 “Game face on, Deadeye. We’ve got work to do.”

 Leaning back on his chair as she returned to her station, Marshall watched the tangle of course tracks in the battlefield ahead, watched the enemy battlecruiser turn as it saw Alamo coming around the planet towards them, fighters flying forward like avenging angels. Over the viewscreen, a clock flashed into view, counting down the seconds until they were in firing range.

 “More speed, Midshipman,” he said. “Let’s go get them.”

Chapter 24

 The force of the acceleration pushed Salazar back in his couch as the shuttle raced to catch up to the fighters up ahead, Erickson recklessly running the engines over the red line in an attempt to keep pace. He forced himself to focus on the feeds from his five drones, fingers of his hand reaching out into the void, and ran the mission plan over in his head.

 Shuttles heading one way, fighters another. Not on intersecting courses, which made it tougher. Not to mention the other problem that there was a battlecruiser to protect. His thoughts flashed back to the first battle, when they had entered the system. Controlling two groups of fighters independently had been bad enough that time, but this time there would be all manner of electronic jamming to confuse the situation, missiles and potentially gigawatt laser blasts flying through space.

 Two, two, and one. Pairs of fighters to head for the enemy shuttles, another for the fighters, the remainder to follow the shuttle as ready reserve, to intercept anything that decided to head their way. He tapped the controls, and the drones instantly dived onto their new trajectories, dancing through space at accelerations that would have crushed any human pilot to death in an instant. 

 And yet, he was there, in each of them. At the touch of a button he could put himself into each cockpit in every way that mattered, with only a microsecond delay to alert him that he wasn’t actually there. He glanced up at the sensor tracks, watching as the shuttles began to change their course, arc away in an attempt to evade the incoming fighters. A nice try, but it wasn’t going to work. His velocity margin was a lot better than theirs, his acceleration infinitely superior. Over on the other side of the display, the fighters held their course, running for home. Low on fuel, low enough that they didn’t have a choice. Bad design, too little range.

 Not that he had infinite fuel himself. The shuttle was running far too hot, and any sort of safe return to Alamo would depend on a quick battle that he couldn’t count on. The troops on the surface were in a dangerous enough position, but if everything went wrong, he and Erickson would be left drifting in space, surrounded by people he had been attempting to kill. They weren’t likely to be in the best of moods in the aftermath of such a battle.

 “Alamo Actual to Flight Leader,” Marshall’s voice echoed. “We show you in firing range in ninety seconds. I’m hooking you over to Zheng He’s tactical net right now. Remember, you need to keep the wolf from the door long enough for Alamo to get here.”

 Caine’s voice broke in, adding, “Enemy battlecruiser launching laser-missiles. No idea whether they are multiple or not. Four of them heading into the combat zone, unable to determine their target yet.”

 “Hang on as long as you can. Alamo out.”

 Shaking his head, Salazar switched views on his tactical display. Combat in sixty seconds, and those missiles were racing out in his direction. There was only one thing he could do about them, and with a deep sigh, he sent his single remaining fighter into the fray, arcing up and towards the battlecruiser, racing towards the incoming missiles.

 The theory of the drone fighters was beautiful. If they did their job properly, then they would run themselves, the single pilot operating as the troubleshooter for difficult situations, and keeping a human finger on the firing controls. Maybe one day they would actually work as advertised, but for the present they were still in the experimental stage, and it showed. His fingers danced from one set of controls to the next, implementing fine changes to trajectories that the on-board systems were too dumb to work out for themselves. In combat, the best theoretical trajectory was death; the enemy had computers as well, just as capable of working out the optimum route, and able to work out the best way of intercepting. The only known way to break through the tactical stalemate was to introduce the random element, the human element.

 “Thirty seconds, Pavel,” Erickson said.

 He nodded, looking up at his controls, beads of sweat beginning to form up on his forehead as he watched the ever-tangling mess of the course plot. Three formations. One and Two heading for the shuttles and the fighters respectively, Three heading for the missiles. None of them having enough strength to do the job. A new alert popped up, the Republic ship launching half a dozen missiles into the fray, ranging towards the shuttles. Insurance, just in case, though almost as soon as they launched, three of them disappeared, destroyed by the automatic systems rather than risk them being taken over by the enemy.

 That made this tougher. And brought the specter of the drone fighters being hijacked into play. They were controlled with tight-beam lasers, rigorous encryption, but even then, he couldn’t be sure. He’d have to wait until the last second to launch his missiles, that was certain, so to provide the enemy with no opportunity to evade.

 Formation Two was coming into position first, ranging in before the rapidly retreating fighters. Ten fighters to take down, four missiles to do it with. And the drone fighters themselves, of course, if he chose to kamikaze. Tapping a control, he sent four missiles away, homing rapidly on their targets, no time for evasion. Anyone in their right mind would have ejected, escaping the doomed fighter, but these pilots opted to wait until the last second, trying desperate evasion tactics that were always likely to fail. Brainwashed, just like the others, more than likely.

 Four men died as their fighters erupted in flame all around them, the shrapnel catching two more and sending shards of twisted molten metal slamming into their hulls, damaging them sufficiently to take them out of the fight. Just four left now, and there was nothing he could do to stop them drifting into the Q-Carrier. No idea how long they would take to rearm, likely a matter of minutes.

 Formation Three, next, as Formation One continued to chase after the shuttles, the boarding parties spending their fuel recklessly, buying short-term survival at the cost of long-term fuel durability. A glance at his readouts confirmed what he already knew, that there was no chance those shuttles could return to their mother ship. Not that he was in a much better situation himself.

 The laser-missiles were still diving towards their target, heedless of the approaching fighter, as though they were pretending it wasn’t there. Zheng He was doing all it could to maneuver, but looked like a wallowing beast, its helmsman hindered by the outgassing from a hundred tiny hull breaches lurching it in one direction or another. If those missiles fissioned, there wouldn’t be anything he could do.

 He fired his missiles, watching the two tracks drive towards their targets, hoping that they would hit home. Then a red light flashed into view, and he jerked his head down to see that Formation One was almost in contact range, ready to fire. Formation Two was spinning around the Q-Carrier now, waiting for instructions, and he frantically started to type, his attention lost for a critical second as the two missiles he had just fired winked out short of their target, the jamming moving into play.

 “Damn it,” he yelled, shaking his head. “There’s nothing we can do for them.”

 At least Formation One was pressing home its attack, with four missiles leaping out towards the shuttles at minimum range to match the approaching spread of Republic warheads. Any second now, they would be destroyed, far short of their target. A foregone conclusion, from the moment he entered the battle-space.

 “They must have known,” he said, slamming the communications button, “Zheng He, lateral boost, full power, now, or you’ve had it!”

 The Republic helmsman complied with an instant to spare, sending his ship racing up as the four shuttles exploded, the detonation catching all of the approaching missiles in its track as well as both of the drone fighters, four gigawatt lasers leaping forward into what was now empty space.

 “How did you…,” Erickson began.

 “A decoy. It had to be. Why would they be in such a hurry to get the assault shuttles into the air? They had more than enough time to achieve space superiority at their leisure.”

 “They’ve not worried about their soldiers before,” she replied. “And I thought we were assuming they were trying to capture that ship intact.”

 “Maybe Alamo coming into the picture changed the game.”

 Up above, the four missiles were still homing in on their target, diving for the Zheng He at full speed. If for some reason the not-men had elected not to fire their lasers, that still meant that four megaton warheads were heading in for the Republic ship.

 “Zheng He, this is Drone Leader. Can you get another salvo into the air?”

 “That’s a negative, Drone Leader. Damage to our fabricators. It’s going to take too long. Nice try.”

 He glanced at the tactical display, shaking his head. His three remaining drones were scattered all over the battle-space. on wildly diverging courses, slowly beginning to curve back towards the approaching Alamo to rearm. No chance that they could do anything, not even a kamikaze run, if he used all of the fuel he had left.

 “Alamo Actual,” he began.

 “We’ve got them on track,” Marshall said. “Nothing we can do from here. Harper can’t get in, and we’re out of missile and laser range. Come on home.”

 “Negative, Alamo. I’m not out of options yet. Erickson, I want a parallel course with the missiles. We should be able to manage that in forty seconds.”

 “Implementing,” she said. “You going to make a habit of crashing your ships into things?”

 “Not this time,” he replied. “It wouldn’t do any good if we did. At best, we’d only take out one of them. They’re too far apart for fratricide.” Throwing a switch, he climbed out of his seat, and said, “Nevertheless, I’m ordering you to bail out. Right now you are on a safe trajectory and an SAR shuttle can get you.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “No way.”

 “This is damn risky, and…”

 “And that’s fine, if it gets the job done.”

 “Look,” he paused, then said, “Give me the helm, then. This is going to take some damn fancy flying.”

 As they swapped seats, she asked, “What are we doing?”

 “I think we can use the physical countermeasures,” he replied.

 With a sigh, she replied, “That’s your grand plan? We might as well throw rocks at them.”

 “Basically, that’s what I have in mind,” he said as he settled into the pilot’s couch, resting his hands on the controls.

 “Alamo Actual to Salazar,” Marshall said, urgency laced in his voice. “Return to Alamo at once. There’s no point sacrificing yourself to take out one missile.”

 Throwing a switch, Salazar said to Erickson, “I don’t have any time to explain. Ride the systems and the sensors. Let me know if anything twitches.”

 “Zheng He is calling,” she replied.

 “I’m just Mister Popular today, aren’t I.”

 He glanced quickly at the course the shuttle was set on, nodding in approval. He’d have a spectacular twenty-one seconds to pull off this stunt. Far away, the enemy battlecruiser was launching another salvo, destination unknown, but that was going to have to be Alamo’s problem. These four missiles were his.

 Reaching up to the physical countermeasures package, he threw a series of switches, locking them to fire one at a time, directly behind him. Not a normal distribution pattern, and the system gave him several chances to change his mind before he threw in the final override.

 “I’m going to need extra power as soon as I fire a package,” he said. “Just for a microsecond, quite literally. We’ll have to get out of the blast range.”

 “Are you doing what I think you are doing?” she replied. “You realize that they could…”

 “Fire the laser at any time, yes, I know, but they haven’t done it yet, and I think there might be a reason.”

 “That’s a hell of a risk.”

 “We lose the Zheng He, Alamo’s facing two-to-one odds. We’ve got to keep them in the fight, one way or another.” He held his hands over the controls, and said, “Fifteen seconds to contact. Hang on. This is going to be fun.”

 A swarm of protests were streaming from the navigation computer, alarms blaring that suggested he was doing something terminally stupid, but he ignored them all as the shuttle swung into its place in the missile stream. They were flying tightly together, using their proximity to strengthen their electronic defenses and targeting solution, an advantage he intended to turn to his favor.

 “Abort!” Marshall’s voice yelled, Harper having evidently broken through his signal discriminator. “Salazar, damn it…”

 Nineteen seconds to go. More than enough time for him to get out of the way, if he chose. He didn’t. Swinging in front of the nearest missile, the acceleration high enough that he felt as though he was on the verge of blacking out, he tapped a control and released a decoy, the brief kick of the engines throwing the shuttle clear of the resultant explosion as the proximity sensors detonated.

 His fingers danced lightly on the thruster controls as he swung around in front of the next one, dropping the throttle just enough to take him within range. At any second, he expected the not-men to fire the laser, to wipe out the shuttle with a single shot, but the next missile exploded behind him. 

 Now they were beginning to notice, the two remaining missiles swinging out to either side. He still had a luxurious twelve seconds to go, and he swing right, burning his thruster fuel with abandon to get the shuttle onto target, the navigation computer struggling to keep up with the missile’s hasty maneuvers, but after five seconds, he got into position, and the decoy slammed home.

 One left. Now quite far distant, and only seven seconds left to finish the job. The Zheng He loomed large, now visible in the viewscreen without magnification. He dived right for it, not worrying about a maneuvering edge. Either this would work, or it wouldn’t. Erickson watched with horror growing across her face as the sirens screamed a collision alarm, but at the last second, only a handful of miles before impact, he tapped the control to send the decoy swinging forward, using the extra thrust from the engine to toss the shuttle up, over the missile as it detonated.

 “Just enough fuel to put us into a high orbit,” he said with a sigh, setting up the maneuver.

 “Zheng He to Drone Leader.”

 “I read you, Zheng He.”

 “You are one of the craziest pilots I have ever seen. Also one of the best. My thanks.”

 “My pleasure, Zheng He,” he replied. “Salazar to Alamo.”

 “Nice show, Salazar,” Marshall said. “You hang tight in orbit. We’ll do the rest. Good work. Alamo out.”

 “Now what?” Erickson asked.

 “You heard the Captain,” he said, as the shuttle burned pro-grade to bring it up to a safe orbit. “We hang tight, and watch the show. And hope no-one shoots at us.” The engine sputtered to a halt, the last of the fuel gone, the emergency reserve expended. “And that, Spaceman, is how we do that.”

 “Can I ask a favor?”

 “Sure.”

 “Don’t do it again.”

 “No promises,” he replied with a grin, turning back to the sensor display. If all he could do was watch, at least he could take full advantage of the best seats in the house.

Chapter 25

 Sliding the communicator into his pocket, Cooper yelled, “Grab your kit, everyone! We’re going in!”

 “Now?” Morton asked. “Three days early? We’ve hardly made camp.”

 “To hell with all that stuff,” Cooper said. “Leave it behind. We won’t need it any more. Listen up, everyone. Alamo just flashed down a tactical alert, code word ‘Caesar’. Immediate attack, regardless of risk. We’re going ahead with the plan as outlined.”

 Shaking his head, Morton replied, “I don’t like it, sir. Are we sure that this isn’t some sort of trick, a trap set by the enemy? It’s the sort of thing they would do.”

 Gurung said, “We don’t have time for a debate. Let’s move!”

 “Who put you…”, Morton began, but Cooper broke in, snatching his plasma carbine from his side and running up the charge cycle. Stealth didn’t matter now, just speed.

 “Third squad, Gurung, with me. We’re going right in. Fourth squad thirty seconds behind us, take up a position on the edge of the dome, covering fire. You read me?”

 “With you, sir,” Vaughan said.

 “Then come on, damn it!”

 Cooper raced down the tunnel, leaping over the barricade and sprinting into the forest. Just under a mile and a half to the domes, ten minutes with a little luck if they pushed it, though he didn’t expect to get anywhere near all the way. With all the noise they were making, someone was bound to come out and intercept them part way there.

 None of this was according to plan. This daring charge was taking place under cover of broad daylight, at full speed crashing through the jungle making enough noise to alert everyone for ten miles, with plasma carbines charging at a fast enough rate to be detected from orbit. The orders from Alamo left him no discretion, though. Immediate attack, regardless of the tactical situation.

 Only one explanation made any sense. Something had gone wrong up in orbit, terribly wrong, and they had to provide some sort, any sort of distraction. He longed for a mission update, to send a signal up to the ship to find out what was going on up there, but the jamming was too intense. Maybe after the battle, after they had taken out the domes.

 He glanced behind him for a second, watching third squad chase after him, Gurung unsurprisingly in the lead, flashing a grin at him. Fourth was moving out as well, Morton at the rear. Eighteen of them against eighty, reasonable odds.

 Movement, up ahead. It might just have been an animal, but Cooper was in no mood to take chances, and there was no point even trying for stealth at this point. He fired off a plasma pulse, a ball of green fire racing forward to vaporize its target, the only evidence of what it had been a brief scream as it died. A human, moving forward.

 Doctrine called for him to pause, to survey the situation, but they weren’t going to be following the book today. He made a sweeping motion with his hand, sending Third Squad fanning out behind him to cover more ground, but continuing the speed of their advance. One of the others fired, Vaughan, perhaps, taking out a target of his own.

 Still almost a mile before they reached the dome. The nearer they got, the easier this was going to be. Pulling the enemy forces forward out of their fixed defenses might actually be to their advantage, taking out the cover that was their only defense against the Espatiers’ plasma weapons.

 “Up ahead,” Gurung said. “Four of them.”

 Following his arm, Cooper saw a pack of figures charging towards them, slamming a heavy machine gun into position, ready to fire. He snapped off a quick shot, Gurung a half-second behind him, but both of them went wild, crashing into trees and sending thick plumes of smoke slamming up into the sky, giving the troopers enough time to get into position.

 Bolts of white hot flame spat out of the barrel of the gun, sending the squad diving to the ground. Dirt ripped up all around Cooper as he slid behind a tree, firing a shot blind in an attempt to distract them, this time up into the sky.

 “No time for this, damn it,” he yelled, tossing a grenade towards the enemy troopers. Not waiting to see if he’d been on target, he leapt to his feet again, sprinting forward, firing a follow-up burst. Whether it was the grenade or the plasma shot, the gun was silenced.

 The delay had allowed Fourth Squad to catch up, and Cooper redoubled his efforts, Gurung on one side, Vaughan on the other, three veterans leading the advance. Over to the left he heard more shots, followed by screams, another machine gun opening up by Stewart’s fire team. No time to deal with that now, he’d have to leave that to them. There was a gap in the enemy lines, and he was taking it.

 Through a gap in the trees, he could see the domes, and two full platoons of troopers were hurling themselves into defensive positions, ready to rain down a hail of fire from a dozen fixed emplacements. Even without plasma weapons, this was a fearsome fortress, and the three of them only managed a pair of shots each before having to dive back behind the tree line, leaping for safety.

 “Need some fire support,” Gurung said. “No chance of anything from orbit?”

 Waving his communicator, Cooper said, “Can’t get any signal. Too much jamming. Even if I could, I think they’ve got problems of their own.”

 The situation was crazy. Old-fashioned infantry charges with plasma weapons. Someone had even suggested a bayonet attachment, and Cooper wasn’t sure whether they were joking or not. They’d been promised the whole range of weapons for ground warfare, close air support, assault vehicles, rugged drones. Tomorrow, and he needed them today. Always another priority, something else needed more urgently in some bureaucrat's opinion.

 Corporal Hunt raced forward, crashing down into the undergrowth next to Cooper. He pulled his helmet off, the top of it neatly pierced by a bullet that had somehow passed through it without even touching him.

 “Heard that round, I thought my head was gone,” Hunt said. “There are two machine guns over to the left. Morton’s trying to rally Fourth and the rest of Third to take them, but they’re too well dug in. I’ve got my fire team here, ready to move.”

 “I count ten emplacements,” Vaughan said. “We knocked out two.”

 “That’s two machine guns each, if anyone’s counting,” Gurung replied. “We need the rest of those troopers up here.”

 “Damn right we do,” Cooper said. “What’s holding them up?”

 Hunt shrugged, and said, “Sorry, sir, I was too busy to look.”

 Turning back, Cooper said, “Rhodes, try and work around behind those guns and knock them out with grenades. At least distract them to give Morton a chance to take them out.”

 “By myself, sir?”

 “Keep down low, and stay in cover,” Gurung said. “They won’t be looking in your direction, and as long as you don’t cross out of the tree line, you should be able to get into position.”

 “You heard the man,” Cooper replied. “On your way, trooper.”

 “Yes, sir,” Rhodes said, sprinting back towards the guns, crouching half over as he melted into the trees.

 “I don’t see any sign of support from the not-men,” Vaughan said. “They could have infiltrated into the trees and taken us all out by now.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “Be thankful for small mercies. I doubt any of them are out here.”

 Nodding, Gurung added, “Why risk themselves when they have plenty of expendable minions to take the fire for them?” Looking back, he said, “What the hell is taking them so long?”

 Glancing at his watch, Cooper said, “We haven’t got time to worry about that right now. On my signal, I want smoke grenades over on the left.”

 “Ensign, they’ve all got filters,” Gurung said. “They won’t work.”

 “They might see through the smoke, but they won’t see through the ruse,” Cooper said. “We feint left with smoke and plasma fire, and then make an end run to the right. If we move quick and place our shots, we’ll make it.”

 “You want to charge ten machine gun nests?”

 Smiling, Cooper replied, “If we do this right, they’ll hardly have time to pull the trigger. Two volunteers to come with me.”

 “You need to ask?” Gurung said, and Vaughan clapped the Ranger on the shoulder, nodding.

 “Right. Hunt, get the rest of your fire team ready. I want suppressing fire, the first shots on the left, then the rest on the right. Fast on the trigger, minimum reload cycles. We need rapid fire rather than high yield for this one.” He flicked the switch on his own carbine to match. “I hope you can both fire on the move. We can’t afford a single miss.” Looking up again, he said, “We go on the count of five. Grenades first, count five more, then run for it. When you run out of machine guns, shoot at anything that moves that isn’t on our side.”

 “Nice, clear orders,” Gurung said. “Guess you do a few things right in the Confederation.”

 “Five,” he began, pulling out his grenade. “Four. Three. Two. One. Now!”

 He hurled the bomb clear, watching the smoke spew out of it, smothering the battlefield and enveloping the terrain. All attention would be focused on the thickening fog, barrels turned to expect the attack from that direction. Tensing for the charge, he hefted his carbine, taking a last, deep breath.

 “Rangers lead the way!” Gurung yelled, sprinting from cover first as Hunt’s fire team began its suppressing fire. Cooper, cursing under his breath, charged after him, Vaughan just a heartbeat behind him, firing his gun from the hip in distinctly non-regulation fashion. As he’d hoped, the machine guns were a second later in turning around, a combination of the smoke and the first plasma barrage drawing them away, and three of the crews died before they could react.

 Then the ground all around him erupted as rounds slammed into the ground. There was no cover, and even if there had been any, the crossfire would have rendered it pointless. His only safety was speed, and that it was easier to hit a fixed target than a moving one. Hunt’s fire team was turning his way now, more balls of green flame shooting around.

 Someone dropped ahead of him as one of the machine gun crews found their mark, and as he fired, a near-miss that still showered flaming mud on two of the enemy soldiers, he saw the four guns on the left turn into the jungle, taking down three of his people that had unwisely emerged.

 He’d deal with that later. Now he had to finish off the defenses. His world had shrunk to his gun and the bullets raining down around him, the one being the only answer to the other. Every heartbeat was a slow eternity, another chance for him to shoot his way out of this nightmare. More cries to his rear, but they were breaking the back of the enemy now, more of them dead than alive.

 Four plasma bolts slammed into the same nest at once, leaving nothing but a crater and the stink of burning flesh behind. Just two guns left now, a couple of dozen more scattered guards opening up with ineffectual small arms fire. He took out three of them with a well placed shot, then almost crashed into the dome, turning to see Gurung dodging down behind him.

 “Almost there,” he said, picking off one of the remaining nests while fire from the jungle took down the other. The few remaining troops started to scatter, but now they were suffering from the lack of cover, and the Espatiers far out-gunned them. Looking down at one of the bodies, Gurung said, “What the hell?”

 “Problem?”

 “He isn’t a soldier. That was one of the cooks.” Glancing at some of the others, he said, “Non-combatants. Most of them. Maintenance, all sorts. Just enough troopers left to put up a fight.”

 “Damn it!” Cooper yelled. “We saw them taking out the plasma weapons, it never occurred to me that they might have already taken off the soldiers as well. You know this place, Sergeant. How many left?”

 “Rough guess? No-one. They’ve thrown everyone into the battle.” Stepping out onto the now-empty ground, he added, “I recognize some of them. A Corporal from my platoon, a few of the others. Ensign, they’ve probably got a good forty, fifty people up there.”

 “God,” Hunt said, stepping out from the trees. “What have we done?”

 Gurung looked up at him, pained resignation in his voice, and said, “What we had to do. Trust me, Corporal, they were already dead in every way that counted.”

 “They had guns, and they were shooting at us,” Barnard said. “We didn’t have a choice.”

 “Jackson, Robertson, you up?” Cooper asked.

 “Robertson’s dead, sir,” Rhodes said. “Caught at the tree-line.”

 “Jackson, see to the wounded.” He looked across at Vaughan, gasping for breath, blood running down his side. “Gurung, if that base is empty, we just need the jammer killed. See to it.”

 “On it.”

 “Hunt, secure the shuttle.”

 “We’re going ahead?” Morton asked.

 “Damn right we are, Sergeant,” Cooper said. “To coin a phrase, we have just begun to fight.” Behind him, another plasma ball erupted, Gurung waving over his head.

 “Go ahead, Ensign. That should have dealt with it.”

 “We’ve lost three dead, four wounded,” Morton began.

 “Which leaves us with one squad, just about,” Cooper replied.

 “Not to mention that this base isn’t secured.”

 “You know, in the Rangers, when the officer gives an order, we usually just follow it,” Gurung said.

 “That’s supposed to happen in the Espatier Corps as well,” Cooper said, looking out across the battlefield at the dead, the dying, and the wounded. “Damn it, we know there are sixty troopers up there planning to attack Alamo. The only way we're going to stop them is to hit them before they can move. Which means we have no time to waste! Understood, Sergeant?”

 Shaking his head, Morton replied, “Aye, sir.”

 “Get the shuttle warmed up,” Cooper said to Gurung, pulling out his hitherto-useless communicator. “Cooper to Alamo Actual, on secured frequency. Urgent. Very urgent.”

Chapter 26

 “He’s what?” Marshall asked, turning to face Weitzman.

 The communications technician replied, “Confirmed, sir. Ensign Cooper is launching a boarding action on the enemy battlecruiser with a captured United Nations shuttlecraft.”

 “Recall him,” Grant said, shaking his head. “He doesn’t have a chance in hell of pulling it off. He doesn’t know that the shuttles were a trap.”

 Frowning, Caine replied, “He might have information we don’t, Danny. I don’t think he’d be trying this if he didn’t think he could pull this off.”

 “Then why didn’t he tell us?” Grant replied.

 “Because there is only so much you can fit in a quarter-second message pulse,” Marshall replied, “And I suspect he has more important things on his mind than giving us a play-by-play.”

 “Firing range in seventy seconds, sir,” Foster said. “Shuttle will be entering the combat area in a hundred and fifty seconds.”

 “Spinelli, what’s the status of those Republic shuttlecraft?”

 “I’ve got some telemetry, sir, and we have intermittent contact. Thirty-three troopers on five shuttles, no injuries, but they’re all pretty shaken up, and their shuttles all have varying degrees of damage. They can maneuver.”

 “And we have two squads here as well. That gives him sixty-plus.”

 Rising from his seat, Grant looked Marshall square in the face and said, “You cannot be contemplating reinforcing this attack.”

 A smile curling around his lips, he replied, “As it happens, I am thinking of doing just that. They set out to trap us, didn’t they? To grab a battlecruiser and take it home as a prize. I think it poetic justice that we do the same.”

 “I doubt they’d let us,” Caine said. “They’d destroy their ship first.”

 “And how much intelligence might Cooper and his force snatch from that ship in the process? We’re hurting for information, Deadeye. Right now they know a hell of a lot more about us than we do about them, and if we don’t reverse that, we’re going to be facing attacks again and again on this part of the frontier.”

 “Forty seconds, sir.”

 Closing his eyes, Grant said, “Then, sir, I recommend we move to a direct-line course with the enemy battlecruiser and close to minimum range, deploying our laser and multiple-warhead missiles to deal with the Q-Carrier. Zheng He should be able to deal with the carrier while we provide fire support for the attack.”

 “The laser-missiles?” Foster said, looking up.

 “My guess is that they are out of warheads. Those multiple missiles of theirs must have taken some work to assemble, and they had numerous opportunities to activate the warheads that Sub-Lieutenant Salazar destroyed,” Grant said.

 “I agree with that assessment,” Caine said.

 “Direct intercept course with the battlecruiser, then, Foster,” Marshall ordered. “Weitzman, get those Republic shuttles heading in our wake. We’re going to have to give them whatever cover we can. Grant, I want the rest of our Espatiers ready to go at a second’s notice, in the elevator airlock, with a course plot that will see them in the air for the minimum possible time. Let’s move.”

 Frantically, the bridge crew started to follow his orders, all except Winslow, the reserve Flight Engineer, who looked up at his panel, his hands shaking. Right now he was the only person on the deck with nothing to do, but if Alamo suffered any damage, he would be the most important person on the ship. The technician turned to Marshall, and the Captain managed to throw what he hoped was a reassuring smile at him.

 He turned back to the sensor display, watching Alamo dive into the battle. The Q-Carrier was moving back, pulling away to give its fighters time to reload, and the enemy battlecruiser swinging around towards them, obviously having the same idea as he had, to finish the battle in one devastating series of blows. A pack of missiles was diving towards Zheng He, but this time the Republic ship had put a salvo of its own up in the air to face them.

 “Laser is at full charge, ready to fire,” Caine said.

 “Lance-Sergeant Francis reports First and Second squads are ready for deployment. Sub-Lieutenant Bradley is leading the strike,” Grant added.

 “Acknowledged,” Marshall replied. “Midshipman, as soon as we get into the combat area, begin random walk sequence. Get us to the enemy as fast as you can and match course and speed.”

 Her eyes widening, Foster said, “Match course and speed, sir? Not an intercept?”

 “Negative, Midshipman. Take us as close as you can to the enemy. Within fifty miles.”

 Shaking her head, Caine said, “We won’t be able to retreat if this goes wrong.”

 “If this goes wrong, I doubt retreat would be an option in any case, Deadeye,” Marshall said.

 “You really know how to cheer me up,” she replied. “Foster, I want a firing solution on the Q-Carrier in ten seconds. I’ll get our missiles into the air three seconds later.”

 “Zheng He for you, sir,” Weitzman said.

 “Fine, put him on.”

 The image of the Republic captain flashed onto the screen, and he immediately yelled, “Why are you sending our soldiers into harm’s way?”

 “I need reinforcements for our assault on that ship.”

 “For your assault,” he said. “I will not authorize this.”

 “Damn it, Captain, one of my pilots damn near died saving you from an attack. We could have just turned and run, but we’re in this fight together now whether you like it or not.”

 “You aren’t in command here.”

 “Actually, he is,” Meirong said, stepping out from the rear of the bridge. “Under Security Directive One-Three-Nine, I am granting Captain Marshall full command authority. Or would you rather answer to the Committee when, or if, you make it home?”

 “Firing!” Caine said, and a laser pulse ripped through space to slam into the hull of the Q-Carrier, tearing a black gouge down its side, clouds of gas briefly racing into the vacuum before dissipating. “Missiles away. Preparing second salvo.”

 Glancing up at a monitor, the Republic captain shook his head, and said, “I do this under protest. The Fleet will have something to say about this.”

 “As long as you do it. Concentrate your fire on the Q-Carrier. We’ll take care of the battlecruiser.”

 Still glaring at Meirong, he said, “Understood. Zheng He out.”

 “He will comply, Captain,” she said.

 “I hope so.”

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli said. “Salvo launching, eight missiles from the battlecruiser, heading right for us.”

 “Eight?” Marshall replied.

 “Looks like they managed to fit two missiles in each tube.” Frowning, the sensor technician said, “I don’t recognize the type, but they look a lot more like a UN design than anything the not-men have used so far.”

 “On it,” Caine said. “I’d say he’s right. Fast, lower-yield, but very agile. Shall I rededicate some of our missiles to take them on?”

 “Negative.” Marshall shook his head, and added, “Get Security on it. We’ll use our second salvo if we have to.”

 Glancing at a side display, Foster said, “Coming into close range now, sir. Course will be matched in three minutes, with an estimated firing window of seven hours-plus. Assuming they don’t evade.”

 “No sign of that yet, sir,” Spinelli said.

 Marshall focused his attention on the display, watching the missiles swarm around the Q-Carrier, Zheng He now sending another salvo into the fight. One of them dropped away, engines failing, but the others fissioned into their independent vehicles, surrounding the helpless vessel. Twelve simultaneous hits, tearing and ripping into the hull. The ship started to tumble, maneuvering jets failing to counter the spin.

 “Salvo ready to fire,” Caine said. “Targeting incoming missiles. I should be able to get the laser onto one of them as well.” She frowned, and said, “That still leaves one, Danny.”

 “Let’s hope Harper can hack it.”

 Alamo rocked back as six missiles shot away, racing towards their fellows heading from the enemy battlecruiser. Zheng He’s commander had unleashed another salvo at the crippled Q-Carrier, obviously determined to remove it as a factor. Or to destroy Republic technology, prevent the Confederation from getting a look at it, just as likely.

 Cooper’s shuttle rose from the planet, soaring out of the atmosphere on an interception course for the enemy ship, so far facing no opposition. There had been no chance for him to go into details, but it seemed quite clear that he had found some way to sneak on board. While the Republic shuttles maneuvered for their run in, he kept them back, waiting. Launching the second strike wave now would overplay their hand.

 Behind him, the elevator door opened, and Orlova limped out, leaning heavily on a crutch, moving to stand behind his chair, her eyes fixed on the unfolding battle. He glanced up at her, smiled, then turned back to face the viewscreen.

 The missiles were still racing towards each other, the UN warheads showing amazing dexterity, though the price would have to be a reduced yield. Something Intelligence hadn’t known about, another piece of data to bring home. All at once, twelve missiles vanished from the display as they collided, just two left on a collision course for Alamo.

 “Bridge, this is Harper,” a voice said. “Skipper, I can’t hack these.”

 “No way in?”

 “Dead-shot, sir. Once fired, everything is hard-coded and unchangeable. No way in. You’re going to have to take them down the old-fashioned way.”

 “We can’t do it,” Caine said. “No way that I can get the next salvo up in time.”

 “Midshipman, present minimal-damage target aspect. Deadeye, give the battlecruiser that laser. Let’s make sure not to waste it. Target his engines.”

 “Cooper’s shuttle is one minute from contact, sir,” Spinelli said. “And missile impact in ten seconds.”

 “Hold on, everyone,” Marshall said, watching the trajectory tracks curve in. Caine was frantically working her controls, urging the next salvo into the launch tubes, but there just wasn’t enough time. With a second to go, she fired her laser pulse into the enemy ship, but before he could register the damage, Marshall heard the vicious howl of a missile slamming into the hull, metal plates protesting in fury as Alamo’s atmosphere began to vent into space.

 “Two impacts,” Spinelli said.

 “Engineer, what’s the score?” Marshall asked. He turned to see Winslow looking up at the console, face white, frozen with fear, and Orlova limped over to look at the readouts, poking over his shoulder to issue commands with her good hand.

 “Both on the lower decks,” she said. “Crew quarters starboard, aft sensor array. Four compartments venting into space, damage control teams on the way.” Glancing up, she said, “Unless we have to run, I don’t think it affects us.”

 “The next ones will,” Caine said. “I think I got one of their missile tubes, but I can’t be sure. They’re outgassing badly from the fissure, though.”

 “So are we,” Foster said, wrestling with the controls as she tried to keep Alamo on her course.

 “Ride it, Midshipman, keep her steady,” Grant said. “Apply counter-thrusts to balance it out.”

 “I know,” she said, “I’m on it. Spaceman, are we still losing hull plates? I’m getting more lateral drift now.”

 Winslow looked across, panic in his eyes, and said, “I, uh…”

 “We are,” Orlova said. “I need to vent another compartment to stop it. Working on it now.”

 “Spaceman, get below,” Marshall said. “Join the nearest damage control team.”

 “Yes, sir,” he said, racing for the elevator as Orlova took his place.

 “Salvo away,” Caine said. “Right down their throats this time. Laser charging. At least the reflectors weren’t hit this time.”

 “Try and keep them that way, Midshipman,” Marshall said.

 “Cooper is thirty seconds from docking,” Grant reported. “Recommend we hold the missiles until he’s in.”

 “Agreed. Deadeye, slow them a little. Try for an impact two seconds after he hits the deck. Might help. As soon as he’s in, get our shuttles into the air, and order the Republic ships to move in.”

 “Our reinforcements will be over there in less than a minute, the rest in about three,” Grant said. “Are we going to stay at point-blank range?”

 A huge explosion appeared in the background, the Q-Carrier finally yielding to its inevitable fate as another salvo of missiles from Zheng He ripped home.

 “We’ll stay in the fire as long as we can, Lieutenant,” Marshall said. “Cooper wants to do a snatch and grab. I’ll let him make the call. Put me through to him as soon as he touches down.”

 “He might be a little busy,” Caine said.

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli said. “Six missiles, intercept course.”

 “So are we, but I think he’ll be expecting the call.”

Chapter 27

 Cooper looked down the unfamiliar shuttle cabin at the faces of his squad. They looked so different from the team he’d taken down to the planet a week ago. Those soldiers had been anxious, almost eager for battle, while these had no such thoughts showing on their faces. The joking banter was gone, replaced by a cold readiness for the combat to come. Sergeant Gurung moved up and down the line, checking equipment, Corporal Hunt looking over his shoulder.

 “Thirty seconds to contact,” Cooper said. “Autopilot will bring us right in. This little trick is going to work for less than a microsecond once we get on board, so go in shooting. Plasma weapons authorized, but make sure not to shoot at exterior hulls. This is a smash and grab operation, emphasis on the grab.”

 “What are we looking for, sir?” Watkins asked.

 “Anything that looks alien, anything that looks like it might have data stored on it. Just grab what you can and we’ll let the bright boys back home sort it out when we get back. Make a lot of mess, as much as you can. We want to attract their attention to keep the heat off Alamo.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “On your feet. Weapons hot.”

 The squad rose, throwing switches to prime their plasma carbines. They’d used the power plants pretty extensively during the attack on the planet, with no opportunity to recharge them. Not a man present had more than fifty percent charge, but it would just have to be enough.

 “Remember, this is a hit and run,” he said as the shuttle closed for final approach. “Don’t go too deep, and make for the shuttle after five minutes on the deck. Not one second more. This shuttle launches six minutes after contact. If you run out of time, try for an escape pod, but I doubt Alamo will give you any more chances.”

 A missile trail flew past the window, slamming into the battlecruiser, and Watkins said, “Are they going to keep doing that?”

 “Probably, but they know what we’re doing, so with any luck they’ll give the area we hit a wide berth. Don’t expect that they will succeed, though, and be ready for anything. Watch for escape pods, rescue shuttles, anything like that.” The shuttle locked to the side of the ship, and as the airlock began to cycle, he said, “Good hunting, people. I’ll see you on the other side.”

 The deception ended as the two hatches opened, Cooper firing a pair of quick pulses through the portal, destroying whatever had been standing at the thresholds. Screaming wails instantly sounded, some sort of intruder alarm, and the squad raced out of the shuttle, Hunt taking point as they charged for the main corridor. The layout was strange, familiar in some ways yet alien in others, built for bipeds with the same requirements as humans, but with an evidently different psychology. Lots of bulky computer controls were scattered everywhere, seemingly low-tech in the extreme compared to the ship.

 “Alamo to Cooper,” cried from his communicator. “Come in.”

 “Take them, Sergeant,” Cooper said. “This is the Six. Go ahead.”

 “Actual here. Reinforcements on the way, two squads in one minute, four more in three. Where do you want them?”

 “Smash and grab, sir, so anywhere they can. We’re here to gather intel, not to capture. They out-gun and outnumber us. I’ve timed departure in six minutes, ah, less twenty-two seconds, mark.”

 “Got it. We’re keeping up the bombardment, but I’ll hold off on the heavy hits as long as I can. Good luck. Alamo out.”

 A rattle of small-arms fire sounded from the far side of the corridor, where Hunt was pressing forward with a fire team, answered with the low boom of a plasma carbine. Already this boarding action was falling into a series of small brawls.

 “Martinez, Gurung, Watkins, with me,” he said, heading for a nearby door. It opened at the touch, and he burst in, carbine at the ready. Empty except for a few unidentifiable objects on some shelves, obviously a spare parts storage room. He snatched what he hoped was a representative sample and crammed them into his pockets, before moving down to the next room.

 “I’ll take guard at the far end,” Gurung said. “Martinez, with me.”

 “Sir?” the diminutive trooper asked.

 “Go,” he replied, moving across to the next door. This one was sealed, but a quick blast from his carbine solved that problem more than adequately, and he stepped through over the rim of white-hot metal into what appeared to be some sort of control room. A dead body, one of the not-men, lay on the floor, killed by the shock wave that had wiped out most of the equipment.

 “Looks like a computer matrix,” Watkins said. “Looks familiar, too.”

 “On this ship?”

 “Sir, that looks a hell of a lot like an old UN design. Want me to try and hack it?”

 “Be my guest.”

 Hunt yelled, “We’re under fire! Heavy assault, and they’ve got plasma!”

 “Go, sir, I’ll hold here,” Watkins said.

 With a curt nod, Cooper sprinted out of the room, racing down the corridor, weapon at the ready. A body lay on the deck, unidentifiable, twisted and burned, and Hunt was crouched behind the frame of a blast door as a hail of bullets cracked overhead, sending Cooper diving for any available cover.

 “Pinned down, sir,” Hunt said. A burst of green flame shot into the wall beside him, tearing into the compartment beyond. The enemy didn’t seem to have any compunction about destroying their own ship. Cooper tried to peer over, but the only answer was another burst of automatic fire. He did see more shapes, moving forward, another cluster of attackers.

 “They’ll be on us in a minute, and we don’t have the firepower to stop them,” Hunt said.

 “Yes we do. That blast door work?” Cooper replied.

 His eyes widening, the veteran said, “Not damaged, but I don’t know how to trigger it.”

 “I know how.”

 “Sir, neither of us would live long enough to take the shot.”

 Pulling his communicator out, Cooper said, “Alamo, come in, urgent.”

 “We’re here,” Marshall said, sirens and alarms blaring over the channel.

 “I need fire support. A missile. Targeted a hundred meters forward from my current position. Lowest possible yield.”

 “What?”

 “If we don’t get it, we’re dead, sir. My call.”

 There was a brief pause, and Marshall replied, “I hope you know what you are doing, Ensign. It’s on the way.”

 “Sir,” Hunt said, “We’ll be killed.”

 Another burst of plasma fire raced overhead, catching Barnard and enveloping him in green flame, his body dropping to the deck.

 “We’ll all die if we don’t. Hopefully these doors work on pressure drop. Hang on.”

 The noise of the missile impact sounded like the end of the world, the warhead slamming into the hull, gouging a hole through both bulkheads into the dark abyss beyond. Air began to race out into space, carrying the enemy troopers with it, and despite all he could do, Cooper found himself being pulled with it, the blast doors only just closing in time.

 “Secure,” Cooper said. “Go up and support Gurung.” A door to the side opened, and Cooper waved his gun around to see a terrified looking figure in a UN uniform, his eyes almost bulging out of his sockets as he saw the Espatiers.

 “Don’t shoot! Don’t kill me! I’m not hostile!”

 Glancing at Hunt, Cooper said, “We’re a little busy. You brainwashed?”

 “No, no. They got the others but not me. They’ve held me here for weeks.”

 “Damn. You sure there isn’t anyone else?”

 “I don’t know. I don’t think so. They never said.”

 “Who the hell are you?”

 “Harland. Professor. Of cosmology.”

 Barnard stumbled out of another compartment, a bag in his hands and blood running down his sleeve from a wound on his shoulder. Cooper threw the figure at him, gesturing for them to make for the shuttle.

 “Four minutes to go. By now there are other assaults taking place. Let’s get this finished and get the hell out of here.”

 “Aye, aye, sir,” Barnard said, his face growing white.

 Turning to Harland, he said, “You know first aid?”

 “Yes.”

 “Get to our shuttle, patch him up, and wait. That’s your ticket home.”

 “My things…”

 “Move, damn it!! We’re out of time!”

 As the two of them stumbled away, he raced down to the far side of the corridor, where Gurung and Martinez were frantically throwing together a barricade out of anything they could find, building some protective cover against the attackers moving in. Cooper took a shot at the ceiling, bringing debris down in a random pile at the far side, then waved them on as he charged past. He didn’t know what they needed from this ship, but they hadn’t found it. Not yet.

 Another door in the corridor, and it slid open to reveal a long, narrow compartment with metal benches facing a strange, jagged symbol on the wall. He took shots of it with his helmet camera, making sure to capture every detail.

 “A chapel,” Gurung said, looking in. “God only knows what they are worshiping, but it must be.” He gestured up at the ceiling, more shapes scattered around. “That one looks a little familiar.”

 “Constellations!” Cooper said. “That’s a very twisted Orion up there.”

 Shaking his head, Gurung replied, “It can’t be that simple.”

 “How hard does it have to be?” There were books scattered around, old ones, made of paper, and he grabbed one, stuffing it under his arm. “Come on. We’ve still got three minutes. One more room will do it.”

 Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shimmering, a figure seeming to step out of nowhere, weapon drawn and leveled at his throat, ready to fire. Before he could move, Gurung pulled a blade from his belt and swung towards the figure in a swift, smooth motion, hacking into its throat and sending it crashing to the deck, clutching at the gaping wound as blood splattered out onto the floor.

 “What was that?” Cooper asked.

 “One of the not-men, I presume.”

 “No, the weapon.”

 Holding the blade with a smile, he said, “My kukri. My ancestors used them in the service of the British. Now we use them in the service of the United Nations. Of course, the weapons my ancestors wielded were not diamond-tipped.”

 “I'm glad you're on our side,” Cooper said. “Let's go.”

 Martinez and Rhodes charged past them, taking up a defensive position at the far end of the corridor, just behind the pile of debris Cooper had created. Gurung added to it with a second quick pulse, sending dust flying through the air, as they made it to the next door.

 “Why aren’t they attacking?” Rhodes asked. “Where the hell are they?”

 “Six squads are on the ground by now,” Cooper replied. “They’ll think it’s a full-blown invasion. Don’t get complacent. My guess is they’ll attack any minute.” The ship rumbled, the sound of a pair of impacts on the hull further forward. “Assuming Alamo doesn’t smash the ship to pieces first.”

 The door slid open, into a sparsely furnished room, a hard bed, desk, chair, and an old-fashioned viewscreen set into the wall, the display dark. Cooper touched it, and nothing happened.

 “Turned off.”

 “I don’t think it’s a touchscreen,” Gurung said, shaking his head. “Strange.”

 The desk was covered in papers, scrawled with some sort of strange writing. Glancing around the room, Cooper saw a shelf of books, old-fashioned hard-backed books.

 “Why take these into space?”

 “Maybe he was a collector?” Gurung replied, doubtfully, snatching a carryall from under the bed. “In here, sir.”

 Nodding, Cooper swept the library into the bag, stuffing the papers from the desk in with them for good measure. As he took one last look around, he heard a loud crash from the corridor, and he raced out to see that the blast door between the two compartments had closed.

 “Here they come!” Martinez yelled as the elevator doors opened. Cooper fired a shot, as did Rhodes, but both of them were slightly off target, the plasma bolts crashing into the wall to the left as a trio of guards raced forward, all of them with UN plasma weapons in their hands. The reinforcements, coming in.

 “I can’t find a control,” Gurung said, running his hands across the wall. “Blast it?”

 Cooper slumped into cover, glancing at his watch, and replied, “No point, no time. We’ve got to get out of here now.” He gestured at a panel in the wall, and said, “The only place that can go is an escape pod.”

 A ball of green plasma fire flew overhead, slamming into the door behind him, raining bolts of molten metal into the deck all around him. Rolling out of the way, he tried to fire his carbine, but nothing happened. A quick glance revealed that one of those shards had neatly severed the connection between the gun and the power pack.

 Gurung looked at him, shook his head, and said, “Get moving. I’ll cover you.” 

 Cooper leapt to his feet, bullets smashing into the wall around him, and wrenched the cover off. He felt a burst of pain in his side, a trickle of blood running down his leg, and tumbled into the pod. Martinez was next, almost seeming to dance through the bullets, bounding into the capsule with a single shot.

 Gritting his teeth, Cooper looked for the controls. Escape pods were meant to be idiot-proof, and this one was no exception. A single, big red button, with a pair of switches on each side. As he poised his finger over it, Rhodes tumbled into the pod, his hand clenched over a gaping wound on his right arm, blood seeping through his fingers.

 “Come on, Sergeant!” Cooper yelled. Gurung fired a pair of shots in quick succession, then sprinted down the corridor, swaying from side to side, a plasma ball missing him by only a few inches, enough to turn the side of his face red from the heat. With a last grunt, he ducked into the pod, and Cooper tapped what he hoped was the button.

 For a heartbreaking second, nothing happened, but then the hatch slammed shut, and with a loud report, a pair of explosive bolts send the pod tumbling into space. Cooper reached for his communicator, but he pulled a tangle of broken components out.

 “I’ll be damned,” Gurung said. “One inch either side…”

 Sighing, Cooper said, “Martinez, see if you can find anything resembling a first-aid kit. And contact Alamo, make sure they know we need help. It’s up to them now.”

Chapter 28

 Marshall looked at the sensor display, frowning as he watched escape pods and shuttles spill away from the battlecruiser, out into open space. Another pair of salvos had just smashed into each other, the debris field growing thicker with every exchange of shots.

 “We’ll be changing course soon,” he said. “Foster, stand by to bring us into a higher orbit. Put us between them and the hendecaspace point.” He glanced at the sensors again and asked, “Why isn’t the Zheng He firing?”

 “Why would they?” Caine said. “When they can sit back and pick up all the pieces, to their benefit, after the battle? The way we’re going now, it won’t take much to finish off the winner.”

 “We should get moving immediately,” Foster said. “We’re sitting ducks unless we can open up the range, especially without support.”

 Meirong looked at the image on the screen, shaking her head, “I will see that he answers for this failure to act when he returns to Luna, if that’s any consolation.”

 “I’d rather have that ship firing now!” Marshall replied. “At this rate, it isn’t going to matter what goes on his formal report when he gets home. We won’t be around to write it.”

 “Energy spike!” Spinelli yelled. “Six missiles, heading our way, full speed.”

 “Deadeye,” Marshall began, but she broke in.

 “On it. Launch in one second.”

 The ship rocked as six more missiles raced from the launch tubes to meet their counterparts, five of them crashing into each other, the remainder sweeping past in a near miss.

 “Damn,” Caine said. “Brace for impact!”

 A roar ripped across the hull, a breach far too close to the bridge, and the lights momentarily flickered as the internal power network struggled to compensate for the malfunctions. Orlova frantically started to transfer systems, poking at the controls, her gaze locked on the distribution monitors.

 “I don’t think we want to take too many more hits like that, sir,” she said.

 “Shuttles will be on the deck in two minutes, sir. Escape pods are going to be longer, I have SAR in the air en route right now.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Foster, kick us to full acceleration. Put us into a higher orbit, and give me some distance for the laser. The shuttles will have to catch up.”

 “Danny, it’s dangerous around here,” Caine said.

 “Casualty reports, sir,” Grant said. “The last missile hit Astrogation. One dead, nine wounded.”

 “Who?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant McGuire.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Get us moving, Midshipman. Deadeye, give them a shot between the eyes as soon as they are in range. Weitzman, try and get through to the Zheng He again. I’ve got some harsh language to introduce to her captain.”

 The elevator doors opened, and Harper stepped out onto the bridge, shaking her head,  “Belay that. Let me take the communications station.”

  Stepping clear, Weitzman said, “Given how untalkative everyone around here is, I might as well.”

 “What have you got in mind?”

 Looking up at Meirong, she said, “Republic ships have the capacity for remote override of critical command systems. The two of us might be able to hack it.”

 “That’s insane,” Caine said. “If anyone ever found out...”

 “I can neither confirm or deny this report,” Meirong said.

 “Pity, because I think I can do it by myself, but then I’ll know exactly how to do it again,” Harper replied. “If you help me, then you ought to be able to hide the details from me, and save yourselves a lot of time, money, and processing power.”

 Shaking her head, the agent said, “Move over. This will take but a moment, Captain.”

 “Make it fast,” Marshall replied. Alamo was rising now, her engines firing to gain altitude.  The shuttles were still struggling to catch up, and as he watched, the enemy ship launched another salvo, Spinelli yelling a warning a second in advance. Caine was on the countermeasures before he could give the order, sending another strike out to block it. This time it looked different, though, the trajectory subtly altered.

 “They’re going for the shuttles!” he yelled. “Deadeye…”

 “Damn,” she said. “Changing course, but I don’t know if I can do anything.”

 All he could do was watch as the six missiles curved towards the fleeing ships, racing in a desperate bid to find their salvation. Caine was good, very good, and almost good enough to pull off the maneuver. Four of the missiles reached their targets, the two shuttles they were protecting racing for Alamo. Two of them missed, moving through the space that the remaining shuttle had been in, just a second too late.

 “Get vengeance, Deadeye,” he ordered. “Use them.”

 “On it. And Foster, I’m going to want a targeting solution in one-five seconds.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” the midshipman replied.

 “How many?” Marshall asked.

 “If it had to be one, we got lucky,” Grant said. “That shuttle only had two people on it. The rest of Cooper’s assault team got out in escape pods. Squads One and Two are clear as well.”

 “Two troopers?” Orlova said.

 “Just one,” Grant replied. “And someone they rescued. Some professor. Poor bastard.”

 Shaking her head, Caine said, “He knew something. Must have. They sent two missiles against that, only one against the others. It can’t be a coincidence.”

 “Coming about for laser shot,” Foster said, and Caine tapped the control an instant after the computer, sending a pulse of energy racing down to smash into the enemy vessel. With the two missiles as well, the impact was colossal, her hangar deck a twisted ruin, gouges ripped from the hull on every side.

 “We’ve got the Zheng He!” Foster yelled. “That Captain’s going to be annoyed.”

 “Grant, take it,” Marshall said. “Bring it forward into the fight and fire at will.”

 “The controls are that good?” Caine asked.

 “All Republic hardware is well-designed, Lieutenant,” Meirong said. “We take pride in our work, as much pride as we do in ourselves.”

 “I’ll let you put up the propaganda poster later,” Marshall replied, “but thank you.”

 “Salvo away!” Grant said. “They had one in the tubes already.”

 “That should swing the odds back in our favor.”

 The Republic vessel dived in at full-speed towards the battle, its missiles racing forward to make contact with the enemy, no doubt with its impotent commander still ranging at the Confederation. It made no difference. The enemy ship threw up another salvo, but again, Caine was ready, and this time the shuttlecraft were on final approach, rather than out on their own.

 A few seconds later, six explosions briefly ripped through the cosmos, and the screen cleared once again, only four missiles inexorably making their way towards their goal. The enemy ship turned, its engines ramping up to full acceleration, but before they could get any velocity built up, the missiles smashed into her, catching her in four points on the aft section.

 “Wow,” Spinelli said. “Lots of heat back there now, sir. I think we started a few fires inside.”

 “They’ll vent into space,” Marshall said. “Let’s give them more practice.”

 “Foster, laser shot in one-one seconds,” Caine said.

 “Coming about, ma’am. Anywhere special?”

 “Right between the eyes would be good if you can manage it.”

 A roguish smile creeping across her face, she replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

 This time the blast caught the enemy ship forward, and the nose ripped away, venting gas into space from a dozen places, sending her tumbling, rocking on her thrusters as her pilot made a desperate attempt to regain any sort of control. Her main engines winked back on, and she started to move again.

 “Where’s she going?” Marshall asked.

 “She’s breaking out of orbit,” Spinelli said. “Heading down to the planet. Can she do that? I’m not picking up any sort of a heat shield.”

 “Salvo, sir,” Grant said. “Four more on the way. Targeting their missile bays.”

 “How long until impact, Spaceman?”

 “Eight minutes, sir.” He glanced across at a panel, and said, “Energy spike again, sir. I guess they haven’t give up hopes of taking us with them yet!”

 “Try and disable their engines, Deadeye,” Marshall said. “If there is even a remote chance that we might take that ship intact, we’ve got to take it.”

 Shaking her head, Caine said, “My guess is that they’ve got more than one way to commit suicide, Danny, but I’ll do my best. I’m putting up a salvo now, and we’re thirty seconds from another laser shot.”

 Nodding, Marshall turned back to the battle, watching it unfold in front of him. Now ten missiles were heading towards the enemy ship, driving forward at full speed. He tried to put himself in the mind of her commander, a man who was right now giving orders that would mean the loss of his ship and the death of his crew. He couldn’t do it.

 “Weitzman, offer them a chance to surrender. I will allow them to leave this system without further hindrance. Maybe we can resolve this yet.”

 “Trying, sir,” the technician replied, working from an auxiliary panel. “They just aren’t replying to anything.”

 “They didn’t demonstrate any interest in surrender at Yeager Station,” Grant said.

 Caine moved her missiles into blocking position again, but this time, at the last second, they all swerved out of the flight path, spilling speed to put themselves on a different trajectory. Alamo’s missiles tried to turn around to compensate, thrusters hurling them around, but the numbers looked bad.

 “Might get another up,” she said, frantically working at her controls.

 “Hang on! Brace for impact!”

 Alamo’s hull cried out in pain as the warheads slammed into the hull, sending the ship spinning, the view tumbling as Foster desperate struggled to regain control. Orlova was frantically typing, trying to get a damage report, routing teams to begin repairs.

 “Emergency oxygen reservoir,” she said. “Midshipman, I’m going to dump it as fast as I can. Watch the roll to compensate, there isn’t much I can do. You should have better control in twenty seconds.”

 Her fingers rattling across the keys, Foster said, “I’ll try and hold it, ma’am.”

 “Keep it together, Midshipman.”

 “That was two hits,” Caine said. “I got four up in time, but we’re going to have a hell of a lot of outer hull damage from shrapnel.”

 “They were that close?” Marshall asked.

 “Worse,” she replied.

 “Enemy battlecruiser has now dropped below orbital velocity,” Spinelli reported. “Re-entry in four minutes.”

 “Could there be any chance that we’ve read this wrong?” Caine asked. “Is there any chance that they think they can survive this?”

 “None,” Orlova said. “I don’t see any way.”

 “No more escape pods, shuttles,” Grant said. “The whole crew is going to go down with his ship. Gotterdammerung.”

 “Huh?” Foster asked, glancing across briefly from her station.

 “The Twilight of the Gods, Midshipman.”

 More missile slammed into the enemy ship, tossing it to the side from the force of the impact. The velocity indicator was beginning to slow more quickly now, the planet’s atmosphere beginning to bite, beginning the ruthless tearing away of momentum that would ultimately lead to a fiery death.

 There was no prospect that they could launch a renewed attack, not now. By now the ship would be tumbling hard enough that the crew would be struggling to operate at all, assuming they were even trying. With the viewscreen on maximum magnification, he could see the enemy’s hull begin to glow a dull red, growing hotter and hotter the deeper it went into the atmosphere.

 From the planet, it would be a spectacular sight, like a comet tearing its way across the sky, shedding a rain of molten metal in its wake. Someone on board seemed to be trying to put the ship into a semblance of a re-entry altitude, but aside from assuring that some fragments ended up making it to the surface, it couldn’t do any good.

 Abruptly, the ship flared, and it broke into two, then three pieces, the stresses growing too strong for her to overcome. All was silence on the bridge, everyone watching the death of the enemy vessel. It ought to be a cause for celebration, glorious victory, but those emotions were nowhere to be found. They had survived, and their foes had not. That would have to do. The idea of cheering seemed abhorrent. Rising from his chair, Marshall looked around the bridge.

 “Good work, everyone. Secure from general quarters, but maintain alert status. Maggie, take damage reports and start coordinating repairs. Caine, you have the conn. I’m going down to medical.” He shook his head, smiled, and said, “And Harper, I think you can give the commander of Zheng He his ship back. Give him my thanks for a timely intervention.”

Chapter 29

 “It’s over,” Erickson said, watching the death throes of the enemy battlecruiser, slowly burning up in the atmosphere, the only possible aftermath of an uncontrolled reentry.

 “Yeah,” Salazar replied. Words didn’t seem to cover the spectacle unfolding below. He glanced up at the sensor display again, saw a contact moving in at high speed, bigger than the SAR shuttle. “What the hell? Incoming ship on intercept course. Get me a reading.”

 “Tanker,” Erickson said. She looked down at the headset, her face reddening, and said, “I think they might have been trying to call.”

 Picking it up, Salazar said, “Tanker, this is Shuttle. We have corrected our communications glitch.”

 “Ah, roger, Shuttle One,” a thin, reedy voice replied. “We’re just going to give you enough fuel to get you back to Alamo. Two minutes will do it. Any problems we need to know about?”

 “Nothing at this end. What about…”

 “All intact, nothing we can’t fix. Lots of overtime for a while, though. Tanker out.”

 With a loud clang, the two ships docked, and the tanker began to pump fuel into the shuttle, the indicators instantly climbing up out of the red. He drifted forward to the helm, Erickson taking the rear station, and set up a minimum-fuel course back to Alamo.

 “That should do it,” the tanker pilot said. “We’re heading back to the barn. See you later.”

 “Thanks, Tanker. Shuttle One out.” He tapped a control, gently kicking the shuttle onto trajectory, the thrusters firing to bring it home. As they approached, he looked at the outer hull, shaking his head at the damage. There were already work crews on the hull starting repairs, placing temporary plates until something more permanent could be fixed, patching together connections to the communications array.

 “Hangar Deck to Shuttle One,” the communicator barked, Bradley’s voice this time.

 “Shuttle One here.”

 “You have clearance to land. Be careful. It's a bit cluttered up here.”

 He slowly, carefully, guided the shuttle into the docking cradle, and lifted his hands from the controls as the shuttle rose into the elevator airlock, indicators switching from red to green as atmosphere spilled in around them. Rising level to the deck, he stepped out of the couch, squeezed Erickson on the shoulder, and stepped through the hatches as the opened.

 The deck was in chaos, unfamiliar shuttles scattered around, a trio of paramedics running triage in a corner on a dozen wounded troopers, a pair of body bags stacked beside them. Only a pair of technicians were trying to organize things, one of them flashing him a dirty look as he stepped onto the ship. Over in the corner, an elevator opened, and Grant stepped out, walking over to Salazar.

 “Erickson,” he began, “You’re needed with Damage Control Three, down in the sensor decks. Take five and head down there.”

 “Will do, sir,” she replied, ambling towards the toilet.

 “Sub-Lieutenant, we’re overdone with work, but I need to speak to you.” He gestured towards Bradley’s office, and he resignedly stepped in, tugging off his flight jacket.

 “What did I do wrong this time, sir?” he asked.

 “Nothing,” he replied. “I watched what you did out there. That was some damn good flying. As good as anything I could have done.”

 “Better,” Salazar said.

 “Perhaps.” He frowned, then said, “We’ve had a lot of history, you and I. I don’t think there is anything we can do about that. Maybe I can start to think about separating the cadet you were from the officer you are.”

 “Generous,” he replied. “Are we speaking freely? I can’t tell, it’s been a long day.”

 “Go ahead,” Grant said, frowning.

 Rubbing his hand across his forehead, Salazar said, “None of this is me, Grant. All of it is on you.” Pointing out at the hangar deck, he said, “Those fighters, the drone ships, you aren’t ever going to get to fly them. You aren’t going to sit in a cockpit again. All of this concern about the dead is a damn smokescreen.”

 “I was trying to apologize,” he said, gritting his teeth.

 “No, you weren’t. Or if you were, you need a hell of a lot more practice.” He paused, then said, “This is going to be short and blunt, sir, because I just came out of a battle where I probably should have died, and I’m not in a particularly patient mood. Whatever the hell is wrong with you, you’re going to have to get over.”

 “I don’t have to take advice from you,” Grant said, heading for the door. “Obviously you’re just a lost cause, and I was right all along.”

 “Maybe,” Salazar said. “There isn’t a day, an hour that goes by when I don’t think about what happened at Phobos, and I don’t think there ever will be. When I’m asleep I go back there, playing it over, but I can’t change that. Neither can you.”

 “I can stop it ever happening again.”

 “Then go to the Academy and make the instructors do their damned jobs properly!” he said, shouting. “That isn’t even it, though. I could be anyone, I’m just a symbol.” He paused, took a breath to calm himself, and said, “You aren’t going to sit in a cockpit again. No matter what you do, what strings you try to pull.”

 “The last thing you are qualified to give is career advice.”

 “I don’t give a damn about your career, I don’t give a damn about mine.” He stepped to the door, looking out at the chaos outside, at the medics frantically trying to save lives, and said, “We’re at war. No-one’s made it official, but we are. One glance at the deck should tell you that. That means we’ve got a job to do, the job that we put the uniform on for. To protect the Confederation.”

 Turning to Grant, he said, “You’re a combat officer with eighteen years’ experience. Either start acting like it or get out of the service.” Shaking his head, he said, “Before you get someone killed.” Without a word, Grant turned and walked out of the office, out into the devastation beyond, heading for the elevator. As he left, Salazar added, “Apology accepted.”

 He crashed down into the nearest chair, tossing his flight jacket to the floor. He looked up at the ceiling, everything numb, trying to work out why he was still alive. The stunt he had pulled, dancing in front of a missile salvo, couldn’t have been further away from his training, but somehow he was still here. It doesn’t seem real.

 There was a knock on the door, and it slid open to admit Captain Marshall, who motioned him to remain in his seat before perching on the desk.

 “I’ve been there, Sub-Lieutenant,” he said. “Sometimes you go back through your flight, trying to work out how you pulled it off. And sometimes, you never do work it out. That was great flying, and quick thinking.”

 “Blind luck,” Salazar said. “Nothing more or less than that. If someone in my squadron pulled that stunt, I’d have had his wings.”

 “You should talk to Captain Cunningham sometime. Back when I was a rookie, I...but that’s another story. I saw Grant on my way here.”

 “I’m sure he was throwing demands that I be thrown out of the nearest airlock.” He shook his head, and said, “I tried to help him. I don’t think he listened.”

 “He’s a senior officer.”

 “That doesn’t make him right, sir. You know that.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Marshall said, “I don’t know exactly, but I think I might have just been insulted.”

 “Not what I meant, sir,” he said, his cheeks flushing red.

 “Relax. After the day I’ve had, any trace of humor is more than welcome, I assure you.”

 “How bad are things, sir?”

 “We’re heading back to Yeager Station. Limping back might be a better way to put it. Quinn and his team think they can patch the ship together after a fashion, but he warned me in no uncertain terms what would happen if I tried to take her into a battle.” He paused, then said, “We need to get replacement crew, as well.”

 Closing his eyes, Salazar asked, “How many?”

 “Thirteen, counting the Espatiers. Sixteen wounded, but they’re all expected to recover.” Shaking his head, he said, “We lost Sub-Lieutenant McGuire when Astrogation was hit.”

 “I’m sorry,” he said. He looked up, and said, “It should have been me. Why didn’t they fire? I expected them to.”

 With a thin smile, Marshall said, “Sorry, Sub-Lieutenant. Looks like you don’t get off the hook quite so easy. We’ve got a job to do.” He paused, then said, “I’m going to be heading home when this is over. The Admiralty has to be briefed, and for that matter so does the President. Not to mention that there are quite a few people to repatriate.”

 “I guess you heard some of what I said to Lieutenant Grant.”

 “I agree with you. I think we’re at war, and that’s what I intend to advise.”

 “War,” he said, shaking his head. “It isn’t what I expected.”

 “Everyone learns that the first time. And I’m sorry to tell you that it doesn’t get any easier.”

 There was a knock on the door, and Sergeant Gurung stepped in, looking down at Salazar. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know there was anyone else in here.”

 “I’ll go,” Salazar said, but Marshall waved him down.

 “No, stay. This won’t take long. Sub-Lieutenant Salazar, meet Sergeant Gurung, late of the United Nations Rangers.”

 “A pleasure,” Gurung said. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

 “I did. First of all, to thank you for what you did, first on the planet and then on the battlecruiser. Ensign Cooper told me that he doesn’t think he could have pulled off the mission without you.”

 “I’m not so sure about that, sir. For an officer, he’s quite bright.”

 “For an officer?” Salazar said, cracking a smile.

 “Second, to make you an offer. By my reckoning…”

 Raising a hand, Gurung said, “I’m about to face charges of high treason when I get home, and will be lucky if I don’t get shot out of hand. I’ll face those when I come to them, sir, and I knew full well going into this that I’d have to answer for what I did.”

 “It doesn’t seem fair, Sergeant.”

 “Life often isn’t, sir.”

 “I can offer you amnesty, in the Confederation. I’ve got the power to grant that right now.”

 “And what would I do then, sir? Work as a rent-a-cop, or a night watchman? I’m a soldier, sir, and that’s the job I do best.”

 “You’d be alive,” Salazar said. “That’s important enough, isn’t it?”

 “Forgive the Sub-Lieutenant,” Marshall said. “He just had a brush with death.”

 Frowning, Gurung asked, “Are you the one that rode the rockets?” 

 “That’s me,” he replied. “I can juggle as well.”

 “Not smart for an officer,” Gurung said. “Though I won’t question your guts. Is that all, sir?”

 “No, it isn’t. I’m not just offering you citizenship, but, well, Cooper’s vouched for you. To join the Espatiers. He’s sending Morton back to a training command, doesn’t think he’s up to front-line work.”

 “I agree,” Gurung said.

 “You’d join as a Sergeant, specifically in Second Platoon, right here.” Smiling, Marshall said, “He thinks very highly of you.”

 “He’s a good kid,” Gurung said. “It’s an honor, sir, and I do recognize it as such, but I don’t think I can accept. I swore an oath…”

 “Sergeant,” Salazar said, rising with an effort to his feet. “Take the damn offer. Unless I’m missing something, we’re going to be fighting those bastards out there again in the not-too-distant future, and you’ll be needed out on the front lines with our troops, not rotting in some cell to cover up some General’s ego trip gone wrong. Where the hell do you think you’ll do the most good.”

 “It’s a matter of…”

 “Damn it, Sergeant, haven’t enough people died today? Do you really need to add to the total?” Salazar was shouting now, the words flowing free. "Honor is defending your people. You don’t think the UN is going to do a damn thing? This was the only place their territory is adjacent to the not-men. They’ll sit back and let us take the fight for them. You want to defend the people of the United Nations of Earth, Sergeant? Then pick up a weapon, put on a real uniform, and fight for them. You sure as hell can’t do that if you are dead.” 

 Gurung looked at him, shaking his head, a smile spreading across his face, “Is he in charge of recruitment, Captain?”

 “He just flies things.”

 “Pity, I think he’s missed his calling. On the provision that I get an automatic discharge if a state of war ever exists between the UN and the Confederation, I agree. I wouldn’t mind another crack at the bastards.”

 “Cooper will be glad to hear it,” Marshall said. “I’ll get the paperwork to you by the end of the day.” There was a knock at the door, and a breathless Harper raced in, glancing at Sergeant Gurung with a frown on her face.

 “He on our side yet?” she asked.

 “Yes,” Marshall replied with a nod.

 “Good. We've got to get out of the system.”

 A frown spreading across his face, Marshall said, “We'll be on our way home in four days.”

 “No, no, faster,” she replied. “I've taken a first look at the data. Some of it is dynamite.”
 “I'm sure you're anxious to get it back to Intelligence for analysis...”

 “Home?” She paused, shook her head, and said, “No, not what I meant, sir. We've got to go to GJ 1116. It's on our way anyway, just a slight detour.”

 “Into uncharted space,” Salazar said. “As far as I know, no ship has ever gone there.”
 “Not and gone back,” Gurung added. “I remember hearing about one of our scout ships going missing in that region.”

 “That clinches it,” Harper said. “Sir, the not-men, they sent a ship of their own out there, about a month ago, shortly after the Gladwyn Jebb left.”

 “Did you know anything about this, Sergeant?” Marshall asked.

 “No, but that doesn't mean a thing,” he replied. “I was never privy to everything that went on in orbit at the best of times.”

 “It was one of their scoutships, sir, and they were planning to head out that way to recover it. Their top priority.”

 “Harper, I don't think we can risk...”

 “We can't not risk!” she said, pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket. “There are two planets in the system, and they sent two ships to scout it out. All contact was lost with one of them, some sort of viral infection, but the ship is still there.”

 “Hold on a moment,” Salazar said. “You're saying that there is an empty scoutship, sitting in orbit around a planet in a system one jump away, and it's just waiting there for us to find?”

 “It can't be a trap, not this time,” Harper said. “There's no way they can have known we'd find out about it. Sir, we've got to move on this. The Republic must know about this as well, from their own teams on that raid, and they can get forces in from Procyon faster than we can from Ragnarok.”

 “Something out there that eats starships,” Salazar mused.

 “How sure are you of this?” Marshall asked.

 “Damn sure, sir,” she said. “The computer's got a big enough data sample that we've getting better at their language. Captain, the intelligence possibilities...”

 “I know,” he replied.

 “It's a big risk,” Salazar said. “Taking the ship into uncharted space in this condition. Even if it doesn't lengthen the trip home.”

 Nodding, Marshall pulled out his communicator, and said, “Lieutenant Race, this is the Captain. I need you to plot a new course, to GJ 1116, with a departure as soon as possible. Department heads meeting in thirty minutes.”

 “We're doing it?” Salazar asked.

 “A wise man once said, Sub-Lieutenant, that sometimes you have to take a big risk or lose the whole game. Now go to your quarters and get some rest. We’ve got a lot of work to do, and this war has only just begun.”

Thank you for reading 'Not In My Name'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.

The writer's blog is available at http://tinyurl.com/pjl96dj

Look out for Battlecruiser Alamo: Cage of Gold, coming in November 2015...

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29