SACRED HONOR

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 7

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #7: Sacred Honor

Copyright © 2014 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: July 2014

Cover By Keith Draws

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

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With Thanks To: Jon Clivaz, Peter Long, Mark Berryman

Commandancy of the The Alamo

Bejar, Feby. 24th. 1836

To the People of Texas & All Americans in the World,

Fellow Citizens & compatriots,

  I am besieged, by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna. I have sustained a continual Bombardment & cannonade for 24 hours & have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise, the garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken; I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, & our flag still waves proudly from the walls.

 I shall never surrender or retreat.  Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism & everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid, with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily & will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days.  If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible & die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor & that of his country.

Victory or Death.

William Barrett Travis.

Lt.  Col. comdt.

Chapter 1

 Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall, commander of the Battlecruiser Alamo, looked out across the sea of unfamiliar faces lined up before of him on the hangar bay, the crew of the now-lost Hercules. Even though all of them were wearing freshly fabricated new uniforms, that of the Triplanetary Fleet, there was an obvious bond between them as they stood at attention, waiting for him to start.

 He glanced to his right, where his father – the only one still wearing Martian uniform – stood at parade rest. Catching his son’s eye, he flashed a thin, quick, smile, and Marshall turned back to face the assembled company. Quite a few Alamo crewmembers had gathered to watch the display; while in hendecaspace, this was as close as they were going to get to any sort of entertainment. That, and the food technicians had prepared a processed banquet for them to ‘enjoy’ later. Matsumoto, one of his more experienced sub-lieutenants, was quietly talking to Tyler, his newly-minted Intelligence Officer; he noticed them both making quick glances towards the door. Shaking his head, he smiled, and turned to the crowd before him.

 “Company of Hercules, attention,” he began. “Could you all raise your right hand, please.”

 As one, in a practiced move, they did so. All of them would have done this before, when at the height of the Interplanetary War they swore their loyalty oaths to the Mars Rebellion; now they would have to renew those vows to the Triplanetary Confederation as a whole. Technically, this was a formality Marshall could easily have skipped; the oath they had sworn before still held, he was sure of that. His father had made the point that they needed some sort of renewal, something to make them truly part of their new ship – for with the loss of Hercules, the ship they had come so far to find, they were now a part of his crew.

 “Repeat after me. I solemnly swear to serve the people of the Triplanetary Confederation,” he paused to allow them to speak, a collection of disparate voices that nevertheless somehow became one, “to protect them from enemies internal and external, to stand for freedom and justice, and to defend them from any oppressor, any tyrant, any force that would seek to deny them of their liberty.”

 An oath scribed at the height of a conflict that most of them feared they would lose, a defiant curse against the tyranny of the United Nations, but it still caught a little in his throat as he said the familiar words. As the new crewmen finished, there was a spontaneous round of applause from the Alamo crewmen in the room, and Marshall allowed it to run its course.

 “Officers and crew of Alamo,” he said with a smile, “dismissed!”

 With a loud rumble, the people in front of him stood to attention, saluted, and fell out of the parade formation. He gestured at the two officers closest to him, those who had stood at the forefront of the assembly; Diego and Lane, the two senior officers of Hercules. Excepting his father, of course, who was busy congratulating a trio of Corporals wearing engineering flashes in a corner.

 “That went well, sir,” Diego, the only man wearing espatier uniform, said. “I think it was necessary.”

 “Yes, sir,” Lane agreed, looking at the door; crewmen were beginning to file out towards the mess.

 “Lieutenant-Major,” Marshall said to Diego, “are you sure about this? You’ve only got four espatiers to command…”

 “I think I’ll fit in a lot better in the espatiers when we get home, Captain. My deep space days are over; what I want now is a nice training job. I can be useful there.”

 “If you change your mind before we get back, let me know. As for you, Lieutenant…”

 She produced a datapad from a pocket, handing it to him, “I’ve already prepared my recommendations for the reorganization of engineering. I think Mr. Quinn will make a good deputy with…”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “I’m not displacing an officer doing a good job. You will assume the duties of Operations Officer.”

 “I’m an engineer, sir.”

 Smiling, he said, “I need an administrator a lot more than I need an engineer right now.”

 With a frown, she replied, “As you wish, sir. By your leave?”

 “Dismissed.”

 Marshall’s father ambled over to him as she walked away, clapping him on the back and exchanging smiles with Diego. Most of the crew were still loitering, probably afraid of the culinary experiments of the food technicians – something that Marshall could well understand now that the real food had run out, replaced with whatever could be coaxed from the food fabricators.

 “I wonder why she’s in such a hurry,” Marshall mused; Diego and his father looked at each other and chuckled.

 “Ser...sorry Petty Officer Hannigan, at a guess,” Diego said.

 “Really?” Marshall replied. “I wouldn’t have thought that…”

 “Oh, you’d be surprised,” his father said, looking around. “You know, I rather wish I could have put one of these uniforms on myself. I’m going to have a rather boring trip otherwise.”

 “I’m sure I can find something for you to do.”

 “Are you in need of a cabin boy?” Diego suggested before collapsing into giggles.

 Other in the far corner, Marshall could hear raised voices; Lane had tarried at the hangar bay exit and run into an approaching Quinn, who as usual was wearing a uniform that looked as though he’d slept in it for weeks. Given the damage Alamo had taken in its last battle, that was a realistic possibility; the Systems Officer and his technicians had been working overtime. With a sigh, Marshall walked over.

 “...put you on report!” Lane shouted.

 “Fine. Great. When the hell do you think I’m going to have the time? Keeping this ship flying is a damn sight more important than changing uniforms every five minutes.”

 “You are supposed to set an example for the rest of the crew,” she said, but Marshall interrupted.

 “So are you, Lieutenant, and this isn’t much of one. Mr. Quinn, I would prefer that you don’t wander around looking quite as...disheveled as you do. You’ve got technicians to do the dirty work, remember.”

 “I wouldn’t ask anyone to do anything I wouldn’t, sir.” 

 Suppressing a smile, Marshall replied, “Good for you, Quinn. Lane, sometimes on this ship things don’t go exactly according to plan. I suggest you...adapt.”

 Her eyes burning, she looked up at him, “I will be submitting my recommendations for changes to ship procedures to improve efficiency shortly, sir. From what I have already seen there is much room for improvement.” She stalked out, leaving the two of them watching her stride to the elevator.

 “Not another one,” Quinn said. “We do find them, skipper, don’t we.”

 “She is your senior officer, Mr. Quinn. Try and remember that.”

 “As long as she doesn’t mess with my people.” He gestured around, continuing, “Thanks for the extra help, anyway. It’s going to be a bit strange to be overstaffed for once; we’re really shifting through the maintenance backlog. Even stuff that pre-dates the battle.”

 “Actually getting ahead of the game for once? That’s new.”

 Glancing around and hefting his toolkit, Quinn replied, “I’d better get back to work, sir.”

 “You didn’t come here for the party?”

 “One of the elevator airlocks is due for servicing. I can get at everything I need from inside, so I thought I’d get on with it.”

 “And you didn’t give the job to the deck crews because…”

 Sheepishly, he said, “I like to get my hands dirty every once in a while.”

 “Spoken like a true engineer. Carry on.”

 Marshall wandered back over to his father, who asked with a frown, “What was that all about?”

 “Signs of personnel troubles to come, I think.”

 “Lane’s good, son. A good officer. Tends to be rather over-zealous, but I don’t think that is necessarily a problem.”

 Shrugging, he replied, “The bridge crews are going to need a firm hand while we integrate the two crews anyway, and I’m sure Zebrova will curb her worst...excesses.”

 Diego said, “The problem is that the Operations Officer is just close enough to the command chair that they can start to want it, but far enough that they can’t do anything about it. It’s a rather frustrating job.”

 “With the build-up back home, I somehow think that she won’t have long to wait for her own command.” 

 “Maybe we ought to head up to the mess,” Diego suggested.

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “I might skip this one. There’s a lot to do before emergence…”

 “The crew need to see you there, son. If you don’t mind taking some advice from the old man.”

 “Just for a few minutes, then,” he said. “A couple of canapes and a glass of punch.”

 “That’s the spirit.”

 As he began to head towards the exit, Marshall noticed a noise from below, a faint tearing sensation, and then his ears popped, an instant before decompression alarms started to squeal across the deck. 

 “Everyone out!” he yelled, gesturing the crowds towards the elevators. A whistling noise began and grew, atmosphere leaking out into space; the crewmen reacted instantly, racing for the door, but only twenty people could leave the deck at once. There had to be two or three times as many here for the ceremony. By the time the elevator cars returned to pick up the second load, all that would be left were corpses.

 Diego was leading the crowd at the front, shepherding them in as quickly as he could with no regard for safety limits; Marshall glanced around the room, already beginning to feel dizzy, and saw Quinn waving at him, gesturing at him to come over. Nodding, he waved his arms up in the air.

 “Everyone to the elevator airlocks! On the double!”

 As those who could escaped the decks, racing to safety on a higher level, he dashed for the nearest shuttle, jabbing his hand on the emergency controls. Crewmen scrambled onto the wingtips, hanging on for grim life; his father was half-carrying a dazed technician, throwing him down into the pit.

 The atmosphere was fading fast, leaking out into hendecaspace – something else to be concerned about, as exposure to the effects of that strange dimension was definitely not recommended. As a rule, those who didn’t die simply went insane, something which had inspired more than a few cults in the early days of interstellar travel.

 Shaking his head, he struggled to focus, looking around the deck. There didn’t seem to be anyone left, and there was nothing he could do for anyone who was without losing more lives; reluctantly, he released the safety catch, and the doors above him slammed shut, flush to the deck. With a loud hiss, atmosphere began to rush in, bringing the pressure up to ship normal, and he took in deep breaths of the rich, cool oxygen.

 He looked around the cramped airlock; these elevators were designed to hold a shuttle, and perhaps a technician or two; as far as he could see, more than a dozen people were stuffed into the tight space, many precariously balanced on parts of the shuttle’s hull. He tried not to worry about the fact that only a few inches of hull separated them from the madness of hendecaspace. If the lock was to give – not that it should, but if it were – then they would probably never know what happened.

 “Quinn, are you in here?” he yelled.

 “Over here, sir,” came the muffled reply from behind the engine venturi.

 “What the hell happened?”

 “Don’t know, sir. It wasn’t any of the elevator airlocks, though.”

 “Tell me this isn’t the one you were about to start maintaining.”

 “Just a precaution, skipper. Thousand hour checkup. Mostly.”

 “Great,” another, unfamiliar voice said. Marshall struggled to recognize it, finally placing it as Lieutenant Bailey, his new security officer.

 “Look on the bright side,” he replied. “This will give you something to work on right away as soon as we get back into the ship. And as for the rest of you, I suspect we’re going to be safer here than in the mess.”

 “You speak for yourself,” an anonymous voice yelled from the rear. “I’m starving.”

 “Can we at least get into the shuttle?” a gruff voice asked. 

 “Not enough room,” Quinn replied. “These airlocks are tight.”

 “How long are we going to be stuck in here?”

 The engineer paused for a moment, then replied, “If it is just a pinhole leak, then a maintenance team will be down in a few minutes. Say fifteen minutes in total to secure the leak, test it, and re-pressurize the deck.”

 “And if it is something bigger?”

 “Regulations stipulate that if it is bigger than three centimeters, then no access to the exposed area is permitted until we complete our jump. In about thirty-one hours time.”

 “Thirty-one hours!” the voice replied. “You’ve got to be joking.”

 “We can last that long if we have to,” Marshall replied.

 “How?”

 “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let’s just hope we get through all this more quickly. In the meantime, just try and relax.”

 “Relax?” 

 “Consider it an order.”

 He snatched a quick glance at his watch, running through possibilities in his mind. If it proved to be longer than half an hour, he’d have to start thinking about sanitation at the very least. Glancing down at the shuttle airlock, flush to the wall, he started to ponder how they might get inside, but he couldn’t come up with anything.

 The seconds crawled by. His left leg, stuffed into a corner, was starting to ache; he tried to extend it but was met with a yelp from someone else; whoever it was had the decency not to swear at his Captain for kicking him in the ribs, but he decided to put up with the aches and stay put.

 “Anyone getting any signal from outside on their datapad?” asked Gruff Voice.

 Quinn shook his head, “Not in here they aren’t. The data relays don’t work inside the airlocks at the moment.”

 “That’s a bit of a design flaw,” Marshall said.

 “Ran out of spares; I had to cannibalize them. They were on my list of parts to replace…”

 “...during your servicing. Great.”

 Only three minutes had passed, and they seemed to have been an eternity. The air was getting hot; there was no danger of them actually suffocating, but the airlock systems weren’t meant to handle this many people. He tried not to think about what might be waiting for him on the deck above. Five other elevator airlocks, so there was plenty of room for everyone to have got to safety – aside from the twenty or so who would have emerged, gasping for breath, on the sensor decks.

 “They do know we’re here, don’t they?” another voice asked.

 “The alarms went off,” he replied, “so the bridge was alerted. Besides, the ones that got away will have spread the word by know. Relax.”

 “There must be something we can do.”

 “No spacesuits in here.”

 “The shuttle…”

 “Give up on the shuttle,” Quinn said again. “Unless you can squeeze down to the size of a datapad, we’re not getting in.”

 Marshall glanced at his watch again, and heard something from above, a faint rattling noise, which rapidly grew in intensity. The status board on the side of the airlock began to flash, red to green, and settled into a solid green.

 “At last,” Gruff Voice said, and the airlock doors slowly opened, the platform rising to the level of the deck. Marshall rolled off the shuttle onto the floor, tumbling to the feet of Zebrova, his executive officer; he looked up at her stern face with a smile and bounded to his feet.

 “Anyone missing?”

 She shook her head, “All accounted for.”

 “Thank goodness for that.” He pulled his rumpled dress uniform, making a vain attempt to smooth out the crease, then shrugged. “Mr. Quinn…”

 “I’ll have a full report with you as soon as I can.”

 “Good. Do a full check of the other key areas of the ship.”

 “I already did, sir,” Quinn replied, quietly. “I don’t see how it can have been battle damage.”

 Marshall’s face dropped, “You know what you are saying, I presume.”

 “It has to have been sabotage, sir. There’s no other possibility that makes sense.”

Chapter 2

 There was something forlorn about a long-deserted bar. Quinn’s wife – during the time she was stationed on Alamo – had managed to convert a cubby-hole in the maintenance levels into a squadron rec room; with no fighter pilots stationed on the ship any more, it had fallen into disuse. As far as Marshall knew, the only people who knew about the place were dead, light-years away, or on their way here for a quiet meeting.

 He glanced around the pin-up posters on the wall, shaking his head. Normally he’d be talking to his officers in a formal briefing room, all high-tech and holodisplays. Not in a dingy corner of a sparsely-occupied deck. Sometimes he forgot how big Alamo really was, spoiled by the elevators that whisked him from compartment to compartment. Half a mile of tangling corridors and compartments added up to a lot of room.

 Lance-Corporal Cooper was the first to arrive, frowning as he crawled into the compartment. Technically, Lieutenant-Major Diego should be representing the espatiers, but this was decidedly not a normal meeting. This one was invitation only, and Marshall was being exceptionally cautious with the guest list.

 “What’s this all about, sir?” he asked, looking around.

 “I’ll tell you when the rest get here. How’s your new officer working out?”

 “Seems fine so far, sir,” Cooper replied, puzzled.

 “Getting him broken in, then,” Marshall said with a grin. “Having a new commanding officer is always fun for a while.” The young trooper began to blush, and he decided to let him off the leash a little, “Just keep doing what you’ve been doing, and I’m sure everything will be fine.”

 “Yes, sir,” Cooper said, gratefully.

 Lieutenant Caine, his Tactical Officer and one of his oldest friends was next to arrive, sliding in from behind him to land on a pile of scattered seat cushions. She peered around in the gloom, then looked up at him.

 “Should I get the drinks in?”

 “Not today, Deadeye. This is business.”

 “Spoilsport.”

 Quinn, for once in a fresh uniform, crawled in from another shaft, looking around quizzically, nodding at Caine. He tossed a datapad over the Marshall, who snatched it out of the air and started to scan it.

 “Report on the hangar bay. It was sabotage. A microscopic shaped charge. Really good work, it took quite a lot of digging to find it.”

 “Who else knows about this?”

 “Just you. I haven’t briefed Lieutenant, ah, Bailey yet. She’s still working on the software.”

 “Good.” He tapped a couple of buttons, encrypting the contents of the datapad. “This is excellent work. Unfortunately, Quinn, you found evidence that it was a malfunction in the hull sensors that caused your team to miss a microfracture after the last battle.”

 “What?” Shaking his head, he continued, “Sir, I checked the maintenance records twice. There is no way that a fracture of this sort would have been missed, and I found traces of the chemical used on the bulkhead. This was deliberate, Captain.”

 “I accept your word that this is sabotage, Lieutenant, but if we have someone on board, I’d rather they not be aware that we are onto them. That could easily lead them to try something desperate, and I don’t want to have to clean up the subsequent mess.”

 “I won’t reprimand any of my people…” 

 “I’m not asking you to.”

 “Not asking what?” Zebrova asked as she scrambled in. “What’s all this about, Captain?”

 “Trust, Lieutenant,” Marshall said. “Specifically, I trust everyone in this room with two critical pieces of information. The first is that we have a spy, a saboteur, on board. Undoubtedly transferred from Hercules before the loss of that ship.”

 “May I then suggest, sir, that all Hercules crewmen should be placed in immediate close confinement pending interrogation?” Zebrova said, matter-of-factly.

 “We can’t do that,” Caine said. “Not only would we be totally reliant on circumstantial evidence, but they’ve been on board for long enough that all manner of mayhem could result from a sweep.”

 Marshall nodded, “Lieutenant Caine is quite correct.”

 “Some of them are in key positions…”

 “My presumption is that we are looking at a single saboteur. All the pieces fit together for that.”

 “Someone senior, more than likely,” Quinn added. “They’d need a lot of key access.”

 “Not necessarily, sir,” Cooper replied. “Not if they were a good hacker.”

 “Corporal, I’m putting you in charge of finding the saboteur.” 

 “Sir?” Zebrova said, frowning, “With all respect to Corporal Cooper, he is not trained for such a task, nor…”

 “I know, but he’s the best we’ve got. Cooper, this is a request, not an order. I can’t give you any orders, not officially, and I can’t tell anyone what you are doing. You’ll be working undercover for the purposes of this operation, without the knowledge of the bulk of the chain of command. I am aware that there are risks involved, but…”

 “I’ll do it, sir. I know how important this might be. And if there’s a saboteur on board, they might well have been involved with the attack on the asteroid.”

 “This is not personal, Cooper. We can’t afford that.”

 He nodded, “I know, sir.”

 “Good.” Marshall looked around at the rest of the officers. “I’ve come to a decision regarding our flight home. There’s a bottleneck coming up, albeit one with several potential egress points to exploit.”

 “Odds are the Cabal will have ships on picket duty. It’ll be chancy, but we’ll probably have an even-odds fight and a mad scramble to jump out of the system,” Caine said. “I’m working on my recommendations for which point we use. Are you in a hurry?”

 “No.” Marshall took a deep breath, then continued, “We have a task force at our backs, and a traitor on board. I say we use both to their best advantage. They’re going to be one jump behind us all the way home, and they have a lot more options to refuel than we do.”

 Zebrova nodded, “Ultimately, they are likely to catch us. I had considered this. If we still had Hercules, I’d be advocating that the two ships split up and find separate ways home.”

 “You both might be right, but what can we do about it?” Caine asked. “Other than do our damnedest to stay ahead of the game.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “I’m going to attack.”

 “What?” Quinn yelled. “Four battlecruisers and a carrier, assuming they haven’t got reinforcements.”

 “Four battlecruisers and a carrier,” Marshall repeated. “But if we can fight them at a time and place of our choosing, we can catch them by surprise. We’ve dealt with their fleet commander enough now to get a read on him, and I know what he will think when we – very quietly – feed him the destination of our jump.”

 “He’ll think that it’s a trick, and will plan accordingly,” Caine said. “He’ll mass his fleet because he really has no choice, but he won’t be expecting a battle.”

 “So we give him one, blast through his ships, and leave them in our wake. Do enough damage that we can buy ourselves some breathing room.”

 “Against odds of five, six to one,” Zebrova said, shaking her head.

 “We’ve got the Cabal database, though. Not full access, but a lot of new information. Not to mention our analysis of their ships from our prior encounters. Your job, the three of you, is to come up with some dirty tricks. Anything you can think of to shorten those odds.”

 Caine nodded, “Presuming that we jump in, prepared for battle, ready to face that fleet, and through everything at them.” 

 Quinn mused, “We could probably mount some additional missiles on the outer hull. Batches in the elevator airlocks, for that matter. Not really design spec, and it’ll just about run down our parts...we’re really going to only have one shot at this, sir. And even then, the odds won’t be promising.”

 “Right now the odds aren’t good either,” Marshall replied. “The deeper we get into Cabal territory, the greater the risks we face. If we knock out this fleet now, take it off the table, then we give ourselves breathing room.”

 “Besides,” Caine mused, “If they are planning a strike against the Confederation, that’s the fleet they are most likely to use. Blunt that sword now, and they can’t use it against us.”

 “Which gives the boys back home more time to get their forces ready for action.”

 “We’re not officially at war,” Zebrova said, frowning, but Cooper broke in.

 “Tell that to my mates. But you’ll have to shout very loud, ma’am.”

 “Cooper,” Marshall said, sharply. “No-one questions that. The Cabal have launched attacks against us, intelligence operations against us...there isn’t any formal declaration of war, but they aren’t exactly in a position to make demands against the Confederation if they want to complain.”

 “We came out here to gather intelligence…”

 “And have found ourselves with somewhat more significant opportunities. The information the Admiralty wanted was intended to help us fight a war more effectively, should it come. Far better to prevent that war from taking place at all.”

 “Have we completely written off Hercules, then?” Caine said. “We still don’t know what happened back there.”

 “Orlova would have followed us if she could. Hercules was badly damaged, and surrounded. I’m acting on the assumption that she,” he said, sighing, “surrendered when Alamo left the system. If this goes wrong, we’ll probably all end up getting dumped on Discovery together.”

 “Would you do that?” Zebrova asked. “If all hope truly was lost?”

 “The crew comes first, Lieutenant. Always.”

 “That doesn’t answer my question.”

 “It’s as much of an answer as you are going to get. Now, I need the three of you to start your preparations for this, but do it quietly. Cost no object, use of ordinance no object, and feel free to throw the safety regulations out of the nearest airlock. I’m counting on your devious minds to come up with something good for us. Don’t let me down.”

 The three officers looked at each other, and Quinn nodded, “Alamo will be ready for anything you need her to do, sir. I think I have some ideas.”

 “I don’t need to tell you not to let anyone else on board know about this until it is too late to matter. Cooper, while I want that saboteur identified…”

 “You don’t what our traitor caught until he’s had a chance to send his last message.” The finality of Cooper’s tone chilled Marshall. “Got it, sir.”

 “Any more questions?” he asked.

 Zebrova looked at him, then said, “I think this is a mistake, sir. If I may speak freely.”

 “By all means.”

 “Sir, we’re going to charge headlong into an enemy fleet. The odds of Alamo surviving are not promising. Our best course is to try and sneak past the bottleneck, then attempt to break out into open space.”

 Caine shook her head, “Eight jumps home from here. That could mean twelve. Or twenty. This is already going to set some records for the longest ever deep-space patrol.”

 “Perhaps, but it is more likely to succeed.”

 “We’d be trading a problem today for a bigger problem tomorrow. We don’t know what is out there, and even the Cabal records don’t seem very enlightening on the subject. In Cabal space at least we know where to find fuel, supplies…”

 “And enemy forces everywhere we go.”

 “They have a finite fleet, Lieutenant. Once we get past the bottleneck, especially without an enemy at our back, then we have a lot more options to play with. We’re going to fight this battle sooner or later, so we fight it now – while we can choose the time, at our best fighting strength, and all our resources marshaled for the attack.”

 “Very well, sir.”

 “What are you going to tell the rest of the crew?” Caine asked. 

 Glancing up at a battered old clock on the wall, Marshall said, “Briefing for all department heads in ten hours, five hours before we return to normal space. I’ll outline my official plans then. Try and look surprised.” 

 “Why not bring some of the others into the loop?” Quinn said. “Mulenga, for example. Or Tyler.”

 “This is a need-to-know operation. I will bring them in...after we’ve made our final jump towards the site of the battle, and no-one can tell any tall tales.”

 Shaking her head, Caine said, “So basically, our plan is to tell the enemy where they are going, and hope that they don’t believe us.”

 “Information that comes too easily is rarely trusted. I’m counting that the Commandant won’t see through this one, will think that I am cleverer…”

 “...than you are,” Caine finished with a smile.

 “I think you’d better make your way out separately, try and avoid any suspicion. We don’t know who might be watching us.”

 “I presume this place isn’t bugged,” Zebrova said; Marshall waved a detector in the air.

 “Swept it myself before we started. You all should check your offices when you get back, but if you find any, don’t destroy them. Just do anything important elsewhere. Remember, we need the saboteur to think they are getting away with it. Though feel free to make sure nothing important gets damaged, Quinn.”

 “I’ve already got everyone on double-time checking systems. It should be easy enough to arrange that all critical areas have someone from Alamo present at all times – and don’t worry, sir, I’ll make sure to keep my tracks covered.” 

 “Right. We’ll meet again in two weeks, and I look forward to hearing what you’ve come up with. Dismissed.”

 Zebrova left first, crawling away with a scowl on her face; this plan had not satisfied her in the slightest, but she was loyal enough to accept it. Quinn was a lot happier, already plotting and scheming the devices he was going to cobble together. Cooper paused at the threshold, and turned back for a minute.

 “Sir…”

 “I’ll cover you, Cooper. After the fact, if necessary, but I’ll make sure your career isn’t damaged by anything you have to do.”

 “That wasn’t what I was going to ask, sir.”

 “Well?”

 “You do know that your father is a suspect.”

 Marshall nodded, “I don’t for one moment think that he is involved, but there is a reason he isn’t at this meeting. Just find out what’s at the other end of the rabbit hole.”

 “Rabbit hole?”

 “Never mind. Good luck, Corporal.” As the trooper crawled away, he turned back to Caine, “What are they teaching them at school these days?”

 “Probably not ancient literature,” she said. Glancing after Cooper, she said, “You’re putting him in a hell of a position, you know. He isn’t a trained investigator, and he’ll have to keep this secret from everyone while putting him at risk.” 

 “I know,” he replied, sighing. “All of those things could be an advantage, though. Think about it. Our saboteur would be expecting someone like Bailey to be on the case, or you, for that matter. Sending in Corporal Cooper will catch them by surprise. Besides, he had the usual combat hacking course.”

 “Where he came in the middle of his class. I checked.”

 “And got the best score of any of the espatiers we have left.” 

 “True.” She looked around the room, lounging back towards the wall, “This is a hell of a risky plan. As risky as the one…”

 “That got us out here in the first place? Maybe. I still stand by it, though. We’re going to get hunted down piecemeal, battered down a piece at a time until we can't run any more. Hell, they could have ships strung out half-way home, get us one battle at a time with hit and run attacks. This way we get the battle out of the way.”

 “And…”

 “Damn it, Deadeye, I don’t like retreating. That task force sent us running with our tails between our legs, and cost us a ship and more than two dozen people. My people. We’ve got to redeem that.”

 “No, we don’t.”

 He shook his head, “Yes, we do. The crew need it, for one thing. Morale’s low.”

 “Being stranded light-years from home on the wrong side of a hostile frontier will do that.”

 “And a good victory will restore it. Hell, my instincts are telling me that this is the thing to do. Then we can push through Cabal space, and…”

 Caine looked at him, cold in the eyes, and said, “You don’t expect to win.”

 He glanced up, and said, “What?”

 “This isn’t about getting home. You don’t think we can do it, cross the Cabal.”

 “The odds are against us…”

 “Damn it, Danny. You can be honest with me, even if you aren’t honest to yourself.”

 Rising to his feet, he looked down at her, saying, “Yes, then, damn it. We’re one ship, trying to cross thirty, forty light-years of hostile territory, with a fleet at our backs and others up ahead. No resupply without a battle, no espatier force, no fighter squadron. At some point they are going to catch us.”

 “You’re giving up.”

 “Not yet, I’m not. We came out here to prevent a war, one way or another, and if we can give them a bloody enough nose, we might just manage to do that. I’ll do as much damage as I can, and then…”

 “Surrender.”

 “The crew, yes. I’ll go down with Alamo.”

 “You’ve got it all worked out, don’t you. A glorious last stand.”

 “We’ve got the name for it.”

 “That’s a memory to live up to, not something to blindly imitate. Damn it, Danny, I’ve never known you this fatalistic before.” She stood up, fury on her face, “I’m going into this battle to win. Not to do as much damage as possible, but to blast our way through the bad guys and get this ship home.”

 “Don’t you think I want to do that as well? Look, if we can’t get home, if we can’t complete our mission, then we owe it to everyone back home to mitigate that as best we can. This is the best way I can see to do that.”

 “We can get home, Danny. Don’t let one defeat knock you down. You’ve got to get up and fight again. Zebrova’s wrong, and your instincts are right.”

 “We’ll see in about three weeks.” He shook his head. “I just wish Orlova was here. She’d probably have some wild idea to get around this problem.”

Chapter 3

 Sitting in the hastily-patched bridge of the Battlecruiser Hercules, Sub-Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, by a string of accidents and disasters serving as Acting Captain, looked at the viewscreen and frowned, wondering what would appear when they finally left hendecaspace. Forced to jump without calculating a proper course, she had no idea where they would end up, or even how long it would take to get there.

 She looked around the bridge, the crew working to prepare themselves for anything, without sufficient resources or matériel. The guidance station was a collection of improvised control systems, Lieutenant Curry’s hands reaching to unfamiliar positions as she prepared for emergence. To her side, at the tactical station, Lieutenant Nelyubov ran one battle simulation after another, a waste of time in one sense – for Hercules had no functioning weapons. At least it was keeping him busy. Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter, her third-wheel paleontologist, had no such luck; she was standing behind her chair, staring at the screen, tapping her fingers against a console.

 Sergeant Wilson, the nearest thing she had to a Systems Officer, had quite the reverse problem. Three damage control teams were roaming the ship, trying to do the work of a dozen, and failing. There were so many places they simply couldn’t access, not until they returned to normal space, and most of them were critical to getting Hercules fit for a fight. This deep in Cabal territory, she didn’t dare hope for a safe emergence. Surviving the first few minutes would be a nice bonus.

 For the hundredth time, she looked at the map of local space on her battered datapad. Lots of different options, and none of them good. All she could hope was that the fleet wasn’t on her tail, that they thought Hercules had been destroyed. Just like Alamo. She remembered the shot on the sensor display, the missiles converging on the battlecruiser at the instant of its departure. Nothing could have lived through that.

 “More than an hour now,” Sergeant Mathis said from the sensor station. “Definitely a record.”

 “Speaking personally, I’d have had no objection to letting this record go elsewhere,” Curry said. “No-one’s ever come back from his deep in hendecaspace.”

 “There are stories, though,” Carpenter said. “From the early days of interstellar travel…”

 “That’ll do,” Orlova said. “You can tell each other ghost stories when we’re off duty.”

 Finally, Mathis turned to Orlova, a smile on his face, “Increasing dimensional instability!”

 “Thank God,” Wilson said, shaking his head. “I thought…”

 “We all did. Get in the game, everyone,” Orlova said. “Countermeasures up and running, and Mathis, we need those sensors of yours to sing.”

 The crew seemed to come to life, working their controls as Hercules staggered through the egress point, returning to normal space. It felt like all the molecules in her body were deciding whether to fly apart or remain together, but the familiar blue flash passed across the ship and stars re-appeared on the viewscreen.

 “Jump complete,” Curry said. “Maintaining station-keeping.”

 “Mathis, I need sensors,” Orlova said.

 “Working. Resolution’s lousy...threat warning! Energy spike, close aboard, I think it’s an automated defense grid.”

 “Countermeasures are running,” Nelyubov said, “but weapons are still offline. I can’t fire back.”

 “We’re being hailed,” Mathis said, frowning. “I can manage an audio feed only. Exterior antenna arrays are still out.”

 “What are you going to do?” Carpenter asked.

 With a grin on her face, Orlova replied, “Play it by ear. Put them on. And give me any information you can about where the hell we’ve ended up.”

 A crackling voice came over the speaker, “This is Outpost Hydra calling Hercules. Why have you not provided your identification signal?”

 “Hydra, this is Hercules, Acting Commander speaking. We have sustained serious battle damage including database malfunctions, and require immediate assistance.” 

 There was a long pause, then, “Identify yourself, Acting Commander. What happened to Osborne?”

 “Dead along with four-fifths of the crew, Hydra. My name is Margaret Forster,” she paused for a second, then continued, “latterly of Cornucopia Mining. Can you tow us in? Our sensors are down.”

 “Wait one, Hercules.”

 Orlova made a chopping motion with her hand, and as Mathis silenced the channel, she turned to Wilson, “What’s the status of our fabricators?”

 “Lousy.”

 “I need uniforms for all of us. Cornucopia Mining jumpsuits.”

 Carpenter stared in disbelief, saying, “That’s the plan?”

 “Plan? I’m making this up as I go along.”

 “Beats surrendering,” Wilson said, rising from his station. “I’ll start working on the uniforms.”

 “Get the first batch up to the bridge. And try and make them look used.”

 “I’m not a fashion designer!” he protested, but he retreated from the bridge before Orlova could reply. Mathis looked over from his station.

 “We’re at NN 3737,” he said. “Four planets, one of them borderline-inhabitable, and that one has a station orbiting it. Looks like that’s where we ended up. According to the database, we’re looking at a repair facility for civilian ships.”

 “Not military, then?”

 Shaking his head, Mathis said, “Not according to the file.”

 “This might actually work,” Orlova said, and then the communicator crackled into life again.

 “Hercules, we have no knowledge of you or your crew, and no orders regarding your presence. Prepare to receive a boarding party.”

 “We’ll be there, Hydra, but get the rescue and repair teams on the move,” Orlova said. “This ship is on the verge of falling apart.”

 “Will do. Hydra out.”

 “Shuttle launch from the station,” Mathis reported. “They’ll be alongside in fifteen minutes.”

 “Right. That just gives us time to prepare. Nelyubov, I want a new crew roster and new personnel files for the whole crew.”

 “In fifteen minutes?” he said, shaking his head. “Can’t be done.”

 “Not if you waste time arguing. We’re all Cornucopia crewmen who have defected, and are now working for the Cabal in an auxiliary role.” Snapping her fingers, she said, “Somewhere in the records sent over from Alamo are the records of the crew of the scout we met at Spitfire Station.  Just change names and faces.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “This is going to be the botch-job to beat them all.”

 “Curry, you have the bridge. Do everything they tell you. Don’t ask questions, and if in doubt, refer them right to me. Carpenter, come with me.”

 “Where are we going?”

 “Hangar bay.”

 Turning from her station, Curry said, “You know that we’ll never get all evidence of the Fleet out of the ship before we dock.”

 “I do. Don’t worry,” Orlova said before the elevator doors closed, “I’ve got a plan.”

 Carpenter looked at her with relief, and said, “Good. Want to fill me in?”

 “Actually the plan is to make all this up as we go. Whatever they say, just back me up. Feel free to step in if I’m floundering.” She smiled, “Worst case, I guess we picked an unorthodox way to surrender.”

 The elevator slowly juddered down the levels, pausing for thought a few times before finally opening on the shuttle bay. The deck was a mess, tattered pieces of equipment scattered around, dust and debris drifting through the air, a half-rebuilt shuttle poised for action on one of the two working elevator airlocks. A few technicians were struggling into jumpsuits; Wilson tossed a bundle of clothes to the two officers.

 “Complements of the tailor, ma’am,” he said. “Two worn worksuits, officer grade.”

 “Just out of interest, what is my name today?” Carpenter said as she struggled into the outfit.

 Glancing at her datapad, Orlova replied, “Carpenter. I only changed my name because I’m in their records. You weren’t even in the fleet a few weeks ago.”

 “Do you actually think that this is going to work?”

 Tumbling around as she tugged at the sleeves, Orlova replied, “It might. By now the Senate will have cleaned house at Cornucopia, so their people are going to be wandering around at a loose end. My guess is that most of them will end up drifting out here, at least those who knew who their real bosses are.”

 “And we ended up flying a Cabal battlecruiser because…”

 “I told you, I’m working on it.”

 “Work fast, ma’am,” Wilson said. “Shuttle on final approach.”

 “Damn it, they jumped the gun.”

 “Probably trying to catch us by surprise,” Carpenter said.

 Tossing her discarded uniform into a corner, Orlova stood in front of the open elevator airlock; sirens sounded as it went through its cycle, and a stub-nosed delta-winged shuttle rose up to the deck. Orlova ran her eyes along the lines of the craft in admiration, then managed to float at attention as the doors opened and a wearing looking man floated out, the overhead lights shining from his bald black head.

 “You must be Forster,” he said, reaching out a hand. “Lester Price, Dockmaster.”

 “This is Susan Carpenter,” she gestured, “First Mate.”

 “Pleasure.” He looked at the two of them, then around the deck, “What a mess.”

 “She went through a hell of a battle,” Orlova replied. “Almost wish I’d been on board to see it.”

 “What happened? We know about the task force that went off to intercept Alamo, but nothing since then.”

 Inside, Orlova sighed with relief, though tinged with concern. Price seemed genuinely uninformed, and if he was just the foreman of a repair yard, that would make sense. If he was fishing, though, he’d probably work out the truth quickly enough.

 “Alamo put up a hell of a fight before being taken down. Hercules was at the vanguard of the battle, and most of its crew were killed.”

 “Something about not wanting it to stay in Cabal hands,” Carpenter added.

 “It must rankle,” Price said. “I can understand how they would feel. If one of our ships ended up under their control, I’d want to take it back as well. Where’s the crew?”

 “Mostly injured or dead,” Orlova said. “Our orders were to bring the ship here for repairs while the rest of the fleet proceeded to Innes’ Star to establish a blockade.”

 Nodding, Price said, “Why you?”

 “We aren’t military personnel. Look, we just came out here looking for work. Most of us were freighter crewmen with Cornucopia, and when the Senate launched its crackdown we ran for it before we could be arrested. I guess the Commandant figured that we could be spared.” She snorted, then said, “Given the mess this ship is in, expandable was probably more like it. We almost didn’t make it through the jump, and we lost a lot of data when the computer crashed.”

 “Including your orders, I presume.”

 “Everything we’d had for the last week.”

 “I presume you’ll have no objection to my technicians checking that out?”

 Taking a deep breath, Orlova said, “Look, how long is this damn interrogation going to last? I have dozens of fractures on the hull, communications and sensors are out, and I’m not sure how long this ship is going to hold together. Can we continue this conversation at Hydra, or would you rather salvage the wreck than repair the ship?”

 Nodding, Price replied, “I suppose I can see your point. Very well, I’ll get the tugs on the way to bring you in. My team will be checking your story, and I can promise…”

 “Yes, yes, we’ll be arrested, tried, shot, whatever you want. Let’s just get this moving, can we? This ship needs to get back into service quickly.”

 His eyes widening, Price said, “We’ll get her back into service, but I think you might be being a little optimistic if you want a fast job. It’s going to take weeks at best.”

 “Then can we get on with it?”

 He looked at her, then around the hangar bay. Turning, he ducked back inside the shuttle, having a quick, quiet conversation with someone inside before emerging again, a datapad in his hand.

 “The tugs are on the way. I’ll be heading back now; you will report to me with your logs and records upon arrival. If I am not satisfied, you and your crew will be placed in detention until all of this has been cleared up. Is that understood?”

 Orlova looked at Carpenter, then back at Price. “Completely. Everything will be ready by the time we dock.”

 “Fine.” He tossed a datapad at her, then continued, “Landing protocols, the works, and you can put all the information I’ve requested onto it. Make things a lot easier.” 

 He turned again, ducked into the shuttle, and closed the airlock behind him. Orlova watched wordlessly as the vessel disappeared into the deck, and with a loud bang, dropped away from Hercules on its path back to the station.

 Carpenter looked across at Orlova, relief on her face, “I can’t believe that worked!”

 “That’s because it didn’t,” she replied. “He doesn’t trust a word I said, but getting us to the station is going to make it a lot easier to capture is.” With a deep sigh, she continued, “It always was a bit of a long shot.”

 “So what now?”

 “We need to continue with the plan, follow it to the letter.” Pushing off, she slid into the elevator, Carpenter hard on her heels.

 “What’s the point, though? If they know that we’re not who we made ourselves out to be?”

 “It was a lousy cover story, Susan. I wouldn’t have believed me. I’ve bought a little time, and that’s all – and we might be able to use it to our advantage.” The ship shuddered, the elevator pausing on its tracks for a moment. “Looks like the tugs have locked on. That’ll make it easier, anyway. I’d hate to have to try and bring this ship in with the few thrusters we have left.”

 The doors opened on the bridge, and Curry turned as she floated in, rising from the seat and waving her hands in the air.

 “Our guidance system is being controlled from the station. I’m just sitting and watching at this point.”

 “Good, you can help with the faked flight logs.”

 “This isn’t going to work,” Nelyubov said. “We can’t put together everything they need this quickly.”

 “No, it probably isn’t. Nevertheless, I want you to make the attempt.” She punched a button on the side of her chair, “Sergeant Wilson, you there?”

 “Still working with my needle and thread.”

 “Stop working on them, and get down to missile control.”

 “We haven’t got any missile tubes working.”

 “No, but we’ve got some warheads, right?”

 Every eye turned to look at her as he replied, “We do, ma’am.”

 “Distribute the warheads around the ship, place them in positions where they will not be easily found, and rig them to detonate on demand. Put in a dead man’s switch.”

 Carpenter yelled, “You can’t be serious.”

 “The crew deserve better than this,” Mathis said.

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “Wilson, get it done.”

 After a long pause, the engineer replied, quietly, “Aye, ma’am.”

 “There’s no point to this,” Curry said. “Hercules has been in enemy hands for years, it won’t give away any secrets if they take it again.”

 “That isn’t the reason. If we have any problems, I want an ace up my sleeve.”

 “Fix our ship or we blow up your space station?” Nelyubov said, frowning. “Isn’t that a little desperate?”

 “I thought we had already reached ‘desperate’,” Mathis replied. “What have we got to lose at this point? It isn’t as if we would actually use it.”

 Orlova sat, quietly, watching the station grow closer. A standard design, long central column surrounded by spokes. It would be nice to be in gravity again.

 “Lieutenant?” Mathis said. “You wouldn’t detonate it, would you?”

 “They need to think so,” she replied. “And as a last resort, I damn well would.”

Chapter 4

 “What is it, Gabe?” Orlowski said as he continued stripping down his plasma rifle, another fistful of components scattering across the table in the barracks.

 “It’s getting to me a little,” Cooper replied, trying to think of something plausible. Waving his hand around, he said, “Look at all this empty space. There should be twenty-four people in these bunks, not four. It wasn’t as bad when we had some of the crew bunking in here, but now…”

 “I know what you mean,” Duggan said from across the room. “I keep looking up, waiting for the Sergeant to yell at me for something, or for one of my squad buddies to...ah, it’s silly, isn’t it. I wish they’d left those crewmen here.”

 “No,” Cooper said, shaking his head. “We’re going to need the space when we get our people back.”

 “Gabe,” Orlowski said, quietly, “That isn’t going to happen. If they aren’t dead, the Cabal has them, and I don’t see them giving them up. Short of being captured by them ourselves, we aren’t ever going to see them again.” He glanced across at Duggan, who looked down at the deck, “You’re going to have to get used to that idea.”

 Cooper jumped off the bunk and looked at his friend, “I don’t think I can.” Sighing, he continued, “I’m going for a walk. I think I need to be alone for a little while.”

 Orlowski grabbed his sleeve as he walked past. “If you need anything, call.”

 “Thanks, buddy.” He walked out of the empty barracks, hearing muttered conversations – no doubt relating to his current mental equilibrium – behind him, and out into the corridor. A part of him longed to enlist his friends, to get their help in his investigation, but he knew the risk he was running. For all the Captain had said, there was only so much he could do to protect him. For all he knew, an assassin already had a bullet with his name on it.

 He turned around a corner, his feet taking him in a random direction. At this point, he might as well; he didn’t have any idea where to start looking. The suspect had to be someone with engineering experience, but that didn’t narrow it down enough. Almost certainly it was one of the crewmen from Hercules, but even that wasn’t necessarily so; before leaving Mariner Station, they’d taken a lot of new crewmen on board. Himself included, he mused. Perhaps he was the assassin.

 Explosives were the key. As he had left, Quinn had slipped him an inventory check, and it had revealed that nothing was missing from the ship’s stores. Not that Alamo routinely carried that sort of equipment on board, anyway. Which meant it had to have been manufactured. With a smile, he turned to the nearest elevator and stabbed a button for Fabricator Control.

 Next to the reactor, the ship’s fabricators were the heart of Alamo. Without them to provide spares and replacement, the ship would be a tumbling ruin in a matter of weeks. Much of the interior of the ship was devoted to the material tanks used to feed them. The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped out onto the deck, almost walking into a red-faced Petty Officer.

 “Can I help you?” the man sneered, and Cooper took a step to the side, allowing the elevator to close.

 “I was wondering if there is any spare capacity in the fabricators. There are a few bits of equipment I could do with.”

 “Ha,” the man snorted. “You’ve got to be joking. We’re running the machines around the clock to keep up with Quinn’s repair schedule. I haven’t even had a chance to service these babies in a week.”

 “No capacity at all?”

 “I told you, Corporal, not a thing. If you have something you need that badly, you’re going to have to push it in through channels. Though the waiting list is pretty damn long, so I would prepare to be disappointed.”

 “I see. Sorry to bother you.” It was a nice theory, even if it went nowhere.

 “That’s fine, I’ve got nothing else better to do,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Look, if you see anyone else roaming about with a burning desire to jump the gun on the fabrication schedule, tell them to find another hobby.”

 “I’m not the first?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Matsumoto was down here an hour ago, asking a lot of stupid questions about processing.”

 “What sort of questions?”

 “Do I look like a tour guide?”

 Leaning forward, Cooper pressed, “What sort of questions?”

 “Something about chemical composition. I told her to look in the ship’s database; I’m just a technician. One who has to get back to work if you ever want this ship to be fixed.”

 “Thanks,” Cooper replied, turning back into the elevator. He paused for a moment before selecting a destination, then glanced down at his watch. Alpha Watch should just be coming on shift; Matsumoto would be settling into her station right now for the next eight hours. It seemed unlikely that Marshall had put her on the same task as he, though not impossible – two people working on the job would be better than one. But why would she not be invited to the meeting?

 He tapped a button for the enlisted mess, and pulled a datapad out of a pocket, calling up a roster of the ship’s company. Tapping in a few parameters relating to known clearance and expertise didn’t take long, but didn’t prove very fruitful, either. More than a dozen names remained who had the knowledge and the means to build such an explosive. He certainly didn’t.

 A thought crossed his mind, and he scanned down the work roster for the fabricators; that Petty Officer wasn’t exaggerating. According to the records, he’d been working for thirteen hours already, his signature attached to every requisition. No chance that he was the suspect, then.

 The doors slid open, and he stepped out into a mostly-empty room; a few technicians were snatching late breakfast snacks from the counters, waiting around impatiently for their food to be prepared. One of them snatched their sandwich from the dispenser, took a bite, and slammed it back onto the counter.

 “What the hell is this? It tastes like metal,” he yelled. 

 “Grin and bear it, Hank. My cereal was the same this morning. Must be something wrong with the food fabricators.”

 Cooper’s eyes widened. The main construction fabricators weren’t the only ones on the ship. He didn’t think for a moment that someone would have been able to access the combat fabricators, devoted to the near-instant manufacture of missiles – they were the closest-monitored piece of equipment on Alamo. The food fabricators, on the other hand, were a different story.

 Waiting for the disgusted group to return to their duty stations, he quietly stepped through a door marked ‘Authorized Personnel’, and heard a siren go off; evidently someone was serious about the security in here. Taking a few seconds to look around, he raced over to the computer and began to type – and mercifully, whoever had used it last was still logged in. Lousy security practice, but he quickly began to download the logs of recent activity into his datapad, stepping back out into the mess area in time to see his new commanding officer, Lieutenant-Major Diego, walk in, gun in his hand.

 “What the hell is this, Cooper?” Diego said.

 “Food systems seem to be out of whack, boss. I was trying to find someone to fix it.”

 “So you violate a restricted area?”

 “It’s hardly a critical system, sir.”

 With a sigh, Diego pulled out a communicator, “Diego to McGuire. It’s nothing to worry about, just a mix-up. Cancel alert.”

 “How did you get here so quickly, anyway?”

 “Actually, I was coming by to get a sandwich. Is it that bad?”

 “Everything tastes of metal.”

 “Ugh.” He walked over to the terminal. “I’m too hungry to care. Fancy taking a risk with something?”

 “I think I’ll just have a drink.” Diego walked over to the terminal, punched in for some sort of curry, laden with heavy spices, and headed over to a table, snatching a fork from the counter on his way. He took a careful bite, then nodded.

 “This tastes fine. Want to try some?”

 “Curry for breakfast is a bit beyond me, sir.”

 “After you’ve been in the service for a while, food is fuel. It doesn’t matter when you it eat, just that you do. Besides, all we had on Discovery were the same ten meals over and over. Early-generation fabricator. You think this tastes bad?”

 Hesitantly, Cooper sat down at the table. A thought crossed his mind, “McGuire sitting in for Matsumoto today?” 

 Diego shrugged, “No idea. Maybe she’s busy, or its some sort of training program.” He took another bite, then dropped his fork down to his plate. “I wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

 “Sir?”

 “You blame yourself. For the loss of your platoon.”

 “I was there, I lived, they didn’t. This isn’t survivors’ guilt, sir, and I assure you that I am capable of handling all of this.”

 “But you want revenge on the Cabal.” It was a statement, not a question.

 “Of course I do. I also know that my personal feelings cannot be a part of our mission, and I am willing to do whatever is necessary. However, I will tell you – as I have told the Captain – that if there is any opportunity to recover those of my comrades who were captured, I will take it, no matter what the risk.”

 “I’ll be right there alongside you, Cooper. I assure you of that. There’s one more thing, though. Perhaps more important. What do you think about me?” He smiled, taking another mouthful of curry. “You can speak quite freely.”

 “I don’t know you well enough to have an opinion of you, Major. I do wonder whether you will be able to lead men in the field should it come to it.”

 “That’s your job, Cooper, and we both know it. I’m doing this job to get reacquainted with military life, to provide tactical advice, and to give you backup wherever necessary. I am fully aware of my limitations, and though I certainly intend to strive to overcome them, I also will tell you know that as far as I am concerned, you remain operational commander.” With another grin, he continued, “You certainly have my full confidence in that department. I’ve seen some of the films of you at work.”

 Frowning, the Corporal replied, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

 “I’m not your usual officer.” With a chuckle, he continued, “Besides, I’ve been there. Battle of Barnard’s Star, I was a raw Third Lieutenant, but I was the man on the spot. Captain Graham told me that the half-platoon was mine to lead. Well, the Colonel decided to overrule me, gave orders down to single troopers over the tacnet.”

 “I bet that was fun.”

 “While he was having a grand time reliving the days when he had a single bar, he was messing up the grand battle. We ended up retreating.” He paused, his face dark, “Lost a lot of good men that day. Three days later we went back and finished the job, with Brigadier Kutuzov in command instead. Now there was a tactician. Best I ever saw.” He chuckled, then said, “Last time I heard about it, Miller was commanding a garrison all the way out at Triton.”

 “That was back at the start of the war, wasn’t it?”

 “First of the big interstellar operations, and damn near the last. Colonel Miller taught me a very important lesson that day, though I doubt he meant to – if you give a subordinate authority, you don’t take it back without a damn good reason, and you focus on the level of the battle that you are responsible for.” 

 “I’ll remember that, sir.”

 With another chuckle, he said, “Thank you for humoring an old man, Cooper. It’s good to be able to tell these stories to a new audience. I might even bore you to death with a few more some time, when we can find a decent bar.”

 Nodding, Cooper said, “I’ll look forward to that, sir.”

 “Anyway, you run along. And stop going into secured areas, Corporal. Next time it might not be me who gets here first.”

 “Yes, sir.” Cooper rose, saluted, and left the Major to his unappealing brunch. He walked out of the room, pulling out his datapad, running through the list of names on the docket. It was then that he noticed the identity he had used to access the files, the last user to use that terminal. Sub-Lieutenant Matsumoto.

Chapter 5

 Generally, Marshall always made sure that he was the first in a staff meeting; he liked to read his officers as they walked into the room, try and determine the tone of the discussion. There was no question of running the ship by consensus, he was in command and comfortable with that, but it was always best to try and make his officers enthusiastic, get them behind whatever plans he made, the orders he gave.

 This time was different. He had deliberately loitered for a moment, waiting around a turn in the corridor before entering the briefing room. For the first time, he was going to be lying to his officers, and he didn’t much care for the idea. Sometimes he’d been forced to leave information back, of course, that was a part of the game at times – not everyone had the highest level of security clearance. This, on the other hand, was all his decision, all his responsibility.

 For years, he had craved an independent, deep-space command. The opportunity to command a ship, a mission, without interference from anyone. Now that he had it, it was proving to be a double-edged sword. He could do what he thought was necessary, but there was nothing to fall back on – other than some vague sailing instructions that were increasingly out of date as he struggled to improvise a way home.

 Caine was quite right, of course. Somewhere inside, he had given up on the idea of getting home, was beginning to think instead of working to mitigate the failure of his mission, his inability to get the information that Alamo carried home, data that could change the balance of power across interstellar space once Triplanetary analysts could get their hands on it. If there was any potential chance to get back to Mars, he had to take it.

 Taking a deep breath, he walked around the corridor and into the briefing room. A torrent of conversation stopped as he entered, and the assembled officers rose, stood to attention, and saluted. Returning the salute, he gestured for everyone – at least, everyone who could – to take their seats.

 He’d never known the room this crowded before. His father was sitting on the opposite side of the table, flanked by Diego, Lane and Bailey; whilst they were all Alamo crewmembers now, they still seemed to be a little knot of Hercules at the other end of the room, independent from the rest. Zebrova and Caine were on his left; his astrogator, Mulenga and Quinn on his right. Standing at the side of the room were Tyler, Kibaki and Steele; all the off-duty watch officers were here at his order.

 “Good morning, everyone. I’ll try to keep this as short as possible, I know there is a lot going on. First of all, Mr. Mulenga, do you want to provide a few words about our current location?”

 Nodding, the dark-skinned astrogator tapped a button, and a series of holodisplays appeared, showing Gliese 479, their current location, a trio of planets spinning around it. Alamo’s image flashed on the screen, on a slow transit between hendecaspace points.

 “We picked this system in a bit of a hurry, but so far it has been exactly as advertised. No populations, no bases, just some automated beacons around the innermost planet.”

 “What are the beacons for?” Lane interrupted.

 Frowning, Mulenga turned to her and replied, “Monitoring the system. We’ve done some light hacking – Lieutenant Bailey will be able to tell you more about that – but there really isn’t anything much to say. My presumption is that we will find similar devices in other Cabal-controlled systems.” He turned back to Marshall. “There is no evidence of any activity in this system, sir. I think we’ve made a clean getaway.”

 “Good,” he replied, looking around the room. “No doubt you are all wondering about our next move. We have enough fuel to jump to one more system, so this is obviously critical.”

 Lane spoke up again, “I suggest we turn back, return to the fueling station, and take the fuel we need.”

 “Into the arms of a task force?” Caine said, shaking her head. “That’s crazy.”

 “That task force won’t be there any more,” she replied, smiling. “They’ll be out, looking for us. We might be able to get back our people, and we know all the fuel we need is present. It’s a bold move, but not as high-risk as it sounds.”

 Unbelievably, there were a few nods – Bailey seemed to be in agreement, as did Steele; the later had a personal interest in going back. There was no doubt that her lover was dead, killed in the boarding action at the fueling station – but in the back of her mind, there must remain some sort of chance, no matter how slight.

 “We aren’t going back,” Marshall said.

 “It is the fastest way home,” Lane pressed, “and the one with the greatest chance of success.” Waving at the holodisplay, she continued, “We could fly around deep space for months, hiding and hoping, trying to improvise a way home. This is the sure bet.”

 Bailey added, “I suspect it likely that Hercules – assuming, of course, that it was captured and not destroyed – might also be there. We have to take that into consideration.”

 “All that we will find if we turn back is an ambush,” Zebrova said. “We only just escaped that trap by the skin of our teeth once. I’m not eager to step back into it again.”

 “There is no question,” Marshall said, “that we are going to have to take the long way home. As tempting as it sounds to proceed directly back to Spitfire, we can’t consider it with our fuel levels this low. We’d never make it, even if we could get past whatever sort of blockade they have established.”

 “So what’s the solution, then?” Lane said. “What have you got in mind.”

 “Battlecruiser tactics,” his father said, nodding. “Right?”

 “Exactly. We need to hit transports, freighters, small installations, and get our fuel from there. We managed to save all of our refueling shuttles, which is a significant advantage, and the ship is fully operational.”

 Diego sighed, “With only five espatiers, that’s going to be a problem. I can’t guarantee securing hostile targets, Captain.”

 “We’ve got six missile tubes,” Caine said. “And all we need to take is fuel. You think some civilian freighter captain is going to risk being blown to atoms for that? We can leave cargo intact…”

 “What’s more,” Marshall said, “I intend to provide payment for everything we take.”

 “Payment?” Steele said. “To them?”

 “We are not pirates, Sub-Lieutenant,” Marshall replied. “This is simply...unorthodox requisitioning. Promissory notes will be provided that will be redeemable upon delivery to the Treasury of the Admiralty.”

 Looking as though she was suppressing laughter, Lane said, “Do you actually think that anyone from the Cabal is going to head to Mariner Station to claim their money? Let’s be serious, here, sir.”

 “I’d like to think so,” Marshall said. “I’d like to think that this state of not-quite-war that we find ourselves in can be normalized to friendly relations.”

 “With the Cabal?” his father said. “There’s no evidence that their goals are anything less than total domination of human space. I can’t see where negotiation could have a role. Just surrender. Surely you aren’t advocating that.” 

 “Their goal might be conquest, but if we can put up enough of a defense, show that we will be too difficult to conquer, then we might just be able to change their minds. Strange as it might seem, I don’t actually want a war.” He saw Caine looking at him oddly, and decided to change the subject. “At any rate, that is certainly way above my pay-grade. We’ll leave such discussions to the politicians when we get back.”

 “If,” Lane said.

 “When,” Marshall replied. “Ways and means? Mr. Tyler?”

 Looking around the room, Tyler stepped forward, leaning over Zebrova to work the controls of the briefing table. The holoimage shuddered, and a mess of red and green lines appeared on a map of local space, obscuring most of the stars.

 “Sorry about the mess, I haven’t finished refining it yet. This is the breakdown of all recorded shipping activities at those stars within our current range for a little over eight months. Assuming this is a normal pattern, we can deduce regular trade routes.”

 Marshall’s father nodded, “Good work. I’d have killed for this sort of intelligence in the war.”

 “We did that to get this,” Caine said, quietly.

 “Recommendations, then, Sub-Lieutenant?”

 “The biggest concentration…”

 “That’s not what we want,” Zebrova interrupted before he could finish. “The area of the heaviest concentration is likely to have some patrol craft. What we want is an out-of-the-way system that has enough activity that we won’t be waiting for months, but not so much as to justify a military presence.”

 Nodding, Tyler pulled out a datapad and started to flick through it, while all eyes in the room watched him. Marshall had a lot of sympathy for him; he’d been stuck in similar briefings more than once in his younger days, knew that it felt as though everyone was waiting for him to make a mistake.

 “I think…”

 “You think, Sub-Lieutenant,” Zebrova said.

 “I think Gliese 431, ma’am. Some light settlement, a couple of small orbital depots we might be able to raid, and a ship coming through every eight and a half days on average.”

 “Sounds about right,” Marshall said. “Mr. Mulenga, plot a course, and implement as soon as it is safe for us to do so. Tyler, I want a report on everything we know about that system on my desk before we jump; I’ll make my final decision based on that.”

 “So this isn’t final, then?” Lane asked.

 “I’m not in the habit of being rigid and inflexible where critical command decisions are concerned, Lieutenant. It won’t cause any harm for us to switch to a different destination at the last minute. Now, there is one more topic we need to cover, I think – the accident on the hangar deck.”

 Lane looked at Quinn, “I will be conducting a few random inspections and tests in the near future, Captain. I assure you that this will not recur.”

 Looking at Marshall with a resentful stare, Quinn replied, “My people are working around the clock and then some, sir. Occasionally, accidents happen when equipment and personnel are pushed too far.”

 Leaning forward with a predatory grin, Lane said, “If you feel you are unable to correctly allocate your resources, Lieutenant, I’d be only too happy to assist you.”

 Turning, his face reddening, Quinn began, “Lieutenant, you can…”

 Marshall cut him off in the process of mid-insubordination, “Quinn, that’ll do. I know you are doing the best you can, and assure you that you retain my full confidence as Systems Officer. Let’s get some better procedures in place, and if you need to borrow people from other departments, feel free.” 

 “We’re all over-stretched, Captain,” Mulenga said. “My sensor technicians are working overtime.”

 Raising a hand, Marshall said, “I know everyone is working as hard as they can. I don’t see that ending any time soon, I’m afraid, but we’re going to have to keep on pushing. At the very least we have an opportunity for intelligence-gathering that is unlikely to come again.” 

 “Sir,” Bailey said, “I don’t think that it is fair to attribute the incident to Mr. Quinn.” She was very precise about describing it as an incident, Marshall noted. “I think we should not rule out the possibility of sabotage.”

 “My investigation has ruled out any possibility of sabotage,” Quinn said.

 “Mine is still under way, Lieutenant, and I am less willing to write it off as a possibility. If only for the factor that the incident took place at the worst possible time, with the greatest potential for loss of life.”

 Marshall frowned; evidently Bailey was good enough at her job to have developed a healthy sense of suspicion. Normally he would be celebrating having found an excellent officer, but it was inconvenient at the moment.

 “The investigation is going to have to wait, Lieutenant. Mr. Quinn believes it to have been an accident…”

 “Sir, if there is any risk of sabotage on board…”

 With a deep sigh, and a sideways glance to Caine, Marshall replied, “Continue your investigation, Lieutenant, but I also need your team working on those beacon satellites. Find out anything you can from their database to add to Mr. Tyler’s information store, and then arrange it so that there is no record of Alamo passing through this system. We might as well cover our tracks if we can.”

 His father frowned, “I’m not sure that’s worth it, so...Captain. If the enemy fleet was going to come here, they would have; I’d rate it far more likely that they would set up blockade points instead.”

 “We might as well take these steps as not, Major.”

 “But a saboteur…”

 “My decision is made.” He looked around the room, “I’m going to need everyone at their best for the next few jumps. Our goal is to get sufficient fuel, and to get into a good position, that we can make one long run for home. Go over the information in our database on civilian freighter classes, start to familiarize yourself with their capabilities, and I want a lot of battle and emergency drills, Lane. Let’s make sure this crew stays sharp.”

 She looked at Diego, then back at Marshall, “Aye, sir.”

 “Anything else, then?” 

 The officers looked at each other, as if daring someone to speak, but silence reigned in the room. “That’s all, then. Dismissed.”

 As the rest began to file out of the room, Caine remained lounged in her seat; Marshall noted that she shared a quick glance with Quinn before he left, pointedly avoiding a conversation with Lane by making directly for the elevator. The door slid shut, and Marshall let out a loud sigh.

 “I know, I know,” he said before Caine could speak. “I’m not being fair on Quinn.”

 “No. You aren’t. He’s proud of this ship and proud of his work.”

 “If it helps, he’s already up for a commendation. I did the paperwork this morning.”

 “That’s not going to help today, Danny. Lane’s going to be riding him, and that isn’t good for either of them.”

 “What do you make of our new intake?”

 She smiled, shaking her head, “That desperate to change the subject? Well, far be it for me to discuss the merits of those senior to me…”

 “Don’t make me promote you, Deadeye.”

 “Fate worse than death. Well, Diego’s too quiet but should be fine as long as he stays out of the way of the troopers – and from what I’ve heard, he shows every sign of doing just that…”

 “So we’re carrying a passenger.”

 “More a raw recruit.” She shrugged. “At least he has the good sense to know that he needs to be watching and learning at the moment. Bailey looks fine – though I could see you sweating when she started to punch holes in the ‘accident’ theory. I think you’ve got a good, tenacious Security Officer there, even if she is a bit senior for the job.”

 “And the big one?”

 “Lane’s going to be a problem. You heard her at the meeting, she’s one of the ‘death or glory’ school. The latter usually leading to the former. She’s got some supporters, as well.”

 “Is she doing her job?”

 “Shouldn’t you already know that, Captain?”

 Marshall smiled, and replied, “Looking down from above, everything seems fine.”

 Frowning, Caine said, “She’s working them hard. Lots of extra training and drills – and I think she’s going to go even further on that. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I don’t think she trusts the people working under her.”

 “A micro-manager?”

 “For years, she’s been in the same routine. There’s some inflexibility there, that’s for certain, though less so than with some of the other Hercules crewmen.” Shaking her head, she said, “Maybe I’m seeing something that isn’t there.”

 “Keep looking for it, Deadeye.”

 She paused, then said, “I know you hated that briefing.”

 “I don’t like lying to my people.”

 “You didn’t exactly lie. Admittedly, you didn’t share everything, but…”

 “I should have a room full of officers preparing in the bright light of day for a major battle. Instead we’re having to resort to cloak and dagger tactics because one of them might be a saboteur.”

 “You don’t doubt…”

 “It could be almost anyone. Even if you exclude the possibility of a deep-cover agent, a lot of people joined the ship before we left Mariner. And the Hercules crewmen. Heck, it’s probably more likely to be one of the enlisted crewmen.”

 “I tend to agree. Nevertheless...are you changing your mind about the battle plan?”

 “No,” he said. “I’m convinced that it is the right thing to do, and unless the situation changes, we’re pushing ahead with it.”

 Nodding, she replied, “In that case...I’d better keep working. I’m having dinner with Quinn tonight to discuss some modifications to the missile bays.”

 “Damn, I was hoping to meet up with you in the mess. Can’t really get in the way of your date with Quinn, though. He’s having a hard enough time as it is.”

 “Maybe I’ll swing by later. I’d better head off, though. Suddenly I seem to have a few dozen battle drills to organize.” She rose from her chair, and with a departing smile, walked out of the room. Marshall sat by himself, looking at the slowly rotating holoimage for a while, playing possibilities over in his mind. Try as he could, all he could see in the future was a glorious last stand.

Chapter 6

 With a gentle touch, Hercules locked onto the central hub of Hydra Station, the docking latches folding into place with a series of loud raps on the hull. Warning lights lit up, alerts that the hull was being stressed beyond its now depleted tolerances, but one by one, Wilson managed to deal with each.

 Orlova was standing in front of the primary airlock, flanked by Carpenter and Nelyubov; Curry was sitting up on the bridge in command, ready to hit the recently-installed panic button should it be needed – though somehow, Orlova doubted she would, a fear that she tried to keep a deeply buried as possible.

 “Remember,” she said to the others, “Whatever happens, whatever you see, act like you are expecting it. No surprises. Got that?”

 The door slid open, and Price glided in, flanked by a pair of tall guards wearing gray jumpsuits, lethal looking rifles in their hands. She’d never seen anything like them; they seemed to be a combination of low-velocity projectile with an underslung taser. One of the guns had a series of notches carved into the butt, and the guard gave a toothy grin when he saw her looking at it.

 “Have you got the data?” Price asked, and Orlova handed him the datapad. Half the crew had ended up working on the fake records, but she knew that they would fail a close inspection. This was just to buy time, enough time to allow her to make her real pitch. The dockmaster tossed the pad over to the guard with the grin.

 “Brenner, get that down to Analysis. Rush job, I want to know what I’m supposed to do with these people right away.”

 “On it, boss,” he said, ducking back into the airlock.

 “You might as well come with me to my office. I can arrest you there if need be,” he said with a half-smile that made her uncertain about whether he was joking or not.

 “Fine,” Orlova said. “Susan, you come along. Frank,” she continued, though using Nelyubov’s first name seemed like an affront against nature, “you take charge of the repairs and start liaising with Mr. Price’s people. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

 “What’s the hurry?” Price asked. “This place isn’t that bad. There’s even some good hunting down on the planet if you want to have a try.”

 “Hunting?”

 “The nearest thing we have to a hobby out here, and about all we get as a tourist industry. One day, when we’re able to open this place up properly, my little space station will be an orbiting hotel, you watch. Five star. Seriously, though, why rush?”

 “Getting this ship back to flight status is important.”

 With a smile, Price replied, “Looking to prove yourself, or something like that? Take some advice from me, young lady. Get yourself a nice little posting like this and put down some roots. It all works out the same in the long run, and if you can find somewhere out of the way, the Court of the Admirals will let you run it the way you want. Long as you keep the supply lines open and do your job.”

 “I see.”

 “No, you don’t, but you will. I was young once, you know. Come on.” He beckoned her forward, and she and Carpenter pushed off after him. He gestured for them to hold onto a guard rail, and rapidly they felt gravity returning as they transited to the rotating part of the station. Orlova took a quick look at Carpenter, but she seemed to be coping fine; years spent in variable gravity while growing up had obviously given her good space legs.

 “We’re a small little station out here,” Price said, breaking into an obviously oft-repeated speech. “Working crew of about a hundred, maybe a dozen or so on the planet below. Of course quite a few of those are lower caste, non-human types. We take whatever labor we can get.”

 Carpenter flashed a quick glimpse at Orlova, who fixed her with a stare to silence her. Not that she could blame her; the number of known alien contacts could be counted on two hands with fingers to spare – likely because the Cabal was preventing most of them getting to Sol, she realized. The thought that they might be about to meet non-human beings was nothing short of intoxicating.

 The doors opened, and Orlova took an experimental pace; they seemed to be about at Titanian gravity, enough to keep everything down to the deck and maintain gravity adaptation, not so much that it would make anything too heavy. They stepped out onto a long, curving deck, workers scrambling about with boxes of components, most of them hopefully scheduled for Hercules. She looked around for some sights of the non-humans, and then she saw one. Though non-human wasn’t perhaps the word.

 Bilateral build, definitely humanoid, long braided hair over a heavily ridged forehead, nose far too large for the face, eyes a distance apart. One glimpse at Carpenter’s expression was more than enough – she was looking at a living Neanderthal man, carrying a crate of sensor components, and he was not the only one. At least a dozen of them, all wearing identical puce tunics, were on the habitation ring, either carrying crates or doing light maintenance.

 There was no possibility that Carpenter could be prevented from gawking; it might give the game away, but this was her life’s work in front her, the culmination of all of her training and education. Luckily, it seemed that Price misinterpreted her interest.

 “Yes, I know, they are everywhere. This isn't the Fleet, I’m afraid; we can’t afford to discriminate. Hell, if they wouldn’t hog all the best people...but then I shouldn’t complain, of course, they do need them. Some of them are almost as good as humans, and they take training and discipline surprisingly well.”

 “How many have you got here?” Carpenter asked, eagerly.

 “Thirty-one,” he replied, looking to his side. There was a faint blush there, an element of deception – this was definitely something worth looking into. Price walked down the deck, away from the laborers, and Orlova followed – with a tug on Carpenter’s arm to encourage her to follow. There would be plenty of time for questions later.

 “We’ve been here for sixty-two years; my grandfather established this facility from salvaged components, though it was abandoned for a couple of decades after the Council decided not to settle the planet – which incidentally is named Sandveld.” He turned, and said, “Plenty of chances for you to go down there if you want. I head down once a week, just to breathe real air and feel real gravity. Nice for a change, and one of the real perks of this job.”

 “No other ships in at the moment?”

 Frowning, he replied, “Of course not. All civilian traffic got placed on stand-down for the ambush. The only things flying are military-flagged, and we don’t usually handle those. That’s one of the reasons I was surprised to see you.”

 “Too many damaged ships, not enough facility to fix them,” Carpenter said. “Alamo didn’t go down easy.”

 “I guess not,” he said, stopping at a door. He tapped a five-digit sequence into an old keypad, and the door slid open to reveal a small, comfortable office. Collapsing into a seat behind a desk, he waved them to other chairs by the wall. Orlova sat under a picture of an older woman and three smiling children, standing in some sort of space station by the look of it.

 “The family,” he gestured. “I’d love to have them out here, but they need a decent education. Kitanya’s in training to be a pilot right now; I don’t know whether to hope the Fleet grabs her or not. If they don’t, I can get her out here.” He chuckled, continuing, “I can always use another shuttle pilot, but it isn’t much of a career for her. I sometimes wish there were other options.”

 “Perhaps, one day.”

 “Maybe.” He glanced down at the communicator, “I wonder how analysis is doing with that damn datapad.”

 “Don’t you trust us?” Orlova said in as playful a way as she could manage.

 “What I think or not doesn’t really matter. Myself I think that you’d be out of your mind to come out here if you were working for someone else – I mean, this station’s in the middle of nowhere, and you’d be putting yourself in danger for nothing.” A light finally beeped. “At last.”

 “Analysis here,” a speaker said – with a strange accent that Orlova couldn’t place, and a slight hesitancy over the words, as though English was not the speaker's natural language. “We have completed our interpretation of the data.”

 “And?”

 “Everything seems satisfactory. We have double-checked.”

 “Good.” He looked up, saying to Orlova, “I’d hate to think I was sitting with a pair of desperadoes. I suppose that takes care of everything.”

 Orlova glanced at Carpenter, trying to hide her shock. The decoy, the plan to get her into the office where she could quietly threatened the dockmaster with no-one watching, actually appeared to have worked. Momentarily she was wrong-footed.

 “I’m glad we pass your muster.” 

 He chuckled, “I always feel nervous as well. Heck, when I had my first loyalty test, I was sick the night before. I kept wondering if there was something I had missed, something I shouldn’t have said or done. These things are all formalities, of course. You’ll find that out in time.” Leaning back in his chair, he continued, “I’m glad we’re beginning to get some fresh blood, anyway. The more spacemen we have, the better.”

 “Can we discuss the repair schedule, now?”

 “Of course, of course,” he said. “I think the first priority has to be getting down to the superstructure.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “That’ll take too long.”

 “Come on, Commander, I've got to do a proper job. If we take a month or two, that's how long it's going to have to take. Think of it from my point of view – I'm responsible for your repairs.”

 “We need to be out of here in weeks, not months, Mr. Price. Concentrate on getting the ship’s systems operational. The fundamental stuff will just have to wait until we reach our next overhaul.”

 “You might not make it to another overhaul without one.”

 “Nevertheless. We have much interior damage…”

 “I saw that on the reports.”

 “And that needs handling. Repairs to sensors, communications, weapons,” she paused, then said, “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job…”

 “Funny, it looks from here as if you are doing just that.”

 “But as the commander of the ship – no matter how temporarily – I need to get what I want. I will accept any responsibility for the consequences.”

 “There’s something you aren’t telling me, isn’t there.”

 Taking a deep breath, Orlova said, “Is this office secure?”

 “It is.”

 “There is a real expectation that a Task Force will be sent out from the Confederation to follow up Alamo. I believe the idea is to put as many ships as possible into the firing line should that happen.”

 “Yes, we certainly can’t let them get through to the Home Systems. Not that I think putting a damaged ship into the line is a good idea…”

 “Orders are orders, Mr. Price.”

 “Quite so,” he replied. “Quite so. I take it this information is restricted?”

 “To be honest, I should not be telling you. However, I don’t see the harm in giving you a little warning. This station is not heavily defended.” 

 He barked a short laugh, then said, “Aside from a few men with guns, it isn’t defended at all. Regulations are quite clear, and I certainly won’t be the one to break them. Tempting as it might occasionally be.” Leaning across the table, he said, “Do you think this is a real danger?”

 “All I know is what I have told you.”

 Sighing, he said, “I’d better build up the depots on Sandveld a little, start making preparations for an evacuation if necessary. More paperwork. Gagh.”

 “So long as it doesn’t interfere with the work on Hercules…”

 “It won’t, it won’t.” He sighed again, and reached for a keyboard, “I’ve got an awful lot of work to do, and while I don’t want to throw you out…”

 “You need some privacy to concentrate,” Orlova said. “I quite understand.” She stood up, headed for the door, then said, “I’ll head back to Hercules.”

 “Oh, feel free to have a wander around for a bit if you want to stretch your legs. And if you want to organize leave, we’ve got some recreation facilities.” He looked up and smiled again, “By order of the Court, what’s ours is yours anyway.”

 “Thanks, I’ll see to that.”

 The two of them walked out of the office, heading back for Hercules. Carpenter looked as if she was about to burst, but Orlova silenced her with a look, walking towards the elevator while paying as little attention as possible to her surroundings. All of this was supposed to look natural, and they had already got away with more than she had thought was possible. There was no risk blowing it at this stage.

 She was paying so little attention that she was caught off-guard by a figure staggering into her, carrying a crate that was obviously too heavy for him; one of the ‘lower caste’, who attracted the attention of one of the guards.

 “It was my fault,” Orlova said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

 “He should have been,” the guard scowled.

 “I said, it was my fault. Leave it.” She mustered as harsh a tone as was possible, and it seemed to work as the guard returned to his place by the airlock.

 Her heart felt lighter as she stepped into the elevator, gravity fading away as they returned to the central core. She had to keep the act going until they reached the relative safety of the ship, where they could be sure not to be overheard. The door opened, and Orlova kicked off, shaking her head as the airlock closed behind her. Nelyubov was still standing there, waiting for them.

 “I can’t believe that worked,” Carpenter said. “He bought it! The whole story!”

 “The data passed inspection?” Nelyubov said, frowning. “Are you sure?”

 “You see the security troopers?” Orlova replied. “We’re going to get the repairs we need, and we didn’t even have to use our surprise package.”

 “I still think it seems too good to be true.”

 Shrugging, Carpenter said, “It’s an out-of-the-way station…”

 “And we know that security is something that the Cabal take extremely seriously,” Nelyubov pressed. “All of this seems far too convenient. It might be a trap.”

 “Why?” replied Carpenter. “If they wanted us they could have us. We couldn’t put up much of a fight, and they don’t know about our little self-destruct system. They’d never have let us dock.”

 “Which does not mean I don’t want you both on your guard. Carpenter, I know what you want to do.”

 “Frank, they have Neander. Alive. On the station.”

 “You’re kidding.”

 “No. Maggie, I need to investigate this.”

 Sighing, Orlova replied, “What I need you to do is watch for sabotage, but it can’t do any harm to take some quiet looks around.”

 “Great. First of all I need to interview one. We know next to nothing about their belief systems, their psychology. I’ll get enough material out of this for a dozen books!” 

 Nelyubov shook his head. “I think we have higher priorities.”

 “We came here to investigate, didn’t we?”

 “Susan, I hate to say it, but he is quite right. You grew up working around life-support systems, engineering components. I want you to act as liaison with the repair teams, and make sure that everything is working as it should.” Raising a hand, she continued, “If you get a chance, feel free to conduct your research, but ship functions come first.”

 “I know,” Carpenter replied, quietly. “All my life, I’ve wanted to...meet one. When I was just a kid, I thought they still lived on Earth, I thought it was all real. And now it is, and…”

 “And you have a million questions to ask, all at once. Take a breath, Susan.” She felt something in her pocket, something crumpling. Reaching in, she tugged out a piece of paper, writing scrawled on it.

 “What’s that?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Your guess is as good as mine.” She smoothed out the paper and peered at it, trying to decode the tiny handwriting, “You have friends on the station who are trying to help you. If you want to know more, come down to the planet and meet the rest of us. We’ll be waiting for you, Sub-Lieutenant.” She paused, then said, “There are a series of coordinates, map references at a guess.”

 Carpenter reacted with a start, “Are you sure it said that?”

 “Absolutely.”

 “I knew all of this was too good to be true,” Nelyubov said. “What are you going to do?”

 “Keep the appointment,” she replied. “What else can I do? Price said he’d arrange a trip down to the planet. I’ll call and let him know that I can take him up on it.”

 “But the risk…”

 “I think, Lieutenant, that there would be a rather greater risk in not going.”

 “Maggie, you…”

 “No. This one’s mine, and mine alone.”

Chapter 7

 Cooper took a deep breath as he stepped out onto the bridge, looking around the familiar flight deck. Alpha Watch was entering the second hour of its shift, but already he could see something out of place; the watch officer’s chair was empty, Midshipman McGuire periodically leaning over from her chair at Guidance to make adjustments to the vacant console. She looked over, belatedly noticing his presence on the bridge.

 “Can I help you, Corporal?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I’m looking for Sub-Lieutenant Matsumoto. Any idea where she is?”

 “I wish I did. She called me a couple of hours ago and said that she had something urgent to do, ship’s business she couldn’t tell me about, and that I was handling the watch. We’re breaking out of hendecaspace in four hours; she’d better be back by then.”

 “Do you have any idea what she was doing?”

 “She wouldn’t tell me. Why do you want her?”

 “Same problem as you,” he replied, lying through his teeth. “I was supposed to meet up with her to discuss my last after-action report, and she never showed up.” 

 Turning back to her station, McGuire replied, “Well, if I see her, I’ll tell her you dropped by. This isn’t like her at all.”

 Cooper turned to the elevator, then paused at the threshold, “Does the Captain know she isn’t here?”

 That elicited a frown from McGuire, “I presume so. He’s off-shift right now, down in his cabin. Do you think I should check?”

 “No, it’s probably nothing important. I’m sure she wouldn’t miss a shift without permission, ma’am.”

 Glancing up at the clock, the midshipman replied, “I’ll give her another half-hour, then I think I’d better make inquiries. If Lieutenant Lane comes up here we’ll all catch seven varieties of hell in any case.” Turning back to Cooper, she said, “If you find her, let me know right away, will you?”

 “Certainly, ma’am.”

 Stepping back into the elevator, he tapped for the quarters deck. Visiting the bridge was unusual enough that he’d been reluctant to take the risk, but an enlisted wandering around officers’ country was going to attract even more attention. He tapped his foot on the floor waiting for the doors to open; after a few seconds, he stepped out into a deserted deck.

 He walked the ten paces to Matsumoto’s quarters, paused for a moment, and rang for entry. First once, then twice, then again. No response. The door was sealed, locked from the inside. Reaching down for his communicator, he paused for a second then raised it to his mouth. 

 “Cooper to Matsumoto,” he said, softly. “Cooper to Matsumoto.” There was no reply, and somehow, he wasn’t surprised. Looking at the lock, he started to remember his combat hacking training. He knew enough to get the door open, but what he wasn’t sure about was whether he could cover his tracks well enough to get past Security.

 Voices coming down the corridor broke his deliberation, and he started to jog in that direction, searching his mind for an excuse. Tyler and Kibaki were walking towards the elevator; the latter looked over at Cooper, frowning.

 “Lost, Corporal?”

 “Just going for a jog, sir,” he said. “Twice round the ship.”

 “It’s the middle of the night,” Tyler replied. “Shouldn’t you be in your rest period?” 

 Looking down at the ground, and thanking the acting lessons he’d taken in school, Cooper said, “I haven’t been able to sleep since the battle, sir. Not for long, anyway.”

 Kibaki patted his hand on Cooper’s shoulder, “I understand, son. You should think about seeing the doctor if it doesn’t get better. We’re going to need you fresh and ready to take on those transports.”

 “I’ll do my part, sir.”

 “I know. Good night, Corporal, and try and get some sleep,” he said, as the two of them continued down towards the elevator. Cooper jogged for a moment more, waiting until he heard the door close, then returned to Matsumoto’s door, his mind made up. He couldn’t risk bringing anyone else into the loop without overplaying his hand, and if she was the saboteur, they needed to know about it.

 Pulling a toolkit out of his pocket, he started to work, clipping the probe by the door and working a series of buttons and controls. The trick was not only to get through the lock, but in such a way that the occupant wouldn’t know that anyone had interfered. He struggled to come up with an excuse for breaking in should Matsumoto actually be inside, but he dismissed that possibility. She wouldn’t just be asleep in her cabin – she was either on the bridge, or she was somewhere else on the ship.

 The door slid open, and he quickly took a step in, his eyes opening wide at what he saw – Matsumoto’s body lying on the deck, a pool of blood trickling away into the carpet. He automatically took a step back, shaking his head at what he saw, and started to look around for any clue, any evidence. Her terminal was on, the local database flashing that it had been formatted; a computer expert could recover the data, but that was going to be beyond his limited talents.

 Just as he was reaching for his communicator, the door opened again, and Lane was standing at the threshold of the door, reaching for her pistol. As he turned, she drew it, pointing the gun at his chest.

 “Keep quite still, Corporal,” she said. “One move and I will shoot you.” Reaching down for her communicator, she continued, “Security team to Matsumoto’s quarters. Urgent.”

 “I was about to call,” he replied, but she shook her head.

 “Why, Corporal?”

 “I didn’t do it, ma’am. I found the body…”

 “After breaking in? I saw you working outside.”

 “Damn it, Lieutenant, I can explain…”

 “And you will, Corporal. I assure you of that. Under interrogation, most likely.”

 The sound of running feet echoed from outside, and Cooper found himself looking into the horrified faces of Orlowski and Duggan, weapons drawn, pointed at him. They glanced at Lane, who fixed him with a steely gaze.

 “Take him into custody.”

 “Ma’am, are you sure?” Duggan said. “This all seems like some sort of mistake.”

 “No mistake, Private. I found him over the body.”

 Orlowski knelt down beside Matsumoto’s corpse, “Still warm. She didn’t die long ago.”

 “Corporal, if you confess now it will go a lot easier on you.”

 “I didn’t kill her!”

 Shaking her head, she motioned him out of the room, stepping into the corridor. Most of the sleeping officers had been wakened by the commotion; Captain Marshall was waiting outside.

 “What happened, Lieutenant.”

 “Corporal Cooper murdered Matsumoto, sir. I don’t know why.”

 “Lieutenant, it wasn’t me!”

 Raising a hand, Marshall turned to Cooper, “What happened, Corporal. Your version.”

 “I went into her room, and found her body on the floor, exactly as it is now. I was just about to raise the alarm when Lieutenant Lane walked in.”

 “And why were you in her cabin?” 

 “I was trying to find her, sir.” The two men locked eyes, and Cooper knew that Marshall believed his story – but he also knew that at least for the moment, he couldn’t admit it. A shout came from inside the cabin, and Orlowski walked out.

 “She was killed by a standard low-velocity bullet, sir. Could have been anyone from ship’s stores.”

 “The RFID will give you the serial number, Private,” Lane said. “Who checked it out of the armory?”

 Looking down at the deck, he replied, “According to the records, Corporal Cooper, ma’am.”

 Sub-Lieutenant Steele had joined the throng at the door, her face growing pale as she saw the body. More than a dozen people were milling around, though none of them seemed eager to actually step into the room.

 “Steele,” Marshall said, “Go in and take a look at her computer. Find out what she was working on.”

 She looked up at him with pleading eyes, then nodded, walking into the room and stepping over her friend’s body to the terminal, starting to work. Lane stepped towards Cooper, her gun still extended, a datapad in her other hand.

 “Cooper, you need to talk.”

 “I’ve told you everything I know,” he said.

 “Why did you go up to the bridge just now?” she asked, waving the datapad. “In fact, you’ve been doing a lot of wandering around the ship recently, Corporal. Fabrication control, for example.” She turned to Marshall, “I had a report just before I went to my quarters. There’s been a glitch with the processing circuits, and Petty Officer Furneaux suspects sabotage.”

 “Ma’am, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. And I was looking for Matsumoto.”

 “Why? What for?”

 “I…”, before Cooper could respond, Steele stepped out of the cabin.

 “I’ve managed to get some of the data. Security will need to do more, but she was looking up a lot of personnel files, rosters, and correlating them with experience of demolitions manufacture.” She turned to Cooper, fire on her face, “I never knew you did a tour at the Enceladus Proving Grounds.”

 “Because I never did!”

 “Your personnel file says otherwise. Six months spent there last year.”

 “Last year? Last year I was doing Advanced Training, then a tour at Titan. Someone’s forged the records.”

 “Or we’ve found the person who responsible for the sabotage. And back at Hercules, as well, I bet you were..”

 Cooper couldn’t help it; a red mist flashed in front of his eyes, and he leapt out at Steele, fists flying through the air. It took Duggan, Marshall and Orlowski to wrestle him down to the deck, pinning his flailing arms.

 “They were my friends!” he yelled, as Lane looked down at him.

 “I’m sure that’s what they thought.” Turning to Marshall, she continued, “Sir, I see no alternative at this time but to file charges against Mr. Cooper.”

 Looking down, sadness in his eyes, Marshall replied, “I agree. Corporal, you can consider yourself formally charged with the murder of Sub-Lieutenant Matsumoto. Legal counsel will be provided at the earliest opportunity; until formal court-martial proceedings can be held, you will be confined to the brig. Have you anything to say?”

 Bitter tears welled in his eyes, “I didn’t kill her, Captain. You’ve got to believe me. The person who did this is still out there.”

 Turning to Lane, Marshall said, “Seal this area off and get Lieutenant Bailey up here; she is to assume responsibility for the investigation.”

 “I can handle that, sir,” she replied.

 Shaking his head, he said, “You are a material witness, Lieutenant, and one who appears to have already decided what happened.” He looked down at Cooper, “I’m less sure.”

 “Sir, all the evidence…”

 “I’ve made my decision. You’d better get Doctor Duquesne up here was well. We’re going to need to hold an autopsy.” Turning to the troopers, he said, “Duggan, Orlowski, get Cooper down to a holding cell.”

 “Aye, sir,” they replied, picking the now-limp Cooper up, one arm apiece, and half-carrying, half-walking him to the elevator. Lane stared after them as they rounded the corner, heading into the waiting car.

 “Guys, you have to believe me.”

 Orlowski looked at Duggan, and said, “If you say you didn’t do it, that’s good enough for me.”

 Nodding, Duggan added, “You saved my life, Gabe. I trust you. I don’t know what we can do, though. We can’t let you go – they’d have us as accomplices, and three of us in the cells isn’t going to help.”

 “Lane wasn’t around when I started to break into the room…”

 “What the hell was that about, anyway?” Duggan said.

 “I can’t tell you.” He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, “I need to both to trust me on this one.”

They looked at each other, and Orlowski nodded, “If you can’t tell us, you can’t. I’ll do a little digging, see if I can find out anything about Lane, but we’re going to have to be careful. Odds are that she’ll suspect us, anyway.”

 “Probably true,” he replied as the elevator came to a stop. “Tell Barbara what happened, as well. What actually happened.”

 “Gabe, none of us who know you think you could have done this,” Duggan said. “It all fits together too neatly anyway; if you’d wanted to kill her, you could have got a bullet with no ident easily enough, or erased it, for that matter. The Captain must know that.”

 “I think he does,” Orlowski replied. “I saw...anyway, come on. This way.” 

 Equanimity restored, Cooper walked down the corridor to the cell, a stark, cold, white room. Duggan entered a ten-digit code to open the door, and Cooper walked in, sitting down cross-legged on the floor. Orlowski tossed his datapad after him.

 “In case you want something to read,” he said.

 “Thanks, Orlok.”

 “If you need anything...one of us will be round with some food in a bit,” Duggan said. “Stay loose. We’ll start work on getting you out of here.”

 “Thanks,” Cooper replied, as the door slammed shut.

Chapter 8

 Nelyubov and Carpenter were waiting at the airlock when Orlova arrived, carrying the light travel holdall that the fabricators had managed too produce. She had a hunting rifle slung across her pack, a pair of cartridges stuffed into her pocket; Price had accepted her interest in trying the ‘sport’ without any questions, almost seeming eager for her to give it a try.

 “I should be going down there,” Carpenter said. “You’re too valuable to the ship.”

 Nelyubov looked across at her, then said, “She’s right. Let me go, instead. I’m as good with a gun as you are, and if I go missing…”

 “The invitation only had one name on it, and it was mine,” she replied. “This is my job.”

 “You’re the commanding officer,” Nelyubov pressed, “which gives you certain responsibilities.”

 “I am fully aware of my duties, Lieutenant. Prime among them at the moment is finding a way to get this ship back to Triplanetary space. Someone down there seems willing to help us, and I need to find out who. Carpenter, you are in command until I get back.”

 “What?” Nelyubov said. “With all due respect, she’s a scientist with an honorary rank.”

 “A rank in the Triplanetary Fleet, which means she outranks everyone else on this ship.”

 “Maggie, I shouldn’t be doing this,” Carpenter said. “Take me with you, if that’s a problem…”

 “I can’t spare anyone for this but me.” A loud clang issued from the hull; the shuttle had arrived. “With luck I’ll be back in a few hours. Keep going with the repairs. If something does go wrong, don’t come after me. That’s an order.”

 “Damn it, ma’am,” Nelyubov said.

 “Lieutenant, I said that it was an order. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

 The airlock opened, and a man’s head peered through it with a gleaming smile, wearing a khaki jumpsuit, “Looking for a Commander Forster?”

 “Right here,” Orlova said. “I’ll want a full report on the repair schedule when I get back,” she said to Carpenter. “Keep pushing Price.”

 “Have a good trip, ma’am,” Nelyubov said, managing a smile. “I’d like to get down there myself.”

 “Rank hath its privileges, Lieutenant, but we’ll see what we can do.” Stepping into the cramped shuttle, she said to the pilot, “Let’s get going, then.”

 With a nod, the pilot threw a series of switches, and the lock door began to close. He settled into his couch, activating control surfaces, and pointed towards the spare seat to his right.

 “Hope you don’t mind flying up front. We’ve got the aft section configured for cargo; the Boss is trying to get some supply dumps set up down there or something. I’m Vijay, by the way, the best damn pilot in the system.”

 “Every pilot thinks that.”

 “In my case it’s quite true.” With a loud crack, the shuttle dropped away from Hercules and began to head down towards the planet; Vijay was nursing the thrusters to a gentle, constant acceleration. “Say, you don’t need a spare pilot on Hercules, do you?”

 “If you’re that good, why aren’t you in the Fleet already?”

 Barking a laugh, he replied, “Failed the last stages of the reliability test. I couldn’t take any of those questions seriously; I’m just in this for the flying. Maybe I’ve done this approach once too often.”

 Yes, and maybe you are a plant sent here to try and get me to confess something, Orlova thought. She glanced across at the pilot; his hands danced around the controls with the careless concentration of the truly experienced, making minor adjustments as they began to broach the upper limits of the atmosphere.

 “There isn’t much I can do if you won’t take the screenings seriously, I’m afraid.”

 “I figured if there is a big battle coming up, you might want everyone you can get.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Even ship captains can’t override the top brass. You know that.”

 “How’d you get to be a captain, anyway? You don’t look any older than me.”

 Orlova barely managed to suppress a smile, managing to reply, “Flattery will get you everywhere. I always did look young for my age.”

 The planet below was coming fully into view now, a brown and red wasteland with scattered belts of green, thin slivers of blue cutting into the endless deserts, the view punctuated by the occasional white cloud. Vijay pulled the nose up, and flickering flames began to appear as the shuttle entered its re-entry cycle.

 “I just want to get away from here for a while. I know this is a good posting, and I’m like the Boss – I like to get a breath of real air sometimes, but there are some many stars out there to see.” He turned to her, flashing a grin, “I guess I’m just a born tourist. I’d probably be complaining if I had got onto one of the starships, stuck in hendecaspace for days at a time with nothing to do.”

 “What’s Sandveld like?”

 “Dry, mostly. Lots of fertile spots though, and it’s possible to grow crops. Not that anyone much bothers with that, though the ground station grows a few bits and pieces for luxury trading. I think we’re here to make sure no-one else is. Some ruins out in the wilds if you like that sort of thing, I heard a team came out a while ago to take a look. None of it means anything to me.”

 “Where?”

 “Hell, the guides will give you a better idea than I can. I’m just a taxi driver.”

 “Guides?”

 Vijay chuckled as he adjusted his flight path, sweeping the shuttle high over a mountain range with a flick of his control stick, “Some of the ground crew set themselves up. We do get the occasional visitor, usually someone who wants to collect a pelt. Got to be a bit of a fad a few years ago.” He pointed at a red dot on the horizon, “There we go. Crashlander Base.”

 “Crashlander?”

 “First one to land here – the Boss’s grandfather – messed up his approach and was stranded here for a month before a new shuttle could be sent. If he hadn’t found an inhabited world, they’d probably have just left him here. I’ve got to concentrate on my approach now, we’re getting a bit of a crosswind.”

 Orlova watched the pilot make his approach; the ground base didn’t look like much from the air, just a collection of prefabricated huts scattered around a long runway, a few fields and a couple of wrecked shuttles placed neatly by a hangar, evidently being scavenged for parts. A few figures were wandering around, and a large trunk was racing down the runway to meet the shuttle as it touched down, its wheels bouncing a couple of times on the surface before it slowly slid to a stop. Vijay reached over and popped the side hatch, dry, dusty air blasting into the cabin.

 “All safe and sound, Commander,” he said. “I’ll be down here overnight getting all of the stuff in the back unloaded, so I’ll take you back up tomorrow. Scheduled takeoff at 0700.”

 “Thanks,” she said, sliding out of the shuttle onto the ground. The air was good, crisp and clean, if a little hot; no matter how good the life support systems were, they still couldn’t match real air, even if this was on a world dozens of light-years from Earth. A man wearing a white uniform walked over to her, dust splattering the bottoms of his trouser legs.

 “Commander?” he said with an unusual twang. “I was told to expect you. I’m Durman, I run this place.”

 “A pleasure to meet you,” she replied. “Thanks for having me.”

 “Always good to meet new people,” he said. “I understand you want to take a trip into the outback?”

 She hefted her carryall, and said, “That’s the idea. Not sure about the hunting, but heading out into the wilderness sounds like it might be fun.”

 “It might sound like fun, but it isn’t. It’s not a controlled environment out here; there are plenty of wild animals that haven’t learned that humans don’t taste good yet.” Gesturing to a series of mounds at the end of the runway, he continued, “A few people have found that out the hard way.”

 “I’d still like to take a look for myself. Can I take a vehicle?”

 “We’ve got some ground cars fitted for the job, but I can’t let you head out on your own. I thought I’d take you myself.”

 Frowning, she replied, “I’d far rather go on my own, thank you. This isn’t the first planet I’ve been on.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “You are my responsibility, and you might be God himself up on that ship of yours, but I’m in charge down here, and what I say goes. Or you don’t. Is that understood?”

 “Very well. If you insist. I accept this under protest, Mr. Durman, and I must make that perfectly clear.”

 Rolling his eyes, Durman gestured her towards one of the cars, parked by the side of a nearby building. “The cars are over there, I’ve had Number Four serviced for the trip. There are refreshments inside, I presume you wish to get started right away.”

 “I do indeed,” she replied, the note feeling as if it was burning a hole in her pocket. “Shall we go?”

 “As soon as I’ve certified this shipment.” He shook his head, “Two already today, and three more tomorrow. I don’t know where the hell Price thinks I’m going to store it all. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

 “Right.” Orlova walked over to the cars, looking them over, and climbed into the cab of the selected vehicle. The controls were strange, unfamiliar; briefly she contemplated trying to hot-wire it and take it out by herself, but the resultant hue and cry would be impossible to reconcile with her cover story. The unfortunate Mr. Durman was likely to find himself walking home, as soon as she could work out how to drive the machine.

 After what seemed like hours, Durman walked over to the car. Reaching under her seat, Orlova found a box that was cool to the touch; evidently she had managed to find the drinks, and she reached her hand in to grab a bottle of some sort of blue liquid, a chemical concoction that tasted of nothing at all but was at least cool.

 “Sorry about the wait,” Durman said, “but we’re ready to go now. Any particular direction in mind? There are some herds of green runners heading out on the hills to the north, if that suits. Fairly easy prey, and the head looks good on a wall, so I’m told.”

 “You hunt yourself?”

 “We can’t eat the meat, and I’ve got nowhere to put trophies. I’ve shot at a few of the creatures on occasion, but not for myself.” He chuckled, “We once got in a Carrier Admiral, and he couldn’t shoot worth a damn. Swore me to secrecy, and got me to take down half a dozen beasts for him. Then presumably spent the next few months bragging about it to everyone who would listen.”

 “When was that?”

 “About four, five years ago. Hell, I got a raise out of it. Which my ex-wife promptly spent.”

 Orlova chuckled. Against her better instincts, she was beginning to like Durman. The car bounced over dunes, then settled into a flatter area, the ground rolling away towards the hills as it wove through scrub-land.

 “Why isn’t this planet settled? A colony could be planted here. Over time, they could terraform the place.”

 Shaking his head, Durman replied, “I talked to a planetologist about that once. The place is doomed, near the end of its biocycle. Not enough moisture, atmosphere leaking away. Forty, fifty thousand years, it’ll be uninhabitable. I guess they don’t think it’s worth the effort.”

 “Forty thousand years isn’t worth it?” she said. “Sounds strange.”

 “The Court works in mysterious ways. I reckon they just wanted an excuse not to settle here.”

 While he talked, Orlova studied the controls. They looked simple enough – throttle for the engine, control lever for the course, a few navigational systems built in. Handling it seemed easy. Which was just as well, as they’d already traveled quite a few miles. If she was going to make that rendezvous, now was the time to act.

 “Mind if we stop here? I want to stretch my legs for a minute.”

 Durman shrugged, and brought the vehicle to a halt. “Take all the time you want, but we’re way short of the nearest herd yet.”

 Orlova stepped out onto the soil, walking into the shade of a low, scrubby tree. It didn’t seem real that in just a few thousand years, all of this would be gone. Kneeling into the dust, she saw a piece of shaped stone in the ground; snatching it with her hand, she held it up, spotting a regular pattern of dots and lines.

 “Ah, we must be at another site,” Durman said. “I reckon there was a great civilization here once, long ago. There are relics of them everywhere. No-one’s ever taken a serious look, though. Not enough money, or people, I guess. When we’ve taken down the Confederation, there might be time for all of that.”

 “It would be nice to think so,” she replied, pointing down at the dirt. “You see that?” It really was the oldest trick in the book, but this time it actually seemed to work as Durman dropped to his knees. 

 “I don’t see anything.”

 “Right there,” she said, and as he peered over, she hit him on the back of the neck with an expert chop, sending him crashing to the ground. Racing over to the car, she snatched a coil of cable, evidently intended for securing trophies, and wrapped it around his wrists and ankles. It took an effort to get him back into the car, this time into the passenger seat, but she couldn’t leave him out there. No matter that it would be the sensible thing to do, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

 Sliding into the driving seat, she turned on the motor, and experimented with the throttle for a moment, heading in a straight line at first before experimenting with turns. Once satisfied that she could drive, at least after a fashion, she started to set up the on-board navigator, punching in the coordinates on the note as Durman groaned back to consciousness.

 “What are you doing?” he said with surprising calmness.

 “Sorry, but I warned you I needed to go out by myself.”

 “If you’d made your argument that forcefully at the runway, I’d have listened. Who are you?”

 She turned to him, took a deep breath, and said, “I’m Sub-Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, commanding the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Hercules. I’m afraid that we’ve had to be rather less than honest – and now that you know the truth, I’m going to have to take some...precautions.”

 He rose an eyebrow, “Is this some type of loyalty test?”

 “No test.”

 “Then why tell me?”

 “You might as well know why. The moment I hit you on the head I’d broken cover anyway.”

 Gesturing back with his head, he said, “You should have left me in the desert.”

 “If I’d done that, I might as well just switch sides myself. Now let me concentrate, I’ve never driven one of these things before.” 

 “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said as they went over a bump, “but it shows.”

Chapter 9

 Zebrova, Lane and Mulenga sat opposite Marshall, waiting with various degrees of patience for him to finish going over the report on Cooper’s interrogation. He was satisfied to see that the Corporal had said nothing of his secret meeting, or his reasons for seeking out Matsumoto, though it certainly didn’t help his case much. As soon as the saboteur was caught, Cooper could easily be exonerated – though a little voice in his mind still had some doubts, wondered whether perhaps Cooper had committed the murder.

 “As you can see,” Lane said, “we have grounds to proceed to an immediate court-martial. A field court-martial with this evidence…”

 “What’s your hurry, Lieutenant?” Zebrova said. “He’s in detention and safe; should he be found guilty…”

 “Should? Have you seen the evidence?”

 “Yes, and I have to admit it looks strong.”

 “Too strong,” Mulenga said. “I know Cooper, sir, and I find it impossible to think that he would kill a fellow crewman in cold blood. He isn’t the type.” Looking across at Lane, he said, “In addition, I would hope that if he did, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to use a bullet that literally had his name on it.”

 “I caught him in the act, Lieutenant,” Lane replied. “Before he could cover his tracks. Presumably he had intended to retrieve the bullet.”

 “There is no footage of him firing the weapon,” Zebrova said. “A court-martial at this point would be problematic at best, in any case.”

 “There are two officers of sufficient seniority present.”

 Marshall smiled, replying, “I can’t ever remember a court-martial where the two presiding officers were father and son. In any event, I am forced to agree with Lieutenant Zebrova. There is no need to hold a court-martial until we return to Triplanetary space.”

 “And if we get captured?” Lane pressed. “He gets to go back to his masters, and justice fails.”

 “The maximum sentence for any crime other than treason under Triplanetary law is life imprisonment, Lieutenant,” Marshall replied, furrows building on his forehead. “I certainly hope that you aren’t suggesting that we should change that arbitrarily.”

 “As a commander in the field, at a time of war…”

 “Not declared war,” Mulenga interrupted. “Legally, that’s important, and as far as I’m concerned, we are still bound by the Code of Military Justice.”

 “You have options, Captain,” Lane said. “I don’t want to see him walk free.”

 “Whether he is guilty or not, Lieutenant?” Mulenga asked. “You were very quick to discover him.”

 Turning to face him, Lane said, “Are you implying something? Feel free to say whatever you want, my whereabouts are a matter of record, and I have witnesses that will testify that I was not involved.”

 “A Petty Officer you are having an affair with?” Mulenga said, his face deepening. “That’s not testimony, Lieutenant, that’s an indictment.” 

 “That’s enough, both of you,” Marshall replied, raising his voice to break up the argument. “Lieutenant Lane, Corporal Cooper is innocent until proven guilty. Were I to sit on a court-martial for him based on this evidence, I would honestly struggle to convict. As far as I am concerned, the situation for the present is closed.”

 Lane stood up, looking down at Marshall at his desk, “You are making a mistake, sir.”

 “So are you, right now, Lieutenant. Sit down.”

 “For one thing, if Cooper is not guilty,” Zebrova said, “there is still a murderer on Alamo. He could strike again. With so few espatiers we can’t set up effective patrols. I would suggest that we issue sidearms to the crew.”

 “Sidearms, Lieutenant?” Marshall said, eyes widening.

 “I don’t make this suggestion lightly, sir,” she replied. “I am aware of the potential precedent it sets, but certainly the murderer, whoever he is,” she glanced at Lane, “is armed. It seems only fair to allow his potential victims the same advantage.”

 Shaking his head, Mulenga replied, “There is a reason that sidearms are not generally issued on warships, Lieutenant. While everyone had been through basic training, for some of the crew that was a long time ago. Bullets and sensitive components are not good companions.”

 “This is ridiculous,” Lane said. “If there is a murderer still on board, then she’s right. You need to give the crew the means to defend themselves against them.”

 With a deep breath, Marshall nodded, saying, “I agree. See that all personnel are issued with firearms, but I want everyone to re-certify on the ship’s range at the earliest opportunity. Certainly within five days.”

 “The crew are working around the clock as it is,” Zebrova said. “That’s going to be hard to schedule.”

 “Think of it as an opportunity to work out some tension. They can shoot at pictures of me if they wish, but Mr. Mulenga is quite correct about the risks we’re running.”

 Making a note on her datapad, Zebrova replied, “Very well, sir.”

 “I think that’s everything. Dismissed.”

 “May I have a word with you, sir?” Mulenga said. Looking up at the others, he continued, “Just you, sir.”

 “Very well. And Lane, remember that this investigation is Lieutenant Bailey’s, not yours.”

 Red-faced, she replied, “I thought the safety of the ship was everyone’s concern.”

 “In your area, Lieutenant. I caution you to remember where the boundaries of your responsibilities are.”

 “Yes, sir,” she replied as she left the office, Zebrova trailing behind her. Mulenga, still sitting in his chair, tried to suppress a chuckle.

 “She builds up quite a head of steam, sir,” he replied. “Though I think her heart is in the right place.”

 “She’s a pain in the ass, but as long as she’s doing her job, I can live with that. Maybe we can tame her yet, given time.”

 “Or transfer her off the ship at the first opportunity.” He leaned forward, “Cooper is not the murderer, sir. There is so much evidence of a circumstantial nature that it almost has to have been faked.”

 “To the point that I think the idea was to make that clear. If someone wanted to frame Cooper for the murder of Matsumoto, they could do a far better job.”

 “The saboteur has deprived us of our only remaining espatier NCO, as well as the highest-rated watch officer. Perhaps that was the idea all along.”

 Marshall sat back in his chair, eyes widening, “Damn. I didn’t think of that.”

 “You cannot order the release of Cooper without sufficient evidence of another’s guilt, of course. If only because of the outcry it would cause among the rest of the officers.”

 “Mind if I bring another officer into this meeting?” Marshall tapped a button on his desk,  “Lieutenant Bailey, report to my office on the double.”

 “I’m surprised she wasn’t here earlier.”

 “Regulations. Decisions of this type are made by the commanding officer in consultation with his three senior officers.”

 “Normally, that would not have stopped you.”

 With a shrug and a smile, Marshall replied, “To be honest, I didn’t actually think anything positive would be decided at this meeting. I had no intention of permitting a court-martial at this time, no matter what Lane and her cohorts are agitating for.”

 The door opened, and the slight figure of Lieutenant Bailey sidled in. While she was one of the recent acquisitions from Hercules, she had always seemed rather separate from them, as though not part of the clique. With a nod at Mulenga, she sat down opposite Marshall, resting her hands on the desk.

 “I presume this is about Corporal Cooper, sir.”

 “A question, first, Lieutenant. Who killed Sub-Lieutenant Matsumoto, in your opinion as it stands at this moment?”

 “I haven’t the slightest idea, Captain.”

 “Not Cooper?”

 “Too obvious, sir. I am acting on the assumption that there is still a murderer at large, and my investigation is proceeding along those lines. Thus far I have narrowed the list down to twenty-one suspects.”

 “Twenty-one?” Marshall’s eyes widened. “Did she have that many enemies?”

 “Oh, no, sir. Based on location and access to firearms. To be honest, this is a little beyond my experience. I’ve spent most of the last day cramming some courses on criminology. It’s actually really interesting.” She slid over a datapad, “If the position of Security Officer is intended to include this sort of activity in the future, I have some recommended additions to the training program.”

 “And your immediate recommendations?”

 “I understand that all personnel are to be equipped with firearms? That’s a sensible precaution.” She rubbed a hand across her chin, then continued, “How much disruption are you willing to tolerate, sir?”

 “Nothing that gets in the way of ship repairs.”

 “Then I fear that precludes precautions such as the buddy system, even in high-security areas. Nor the installation of a more extensive network of security monitoring. I’m afraid there isn’t actually much that we can do, though I would recommend that all personnel should also carry communicators at all times as well.”

 “Good idea,” Mulenga said. “Probably more effective than High Noon on the hangar deck, anyway.”

 “Sir,” Bailey said, glancing across at Mulenga, “Can I speak freely?”

 “Go ahead.”

 “If Corporal Cooper was conducting an investigation into the saboteur, I really should have been informed. And if my previous position on Hercules precludes you trusting me, then I cannot operate as your Security Officer.”

 Nodding, Mulenga said, “I knew it.” 

 “How the hell did you work that out, Bailey?”

 “Proceeding from the presumption that Corporal Cooper was innocent, there had to be some good reason that he broke into Matsumoto’s cabin. She had been absent from the bridge, and appears to have been investigating sabotage herself, I suspect on her own initiative. Either Cooper and Matsumoto were working together, or her behavior had attracted Cooper’s suspicions.”

 “Why wouldn’t Cooper be working on his own initiative?”

 “Such an investigation is outside his normal field of expertise, or his established duties. I doubt he would have launched it by himself. If Matsumoto had been working on your order, Captain, you would have said so.” 

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Bailey, you are competent enough to be dangerous. Once you’ve finished this meeting, go and discuss your suspicions with Lieutenant Caine. I suggest you have dinner with her.”

 Arching an eyebrow, she said, “Dinner?”

 “That’s an order, Lieutenant. You’ll understand why afterward.”

 “Very well, sir.”

 “You might as well head off now. Dismissed.”

 She stood to attention, saluted, and replied, “Aye, sir.” As she reached the door, Marshall said.

 “You have my full confidence, Lieutenant. If you didn’t before, you do now.”

 “Thank you, Captain,” she replied as she left.

 Mulenga, shaking his head, said, “Do I?”

 “Only three other people knew about Cooper, and all of them are working on...something else I can’t talk about. I trust you, but this time…”

 “I don’t need to know,” he replied with a smile. “I’m busy enough with all of these course plots, anyway. What are you going to do about Cooper?”

 “For the present, there isn’t anything I can do. I’d like to just release him, but even if I did his investigation is at an end. Nor can I really assign anyone else to it.” He tapped his fist on the desk, continuing, “I feel like someone is playing with me.”

 “Maybe they are. Whoever this person is, he’s trying to keep us all off-balance. We just lost more than a hundred man-hours on firearms training, not to mention focusing your attention on something other than the task at hand. We can’t let him get to us.”

 “And if he keeps killing crewmen?”

 Folding his fingers together, Mulenga replied, “To me it appears that his – or her, for that matter – goal is to throw us off-balance and prepare for a Cabal attack. Did it occur to you that the sabotage at the hangar deck could easily have included the elevator airlocks?”

 “It did. And that if he wanted us all dead, he could do it without that much trouble. They want to capture this ship, and its crew, probably for the same reasons that we wanted to capture Hercules.”

 “I presume that you won’t let that happen?”

 “If worst comes to worst, the crew can abandon ship. I don’t intend to allow Alamo to suffer the same fate as Hercules. This ship isn’t serving under an enemy flag.”

 Nodding, Mulenga replied, “You’ve thought this through, haven’t you.”

 “Every night for weeks.”

 “What are you going to do about the saboteur?”

 “Bailey is quite right; there isn’t that much I can do, especially now. Cooper was spotted as soon as he started to investigate, and has been rather effectively neutralized. I don’t dare risk assigning someone else unless I know how he was caught.”

 “I don’t like to say this, but…”

 With a thin smile, Marshall said, “You’re about to say that it is possible that one of the people I already told was the saboteur. Or even Cooper himself, his mission accomplished.”

 “It would be a surprisingly safe place to hide. Have you considered that there might be two saboteurs on board?”

 “I did, and I dismissed it. This person is working alone; it’s a lot safer for him that way, anyway, and none of the things he had done have required more than a single person. I suppose that it is possible that there are two people in league with each other, but that seems unnecessarily complicated to me. Not the Cabal’s style.”

 “Are you proceeding with your plan?”

 “Hitting transports is about the best thing we can do at the moment.”

 “That task force will be looking for us.”

 “True, but they won’t know where to look, and space is big and littered with hendecaspace points. I think we’re safe enough until we reach the next bottleneck.”

 “And what happens then?” 

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Then we’ll just have to see what happens then.”

 Nodding, Mulenga rose from his chair. “I guess I’d better go off and plot some more escape courses. Tyler said he’d have some more information on course projections for me by now.”

 “Let me know what you come up with.”

 “Of course.” He turned, and left the room, leaving Marshall alone at his desk. He turned, looking out of the viewport at the unfamiliar stars, just catching a faint glimpse of the dying red sun. He almost laughed; when he’d dreamed of exploration, he’d hoped to actually see something new. This was an unwanted star system, probably surveyed by the Cabal a dozen times to see if there was anything left exploiting, and now visited only by the occasional passing starship. Humanity had been, and principally, gone.

 Turning back to his desk, he looked at his logs, the record of the mission to date, scrolling through the highlights. Capturing the pirates at Kumar, rescuing his father, briefly retaking Hercules before losing it once again, and getting the data. A thought flashed in his mind, and he stabbed at the communicator.

 “Lieutenant Bailey.”

 There was a brief pause, “Yes, sir? Do you need me to come back up?”

 “No,” he replied, “I just want to know if anyone has accessed the Cabal data.”

 “Mostly Tyler,” she said after a momentary delay. “Also yourself, Senior Lieutenant Mulenga, Lieutenant Caine, Major Marshall, and,” she paused before resuming in a surprised tone, “Corporal Cooper?”

 “He accessed it? When?”

 “About eighteen hours ago. Not for long, just enough to check a few files. Mostly patrol routes from what I can tell.”

 “Damn,” Marshall said. “Can you check for any changes?”

 “We have multiple backups, sir. One moment.” He heard some muttering just out of range of the microphone, then she said, “If Tyler had checked the files again, we’d be going to Gliese 442. Listed as rarely used by the files I trust; we’d have been there a while.

 “A trap, then.”

 “By the looks of it, sir. There’s definitely something strange going on.”

 “Inform Mr. Mulenga that I want him to plot a course to that star.”

 “You want to play along with the saboteur, then, sir?”

 “Something like that. Marshall out.” 

 He sat down at his desk, his arms folded. Now he knew where the saboteur wanted him to go, and where a fleet was undoubtedly waiting for him. The only thing he had to decide was whether or not he was going to keep the appointment.

Chapter 10

 The car sped over the endless veld, bumping over ridges, sending Orlova and Durman rocking back and forth in his seat; an angry bruise on the latter’s head from a particularly treacherous descent. Orlova had one eye on the landscape ahead, and another on the autonav as she homed in on the coordinates of the meeting point.

 “Where are we going?” Durman asked.

 “We’ll know when we get there.”

 “Wonderful,” he replied. “Doesn’t a condemned man get a last request?” 

 She turned to him, sharply, saying, “You aren’t dead yet, Durman, but don’t tempt me.”

 “It’s just that I’ve never been this far out. Usually we only go for twenty, thirty miles. Just far enough that the tourists can get a chance to see what a real wilderness looks like, then we can head back and get a drink at our so-called bar.”

 “So?”

 “So we’ve only got enough juice on board to last us a hundred, hundred and twenty miles.”

 Throwing the throttle to full with scant regard for fuel consumption, Orlova sent the car lurching around a cluster of rocks, onto a level patch of ground that led into a valley. Durman grew pale, shaking his head.

 “We don’t want to go down there.”

  “I thought you’d never gone this far out.” 

 “With good reason. Trust me.”

 “Why not?”

 “People don’t tend to come back. When they were first exploring on the ground, this area became known as somewhere that it was best to avoid.”

 “I don’t believe in superstition like that.”

 “How about old-fashioned common sense.”

 Disregarding his warning, she drove on, and after a few moments winding down a dried-up river bed in between long-dried shrub, she saw a huge object looming overhead at the end of the ravine, a statue a hundred feet tall. Killing the engine, almost without thinking about it she stepped out of the car, walking slowly towards it, her eyes fixed on the majestic, undefinable, alien construct.

 Obviously it had been there for thousands of years, maybe longer; the sand had worn hard on the ancient black material, polishing it to a sheen, and chunks of stone that were obviously once an integral part of the structure had fallen off to slump in the ground. What remained was still the most fascinating object she had ever seen, a truly alien creation.

 “Forster!” Durman yelled, not knowing her real name. “Get back!”

 “What?” she whispered, almost in reverence at the...thing ahead. She couldn’t think of anything to describe it; it was eerily familiar and utterly fantastic at the same time.

 “There’s someone coming. Damn it, I’m helpless like this!” he yelled. It was finally the crack of a rifle bolt that jerked her back into reality, and on pure instinct she hurled herself into the nearest cover behind a cluster of rocks, reaching for her rifle – and swearing, as she realized it was still sitting in the car.

 Durman had managed to crouch down behind the windscreen, giving him at least an element of protection, but with his hands and feet tied down, he wasn’t going to be any help. Assuming he wouldn’t simply turn the rifle onto the woman who had beaten and kidnapped him. Her eyes darted about, careful to avoid the transfixing statue as she hunted for her assailants. Another bullet cracked into a rock, sending shards flying into the air. Evidently they were using fairly low-impact shells, though as a third showered her with fragments of rock, that didn’t seem much comfort.

 Glancing at the distance between herself and the car, she tried to calculate how long it would take her to reach her weapon, but no matter how she figured it, she couldn’t get a satisfactory answer. Even if she got to it, she only had eight bullets for it – all she could justify taking on a trip of this type. Not enough for any sort of a firefight, or any sort of battle at all.

 As far as she could make out from the shots, there were three gunmen, all in different positions, all seemingly armed with hunting rifles of the same sort that she should be carrying. They had excellent cover – for all she knew, there could be a dozen more hiding in different positions in the undergrowth, waiting for her to expose herself to gunfire.

 “Durman, are these your friends?” she yelled.

 “When the hell did I have a chance to call anyone?” he replied. “And I didn’t even know where you were going, remember!”

 He had a point. Another pair of bullets smashed into the ground uncomfortably close to her; she couldn’t just wait there and hope that eventually they would run out of ammunition, but it was the nearest thing she had to a plan at the moment. Pause, and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

 A loud report from the top of the ravine suggested that just such an opportunity had arrived; she looked up to see a cloud of black smoke up above, and then another, this time followed by a loud scream. Then a third, which yielded nothing but a death rattle. There was some shouting, and a figure began to walk down the side of the ravine wielding the most cumbersome firearm she had ever seen, smoke still curling from the barrel of the weapon.

 As it grew closer, she realized that this was not a man – at least, not in the conventional sense of the word, but one of the Neander. Remaining down in her hiding place as he approached, she frowned as she heard a very human-like peal of laughter.

 “You can relax, Sub-Lieutenant. The hunting party has been captured, and you are quite safe now.”

 Peering over the lip of the rocks, she replied, “You’ll forgive me for being somewhat unusually careful.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant?” Durman yelled. “I thought you were a Commander.”

 “I gave myself a promotion,” she shouted, turning back to the figure, “How do you know my name?”

 “I have much intelligence, about your Hercules, Alamo, and its crews. We have a few friends beyond this world, and they have shared much with us over the years. You’d be surprised what tit-bits of information can come in handy.”

 “Wait a minute, you live here?” Durman said. “All this time…”

 “Normally we live several hundred miles away from your settlement, Mr. Durman. The better to resist the attentions of your friends in the Cabal. But we have friends in, shall we say, high places.”

 Snapping her figures, Orlova said, “Price.”

 “Like grandfather, like son. He discovered us when he crash-landed – it was with the assistance of our forefathers that he stayed alive while waiting for rescue. The price of our help was anonymity.”

 Standing up, Orlova looked at the face of the stranger; he had a proud bearing, standing straight and tall with his weapon held loosely in his hands. Wearing a brown tunic, his long, shaggy hair was expertly braided around the deep ridges on his forehead, and he had a soft, playful smile.

 “I must have a million questions to ask,” she said.

 “I might be able to help with at least some of them, though I venture that the practicalities of time will prevent me satisfying them all.”

 “Are you anything to do with the others of your race up on the station?”

 “It is knowledge of their fate that makes us wary of our own. We mourn for our brothers, but until now the means of their relief has not been within our power.”

 “If Price is working with you…”

 “Mr. Price is at heart a good man, but there is only so much he can do without exposing his true beliefs. Likely he will be severely censured for helping you, though he might hope to camouflage that with professions of ignorance.”

 “I’m sorry,” Orlova replied.

 “You were not aware that the most likely outcome of your visit to this station would be a firing squad for those who had dealt with you?”

 Horror flashed across her face, “What?”

 “The Cabal will tolerate many things, but failure it will never accept. Not even once, not even when there was no way to avoid it. I fear their ruthless streak extends that far.”

 Three cracks came from the top of the ridge in quick succession, and a shaggy arm waved from up above. Orlova’s face grew pale; she shook her head in disbelief.

 “Did you just do what I think you did?” she said.

 “The three men who attacked you have now transcended,” he replied. “Had we not sent them onto the next cycle, they would have reported your location and our existence. For the benefit of our children and grandchildren, we did what we had to do.”

 “Those were human beings,” Durman yelled.

 “Who tried to kill both of you, and would have enslaved us. Cabal Special Forces.”

 “Rubbish. There are none of them on this planet.”

 “There are many things you are unaware of, Mr. Durman. Do you really believe that the Cabal would not want to keep an eye on you; they have friends and contacts up on the space station. You will need to be cautious upon your return.”

 Orlova, looking up at the ridge again, replied, “What happens now?” 

 “You have two choices, Sub-Lieutenant. If it is your wish, you can return to your car and head back to the starport. Within a few hours, you will be back on your ship. Or you can leave your vehicle behind and come with us, to our camp. The remainder of the Elders are interested to meet you.”

 “What about Durman,” she gestured. “Does he get a bullet as well?”

 “That concerns you?” he replied. “Interesting. We will leave that decision to you.”

 Walking back to the car in a dozen long strides, Orlova pulled a monoknife from her belt, standing over the pale Durman. He looked up at her, defiance on his face, and grimaced as, with four slashing motions, she cut the bonds restraining him. He rubbed his wrists and looked up, frowning.

 “You aren’t letting me go.”

 “I’m giving you a choice.”

 “They’ll kill me if I try and get away.”

 “Will you report them?” 

 He laughed, “If they were Cabal operatives, then I’m a dead man anyway. What the hell have I got to lose.”

 The Neander said, softly, “You could of course win back your life and your freedom by reporting our presence to the authorities. If Sub-Lieutenant Orlova decides to let you go, we will abide by her judgment.”

 Looking up at her, he said, “You’re taking me with you when you leave this planet. I’m not going to die for this.”

 “You realize the odds of us getting back to Sol are remote.”

 “Better a fighting chance than no chance at all.” He glanced out at the figure, “I don’t agree with a lot of what the Cabal stands for, but one man can do nothing.”

 “If all men believe that, then nothing will ever change.” He stepped forward, “Allow me to introduce myself; I am Kormax, Elder of Scouts.”

 “Get your people down here,” Durman said, “And I’ll drive.”

 “No,” he replied, shaking his head, “We will travel to where we are going on foot. No tracks to lead anyone to our encampment, no risk of your navigation computer being hacked.”

 “You seem surprisingly well-informed for a wanderer in the wilderness,” Orlova said.

 “Mr. Price has given us access to certain information, but we also have other sources.”

 “And the statue?” Orlova asked, gesturing towards it whilst being careful not to look upon it.

 “That is a relic from a...sad time. The Elders will tell you more about it when we decide whether or not to assist you.”

 Frowning, she replied, “You might not?”

 “Our experiences with your kind have been poor in the past. I am open to changing that, others might not be.”

 Hopping out of the cab, Durman said, “I’m getting the idea that we might not be coming back.”

 “That is a very realistic possibility. You should seriously consider returning.”

 Orlova looked at Durman, then said, “I’m going. Durman, if you want to go back, I’ve give you a message to pass on to Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter on Hercules.”

 “Wait, you’d go by yourself?”

 “Part of the job.”

 “You’re crazy,” he said, reaching into the cab for the pack of rations and strapping it to his back. “I guess I am too.”

Chapter 11

 Cooper had been sitting in his cell for hours, his datapad unread on the floor next to a barely-touched ration pack. The cold white walls seemed to glare back at him, and the thought of his failure echoed through his mind. He should have been more careful, should have taken more precautions, should have brought someone else in at an earlier point. Now he was stuck in a cell for a crime he didn’t commit, and the saboteur – and Matsumoto’s murderer – was loose on the ship.

 The door rattled, and he waited for someone to come in. He’d been expecting someone to arrive to interrogate him again, another round of questions that he couldn’t afford to answer, or perhaps for one of his friends to attempt to cheer him up, assure him that everything would be fine in the end. He knew that the Captain would get him out as soon as he could, but if the ship fell to the Cabal because of his actions, none of that would mean a thing.

 A hand tossed a pistol into the room; it bounced on the floor before coming to rest at Cooper’s feet. He looked up, and heard the sound of running footsteps. The door was still slightly ajar. Wary of a trap, he cautiously moved over to the door and peered outside. There was no-one standing outside, nothing between him and the elevator. With a smile, he snatched the pistol from the ground, checked the loading – tranq shots, very good – and made his way outside, still half-expecting someone to jump out at him.

 Racing to the elevator, he waited impatiently for it to respond to his summons, and anxiously climbed inside, setting a destination in the lower engineering levels, down at the heart of the ship. Someone had decided to throw him a break, possibly even the Captain himself, and he wasn’t going to let him down again – though within a few seconds the security systems would undoubtedly detect that there was no-one in the cell. Almost on cue, sirens began to peal and the elevator jerked to a halt.

 Espatiers were trained in escape and evasion. The final exercise of basic training saw them released into an abandoned space station and ordered to hide as long as they could, while their erstwhile instructors attempted to hunt them down. Cooper had been the last of his class to be caught after thirty-one hours on the run. Reaching down to the floor, he pulled up the maintenance hatch and slid down, hooking his arms and legs onto the emergency ladder.

 Sliding down as rapidly as he dared, he moved from level to level, barely registering his location. His goal at the moment was to get lost in the bowels of the ship, and it didn’t matter for the present whether he knew where he was or not. At the sixth deck he stopped, and tapped in an override code to open the door. Crawling out into an empty corridor, he glanced around, racing away from the shaft. This level was near the rear of the ship, forming a complete circuit around the side of the ship; he’d held races down here in happier times with his squad.

 Shouting behind him warned him that his time was running out; it belatedly occurred to him that Lane might have orchestrated his freedom in a bid to shoot him while attempting escape. His suspicions seemed confirmed as he noted her voice, shouting orders to what sounded like Duggan and Duvalier. Stuffing his pistol deep into the pockets of his jumpsuit, he raced away, trying to make it to a side hatch.

 The elevator arrived behind him as he sprinted, and figures raced after him onto the deck. He couldn’t afford to stop, turn, or wait for even a second; instead he began a textbook evasion, waiting for the bullets to fly. If this was a trap, he had placed himself in it fair and square, cursing himself for an idiot.

 “Shoot him!” Lane yelled, and when only silence answered her, she said, “Then I will,” and two cracks echoed down the corridor. The first missed Cooper by inches, the second didn’t, tearing into his arm, blood running down his uniform.

 “What the hell are you doing?” Duggan yelled. 

 “Bringing down an escaped felon, and Private, you are on report.”

 Cooper couldn’t see what was going on behind him, but he could guess. Gritting his teeth in a desperate attempt to avoid the pain shooting down his arm, he reached the hatch he was trying for and climbed in, sealing it behind him. The lock would hold for only a few seconds, but it shouldn’t need to last for any longer.

 Reaching for the maintenance locker, he selected a long cable that looked as if it might support the weight of a man, hundreds of meters of it. Locking one end to the hatch, he tossed the other down the shaft, disappearing into the darkness beneath. As a series of bangs sounded from outside, someone trying to force it open, he ripped strips from his sleeves, tied them around his hands, grabbed the cable, and with a muttered prayer, leapt from the ladder.

 Despite some worrying creaks, the cable held, doing its job. As the hatch disappeared from view he saw it burst open, Lane looking down with her pistol raised; he braced himself for a shot that would kill him no matter what happened – if he let go, he’d fall for a third of a mile. There wouldn’t be much left of him at the end. A hand slapped her wrist, and she turned out of the hatch, shouting as he faded from view. Someone had just saved his life.

 Now he had to take advantage of it. If he’d picked the right hatch, he was on his way to the zero-gravity core of Alamo, the uninhabited heart of the ship. There were excellent reasons why it wasn’t occupied; most of it contained the materials storage and fuel tanks, and the rest was primarily the relay systems for the hendecaspace drive and the laser cannon. It wasn’t a healthy place to be, but it was a maze of shafts and tunnels dug into the hull around the primary systems, and it was the area with the least surveillance. Even a full platoon of espatiers would struggle to find him in there.

 With a grunt, he collapsed onto the deck at the bottom, rebounding back in the low gravity. He pushed the cable away, watching it curl up towards the hatch. His arm was beginning to hurt badly, but he couldn’t do anything about it yet; time enough to seek out a first aid kit as soon as he had got away.

 Taking a corridor at random, he pushed off, using his good hand to speed his path. Swinging under a sign marked ‘Danger of Death’, he ducked into a side shaft, behind a series of of storage crates, then twisted down another, and a fourth. With no sign of pursuit, he could relax a little; locked to the wall was a box with a red cross emblazoned on it, and he snapped it open and rummaged around for a painkiller, bandages and dressings drifting out into the corridor.

 Stabbing pain was rapidly replaced with mild tranquility, and he rummaged through a series of bandages for the right fit, ripping the remainder of his sleeve off to expose the wound. It felt a lot worse than it actually was; the bullet had passed through his arm cleanly, entry and exit wounds both neat. Treating it still took five minutes, and he paused for a second, taking time to breathe.

 Then he panicked again; a blinking light indicated that the inventory system was being updated, and it wouldn’t take a genius to work out that he was the only one who would be using the first aid kits in the central core. A clock on the wall gave him another reason to hurry; while Alamo was in normal space it was a bad idea to linger in this area without protective equipment, but in hendecaspace this place would be truly uninhabitable. That meant he had only three and a half hours to find a more permanent place to hide.

 He paused for a moment, thinking over his options. Clearly someone on the outside was helping him, though he didn’t think the Captain would have been quite so direct as to toss him a pistol and leave the door to his cell open. There was only one thing to do – take the risk to actually contact someone on the outside, try and get some assistance, at least to make sure that he wouldn’t show up on any detectors when he got back. He could lurk around the maintenance shafts for as long as he wanted, but that wasn’t going to catch the saboteur.

 Kicking down the corridor, he quickly found what he wanted – a communications link. It took a few moments to encrypt it, bouncing it around as many terminals as he could to try and buy some time. Taking a deep breath, he tapped in a sequence.

 The voice of Barbara, his girlfriend, sounded through the corridor, “Bradley here.”

 “Barbara, it’s me.”

 “Gabe, what the hell is going on. Orlok talked to me earlier…”

 He interrupted her, saying, “There isn’t much time. Someone just broke me out of detention, and I’ve got no idea who it was. You need to get to the Captain, and you need to do it right now. Tell him that I am loose and that I intend to carry out my mission, but I’m going to need someone riding shotgun on the outside to help me do it.”

 “Your mission?”

 “I can’t talk over this line. It’s secure at my end, but you are probably a few moments away from a visit from some people with guns. I hate to do this to you, but you’ve got to get moving.”

 “I’ll do my part. Just tell me what the hell is going on sometime, will you?”

 “As soon as I can. I’ll call you when I can. Out.”

 Less than a minute, hopefully not long enough for anyone to get to him, though undoubtedly they were tracing the communication signal. Pausing for a second, he smiled as he set the console to start randomly contacting people on Alamo, one after another. There wouldn’t be any encryption, but all he was trying to do was buy some time.

 While he still had three hours before he had to leave the central core, he was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. He had to trust that Barbara would be able to get to the Captain before Lane could get to her; at this point she was his top suspect. Pushing off down a corridor, he raced towards the nearest lock, opening it as he flew past. Right now he was working on distractions rather than trying to escape; that would come in a moment.

 Twisting down a long corridor wrapped around the laser mounting, trying to avoid the delicate equipment that could knock Alamo’s primary weapon out of action, he found the route he wanted – right to the cargo bays, where he could hide amidst a maze of crates and containers. They’d have to almost unload to complete a systematic search, and it would buy him time to think for a little.

 Pausing at the hatch for a second for a last look around, he slid up the corridor, pulling himself up the ladder, feeling the usual slight uneasiness as he ascended into gravity, the climb taking more and more effort on his wounded arm until finally he was gasping for breath, hanging onto a rail with his good hand and looking down. If he fell, it would probably lead to his capture, and certainly cost him valuable time. Assuming he didn't just break his neck.

 Redoubling his efforts, Cooper scrambled up the remaining rungs of the ladder, finally reaching the hatch. His trembling fingers worked the mechanism and he pulled himself up to the deck with one last effort, half-expecting to hear sirens and shouts, the crack of bullets and the noise of approaching troopers.

 The only thing surrounding him was crates. He sat where he was, panting, and suddenly realized that he was starving. A foray into a nearby box provided him with an emergency ration pack, and though under normal circumstances he would have groused about it, he was only too glad to scoop up the goo with the almost-crackers. An RFID scanner had been left lying around, and he ran it over the pistol, curious as to the identity of his benefactor.

 It did not surprise him in the slightest to find that the label read, ‘Cooper, Lance-Corporal G.’

Chapter 12

 “Where the hell did you get this, Danny?” Marshall’s father said as he kicked back another slug of purple gin, lounging on the chair in his quarters.

 “A friend of mine on Ragnarok shipped me a few bottles before we left on our last mission.”

 “Friend?”

 “She was Prime Minister last time I looked, though I think it’s probably Senator now.”

 Shaking his head, his father said, “Damn it, I never knew any politicians well enough that they would send me anything but poison in a bottle.”

 “Drink enough of that, and it’s exactly what you’ve got.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I still can’t quite believe I’m sitting here in your cabin, with you as commander of your own battlecruiser. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back on Discovery, all of this just a dream.”

 “Good or bad?” 

 “It’ll be better once we set a course for home.” Before he could say anything else, alarms started to sound throughout the ship, snapping the two of them to attention. Marshall swallowed a couple of pills, sobering up instantly, cursing under his breath for the waste of good alcohol, and stabbed a button on the wall.

 “Marshall to bridge. Report.”

 “Kibaki here, sir. Corporal Cooper has broken out of confinement.”

 “How the hell did he manage that?”

 “I don’t know, sir. Lieutenant Lane reports that she is on his tail.”

 Glancing at his father, he replied, “Tell her to proceed with caution, and that she is to use non-lethal force only.”

 “I can’t get her on the communicator, sir,” the frustrated watch officer replied, “I’ve got no idea what the hell is going on down there.”

 There was a loud banging on the door, someone obviously trying to get in. Marshall tapped to open the door, and Spaceman Bradley ran in, red-faced and panting, looking around the corridor as she darted inside.

 “Keep trying, Kibaki. I’ll call you back in a minute.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Well, Bradley, what brings you here at this hour of the night?”

 She glanced at his father, then said, “Can I talk?”

 Nodding, Marshall replied, “Yes, you might as well.”

 “You want me to leave?” his father said. 

 “No, you might as well know about this as well. Speak up, Spaceman.”

 “I’ve spoken to Cooper, sir. He’s on the run. Told me that he was going to attempt to continue his mission, but he needs some backup to prevent him from getting caught.”

 “Did he say how he got out?”

 “Only that someone broke him out, sir. I think he presumed it was you.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “It wasn’t me.”

 “Cooper was working for you all the time. Why did he kill Matsumoto?” his father said, frowning.

 “He didn’t,” Marshall replied. “Bradley, is someone after you?”

 “I think so, sir. I just got to the elevator in time.”

 The door burst open again on a security override, and Steele ran in, gun in hand, waving it dangerously around. Marshall bolted to his feet, staring down at her.

 “Sub-Lieutenant, stand down!”

 “Lieutenant Lane…”

 “Unless you want to be busted down to Recruit Spaceman, holster your damn sidearm! Spaceman Bradley is here at my orders.”

 “Sir?”

 “At my orders, Sub-Lieutenant, and I have grown surprisingly accustomed to them being carried out. Return to your quarters.”

 “Cooper has escaped, and I…”

 His voice booming, Marshall said, “Confine yourself to your quarters until the start of your next duty shift, Sub-Lieutenant, or you can take the vacant spot in the brig!”

 Looking down at the deck, she nodded. “Yes, sir.” As she slinked out of the room, Marshall turned back to his father.

 “Could I ask that you escort Spaceman Bradley back to her quarters. I have the horrible feeling that she’s going to be in need of a chaperon.”

 “You might be right about that,” he replied. “Come along, Spaceman. My boy seems to have his work cut out for him.”

 They cautiously walked out of his quarters, and Marshall tapped the communicator again, “Kibaki, you up there?”

 “It’s me, Danny,” Caine said. “I came up when the alarm sounded.”

 “I think you know what we need to do about Cooper.”

 “Already under-way. I’ve had a word with Lieutenant Bailey, and the security precautions are all in effect.”

 “Meanwhile,” Marshall sighed, “we’ve got Lieutenant Lane and her Merry Men running around the lower decks. Any idea where they might be?”

 “Somewhere in the sensor section, probably. Cooper was last seen heading for the central core.”

 “The central core? That guy’s got guts, I’ll give him that.”

 “Do you want me to postpone jump until we know he’s clear?”

 Pausing for a moment, Marshall shook his head, “We can’t risk it. Jump as soon as you are ready.”

 “Right. Are you coming up?”

 “No, I’m heading down to the lower levels.”

 “That’s a bit of a risk. Want me to whistle up some assistance for you?”

 “That won’t be necessary, Deadeye.”

 “Perhaps I should put it a little more clear. If you are going to head out into harm’s way, you need someone watching your back. I just paged Zebrova and she’s on her way to you now.”

 “Thank you, Captain Caine.”

 “Don’t swear, it doesn’t suit you. Be careful.”

 “Will do. Marshall out.”

 When he walked into the corridor, Zebrova was waiting for him, pistol prominently in the holster at her hip. They turned down towards the elevator, not exchanging words until they were safely out of everyone’s earshot.

 “Captain,” she began, but Marshall interrupted her.

 “I didn’t break him out. I didn’t ever contemplate it, and even if I had, I would have informed you first.”

 Nodding, she replied, “Thank you, sir.”

 Pulling out his communicator, he said, “I suppose I might as well give this a try.” Punching a button, he said, “Marshall to Lane. Come in.” After a moment waiting in vain for a response, he replaced it at his belt. “She isn’t answering.”

 “There could be any number of reasons. Some of them legitimate.”

 “I’m sure there will be some plausible excuse.”

 “No doubt,” she replied.

 The elevator opened at the sensor decks and they walked out, trying not to look dangerous. Marshall’s eye was immediately drawn to a patch of red near one of the lower hatches; kneeling down at it, he looked up at Zebrova.

 “Looks like she’s serious about bringing him down.”

 “To be fair, sir, we are talking about a dangerous felon who has already killed, and has close-quarters combat training. I can see why taking additional care might appear justified.”

 “Come on,” Marshall said. “I just hope she hasn’t killed him.”

 They ran down the corridor, and the crack of a bullet sent Marshall flying to the ground, instinct sending him rolling into cover. Zebrova was just behind him, her gun in her hand ready to return fire.

 “Stand down!” Lane’s voice yelled. “It’s the Captain.”

 “What the hell do you think you are doing?” Marshall said. “Consider yourself on report!”

 “We’re hunting down a dangerous felon, Captain,” she replied. “Cooper has escaped…”

 “I know, but that doesn’t mean I want gangs of vigilantes roaming around the lower decks looking for him. Who’s with you?”

 “Privates Duggan and Duvalier, sir, and I must report that I will be preferring charges against them both for insubordination.”

 “Duggan, Duvalier, all charges are summarily dismissed as of now. Get back to your barracks and stay there unless I personally send for you. Is that understood?”

 Duggan replied, “Yes, sir.”

 “You’re acting Lance-Corporal for the moment, Duggan. Run along.”

 Climbing to his feet, brushing the dust from his trousers, Marshall walked over to the resentful Lane, standing at attention by the wall, her pistol back in its holster. She turned her head to face him.

 “Do you want Cooper captured, sir?”

 “Captured, yes. Killed, no. Effective right now, he is no longer your responsibility. He never was; this is the province of Lieutenant Bailey.”

 “Who I must confess I suspect of being Cooper’s confederate. As well as Spaceman Bradley and Lieutenant Caine.”

 Eyes widened, Zebrova said, “Are you suggesting a conspiracy involving two senior officers, both of whom have received several citations for gallantry – against, among others, the Cabal?”

 “I can only make my judgments based on the available evidence, sir, and I insist that an investigation is undertaken immediately. I am willing to place that request in writing.”

 Marshall turned to Zebrova, frowning. She actually had a point; all three of them were involved in a ‘conspiracy’ along with Cooper, and that the conspiracy’s goal was to unmask the saboteur was irrelevant. Not for a second did he consider bringing her in on the secret. Instead he nodded at Zebrova.

 “Very well. I must admit that, on circumstantial evidence at least, an investigation is warranted. Lieutenant Zebrova will undertake it during the jump. Until then I will take personal charge of the search for Corporal Cooper.”

 “Sir, I…”

 “Lieutenant, you’ve already decided there is a conspiracy. Unless you intend to accuse Lieutenant Zebrova and I of being involved, then you are not the choice for the job.”

 She looked between the two of them as if about to do just that, but decided against it at the last minute, replying, “Aye, sir.”

 “Return to your quarters, Lane.”

 “I’d rather help with the search, sir.”

 “And I’d rather you went and cooled off for a while. Try the observation lounge if you want. I need my officers to be sharp and ready for action, not flying off in all directions.”

 Nodding, she started to walk down the corridor. As she drew level with Marshall, she paused, saying, “I’m sorry I shot at you, sir.”

 “You missed, Lieutenant. That’s the main thing.”

 With a hurt expression on her face, she replied, “It was just a warning shot, Captain,” as she walked into the elevator. Shaking his head, Marshall looked after her.

 “Was she excusing herself for missing, do you think?” he asked Zebrova.

 “Maybe she’s eager for a promotion. Do you think she’s the saboteur?”

 “If she is, then she’s the best actor I’ve ever seen. She’s making herself such an obvious suspect that it would be the biggest double-bluff of all time.”

 “I agree, but we can’t bring her into the loop.”

 “Not until all this is over, anyway. Too many people know already. At least Cooper is back on the case again, and with the two of us in charge of finding him, I think we can assume that he’ll be on the run for a while. I wish there was some way would help the man more directly, though.”

 Running a hand through her short hair, she replied, “I don’t think we need to worry about that, Captain. Someone’s obviously already doing that for us.”

 “Which is an excellent question in itself.”

 “I was looking at the sensor logs of the detention area before we left. At least, I was trying to; those records have been encrypted. And not with any form of encryption I’m familiar with.”

 “Cabal?”

 “I thought of that, but no. It doesn’t match what we’ve learned of their code, either.”

 “So as well as having a saboteur on board, we’ve also got some secretive person who is helping us to track him down, someone with a worrying knowledge of our security protocols. This situation is getting better by the minute.”

 They walked back down the corridor towards the elevator, stepping over the drips of Cooper’s blood; Zebrova made some notes on her datapad for a clean-up crew to head down to deal with it. She paused in her work and looked back up at Marshall.

 “Have you decided whether or not to follow the saboteur’s lead?”

 “Not yet,” he said. “I want to catch them a little more by surprise than that, and if we played along too much, he’d get suspicious. Besides, I don’t want to go to battle with empty fuel tanks. We’ve got to top up.”

 “Agreed. I still think you are taking a big risk.”

 “Bigger if we let that fleet run loose.”

 Looking around the deck, she replied, “If we can’t get the information home, then taking out the fleet is the next best thing?”

 “We’ve taken a lot of risks to get as far as we have. One more, one more big risk, and we win everything.” 

 “Or lose everything.”

 “Sometimes, Lieutenant, that’s the risk you have to take.”

Chapter 13

 Price’s face resolved itself on the viewscreen as Carpenter watched from the command chair – Orlova’s chair. All her composure was focused on looking comfortable in the position, looking as though she was meant to be there, and the rest of the crew, whatever they might have thought about her surprise promotion, were going along with the idea.

 “Commander Forster is hours overdue,” she said, trying for as menacing a tone as she could muster. “Have you any explanation? Is there a problem with the shuttle?”

 “I’ve spoken to the personnel at Crashlander, Lieutenant, and all I can tell you is that she went off with a guide into the outback in one of our heavy-transport cars, and she hasn’t come back. We sent out a helicopter to look for her, but it hasn’t returned either.”

 “Is that all you can do?”

 “We’re a small outpost here, Lieutenant, and our facilities are limited. There’s only so much we can do. I’ve instituted an orbital search, but there’s a lot of wildlife out there and from that sort of range it is next to impossible to find anything.”

 “Another ground search?”

 “We’ve only got two other cars, Lieutenant, and if we’ve got something out there that is eating cars and copters, I’m not willing to risk them. I’ve already lost four men on this, and I don’t believe in placing more lives at risk. Of course, you are free to do whatever you think best; I can’t stop you.”

 Nelyubov said from his station, “You’d place your equipment at our disposal?”

 “You can requisition whatever you want. Except the landing shuttle, that is; it’s the only way we’ve got to get down there at the moment. Our back-up is down for its annual servicing.”

 “Convenient,” Nelyubov muttered.

 “Thank you, Mr. Price, that will be all for now,” Carpenter said. “Hercules out.”

 Standing from his console, Nelyubov said, “We’ve got to go down there.”

 “Are you asking me or telling me?”

 “Someone needs to take some positive action around here. I’ll take Mathis, Jenkins and Scott. They’ve had the most ground forces experience.” He began to walk to the elevator, continuing, “Curry, you need to coordinate the search from orbit, try and track us into the last location. I’ll keep you informed.”

 Carpenter quietly counted to ten, took a deep breath, and said, “Mr. Nelyubov, return to your station.”

 “What? We need to get our Captain back. You are only in command because of an oversight in regulations…”

 “Nevertheless, I am in command, and my judgment is that we should wait.”

 “She’s your friend,” Curry said. “How can you just sit there?”

 “Do you want to take the landing team yourself?” Nelyubov said. “I could run the search from up here.”

 “No, Lieutenant. There will be no landing team. Before she left, Ma...Acting Captain Orlova made it quite clear that there were too few of us already to risk anyone else in rescue efforts. She indicated that there was to be no attempt to retrieve her if the mission went bad.”

 “You can’t take that seriously.”

 “I take my orders very seriously. Do you?”

 Nelyubov looked around the bridge, but no-one else met his gaze. Balling his fists, he turned around and walked up to the command chair, his eyes flashing.

 “Damn it, you’re just a scientist with an honorary rank.”

 “Nonetheless, I’m in command and I mean to follow the orders of my commanding officer to the letter.”

 “It could be a trap,” Curry said. “For all we know, Price has had her captured.”

 “In which case,” Carpenter said, “throwing more people into the fire is stupid.”

 Taking short, measured paces, Nelyubov returned to his station, throwing up a search grid of the planet below on his screen. His hands began to work the controls, targeting Hercules’ sensors on the planet.

 “I’m going to conduct an orbital search. If you have no objection, Lieutenant.”

 “Not at all.” Carpenter looked around the bridge, trying to find a neutral direction to vent her nerves, and finding none. Everywhere she looked was another crew-member working their stations, testing systems. She looked up at the office door, but somehow it didn’t seem like a good idea to leave the bridge.

 Tapping a button on her armrest, she said, “Sergeant Wilson, this is Carpenter on the bridge.”

 “Go ahead.”

 “Can I get a status report?”

 “It’s going slowly, ma’am, even with the repair teams from Hydra Station helping out. We’re making progress, though. We can maneuver at speed again, and the communications systems are back on line, sensors should be fully functional by the end of the day.”

 “Weapons systems?”

 “I’ve got the combat fabricators working, at least after a fashion, but we’re having trouble with the launch systems. Four days at most.”

 “So four days until we’re fully operational?”

 “Ma’am, we’re papering over the cracks here. If we were going to get this ship back into full working spec, we would be looking at months, not days. All we can do is fix the major systems and hope Hercules holds together through whatever we end up putting her through.” He paused, “Having said that, we can jump whenever the word is given. Oh, and we’ve just about finished fueling, as well. Those systems weren’t badly damaged.”

 Musing for a moment, she said, “What about the saboteur? Any sign of his handiwork?”

 “Once I got the damage to the combat replicators and the fueling system fixed, I didn’t find anything else, and I have been looking. I’m not saying we might not have some surprises left buried in the systems, but nothing critical.”

 “Anything else I need to know?”

 “Life support systems are all fine, and we’ve got stores prepared for an extended voyage if we need to make one. I’m getting the spares deposits built up a little, but Hydra doesn’t have much of what we need. Fabricators are working again, though. Just spending a few days at a repair facility makes a real difference.”

 “Thanks, Sergeant. Bridge out.”

 “Good engineer,” Curry said. “He really ought to have been commissioned, but he always turned it down. Said he felt more comfortable wearing stripes.”

 “Maybe we can change his mind when we get back,” she said. “Offer him something fun to work with.”

 “I know he admired Alamo quite a bit when he was on board. Getting to work with new equipment for a change might tempt him a little.”

 “I don’t think we’ll ever get Quinn out of his engine room from what I’ve seen of him, but it might be worth a try.”

 Nelyubov turned to her, his eyes widening. “Dimensional instability! Close aboard!”

 “Damn.”

 “We should go to battle stations.”

 Shaking her said, she replied, “No. Too many workers on board from Hydra Station. We’d be showing our hand.”

 “Don’t you think we’re about to be found out anyway?” Nelyubov yelled.

 “Frank,” Curry said, “We haven’t got any weapons to fire. We’ve got to ride Orlova’s bluff as long as we can. She’s quite right.”

 Turning back to his station, he said, “It’s not very big. Cabal warbook is identifying it as a Bleriot-class Scout.”

 “Useful having that around,” Carpenter said. “What can it do?”

 “Two missile tubes, countermeasure capability. Comparable to the Mariner-class Scouts – on the old side. If we had weapons we could take her easily.”

 “But we don’t,” Curry said. “So we can’t.”

 “They’re hailing the station,” Mathis said. “Tight-beam, can’t pick it up.”

 Frowning, Carpenter said, “Call Price up, remind him that we have priority on repair work.”

 “Huh?” he replied.

 “It’s what we would do if we really were a Cabal ship, Sergeant. Do it.” 

 As Mathis worked, Carpenter rose from her station and walked over to Tactical, leaning over Nelyubov’s station to look at the readings.

 “It’s just sitting there,” he said. “Waiting for docking clearance, probably.”

 “Or passing on some of the news of the battle,” Curry said. 

 “We didn’t see any ships of this type. Odds are it’s coming in from somewhere else.”

 “I hope so.”

 “We’re being hailed by the station,” Mathis said. “Wants to speak to you.”

 “Here it comes,” Curry said.

 Price’s face appeared on the screen, and he immediately began, “The commander of the Dumont has requested top priority for repairs; I don’t know all of the details, but apparently some sort of blockade is being established.”

 “Where?” Carpenter asked, leaning forward in her chair.

 “I don’t know. Classified. In any case, he’ll have to get priority on the supplies.”

 Fixing her face in a scowl, she replied, “I think a full warship has greater priority than a mere scoutship, Mr. Price.”

 “We’ve already established that you can’t be fully repaired in the time window, Lieutenant. Let’s give the Dumont what it wants and get it on its way, then we can concentrate on Hercules again.”

 “Under protest, Mr. Price,” Carpenter said. “Hercules out.”

 “We’re dead,” Curry said as the screen went dark. “As soon as they reach the blockade, they’ll report our presence and we’ll be stuck.”

 “Unless we jump earlier,” Nelyubov said. “Lieutenant, if we forget about the weapons systems…”

 “Forget about our armament?” Curry said, shaking her head.

 Fixing a stare at her, he continued, “We can be out of here in thirty-six hours.”

 “What about Orlova?” Carpenter said. 

 Taking a deep breath, he said, “We leave her behind, and you get us home as Acting Captain. Or yield the chair to someone else if you want. Lieutenant Curry is next in line.”

 “Don’t look at me,” she said.

 “There’s another option,” Carpenter replied with a smile, amazed that she was even considering it. “I want a plan to seize the Dumont.”

 “Capture the Dumont? Are you out of your mind?” Curry said, but Nelyubov sat back in his chair rubbing his hand across his chin.

 “I like the way you think, Lieutenant,” he replied. “We’ve got access to the schematics of that ship, and we might be able to come up with something.”

 “You’ve got twenty-four hours to work on it, Lieutenant,” Carpenter said. “If you can’t think of anything, then we’ll just have to make a run for it and hope we can finish fixing up the ship as we go.” Standing up, she continued, “Curry, you have the deck. I’ll be in the office.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, shaking her head. “I have the deck.”

 She gently slid into the office and swung herself down into the chair, waiting for the door to close before she allowed herself to panic. Not only was she facing the real possibility that she’d end up commanding this ship long-term, but she’d just ordered Nelyubov to start planning a battle with an enemy warship. Where she would have to command Hercules in combat.

 On the viewscreen in the office, Sandveld was rising, its sepia rear hemisphere, shining as the sun passed behind it. She stared down at it, looking at the swirling clouds and thin rivers cutting through the deserts, longing to be on the surface, or anywhere other than where she was. Orlova was somewhere down there, no doubt having an amazing adventure, while everything started to fall to pieces up there.

 The scout moved into view as it drifted in to dock with the station, a sphere that seemed to be trailing a cage containing its engine systems, long missile tubes at its heart. An antenna on the top of the ship seemed to point towards Hercules for a second before drifting away, locking onto another target.

 Picking up a datapad, she began to search for a file. Finding it, she settled down for a read, punctuated by the occasional panic as she glanced up at the clock, watching it slowly counting the seconds before she would have to decide whether to run or fight.

 “Damn it, Maggie, you’d better get yourself up here. This isn’t what I signed up for.” She turned her attention back to the datapad and began to read.

 ‘An Elementary Course in Three-Dimensional Warfare, Chapter 1...’

Chapter 14

 Orlova walked across the desert with Durman by her side, a pair of the Neander behind them sweeping away their tracks. Not only would that prevent anyone pursuing them, it would also make it next to impossible for them to find their own way back. While she was trying to spot landmarks, one rock looked very similar to another.

 They’d been walking for what felt like hours, and her legs were aching in the gravity; she resolved to spend more time in Hercules’ gym when she got back, then caught herself. At some point she’d started identifying herself completely with Hercules, to the point that Alamo was beginning to seem like a distant memory, despite having walked on its deck less than a month ago. By now it was all destroyed, and she stopped for a moment and looked up; it was getting dark, and the stars were coming out. Comforting, and yet familiar; Kormax stopped, and turned to face her.

 “Is there a problem?”

 “Just some memories catching up with me. Nothing to worry about.”

 Durman said, “We’ll, I’ve got a problem. My feet hurt. How much further are we going to have to walk?”

 “Not far. We are almost there.” He turned and pointed, and as she squinted, Orlova could see a curl of smoke on the horizon. “The fires of my people have been lit for the night.”

 “Aren’t you worried that they might show up from orbit?”

 “There are many volcanic vents on this planet, enough that no-one will ask any questions about one more heat source. Besides, no-one has ever really looked for us. That has been seen to.”

 “By Price, among others,” Orlova said. “I’m looking forward to speaking to him properly when we get back. I think we might be able to help each other.”

 “I would certainly hope so. Come, there is food, drink and shelter a few paces ahead.”

 Orlova looked at Durman, who grimaced; there was no way of telling what a ‘few’ paces would be, though it was likely to be far more than they were used to. Her shoes hadn’t been designed for this sort of wear, and already she could feel hot sand through some slits in the soles, and grimaced at the occasional sharp stone.

 As they grew closer, they could start to make out individual structures; a dozen tall tents, scattered around a fire, with a thin fence made of sticks placed around the perimeter. The smell of roasting meat filled the air, and the prospect of eating real food made Orlova salivate. What was obvious at the start was that everyone there was Neander; she could see children being ushered into the tents to safety, people looking at her in fear, even hatred.

 A trio of men wielding guns came from the rear of the encampment, heading towards them with grimaces on their faces, as though they were about to do a job they found unpleasant; Kormax jogged up to them, exchanged some words in a language they did not recognize, and they moved to the perimeter, taking up positions that would allow them to see Orlova and Durman wherever they went, though she didn’t imagine that the guards were for their protection. 

 “My people are understandably wary of your kind,” Kormax said. “You feature in many of our oldest stories.”

 “We do?” Durman said.

 “As demons and monsters, Mr. Durman. A recurring theme is that your kind expelled us from paradise. I’m sure you can understand where such legends could have originated.”

 “But Mr. Price…”

 “Very few of my people have ever encountered yours. I myself have only met Mr. Price on a few occasions, though we have conversed more frequently.”

 “You have communications equipment here?” Orlova said. “I need to contact my ship.”

 “That will be for the Elders to decide. I can promise you a fair hearing.”

 “And if they decide against us?” 

 Grimly, Kormax replied, “Then you will be buried according to the customs of your people.”

 “Wonderful,” Durman said.

 “Wait here until I summon you. I will see that you are provided with food.”

 He directed them to a patch of ground outside the perimeter, and Durman gratefully crashed down into the dust while Orlova sat cross-legged next to him. A moment later, a woman came over with two wooden bowls and a clay jug, the former filled with bubbling broth, the later with water. She placed them on the ground and raced away, never once making eye contact.

 “We’re not flavor of the month here, are we,” Durman said, looking down at the soup. “I guess they don’t believe in spoons, either.”

 “I’m too hungry to stand on ceremony,” Orlova said, reaching for the bowl. Durman placed a hand on hers.

 “You don’t know if that’s safe. Most of the animal life around here isn’t compatible with humans.”

 “They’re close enough to us that if they can eat it, so can we. If they wanted us dead, then they’d have shot us and left our bodies in the sand.”

 “That can still happen, remember.”

 “Then why die hungry?” she said, tipping the bowl to her mouth and taking a big gulp. She swirled the hot liquid around with her tongue as it went down; it tasted wonderful, fragments of meat mixed in with finely diced vegetables she didn’t recognize. The water was cool and clean, better than anything she’d had since Jefferson. Durman watched her for a moment, then followed suit.

 “What’s the plan, then?” he said as he ate.

 “That depends on them. Hopefully we’ll be able to come to some sort of an understanding.”

 “You’ve had training at this, right? Negotiation, diplomacy, they’d be courses in your Academy.”

 “Never went,” she replied, taking another swig of soup. “I was commissioned from the ranks.”

 “That can happen?” Durman said, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be heard of here. Either you’re born Officer caste, or you aren’t.” 

 “That’s no way to get the best officers.”

 “It doesn’t happen in your Fleet?”

 She shook her head, “No. Oh, there are quite a few sons who follow their parents into the military; Alamo’s Captain was the son of another battlecruiser commander, but anyone can aspire to the high ranks.”

 “Your parents?”

 “My father once served on Hercules as a pilot, long ago. My mother is a smuggler, a thief.”

 “She’s a criminal, and still you are allowed into the fleet?” He shook his head, “Extraordinary.”

 Kormax walked out, three others by his side; he was now wearing a gray robe embroidered with patterns of stars. Orlova recognized them as the constellations visible from Earth, slightly distorted by time, a little echo of the world they had left behind so many thousands of years ago,

 “I introduce my comrades,” Kormax intoned. “Aydar, Reader of Histories, Caradox, Master of Hearths, and Vargon, Watcher of Stars. We lead our people through their time on this world, in this cycle of their existence.”

 Glancing to the left, Orlova said, “I am Sub-Lieutenant Orlova, commander of the Battlecruiser Hercules, and this is Durman, leader of the Crashlander Starport.”

 “Guess you are taking the lead then,” Durman whispered with a smile.

 “Battlecruiser,” Caradox spat. “Always you think of war and weapons.”

 “Our Scouts walk the desert with rifles,” Kormax said. “The difference is simply one of degree. And our ancestors had similar ships, remember.”

 “And paid dearly for that,” Aydar said, nodding. “To forget the lessons of the past is to repeat them.”

 “Why did you bring them here?” Caradox said. “You know it means their end.” 

 Orlova frowned, “We were told we would receive a fair hearing…”

 Interrupting her, Kormax said, “They are here because our world is dying, Caradox, and the hearth fires you tend will flicker and die if nothing changes.”

 “That will not be for many centuries,” Vargon said. “The life story of our world is not yet complete.”

 “But it will have an end, and that will mean the end for our people. I would have it be not so, and we need their help.”

 “You have always been impatient, Kormax,” Aydar said, raising a finger. “Time still serves as our ally. Time for our descendants to develop a technology once again, with the aid we are already receiving.”

 “Against my advice,” Caradox said. “These people hold ours in servitude, those that they did not wipe out. Would you trust the butcher who wields his blade above your head?”

 “We do not hold your people in slavery,” Orlova said, “nor have we ever massacred your people.”

 “Your time to speak...,” Aydar said, but Orlova stepped forward.

 “I will not sit silently while you judge my people for acts committed by others. What the Cabal has done to your people is wrong, and the Triplanetary Confederation will not sit by and allow it to happen.”

 “And what, pray, is that,” Caradox said with a sneer. “Another group of our racial enemies?”

 “They come from other worlds than the Cabal,” Vargon said. “I will listen.”

 “The Confederation was formed to fight for freedom, freedom from tyranny and slavery; our people were dominated by the United Nations of Earth, before we rose up and freed ourselves in a decade of war.”

 “Earth,” Aydar muttered. “Mother Earth.”

 “Other worlds have joined us since then, worlds that also fled from tyranny. We fight for freedom, for liberty, and for the right of people to choose their fate. The Cabal does not offer that choice, no other government in this part of the galaxy does.” She looked at Caradox, “If you tell us that you do not want us, we will go. Go in sadness, for we have much to learn from each other, but we would go.”

 “And the alternative?” Aydar said. “What would that be?” 

 “We could help you. Protect you from the Cabal until you are able to defend yourselves, provide the help you want to restore your world.” She smiled, pointing roughly in the direction of Sol. “About twenty light-years from here, human beings on a world called Ragnarok are fighting to bring their world back to life.”

 “It is as I said,” Kormax nodded. “These are not the Cabal.”

 “Words,” Caradox said. “All just words, and meaningless to me.”

 “These words are different from ones we have spoken before,” Vargon said. “I would be interested in learning more about this new world.” 

 “We could provide records, details. Even take you there, one day.”

 Vargon’s eyes lit up, and Orlova realized she had hit home; this was no simple astrologer, but a man who wished to travel the stars for real, not just in his thoughts and dreams.

 “Do not forget, Caradox, that we had our own warlike period.”

 Standing up, the rugged Caradox strode over to Orlova, looking down at her, hands waving in the air, saying, “I should strike this beast down where she stood. Her kind destroyed ours. Wiped them from the face of Mother Earth.”

 “That was twenty, thirty thousand years ago. Those who slaughtered your people are dead, long ago.”

 “But have you ever changed?” He turned to the others, “I have read the history of Earth, a catalog of wars and destruction culminating in the death of all. Ecosystems wiped out, burned away by atomic fire…” 

 “As we did,” Aydar said. “This world was bountiful until our war.”

 “What happened?” Durman said. “We’ve found ruins, fragments, but nothing to indicate a war.”

 “Nine thousand years ago, we had reached the stage where we walked among the stars, our ships riding on pillars of flame. We hoped to return to Mother Earth, to take back what was ours, but in our ignorance we did not know where it was. Before we could find it, we squabbled, and warred across the stars for centuries.”

 “Centuries of war?” Orlova said. “How did you sustain it for so long?”

 “We never developed a faster-than-light drive. Our hatred was cold, our vengeance played out over generations. By the end of the war, our spaceships were lost, our cities had burned, and our people killed by the billion. Perhaps it is a blessing that we never reached such heights again.”

 “You seem educated enough,” Durman said.

 “This world is not conducive to the native development of high technology,” Kormax said. “It has been attempted, but the raw materials we need are buried too deep in the ground. We preserve what we can, from one generation to the next.”

 “Records from ten thousand years ago?” Orlova said, her eyes glittering. “I’d like to see them.”

 “Naturally you wish to learn our secrets,” Caradox said.

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I wish to hear your stories.”

 Aydar nodded, “That might be possible.”

 “What can you do for us?” Caradox said. “What boon will you grant us?”

 She looked at him, deep into his dark brown eyes, and said, “I am not here to barter for favor. If that is the only basis for our relationship, then we have none. I ask for help because I would help in your place. The Triplanetary Confederation can provide you with assistance, but there is no price tag. How can you put a price on knowledge?”

 “That seems far too altruistic,” Aydar said, but his voice had softened.

 “During our war, we would have done anything for someone who had offered us help in our fight. There were those who might have helped, but they did not. How can we refuse our aid, when receiving such was our fondest wish?” She looked up at the stars, “It’s a big galaxy out there. We must group our intelligence together if we are to keep warm in the dark.”

 “It is a trap, a trick, an illusion. They should be ended now,” Caradox said. “I am minded to give the order. The stars are blinding you.”

 “You are not the only voice that speaks for the Council,” Kormax said.

 “Nor are you.”

 Aydar walked up to Durman, “What have you to say, for your Cabal?”

 “That I wish I had been born in the Confederation.”

 The old Neander chuckled, and turned to Orlova, “I venture you have one convert, if nothing else. I will vote to assist you.”

 “As will I,” Vargon said. “It is time we returned to the stars once again. Reclaimed our birthright.”

 “This is a mistake, and one you will live to regret.”

 “Our descendants may live because of the decision we are making here tonight,” Kormax said, nodding. “The vote is three to one, then. You are obliged to stand behind it.”

 “I am not obliged to sit and do nothing while our people are betrayed. This is not over,” he said, walking away towards a tent, a small cluster following him. Vargon looked after him, shaking his head.

 “Disunion, argument. These are bad times, I fear.” He turned towards Orlova, “I have some understanding of the principles behind your faster-than-light drive. It requires points of gravitational stability, yes?”

 Shaking her head in disbelief, she replied, “It does. How do you know about this?”

 “The information Mr. Price gave us has been most interesting.”

 “I will see that Hercules gives you everything in its databanks before we leave. It isn’t complete.”

 Aydar smiled greedily, “I see many long nights of learning ahead. I wish I was young again, but my daughters will sate their intellects in a way I never could.”

 “Why did you want to know about the hendecaspace drive?” Orlova asked.

 Vargon took a stick from the ground and started to make marks, points in the ground with long lines beneath. It took only a few moments for Orlova to realize that he was drawing a representation of a 3-D version of local space, sketching it out on the ground, and she looked at it with awe.

 “You keep all those positions in your head?”

 “Aydar remembers the legends and histories of our people, but I remember our place in the stars, that one day we may return to the worlds we have lost. My eldest daughter has learned all of this, and is teaching her son; the information will be retained.”

 Orlova pulled out her datapad and took a picture, the computer matching it up with its record of local space. She looked across at Vargon with wonder as it superimposed the map on its screen.

 “You’re pretty damn close, Vargon.”

 “I venture, though, that I know things your computer does not.” He drew five more points onto the ground, linking up the dots. “The Shrouded Stars, discovered only late in our star-roving, too late for us to take advantage of them.”

 “Shrouded stars?” Durman said.

 “Based on the data I have seen, they are called brown dwarves. Dark and small even for their kind, but they might be of use to you.”

 “Might be of use?” she said. “Vargon, this gives us a direct way back home. A route back to Triplanetary space that we can use to get back to you again!” 

 Nodding, the old astrologer said, “I think we made the right decision. If your first thought is that this path can be of use to us, our secrets are in good hands.”

 “Where does that go?” Durman said.

 “Right to Spitfire Station, one jump from home. We’d need to refuel, but…,” she looked up at the stars, “we’re going home. Damn it all, we’re going home!” She looked at Vargon again, “You said you had a transmitter? We need to contact Hercules, then I’ll want to be escorted to a safe point for our shuttle to come down and pick us up.” Nodding at Durman, she continued, “You’re coming with us.”

 “Naturally.”

 “We need to move quickly on this,” she said.

 Smiling, Vargon replied, “You will not find us wanting, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Kormax walked over, pushing a wheeled cart with a collection of equipment on it, a series of antenna reaching up at the sky. She frowned at the antiquated material, but nodded at the computer – modern encryption.

 “A tight-beam transmitter.”

 “Thanks,” she said, picking up the microphone. A few quick adjustments, and she was ready to go, “Orlova to Hercules.”

 “Maggie?” Carpenter’s voice replied. “Thank God. Look, we’ve got problems up here…”

 “Later. Are the long-range sensors working?”

 “Just coming on-line now. Why?”

 “Put Race on. I need him to start calculating some stellar locations.”

 “They’re all in the computer, surely.”

 Looking at Vargon, she replied, “These aren’t.”

Chapter 15

 Twelve hours had passed while Cooper had lingered in his hiding place, trying to sleep for want of anything else to do. Alamo had entered hendecaspace long before, and the crew were shaking down for the transition; by now, most of them would be in sleep cycle. A perfect time for him to continue his investigation.

 He’d managed to liberate the equipment he needed from various storage crates, another intrusion kit and a datapad; presumably Barbara had managed to get to the Captain, else by now someone would have come to investigate the changes to the inventory levels. The only question was where he should go next, and all of it added up to one person – Lieutenant Lane. She’d been far too quick off the mark both when he was found near Matsumoto’s body, and when he escaped from the detention center.

 That wasn’t definitive, of course, but it certainly gave him somewhere to start. There was little chance of any more sabotage while the ship was traveling through hendecaspace, and certainly no opportunity to send any signals, so he was unlikely to get any other leads. A check of the armory systems might be worthwhile to find out who was withdrawing ammunition in his name, but someone would have done that already. His job was to do the work that others couldn’t. At least, not officially.

 He turned with a start as he heard a noise behind him, a figure walking into the room. Reaching for his pistol, he leveled it at the approaching crewman, a familiar shape; Orlowski, wearing maintenance fatigues.

 “Don’t shoot,” his friend said. “I’m off duty, hence not occupied looking for you.”

 “What are you doing here, Orlok?”

 “I thought you might want some help.”

 Lowering the pistol, Cooper replied, “I’m not sure that would be good for you. People are shooting at me, remember?” 

 “How’s the arm?”

 “Painful.”

 “Would have been fatal if Duggan hadn’t thrown himself at Lane in the corridor. I’ve seen her on the range; she’s a crack shot. She’s off the search, by the way. Captain’s order. Can you tell me what the hell is going on now?”

 “I’m looking for the saboteur.”

 “Figures. I have a feeling I know who your top suspect is.”

 “I think you are right about that.”

 “Just because you don’t like her – and, admittedly, she tried to kill you – doesn’t mean she’s the saboteur, Gabe. It could be almost anyone.”

 “We’ve got to start somewhere.”

 “What were you doing in Matsumoto’s cabin?”

 He shrugged, “I thought she was the saboteur. It didn’t occur to me that she was conducting her own investigation. The Captain didn’t know about it.”

 “Unless he had two people looking and decided not to tell them they had a backup.”

 “Possible. In any case, I need to make my investigation a bit more obvious.”

 “Obvious? Why? Most of the crew thinks you’re the saboteur now at the moment. Whoever the real saboteur is, he’ll be feeling nice and comfortable right now.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “I don’t want the bastard to be feeling comfortable. I want him to feel as if he is being hunted, preferably by me on my own. If he’s coming after me, then he isn’t doing anything to Alamo.”

 Orlowski’s eyes widened, “You’re taking the bullet on yourself.”

 “We’ve got a lot of battles coming up, and the last thing we need is someone sabotaging the ship in the middle of a firefight. This has got to be resolved, as soon as possible.” He gestured towards the exit with his head, “Still plenty of time for you to get back to the barracks.”

 “If you think this needs doing, then we’ll do it. Duggan and Duvalier are out ‘looking’ for you now, down in the sensor decks, so you’d better stay clear of that area. We worked out the search pattern between ourselves.”

 “I’m glad none of you think I’m the saboteur.” Cooper frowned, then continued, “Or am I to be permanently chaperoned by one of you because you think there is a chance I just might be.”

 Glancing to the side, Orlowski said, “Let’s not put it that way.”

 Raising a hand, Cooper said, “I’d do exactly the same in your place, and I can use the help.”

 “What are we going to do?”

 “Sneak up to the officer’s deck and break into Lane’s cabin.”

 “You’ve got to be out of your mind! That’s three doors down from the scene of a murder investigation.”

 “And if there was a full platoon on guard, someone would be constantly guarding it, but I’m guessing that Major Diego is relying on automatic sensors.”

 “Good guess.” Orlowski shrugged, “That guy really is going through the motions. Duggan’s having to handle most of the admin.”

 “I bet he’s loving every moment of it. Come on, let’s get on with this. A quick hit and run raid is just what I need to get the adrenaline flowing.” He stood up, shaking his legs to work out the cramps, and walked over to the nearest maintenance hatch.

 “Can’t we play some handball instead?” Orlowski said, following him.

 The two of them scrambled around the outer levels of the ship, moving around the maintenance shafts in a semi-random course that took them generally forward in the direction of officer’s country. Scrambling up ladders and access-ways rapidly took a toll on Cooper’s arm, and after a few moments he paused, panting for breath. Orlowski glanced towards a corridor access, but Cooper shook his head.

 “We can’t risk it.”

 “I hate to break it to you, but this is a big ship and these accessways twist all over the place. We’ll be lucky if we manage to get there in less than two miles, and I don’t think your arm’s going to manage half that. Do you want me to go?”

 “No, I’ve got to do the breaking and entering.”

 “Don’t you trust me?”

 “There’s no point us both being brought up on charges. I need you to create a distraction.”

 Cracking the door seal, Orlowski said, “We’re going to risk the elevators. If the internal systems were going to get you, by now you’d be in custody.”

 Looking at the passage, Cooper nodded, carefully following his friend into the corridor. He raced towards the elevator in two dozen quick, light steps, glancing from side to side as if waiting for someone to ambush him. He tapped the control button with his finger, and waited impatiently for it to arrive. Behind him, he could hear voices, and Orlowski’s face flashed with panic. The Captain might be able to stop him from being picked up by the ship, but if some of the crew caught him there was nothing he could do. Finally, the door opened, and he and Orlowski leapt inside, slamming the priority button to send it speeding through the shafts.

 “Next time,” Cooper said, shaking his head, “We’ll go the long way.”

 “I can’t help having an impatient streak,” his friend replied. “Where are we going?”

 “Access station three levels down. Goes right into the life support control systems.”

 “That’s a bit of a tight fit, isn’t it?”

 “Best we can do, but it also doesn’t have any surveillance.”

 “None at all?”

 “Don’t ask me why. I found a hammock and some bits and pieces of junk in there once.  Maybe Alamo had a stowaway at some point.”

 Shaking his head, Orlowski replied, “This can be a crazy ship at times.”

 “At times?”

 Climbing into the shaft, Cooper still suppressing the occasional wince, they scaled the ladders to the topmost deck, passing the improvised sleeping area and into a disused section, dust and debris covering the floor. A squeak echoed down the corridor, and Orlowski drew his pistol in a smooth motion, pointing it into the gloom.

 “Relax, it’s just a rat. Quite a few of them down in the cargo levels.”

 “I thought we were supposed to get rid of them.”

 “We are, but I think the maintenance schedule is running behind. They won’t do any harm – but if you fire that thing off in here, the whole game will be up.”

 “What’s the plan now.”

 “You go first, tell me when the coast is clear, then keep lookout when I get to Lane’s quarters. If we get caught, you can capture me and I can get away when we’re on our own again.”

 “Why do I get the feeling that your plan would lead to me being on the deck with some new bruises?”

 Shrugging, Cooper replied, “Got to make it look convincing, don’t I? Go on.”

 With a glance at his friend, Orlowski ducked out of the shaft into the corridor, quickly disappearing from view. Cooper hung in the threshold, waiting to either emerge and begin work or prepare for a quick getaway, but he heard nothing. He counted to a hundred in his head, and was about ready to slink away when the hatch opened again, Orlowski’s head popping through.

 “All clear.”

 Taking a deep breath, Cooper said, “Right. You get moving.”

 Frowning, Orlowski asked, “What if she’s in the room?”

 “Right now she’ll be up on the bridge terrorizing Gamma Watch.”

 “Are you sure of that?”

 “Look, let’s get on with this.”

 Shaking his head, Orlowski headed away down the corridor, doing his unconvincing best to look nonchalant, and disappeared around a corner. Taking that as his cue, Cooper climbed out onto the deck and walked over to Lane’s quarters, his intrusion kit already in his hand. Hours of practice in the cargo bay began to pay off; he connected the terminals and ran through the unlocking cycle, quickly rewarded with a frustratingly loud clink as the door slid open.

 So far so good, and no sign of anyone inside. A typical senior officer’s quarters, spectacularly neat, most of the shelves bare; her possessions seemed to amount to a few holographs, all old, a selection of medals in a neat black case, and some notebooks filled with scrawl. He flicked through the pages of one of them and smiled. Drafts of love letters, written to someone named John, all of them dated a decade ago, and by the looks of them, none of them ever sent.

 Rummaging through her personal possessions was not why he was there. There was no smoking gun on her desk, just a pair of datapads. He was amused to find that she was going over his record, complete with its recent additions; none of the other files on the pad seemed to be interesting. Lots of technical manuals, descriptions of Alamo’s key systems, but that could easily be an officer attempting to catch up on ten years of technological change, rather than someone looking for weak spots.

 Somehow, he’d hoped to find something more than that. He reached around under her desk and found something underneath it, a long, thin shape; tugging at it, a pistol came out in his hand. Pulling out the magazine, he ran an RFID reader over it, and was unsurprised to find his name listed as the owner of the bullets. Nodding, he made sure the data and location had been recorded, then replaced the pistol in position, being careful to leave nothing out of place.

 He ducked down under the bed, looking around; nothing except a very worn carryall, marked for Hercules, the pockets all open and empty. Shaking the dust off, he turned to the door, only to see the figure of Major Diego standing at the threshold, his hand on his pistol. He looked at Cooper as though seeing through him, then nodded.

 “I’d better tell maintenance that there is something wrong with this door. The locking mechanism seems to have opened by itself.” Tapping a sequence onto the datapad, he turned and walked off down the corridor, leaving Cooper standing in the cabin, his eyes following the Major from the room. It was impossible he hadn’t seen him; obviously at least someone was on his side.

 Orlowski raced down the corridor, staring after the Major. “What the hell happened there?”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “I didn’t know my guardian angel was a Lieutenant-Major, but I’m not going to question it.” Glancing back at the room, he continued, “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here before someone else turns up.”

Chapter 16

 Gently, Orlova nestled the shuttle into its cradle, bracing herself for the lurch as the elevator airlock pulled it inside Hercules. Sitting to her left was the fascinated Vargon, clutching a wooden box containing ancient data crystals, or the Neander’s version of them. His eyes were fixed on the brilliant array of stars, moving from group to group as though he was attempting to count them all.

 “Astonishing,” he said. “I knew they were there, could see them in my mind, but to experience this in person is a dream I never believed I could fill in my lifetime.” Turning to Orlova, he continued, “My gratitude is boundless, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Peering over her shoulder, Durman said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but Hercules looks like a piece of junk.”

 “She’s been through a lot lately,” she replied, “but she’s got it where it counts.”

 With a series of clunks and groans, the mechanism completed its task and the shuttle settled down on the deck. Flicking a series of switches, Orlova pushed out of her couch and drifted over to the airlock, tapping the overrides to open both doors at once. Waiting on the deck was a very relieved-looking Carpenter, a datapad in hand.

 “Don’t ever do that again, Maggie,” she said, shaking her head.

 Raising a hand, she replied, “I resume command. To make it nice and official.” Waving out the others, she said, “Allow me to introduce Mr. Durman, late of the Crashlander Starport, now seeking political asylum…”

 “Kidnapping, asylum, what’s the difference,” he said as he drifted out onto the deck. “I guess I can make myself useful with your engineering teams. There certainly seems to be enough work to do around here.”

 “Sergeant Wilson is down in Communications. Apparently he thinks he can get the bandwidth to something slightly better than pitiful.”

 “Anything will be an improvement at this point,” Orlova said. As Vargon pushed out to Carpenter’s widening eyes, she continued, “This is Vargon, Watcher of Stars of the inhabitants of the planet below.”

 “We call it Driftwind,” the Neander said as he pushed out onto the deck, clutching hold of the airlock as though worried he would float away.

 Pushing forward, Carpenter said, “This is an amazing privilege, sir. I’ll be wanting to spend a lot of time with you while you are on board.”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter is a paleontologist, studying the ancient history of Earth, with an emphasis on your people,” Orlova said. “Though naturally, until arriving at this planet she has never met one face to face.”

 Nodding, Vargon said, “I would be interested in trading information with you. There is little information available on the ultimate fate of our people after we were rescued from Earth.”

 “Rescued?”

 “It’s a long story, Sub-Lieutenant, and there will be much time for it later.”

 Interrupting, Orlova said, “What’s the status of the scoutship?”

 “The Dumont? She’s docked at the far side of the station, and her crews seem to be keeping themselves to themselves; I sent a few people into the cargo areas and they only saw station personnel. From what we can see, they’re just going through general maintenance.”

 “And if Price hadn’t told us that military ships don’t use this facility, I’d accept this as normal. There’s something going on.”

 Tossing a datapad to Orlova, she said, “I had Nelyubov come up with a plan to destroy the scout. Essentially, we need to plant warheads on the hull in a series of key locations, disguised as dock workers.”

 Flicking through the report, she replied, “This is ingenious.”

 “Frank did most of the work.”

 “I’ll have to leave you in command more often.”

 “Please don’t. I had to duck into your office every quarter hour for a panic attack.”

 With a smile, she replied, “What do you think it’s for?” Glancing at Durman, she said, “You might as well…”

 “Get lost while the adults talk? Sure, I’ll go and find that Sergeant Wilson.”

 After he drifted off into the corridors, Orlova said, “Everyone on the bridge?”

 “All the officers.”

 “Let’s get there, then.”

 The trio drifted into the elevator, Vargon still looking around in wonder at everything, running his shaggy hands over the walls and controls, smiling as he pushed around in the zero-gravity. Orlova had been concerned about spacesickness, but he’d gone through the shuttle flight profile without a quiver.

 After a few moments, the elevator stopped at the bridge, the doors sliding open and releasing Orlova out onto the deck, the others following. Curry rose from the command chair and turned around in a pirouette; Nelyubov remained at his station, engrossed in his work, and Race floated in the corner, fascinated at the new arrival.

 “Welcome back, Maggie,” she said. “That was a hell of a risk you took.”

 “Turned out to have a hell of a payout. Race, have you had a chance to conduct your preliminary investigations?”

 “Don’t you want to go into the office?”

 “What’s the point?” she shrugged. “We’d struggle to all fit in there anyway, and I don’t think we have any secrets from Sergeant Mathis or Corporal Ballard.”

 “It’s fine, ma’am, I’m deaf,” Mathis said with a smile.

 Tapping a button, a holoprojector flashed on, flickering a few times before resolving into a chart of local space. Race tapped another control, and a long, twisting path between the stars appeared, running in a huge circle around the outskirts of the few dots of Triplanetary blue.

 “Our original course as I plotted it; nine jumps, and that’s being optimistic. With refueling stops, we might get home in four months, but that would mean pushing through the heart of Cabal territory.”

 “Which means we probably wouldn’t get home at all,” Mathis said.

 “I thought you were deaf, Sergeant,” Carpenter said.

 “Now, with this new information,” Race said, working controls, “we have a new path home. Five jumps, with one refueling stop, and through completely untouched territory.” Another line, much shorter, leapt directly towards Spitfire Station, bouncing off invisible points of light. “The caveat is that while I’ve been able to verify the existence of the stars, our sensors haven’t got anything like the resolution needed to determine if there are any planets.”

 “I can help you there,” Vargon said, holding up the box. “These records date back to our final interstellar flights, and are the records of our orbital observatory before its destruction. I think you will find that they provide you with everything you need.”

 “How are we supposed to read data that was recorded ten thousand years ago?” Curry said.

 “The Cabal has already done this work for you,” Vargon said. “They adapted our recording technology for their own purposes, among other things.”

 Race shook his head, “A data recording medium that lasts for ten thousand years. Unbelievable.”

 “You can believe it, Lieutenant,” Orlova said. “You’re the astrogator; is using this path home feasible?”

 “Well, it’s going to be a lot of work, but definitely. A little slower than normal jumps because we’ll have to take a lot of gravimetric measurements at each star, but we’ve got all the equipment we need for the job.”

 “That, and we don’t have an enemy fleet on our tail,” Nelyubov said. “I vote that we proceed.”

 “I want to break orbit as soon as possible,” Orlova said, moving over to the command chair. “We’ll tell Price that our intentions are to try for the bottleneck, and just head out into unknown territory instead. I want priority work on the sensors; we might as well get some data out of this.”

 “What about the Dumont?” Nelyubov said.

 “I think we can leave it alone unless it does anything to us. We can leave in, what…” 

 “Fifty-one hours,” Curry said.

 “Thanks, I lost track of time down there.”

 “Maggie,” Carpenter said, “I’d like to go down to the surface.”

 “This isn’t a field trip,” Nelyubov said.

 “You’ll have to take Vargon back down anyway, so…”

 “Actually, that will not be necessary,” he said. “I have been selected to represent the case of my people to your Triplanetary Senate. It is hoped that you may be able to assist each other in the future, particularly if war with the Cabal is coming. This planet could become a battlefield.”

 Turning to his console, Mathis said, “Perimeter alert!”

 Pushing across the room to lean over his shoulder, Orlova said, “Where and what?”

 “Small, I think a spacesuit. Coming in towards the bridge airlock.”

 “Here?”

 “Definitely a Cabal suit, ma’am. I can see that much.”

 “Get the airlock sealed,” Nelyubov said. “He can float around out there for as long as he wants.”

 “No,” Orlova said. “If we have a guest, let’s extend a proper invitation. Curry, pass around the firearms.”

 Nodding, Curry reached for an overhead locker, pushed her palm against the reader to open it, and started pushing around pistols. Orlova snatched hers from the air and slammed in the ammunition clip while Vargon watched, his eyes doleful and disapproving. She gestured Nelyubov to the far side of the door, then waited for the inner door to open.

 “Outer door closed,” Mathis reported. “Pressurizing now.”

 “Do not fire first,” Orlova said. “Not under any circumstances.”

 The door opened, and with his helmet stuffed under his arm, Price pushed into the bridge, his head jerking from side to side as he saw the six weapons pointed at him. Letting his helmet go, he raised his hands slowly above his head while his momentum slowly carried him further into the room. 

 “Don’t shoot, for God’s sake! I’m here to help you! I have information.”

 “That you couldn’t trust to a communicator?”

 “Not with Dumont’s security team tracking everything.”

 “Are they on to us?”

 Nodding, he replied, “And they have been since they arrived.”

 “You’ve got a story to tell,” she said, “You might as well get on with it.”

 Glancing at Vargon, he said, “You aren’t one of the workers.”

 “I am a resident of the planet below,” the elder said. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

 “Wait a minute, you found...never mind, that isn’t important now. First of all, Alamo is not destroyed.”

 Orlova pushed forward, her eyes widening, “Are you sure?”

 “Dumont is on its way to hunt her down. Apparently a big task force is assembling to lure her into an ambush at Gliese 442.” Pulling a datapad carefully out of a pocket, he said, “I’ve got all the details here.”

 “An ambush?” Carpenter said. “How?”

 “Apparently there is a saboteur on board who will be able to get them to the attack site. I don’t know how, but they are very sure about it. Sure enough that every ship for a dozen light-years is being sent in to be on the kill; all patrol ships are on the way to that location. Dumont came in for some last-minute servicing, though that changed when they saw Hercules.” He chuckled, “They thought Hercules had been destroyed in the battle.”

 “I thought Alamo had been blown to pieces,” Nelyubov said. “When all those missiles converged…”

 “She must have jumped a microsecond ahead of the explosion,” Mathis said. “Our sensors were in pieces at the time, we never did get a high-resolution view.”

 “And you know where and when this ambush is to take place?”

 “In just over twelve days from now. It’s all in the datapad.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I formally request political asylum in the Triplanetary Confederation.”

 “Excuse me?” Curry said. “That’s going to raise all manner of hell.”

 “I can’t help that, Lieutenant,” he replied. “For helping you, the penalty is death.”

 “What about your family?” Orlova said, quietly.

 Shaking his head, he said, “There’s nothing I can do for them now except hope that the reprisals aren’t too severe. Likely they’ll be sent to a penal colony.” Sighing, he continued, “I’ll never see them again.”

 “Why did you do this?” Nelyubov said. “Don’t think we’re ungrateful…”

 “You just don’t trust me,” Price said with a thin smile. “I suppose I can’t blame you for that. This ship of yours needs to get home, and the Dumont is already planning to take you all back in chains. I believe they intend to plant shaped nuclear charges on your hull.”

 Orlova broke out in laughter, and at Price’s hurt look, said, “We were already planning to return the favor.”

 “Everything you need to get your launch tubes working again should be on board now. Take them down and run, Commander. Get the hell away from here.”

 “Actually, it’s Sub-Lieutenant,” she replied. “What about the station?”

 “All of my property will be forfeit; the Cabal will take it under military control.”

 “What of my people on the station?” Vargon asked with a frown.

 “That depends on who takes charge,” Price said with a shudder. “There are some real sadists in uniform. Then there are some humanitarians as well. Toss of a coin.”

 “I would rather not leave the fate of dozens of my people to the vicissitudes of fate.”

 “Nor would I, damn it. Why do you think I arranged for so many of them to be on the station? I always hoped I’d find some way to get them down to the surface, but we’ve just run out of time.” 

 Nelyubov said from his station, “I think we can get the missiles ready in forty-eight hours. We’ll have the advantage of surprise, and I recommend a sneak attack.”

 Race added, “I’ll get some courses plotted to get us away from the station as soon as possible. Perhaps we can take some people with us when we go? We’ve certainly got the room.”

 Frowning, Orlova shook her head, “No.”

 Vargon replied, “I would like an explanation.” 

 “We’re not going to take them with us because we’re going to get them down to the planet. Mr. Price, what is the crew compliment of the Dumont?”

 “About twenty officers and men.”

 “And your security force?”

 “Eight I can trust, six I can’t.”

 “What are you thinking, Maggie?” Carpenter asked.

 “Mr. Price, I think I can make you a better offer than the Cabal. This station is your property, is that correct?”

 “For what little that is worth, yes.”

 “And if we were to lease it from you?”

 “What?” Curry said. “The ship?”

 “No,” Orlova said. “The Triplanetary Fleet.”

 “I’d take it, but you’d never be able to resupply it,” Price said. 

 “Let me worry about that.”

 “What is this about?” Nelyubov said.

 Sitting down in the command chair, Orlova said, “We’re going to help Alamo.”

 “I don’t think you understood,” Price said. “Every ship. Eight capital ships, maybe as many scouts and picket craft. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

 “Surprise will be on our side; they think we’re dead, remember. We can help Alamo, and perhaps improve the odds a little.”

 Shaking her head, Carpenter said, “I know how you must be feeling, Maggie, but we’ve got to get the data on this ship home.”

 “We will. On Dumont.” She looked around the bridge, smiling, “Here’s what we do. We capture that scout, put a prize crew on board and send it home. We take the station and make sure that all non-essential personnel get down to the surface, and then we leave the system and proceed to relieve Alamo. Race, when would we have to jump?”

 “It’ll be another long one. Say five days from now.”

 “Plenty of time for us to get Hercules in as near as possible to fighting trim.”

 “Dammit,” Ballard said. “Don’t we deserve to get home?”

 “Of course we do,” Nelyubov said, “But so do the crew of Alamo, including those who were stranded with us on Discovery.” He looked up at Orlova, his eyes narrowing, “Are you serious about this plan?”

 “Yes.”

 “I’ll start working on getting some blueprints of Dumont out of the computer.”

 Price shook his head, “You are out of your mind.”

 “You said that your grandfather built this station,” Orlova said. “If we can turn it into a Triplanetary outpost, then we will protect it for you, and it will give us a tremendous strategic advantage. Get back there, stall for time, and wait for us to move in.”

 “And if I don’t?”

 “Then my plan fails and we slink home with our tails between our legs. We aren’t the Cabal, Mr. Price.”

 Sighing, he snatched his helmet out of the air, “I’d better go and work out a good cover story, see how long I can hold off Dumont.”

 “I’ll be in my office,” Orlova said as he made for the airlock. “Curry, you have the bridge. I want a tactical plan to snatch Dumont in three hours.”

 She glared around as if daring someone to oppose her, then kicked back through the door, watching it slid behind her. Since she’d assumed command, she’d wondered what she was supposed to do, what her goals and objectives should be. Jumping to Hydra Station had been sheer, desperate improvisation, but now she had a positive mission to work towards.

 The door slid open, and Carpenter pushed through. “Can I have a word?”

 “Keep it quick.”

 “Look, I don’t know much about how this military stuff works, but if I’m your executive officer then I should be telling you when you are about to make a mistake.”

 “And I am?”

 “Maggie, we’ve got a safe way home. We can take out Dumont conventionally, load up everyone from Hydra Station you want to save, and be back at Mariner Station in ten weeks. Ten weeks. With all the information we came out here to get.”

 “Not good enough. This way we get everything, Susan. We didn’t just come out here to get the advantage in a war with the Cabal, we came to stop it from happening. Think about what we might do – that battle fleet is the bulk of their mobile reserve, it must be! Knock that out and they’ll think twice before attacking, and with a secure facility here that is resupplied by a secret route, we have a dagger pointed at the heart of their empire and they will know it.”

 “The risk…”

 “Captain Marshall once pointed out to me that we’re out here to take risks.”

 “You’re asking more from the crew than you have any right to.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “None of them will be ordered to go. This will be a volunteer mission, if only because I think we won’t be coming back. Our job is to buy as much time as we can to allow Dumont to get back with a task force.”

 “I hate to break it to you, Maggie, but you are a Sub-Lieutenant. You can’t do this. Even if everything works as you say, what makes you think that the Cabal won’t launch an immediate attack. You could start a war!”

 “I might only be a Sub-Lieutenant, Susan, but I am the Acting Captain of the Battlecruiser Hercules.” She smiled; that had a hell of a ring to it. “For better or for worse, out here I speak for the Confederation. If the Senate wants to repudiate me, then that’s their business. I expect they’ll have to hold my court martial by seance, though.”

 “You really think this is a one-way flight?”

 “Between you and me, Susan, I don’t see how we can win the battle – but if we can do enough damage, we might win the war, and with the Dumont taking the data home, Hercules and her crew are expendable.”

 “I don’t know if I can think in such a way.”

 “Sometimes that’s what wearing this uniform means.”

Chapter 17

 “Emergence to normal space in one minute,” McGuire reported, turning back in her chair to face Marshall.

 “Very good, Midshipman.” He stabbed a button on his chair, “All hands, report to your battle stations. Repeat, all hands to battle stations.”

 Alarms began to sound on the bridge as his crew began to work, Caine running through the usual sequence of commands at Tactical, Lane sitting in as temporary Watch Officer, keeping a watchful eye on McGuire as she manipulated her controls.

 “Bryant, I’m going to want an immediate picture of what we’ve got in the system,” he said.

 “You’ll get it, sir. Sensors are all ready to go.”

 “Thirty seconds, sir.”

 “All decks have reported ready for battle,” Lane said. “Ready to take spin off the ship as soon as we arrive.”

 Turning to the rear of the bridge, Marshall saw Tyler holding onto a handhold, leaning against the bulkhead with his eyes intently on the viewscreen, waiting for the stars to return.

 “Sub-Lieutenant, I want your assessment of anything we see immediately. You’ve been doing the work with the Cabal database, and we need to take the fullest possible use of it.”

 “I’ll be ready, sir.”

 “Ten seconds! Nine, eight, seven,” McGuire said, and Marshall turned his chair back to the viewscreen, a finger resting on the controls of the tactical holodisplay at his side. No matter how many times he did this, there was always a certain thrill at emerging into a new system, seeing new worlds. Gliese 431 was especially well-endowed with planets, no less than thirteen revolving around the red dwarf. Fertile territory for exploration in happier times.

 “Emergence!” McGuire said, and the stars appeared in the wake of the familiar blue flash as Alamo returned to its native dimension. Bryant immediately began to work, and the holodisplay slowly resolved, planets jumping imperceptibly into their true positions as the computer verified its guesswork.

 “Threat warning! Vessel astern, twenty thousand miles, energy spike detected from its engines.”

 “Almost a stone’s throw away,” Caine said.

 “Take the spin off the ship, Lane, and let’s get a missile salvo ready to go. Ivanov, hail that ship.”

 “Aye, sir,” the communications technician replied. “They’re not accepting handshake.”

 “It’s a freighter, sir,” Tyler said. “Big type, bulk materials transport.”

 “Fuel?”

 “If it’s full, more than enough for a couple of jumps.”

 “Missiles ready, Deadeye?”

 “All good to go, sir.”

 “Give ‘em a warning shot. Quarter-mile off the bow.”

 She flicked a switch and Alamo shook, a missile tracking out from the forward launch tube, cutting through space towards its target. The freighter wallowed as it attempted evasive maneuvers, and for a heartbeat Marshall thought that the warhead might actually impact by accident, but Caine had set up enough of a safety margin to rule that out; the explosion detonated harmlessly clear.

 “They’ll need to repaint the hull,” Bryant said. “Nothing else in system so far, sir.”

 Ivanov turned to Marshall, “They’re getting talkative all of a sudden. A Captain Bergstrom for you, sir.”

 A clipped accent echoed over the communicator, “What is the meaning of launching an attack on my ship! I warn you, the Court will hear of this!”

 “No doubt. I am Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall, commander of the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo, and I must reluctantly request the requisition of your fuel.”

 “Requisition? You mean steal.”

 “No, sir. I mean requisition. You will be provided with a credit voucher for the assessed value of the commodities we take, which can be traded in at any Triplanetary facility in the recognized currency of your choice.”

 “What the hell good is that?”

 “Sir,” Bryant said, “the freighter is on the move.”

 “No way they can get away, sir,” Caine said. 

 Lane turned to Tactical, “Get a missile lock on their engines.”

 She looked back at Marshall, who nodded, “Do it.”

 “You’ll destroy my ship!”

 Marshall said, “Sir, I will be happy to pay for what we take. I regret putting your crew at hazard, but if you intend to evade any further, I would recommend you permit them to take to the escape pods.”

 “And if I accept?”

 “Then we will take your fuel, and inform the next Cabal vessel we see that you require resupply. This is a frequently traveled system; you will not be waiting long for rescue.”

 “You hope! We’ve only got food for a month on board.”

 A light flashed on Marshall’s console, a call from the lower decks. Putting the fuming Bergstrom on hold, he answered it.

 “Marshall.”

 “Bailey here, sir. We’ve hacked into the ship’s inventory – it’s called the Caliban, by the way. They’ve got rations for six months, not one. Cargo is mostly agricultural supplies, pretty high-tech stuff according to the database. Lots of experimental hybrids, that sort of thing.”

 “Something we’d be interested in,” Lane said. “We should take samples of the cargo.”

 Looking at her sharply, he said, “Thank you, Lieutenant,” and connected with Bergstrom again.

 “You have a lot more food than you claimed, Captain,” he began, “and therefore should have no problem waiting for relief. Furthermore, I’m sure you could get something out of those agricultural supplies.”

 “How did you…”

 “We have an excellent intrusion team on this ship. What is it to be, Bergstrom? Do we fight a battle that you have no chance of winning, or do you keep your ship and its cargo?”

 “Sir,” Lane hissed, “we should take the cargo as well.”

 “I will not hand over my cargo,” Bergstrom said, having obviously heard Lane. “As for fuel, we can’t spare much.”

 “Get that weapons lock ready, Lieutenant Caine,” Marshall said, then back into the microphone, “You will be inconvenienced, Captain, but nothing more.” With a smile, he continued, “Besides, think of it this way. If relations between our two governments normalize, you will have a substantial amount of Triplanetary currency to use for trade. That might give you an advantage over your competitors.”

 “And if they don’t, I’m stuck with a load of worthless credit,” he said, but his tone was softening. “You will guarantee that my crew will not be harmed, my cargo left intact?”

 “I will give you my word as a Triplanetary officer.”

 “I don’t have much choice about this, do I?”

 “No.”

 There was a long pause; just before Marshall was about to ask again, the reply came, “Very well. I accept under protest, Captain, and expect that protest to be entered into your log.”

 The channel closed, and Caine looked back at Marshall, “That was far too easy.”

 Sighing, he nodded, replying, “Much too easy. He only put up enough of a protest for it to look plausible.”

 Lane turned to face him, “Request permission to command the boarding party, sir?”

 “That’s Diego’s job. Caine, get the espatiers on the way, and an engineering team to go with them. McGuire, you can put the spin back on the ship now. Lieutenant, I want to speak to you in my office.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Bryant, if that ship so much as twitches…”

 “You’ll know in an instant, sir.”

 “Good,” he said, pushing out of his chair and over to his office, Lane following just behind. Sliding through the door, he dropped behind his desk, ready for the imminent return of gravity, and gestured her into a chair. 

 “I’d rather stand, sir,” she said.

 “Sit, Lieutenant.”

 Glancing down at the chair, she obeyed, then said, “I’m glad that worked, sir.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “Good cop, bad cop. I thought that Captain Bergstrom might need some extra encouragement.”

 “That was a ploy?”

 “Yes, sir. Major Marshall often uses such tricks.”

 “In future, Lieutenant, you will please warn me in advance if you are going to fake insubordination; I will charitably assume that you were telling the truth. Frankly, your attitude is proving something of a problem.”

 “Is this about shooting at you, sir?”

 Rolling his eyes, he replied, “If that was the only problem, Lane, I wouldn’t be quite as worried, but your...enthusiasm is presenting some serious difficulties. You are contradictory, and always exceed your mandate and the scope of your orders.”

 “I’m sorry if my service has not been satisfactory, sir, but may I speak freely?”

 “By all means,” he said, folding his arms. Gravity was beginning to return, and he felt the familiar disorientation in his ear; he struggled to focus on what Lane was saying.

 “I feel you should hand over command to your father.” 

 Suddenly she had his attention. “Why?”

 “He is the senior officer, sir, and frankly has displayed considerably more aggression.”

 “Indeed,” he said, trying to keep a straight face.

 “We can’t just sneak around Cabal space hoping for a miracle, sir. Even if Caliban isn’t a trap, there will be one waiting for us out there somewhere. A Q-ship could catch us completely by surprise, and we wouldn’t stand a chance. You need to take some affirmative action, or stand down for someone who will.”

 “Are you finished?”

 “No, sir. There has been no serious investigation into the escape of Corporal Cooper, and frankly I don’t think there will be while Zebrova is handling it; I must state that I suspect she is in league with him.”

 “Lane…”

 Raising a hand, she replied, “I would be failing in my duty as an officer if I did not say these things. I would not do so in public, but I did request permission to speak freely before I began.”

 “So you did.”

 “It really isn’t anything personal, sir.”

 “Of course not. Well, Lieutenant, while I am sorry that my command style does not meet your satisfaction, I have no intention of changing my plans along the lines indicated, and certainly have no plans to stand down.”

 “That’s a pity, sir,” she said. He looked at her, trying to weigh up whether she was serious or not. The irony that he was already planning to launch an attack on the fleet did not escape him. With a smile, he decided to take a risk.

 “I have no intention of changing my plans, Lieutenant, because I am already preparing to launch a full-scale attack on the Cabal.”

 “I’m sorry?” she said. “Why wasn’t I briefed?”

 “I didn’t trust you,” he said bluntly.

 “I see.”

 “We knew that there was a strong chance we had taken a saboteur on board from….”

 “So Corporal Cooper was working for you – is, presumably – and he was investigating Matsumoto. You didn’t tell anyone from Hercules because you thought one of us was likely the saboteur.”

 “That’s about it.”

 “And as for the attack, you kept that quiet for the same reason.”

 “Something along those lines, yes.”

 She nodded, “Brilliant. I apologize unreservedly, Captain. If you wish my resignation, then I would suggest Lieutenant Bailey as my replacement.”

 “I’ll be honest,” he said, “I had considered just that when I brought you in. You’re a good Operations Officer, Lieutenant, but you need to keep in mind what your function on this ship is.”

 “I can be a little headstrong at times, sir.”

 “That’s something of an understatement, but I don’t consider that a disqualification in an officer. As long as it can be reined in when necessary.”

 “Can I be of assistance in the battle planning?”

 “I need ideas, Lieutenant. I need this ship to be at maximum combat potential. Dig into your box of dirty tricks and start – very quietly – working out what you can do.”

 “Yes, sir. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

 “There will be a meeting after the jump. You are now invited.”

 Nodding, she said, “I think I might have something up my sleeve.” She turned to leave the office, then paused, saying, “Why do you trust me now?”

 “No saboteur would have done something as stupid as you did when you came into the room. Nine times out of ten you’d have left the room with your career in tatters, Lieutenant, permission to speak freely or no.”

 “I guess I’ve got too used to having someone called Marshall in the captain’s chair.” 

 As she left, a smile spread across his face as he leaned back, swiveling to look out at the stars again. He tapped a button on his desk; there was someone else he really should fully bring into the loop.

 “Major Marshall, report to my office, please.”

Chapter 18

 From Cooper’s viewpoint in the little-used lower observation deck, he could watch the fueling shuttles flying back and forth from Alamo, slowly limping into the hangar with their heavy load. He glanced at his fourth datapad of the day, checking the status of the fuel transfer, shaking his head. More than a day they had been at it, and still nothing seemed to be wrong. If the saboteur was going to target anything, this would be it; he longed to be on one of those shuttles with his friends, taking the risks himself.

 “Cooper, you read?” Barbara’s voice echoed through his headset.

 “I’ve got you, honey. What’s the score?”

 “Looks like five more loads will do it. No sign of trouble over there, just a lot of resentful crewmen being as unhelpful as possible. Can’t really blame them.”

 “And no sign of sabotage?”

 “We’re still flying, so no. Looks like they’re going to let us top up.” She paused, then said, “Gotta go, I’m closing for docking.”

 “Keep safe.”

 “I’m not the fugitive. Shuttle out.”

 He tossed his datapad to the deck, shaking his head. This was a dead end and he knew it; Alamo’s security were going to be watching this like a hawk. While he might find something they missed, the saboteur was going to know that this would be watched. He’d choose something less obvious, while everyone was distracted. He just couldn’t think of what.

 “You need to be more careful, Corporal,” a voice said. “I’ve been watching you for the last two minutes.”

 Behind him was Lieutenant-Major Diego, holding a pistol in his hand, a wide grin on his face. He gestured at Cooper, instructing him to toss his gun on the floor. Reluctantly, he complied.

 “Beautiful view, isn’t it, Corporal,” he said.

 “What are your intentions, sir?”

 “I’m going to put you back in custody, Corporal, and this time you are there to stay.”

 Sighing, he replied, “If you contact Captain Marshall, he’ll inform you that I am working for him to hunt down the saboteur. My mission appears to have failed, though, so I might as well turn myself in.”

 “Au contraire, Corporal. You have succeeded in finding the saboteur; I fear, however, that I have the drop on you.”

 “You’re the saboteur?”

 Shaking his head, he said, “Even a direct confession is not enough to convince you? What’s it going to take, blowing up the ship?”

 “Why not shoot me?”

 “Because I have an offer for you, Corporal. You see, I’m going to be very busy soon, and having two hands on the job will make things a lot easier.”

 “I’m not listening. Go ahead and shoot.”

 Smiling, Diego said, “I will offer you and Barbara safe passage back to Triplanetary space. New identities, plenty of credits. You’d be a rich man.”

 “You must be really stupid if you think I’ll accept that.” 

 “Oh, I didn’t think that would work. How about this? I’ll send the rest of your friends with you.”

 “Orlowski, Duggan, Duvalier? They wouldn’t go for this any more than I will.”

 “I didn’t mean them. I meant Sergeant Forrest. The survivors of your platoon, all twelve of them.”

 Gulping, Cooper said, “They’re alive? You’d have them released?”

 “They can do what they want. As far as I’m concerned they can go right back into the Fleet; I won’t want a parole. Besides, I suspect that your Fleet will be far too busy to worry about the Cabal soon.”

 “What the hell does that mean?”

 “Never mind that for now. Are you interested?”

 Looking down at the deck, Cooper felt as if his legs had been chopped out from under him. They were his friends, his comrades, and he’d let them down simply by surviving. A voice in his head said that the ship was doomed anyway, that he might be able to salvage something from the disaster, get some word back home. Even if it meant committing treason.

 “What would I do?” There was no harm in getting more details.

 “Nothing to directly harm the ship. I need a message sent to that vessel.”

 “Saying what?”

 “That Alamo is going to make its rendezvous with destiny at Gliese 442. I have obtained the exact time and location where the ship will emerge.” Smiling, he said, “That knowledge will make it much easier to capture them, Corporal. You might be saving even more lives on this ship.”

 “That’s all?” he said, inwardly smiling. He was being bribed for carrying out his assignment, albeit in a slightly unorthodox manner.

 “That’s all, Corporal. No destruction, no explosives, nothing. My fleet will handle that.”

 “How do I do it?”

 “I leave that to you,” he said, rolling a data crystal along the ground. “You know this ship a lot better than I, another advantage. That, and I know that any information you send will get through the security filters. You still have friends on the upper decks, after all.”

 Faking reluctance, Cooper said, “How can I trust you?”

 “Do you have a choice? You trust me or you die.” He smiled, then said, “I assure you that I do not trust you. I will be watching your every move by remote, and if I don’t like what you do, your Barbara is going to die.”

 The blood drained from his face as he replied, “What?”

 “There is a small explosive charge in her shuttle. Quite fatal, I assure you.”

 “Bastard.” 

 “I am fully aware of my parentage, Corporal. Do you want to get on with it? Loading is almost completed, and the clock is ticking.”

 Snatching up the data crystal, he replied, “I’ll do it. Don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

 “I’ll keep my word, Corporal. I assure you of that.” Diego stepped forward, picked up Cooper’s pistol, then retreated back into the shadows. Turning the crystal over in his hands, the trooper looked out of the viewport, then made his way into the maintenance shaft, almost catching his wounded shoulder on the bulkhead.

 If it were not for the monitoring, this would have been simplicity itself; he could have simply told the Captain what he needed to do, and he could have just sent it through the usual channels. As it was, he had to do things the hard way, and the only thing he could think of was a spacewalk. There were enough people working on the outside of the ship that no-one was going to notice another, and one of the secondary communications arrays was only a few decks up.

 Hesitantly, he swung up into a crawlway, scurrying towards the outside of the ship, hand over hand, the crystal tucked into a pocket. Treason. He was committing an act of treason against the Confederation, against the ship.

 Looking up, he said, “Monitoring or now, I don’t trust you. I’m checking the contents of this crystal.” He slipped it into the datapad and started to scan the files; all of it was astrographic data, a course plot. There could be almost anything embedded in the content, but it looked genuine. His communicator beeped, and he put it to his ear.

 “Commendable, Corporal, but we do know everything we need about this ship already. You don’t think we haven’t got all the specifications after years of espionage. The data is as I said; if you trust nothing else I have told you, then you can accept that. Now, if you don’t mind, the clock is ticking.”

 Replacing the communicator in his pocket, Cooper continued to make his way towards the airlock, dropping through an overhead hatch just in front of it. While he slipped on a spacesuit and ran the usual checklist, a part of him wondered if he would have gone ahead with this if it hadn’t already been his mission. With all those lives at stake...not that he thought he was buying anything other than the life of Barbara with this action. Still, at the back of his mind, the faces of his comrades seemed to be coming back to the surface.

 The outer door opened and he stepped out onto the hull, clamping a safety line into place. Tipping back, he started to walk up towards the antenna, a long complex of discs and cables that cast strange shadows on the gray hull. A trio of maintenance technicians were to his side, and one of them waved at him; hoping it was simply a bored worker being friendly, he waved back, and turned towards his destination.

 A hundred steps, each one a mental agony as he realized what he might be about to do. In his suit it would be even easier to track him that it was in Alamo; Diego would be even be able to know his heart rate and blood pressure. Glancing down at his communicator, he smiled when he saw all the telltales dark. His traitorous commander had made sure that he wouldn’t try any betrayal, and doubtless was riding shotgun to make sure that the antenna didn’t do anything unexpected like point back up to the bridge. 

 Finally he was there, and resigned to his task, he pulled off the maintenance cover and started to clumsily type in a command sequence, watching as a reader rose from the hull, just the right size for the data-crystal. While he watched, the antenna turned down to the right, pointing towards the freighter, and with one final, bitter regret, he slid the data crystal into position and watched the transmission begin.

 “Very good, Corporal,” a voice said in his ear. “You will be glad to know that you have saved the life of your friend. Now, if you make your way to Airlock Ten-Nine, I will be waiting to give you the rest of your instructions.”

 “That was it, Diego,” he said, not bearing to use his rank. “One shot deal.”

 “Very well, Corporal. Still, I would advise you to do as I have said, or you might find yourself experiencing a little suit malfunction.”

 Glancing down at his systems indicator, he saw a series of amber lights appear on some of his key systems, a warning of potential problems to come. As he watched, they all flicked back to green. Another message from Diego, and one he decided to take notice of. Starting towards his destination, he saw a faint blue flash from the sky above, a ship making a hendecaspace jump. Pausing for a moment, he shook his head. The message wasn’t intended for the freighter, it was just acting as a relay to the real target.

 “Hurry up, Corporal. There are now many alarms going off.”

 The final paces towards the airlock seemed glacial, and it was only with reluctance that he rested his hand on the controls, opening the outer door and scrambling inside. As the lock pressurized, he could hear sirens and alarms. 

 “....to standby stations,” Lieutenant Caine was saying. “All personnel to stand-by alert.”

 The inner door opened to reveal Diego, a gun pointed square at his chest, the smile still painted onto his face. Cooper braced himself for a quick death, took a deep breath, and moved into parade rest.

 “You don’t have to stand on ceremony, Corporal, we’re both traitors together here. Though the rest of the crew only know about you; seems that I was a little careless covering up that transmission. There were several good pictures of your face on the security cameras.”

 “I see.”

 “Most of them already thought you were a traitor, and even the ones you were working with will now have doubts. I imagine that you are interested in what happens next.”

 Folding his hands, Cooper said, “I’m absolutely fascinated.”

 “I think the time has come for you to disappear for a while. Not that I intend to kill you, simply put you into storage. Once the battle is over and Alamo is captured, I will see that my end of the bargain is upheld, for I assure you that the Cabal always keeps its promises.”

 “Is that how they got you to turn, Diego? Promises?” 

 Shaking his head, he replied, “To turn implies that I had a loyalty to the Confederation in the first place. I was born to the Cabal, and am going home. Now that I have completed my mission and the Hercules trap has been successfully sprung, I can expect to receive a good pension and a comfortable retirement.”

 “You’ve been locked up for ten years, and you just accepted that?” Cooper said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.”

 “How different was it than if I had served on a ship, Corporal? I always knew that there would be a rescue eventually; had the war broken out, I would have been retrieved with the remainder of the Hercules crew. I played the percentages, and I have won.”

 “Not yet, Diego. If that’s actually your name. This isn’t over.”

 “With everything Alamo is going to face, I fear it is. The only sane choice will be to surrender.”

 “You don’t know the Captain very well, evidently.”

 “He will surrender, or he will die. And you, incidentally. I will be unable to rescue you in that circumstance, and for that I must apologize. You may blame your commander.”

 “Do you actually expect me to just walk into captivity?”

 “Not in the least.” Diego fired, and the world went dark.

Chapter 19

 There was no such thing as stealth in space. Sensor networks could detect the slightest change in the nature of a vacuum, a misplaced molecule of oxygen, and they could certainly pick up a spacesuited boarding party trying to sneak on board a starship. Which didn’t mean that stealth tactics couldn’t work, it just meant that they had to be based on misdirection rather than brute-force technological trickery.

 “This is never going to work,” Nelyubov said as he looked at the crates, six of them all lined up in Hercules’ hangar bay, open and ready for use. 

 “Relax, Lieutenant. Didn’t you ever hear of the Trojan Horse?”

 “I certainly did, and I suspect so did they.”

 “Do you want to come or not?”

 Smiling, he said, “That isn’t even a question.”

 Orlova looked around at her hand-picked team, selected from the only members of Hercules’ crew that had actual combat experience. Durman had invited himself along for the ride as well, pointing out that he had at least fired a weapon in recent memory. She looked down at the boxes again, wondering how she had managed to get quite this desperate.

 Wilson walked over with the sealant, shaking his head, “You realize that if you aren’t on board in an hour, you are in for a world of problems. Bad enough for these things to pop open if you are in atmosphere, but during transit...there’s no room for a spacesuit, just a respirator. You’d have maybe thirty seconds to find an airlock.”

 Looking around, Orlova said, “If anyone wants to back out, now’s the time. I won’t object, and won’t think any the less of you.”

 The crew looked around, each of them wondering if anyone else was going to drop out. Shaking his head, Durman started to climb into his box, folding himself into the fetal position and sliding his rifle into the slot.

 “Let’s get this over with. I don’t like being in confined spaces.”

 Nodding, Orlova scrambled into the box, slipped on her oxygen mask, and crunched herself up into a ball as the crate was closed, the whining sound of the sealant gun echoing through the space. Reaching for her watch, she started a sixty minute countdown; if she was any longer than that, she’d have to improvise.

 The problem was that she couldn’t really feel what was going on in zero-gravity. She could just about tell that the crate was moving, but there was no way of seeing outside; there was nothing anyone could think of that wouldn’t be immediately obvious, and there were troubles enough as it was. 

 Glancing down at her watch, she realized that only twenty seconds had passed. This was going to be a long wait. She began to mentally picture what was going to happen; Price’s people would collect the crates, place them with the next consignment of stores for the Dumont, and take them outside in suits, dropping them off in one of the cargo bays. Shortly afterward, the crates would pop open and they could begin their work.

 She was definitely on the move, but she tried not to think about it. There was nothing she could do until the sealant popped, and she might as well relax. Starting a series of deep breaths, she closed her eyes, started to count, and tried to clear her mind of thought.

 The beeping of her watch woke her up; glancing at the face, she saw that she had only one minute to go. Against all her expectations, she had actually managed to fall asleep. Trying to stretch out was impossible; she banged her elbow against the side of the crate, wincing; no-one was going to hear her at least.

 With a loud pop, the crate flew open, and she pushed out into open space, not sure what she was going to see. A part of her expected that the plan wouldn’t work, that she’d emerge to see a dozen guns pointing at her. What she actually saw was a worried-looking Neander holding a datapad, her head jerking from side to side as the troopers emerged from their personal plastoform chrysalis. She saw an angry red welt on the side of her head, scars on her bare arms.

 “Don’t worry,” she said, reaching for her gun, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

 “Who are you?”

 “The Triplanetary Fleet. We’re here to help. How many more of your people on board?”

 “Twelve.”

 “Do you know how to use a gun?”

 Nodding, she said, “I don’t want to.”

 Durman sighed, then tossed her a pistol, “I’d rather be sitting around a fire cracking a beer, but we don’t always get what we want. We need to get to critical stations.”

 “Frank,” she said to Nelyubov, “You take Mathis, go grab engineering. Jenkins, you and Scott take life support. I’m heading up to the bridge.” She turned to the frightened woman, “What’s your name?”

 “They call me…”

 “No,” she said, shaking her head. “What’s your name. Your real name.”

 “Ixia.”

 Tossing her a box, she said, “There are four more pistols in here. More in the other crates. Give them to your people.”

 She looked at the pistol in her hand, then up at Orlova, a deep sadness in her limpid eyes, “I don’t want to kill.”

 “No-one does. You have to decide what is more important to you. In two days you can be down on the planet below in safety, and never have to hurt anyone – or be hurt by anyone – again. Isn’t that worth fighting for?”

 Mathis, pushing out of the room and peering into the corridor, said, “Come on, skipper, we’ve got to move!”

 Nodding, she left Ixia with the weapons and pushed up into a maintenance hatch. Price had provided detailed schematics of the ship, and just a few hours ago she’d done this entire journey using the holoprojectors. It wasn’t the same, though, it never was. So many modifications made by engineers over the years, dangling bits of component that made it harder to get through.

 Behind her, Durman swore as he got hung up on a piece of cabling. Giving a tug to loosen it, he grinned in triumph as it broke away, whereupon all the lights went out. Cursing, Orlova clicked a button on her pistol, a beam of light flashing down the tunnel, and kicked off as quickly as she could to reach her destination.

 “Sorry,” Durman said as he followed her.

 “You couldn’t know how lousy the maintenance was.”

 “No,” he said. “I’m sorry. Please put your hands in the air.”

 Turning around, her eyes wide, she said, “Come on.”

 “I’m quite serious.” Gesturing to the right, he said, “The hatch is right there, and there are friends of mine waiting outside.”

 “You had a lot of chances to do this before.”

 “Maybe I’ve decided which side I’m on.”

 Shaking her head, she cracked the hatch open and pushed out into the light of the corridor, blinking as her eyes adjusted. A trio of guards wearing Hydra Station patches, all carrying dangerous looking rifles, were waiting for her, and Durman kept his pistol trained on her as she emerged.

 “The Captain wishes to see you,” one of them said in a clipped accent, snatching her pistol away.” “And Captain Chadwick does not like to be kept waiting.”

 Two of them grabbed her roughly by the arms, pulling her into a waiting elevator; Durman looked after her, a mournful look on his face, and kicked off down the corridor. The guards were silent in their ascent, and she wondered what welcoming parties were waiting for the rest of her assault team; her answer came as she pushed out into an observation deck, and Nelyubov was ruefully looking at her.

 “We didn’t get five decks,” he said.

 “Don’t worry, Frank. We did what we had to do.”

 A tall, gaunt figure pushed into the room, wearing a crumpled white uniform, a pistol in his hands.

 “We have all five of you,” the figure said. “I understand you two are officers in the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 “I am Acting Captain Orlova, of the Battlecruiser Hercules.”

 Nodding, he said, “Captain Chadwick, of the Dumont. I must ask you to immediately surrender yourselves, or face consequences that I am certain you will not enjoy.”

 “I will under no circumstances surrender my vessel.”

 “That is a pity,” he sighed. “Perhaps you will feel differently after the first of the deaths.”

 Her head jerked across to him, “Deaths?”

 “Your Sergeant Mathis is in an airlock now, and the pressure is falling fast.” A view of the man appeared on a monitor, gasping for breath as he tried to work the airlock controls, desperately scrambling at the panels in a bid to escape.

 “He’s going down fighting,” Nelyubov said.

 “Don’t you care about your crew?” Chadwick said.

 “They knew the risks going in, knew that joining the service meant that they might be called to sacrifice their lives. I’m proud of Sergeant Mathis, and I know what he would want me to do.”

 “And what is that?”

 With a smile, she slipped a knife down her sleeve and lunged towards Chadwick, grabbing him by the sleeves and spinning around behind him, the blade of the knife to his throat.

 “You are going to order his release right now, Captain, or you will be the one facing the consequences.”

 “My people will avenge my death.”

 “Frank, can you get that monitor onto the bridge?”

 He worked controls, and an image of the top level of the scout appeared; Durman, weapon out, had a quartet of technicians terrified and cowering in a corner, while working controls with the other hand.

 “Durman, can you hear me?”

 “Loud and clear, Maggie.”

 “Mathis is in one of the airlocks. He’s got seconds; can you get him out from up there?”

 “This isn’t going to work,” Chadwick said.

 “Oh, I think it will,” Orlova replied. “Right now the team that ambushed me is securing engineering and freeing the rest of my people. I expect to have control of this ship in any case in a matter of moments. The only question is whether it is over your dead body or not.” 

 He looked her in the face, smiled, and said, “You don’t seriously think that you can secure this ship without my command codes, do you?”

 “I’ve got some excellent hackers,” she replied. “The real question here is at what point will your arrogance irritate me to the point that I will overlook the convenience of keeping you alive.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “You are simply bluffing. My men outnumber yours, and your attempt to take my ship will fail. Go ahead and kill me, if you are willing to do it with a knife, cutting into my flesh, rather than cleanly with a bullet or by the push of a button.”

 Nelyubov said, “If you won’t do it, I will.”

 She shook her head, then said, “No. Dammit. Bind him, and we’ll head up to the bridge.”

 Chadwick made to move, but before he could do anything the door slid open and Ixia drifted in, the unfamiliar weight of the pistol clutched in her hands, pointing towards him. He looked at her, smiling.

 “Freedom for you if you shoot them, slave.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Freedom for us all if I shoot you.” There was a loud crack, and Chadwick’s tumbling body smashed against the wall, droplets of blood dripping out across the room. Ixia was pushed back against the wall, and threw the gun away, shaking. Orlova drifted forward, taking her in her arms.

 “I killed him,” she said, eyes wide. “I killed him, and I don’t regret it.” She looked up at her, and repeated, “I don’t regret it. What am I?” 

 “The same as you were a few minutes ago. What matters now is what you become.”

 Nelyubov said, “What happened to the rest of the guns?”

 “I spread them around, just as you said.”

 Orlova looked at him, then said, “There’s going to be a bloodbath.”

 “I hate to suggest it, but should we let them have their revenge?”

 Sighing, she replied, “That wouldn’t make us any better than them, would it.” Looking at the screen, she said, “Durman, can you patch me through to the entire ship from here.”

 “I think so,” he replied, poking at switches. “Got it. Say, when am I getting some help?”

 “In a minute.” Changing tone, she said, “This is Orlova. Captain Chadwick is dead, and the Dumont is now under Triplanetary control. Anyone who wishes to surrender should disarm themselves and make their way to the cargo bay. I say to the former slaves who are on board; you are now under the protection of the Triplanetary Confederation, and your freedom will be guaranteed.”

 “That did the trick up here,” Durman said, “We’re all set to go.”

 “Right,” she replied. “Nelyubov and I are on our way.”

 As they headed for the elevator, he paused, saying, “You took a hell of a risk, trusting that Durman wouldn’t switch sides again.”

 “I figured it was worth it, and I figured that the late Captain Chadwick would believe it, more importantly. As for Durman, I trusted my instincts.”

 “Your instincts?”

 She shrugged, “I took a gamble and won. These won’t be the worst odds we’ll be facing, Frank. Let’s go and take a proper look at this ship. We’ve got a hell of a lot to do in the next few days.”

Chapter 20

 A faint red ring illuminated Sol on the viewscreen of the observation lounge. It seemed so small, just another point of light in an endless galaxy of stars, but for tens of thousands of years its light had been all that humanity had known. Now Marshall was basking in the dull light of another star, one which had never created any light of its own, only shared by the visitors who had wandered this way over the eternity of time.

 He looked at his datapad again, the contents of the message that Cooper had sent to the hidden scoutship. Full details of Alamo’s planned course, jump calculations, everything. Somehow the trooper had managed to complete his mission, though the curse of it was that most of the crew were now convinced that he was the traitor; there had been no way to prevent it from leaking beyond the bridge. Worse, the saboteur was still at large, and Cooper was missing. It briefly flickered through his mind that there was a chance that they were one and the same, but he dismissed it. He knew Cooper, trusted him. Though, of course, that was exactly what the saboteur would have hoped to engender.

 “Credit for your thoughts,” Caine said, stepping into the room behind him.

 “I don’t know if they’re worth that much.”

 “Come on, don’t rate yourself so low. The others are on their way up.” She looked out at the stars, standing by his side, and continued, “Decided whether we’re going to go through with it yet?”

 “We’re proceeding with the mission as planned.”

 “No second thoughts, no hesitation?” 

 “Decision made, Deadeye. There’s no point second-guessing it. We’re going to have to face that fleet at some point, and we might as well get it over with.”

 “While there’s life, there’s hope, Danny.”

 “We’re not dead yet.”

 Zebrova and Quinn walked into the room, pulling up chairs at the corner into a rough circle. Quinn made to seal the room, but Marshall shook his head.

 “We’re not all here yet.”

 “Aren’t we?” he replied. “I thought…”

 “Sorry I’m late,” Major Marshall said as he walked in, clutching a datapad. “I had another idea at the last minute and wanted to check it out.” Looking around, he said, “Am I interrupting something?”

 “Not at all,” Caine said, shaking her head, “Our secret meetings are usually open to the public. Danny?”

 “We’re still not all here yet.”

 “Who else did you invite?”

 Lane walked into the room, nodding at Marshall and glancing at Caine. Stepping past Quinn, she sealed and locked the hatch, the space-tight seals clicking into place, and moved to stand by the wall.

 “Good morning, everyone.”

 “Is it?” Zebrova said.

 “That’s enough, everyone. Circumstances have expanded this little group a bit, but the objective remains the same. I need dirty tricks, people, and I need good ones. If we’re going to take on a battle group and come out the other side, it’s going to take every bit of tactical ingenuity in this room.” He tossed a metal disc to the floor, and a hologram of the Gliese 442 system appeared in the air.

 “Our planned emergence point, as recently advertised to the Cabal,” he began, pointing towards a flashing blue dot. “I expect the enemy forces to be picketing the area. They know where and when we are arriving, but naturally not our course; my guess is that they will have a fighter screen in the air in a sphere, reinforced by battlecruisers spread about to catch us. As soon as they see us moving, they can close in and engage.”

 “Good, solid, obvious tactics,” Major Marshall said. “What if they’ve concentrated?”

 “It doesn’t matter,” Caine replied. “The effect will be the same; Alamo will appear at the heart of a lot of firepower. You’re assuming that they haven’t improvised mines, or something of that sort.”

 “No-one’s ever had much luck mining a hendecaspace point,” Quinn said. “The disturbance of entry tends to throw them all over the place, anyway. The cost of such a field would be enormous.”

 “Then we can assume a conventional fleet battle. Alamo will get on the move immediately upon our arrival in system, and set a course at maximum acceleration for this hendecaspace point,” he pointed at a green dot, “nine and a half million miles away. We should make it in five days at top speed, and if this all works out, be able to jump out of the system at that point.”

 “That’s a big if,” Quinn said.

 “First of all, we should jump with the spin taken off the ship,” Caine said. “It won’t be very pleasant for the crew, but it will save us a lot of seconds when we arrive. Naturally we will also be at standby battle stations when we emerge.”

 “Not sure about that,” Marshall said. “We’re liable to have a space-sick crew when we arrive.”

 “Can we take the spin off in jump, then?” the Major asked.

 “It’s never been done, but I’m not sure it’s impossible. Difficult as all hell to keep us stable, but if we take our time we might manage it,” Lane said.

 “I think we might be able to jump in with a charged laser,” Quinn said.

 “How the hell did you manage that?” Marshall said, shaking his head.

 “I’ve been slowly building up the charge in the capacitors for the last two days. The jump will take a lot of our power, but I can isolate the laser mechanism from the surge. No promises, but at the very least we shouldn’t need long to get it ready. I also proceeded with the missiles in the elevator airlocks; we can have thirty-six in position there, with one reload, assuming we work the fabricators right down. There’s a catch, though.”

 “We can’t control more than six at once,” Caine said. “Can’t the on-board systems cope, though? Not perfect, but it should be better than nothing.”

 Shaking his head, Quinn replied, “With that many missiles in the air, I won’t guarantee we don’t have an immediate fratricide. Right now I’ve got them sent up with shotgun loads, simple straight-line.”

 “That isn’t good enough,” the Major replied. “All they need to do is duck out of the way. Can’t you fit some sort of target acquisition?”

 “Most of them need some time to lock in on their target. We want to be firing within the first few seconds of our emergence,” Caine said.

 “There’s an answer,” Lane suggested. “Mr. Quinn, can we add additional control circuits to Alamo using the shuttle guidance systems?”

 “Fly the missiles from shuttlecraft?” he said, frowning. “I think so, but that only gives us six more controls at the most.”

 “Then all you need to do is to have one guided missile in each batch of six, the remainder to simply follow the leader. The catch is that as soon as the enemy forces work out what we’re doing, they’ll be able to focus all their attention on the lead missile, but it should get those two salvos into their target.”

 “That’s...actually a really good idea,” Quinn said. “I’ll get on it right away.”

 “There’s another wrinkle we can use with the shuttles, as well,” the Major said. “We can load them with explosives, and use them as missiles as well.”

 “Can we do that and use their guidance systems?” Marshall said.

 “I don’t see why not. All of them can be controlled remotely in any case. We can get a hell of a warhead into their cargo bay, and they’ll be a lot harder to stop.”

 “I’m not sure I like the idea of using up all of our shuttles,” Quinn said. “Given enough time, I can probably put together some replacements, but even so…”

 “We’ve got to get through this battle first,” Caine said. “We can put the pieces back together again afterwards.”

 “It would be a good second-salvo weapon,” Marshall said, nodding. “Make it happen.”

 Zebrova looked around the room, and said, “I should say at this point that there is a reason that ships normally don’t run themselves this low. We’re going to strip Alamo of consumables to make this work, and sustain a hell of a lot of damage that we’ll struggle to repair. Not to mention that the trick with the salvo missiles will only work once, maybe twice.”

 “The laser gimmick is something we probably can use again,” Quinn replied, “Though I’m a bit nervous about the shuttles, I must admit.”

 “Our objective is simple for this battle – to cause maximum damage to the enemy. Only that and nothing more.”

 “We might be wasting the shuttles, though,” Zebrova said. “This won’t work for the planetary shuttles, but we could convert the orbital craft into missile boats. Rig small Mark Tens on each one in packets.”

 “That’s crazy,” Caine said. “The enemy fighters would shoot them down in seconds.”

 “Not if we kept them close into Alamo, used them for point-defense.”

 “You want to send shuttle pilots out into a hail of missiles and try and shoot them down?”

 “It might work,” Lane said. “We’d have to mesh them into our tactical net. They’d be close enough to home that we could retrieve the pilots if needed. They couldn’t be flown on remote, though.”

 Sighing, Marshall replied, “Where do we find the people to crew them? We haven’t got any fighter pilots on hand, and no, Deadeye, you are needed on the bridge.”

 “Our shuttle crews have had a lot of experience in combat flying lately…,” Zebrova said.

 “Most of it acquired the hard way,” Quinn replied. “They are shuttle pilots, not fighter pilots. It wouldn’t be fair to them to put them through that sort of hell.”

 “If things were fair, we’d all be sitting in the officers’ club on Mariner Station right now sipping cocktails,” Marshall said. “Proceed with the modifications, Mr. Quinn. Lane, I need you to help him out on that.”

 Quinn looked at her, then said, “I’ll do the missiles, you do the shuttles.”

 “Deal,” she said.

 Taking a deep breath, Caine said, “I’ll select some pilots and start getting them into a training program.”

 “Do what you can in the time. There’s something else, something important – none of you are to work around the clock on this one, and I expect you all to have had at least eight hours sleep in the twelve hours before the battle. I’m going to need officers who are fresh and alert, not nodding off. Let’s do this right.” He looked over at his father, “If anything happens to me, my father succeeds me as commander of Alamo, which means I’m going to need you down in Auxiliary Control, Major.”

 “Understood, Captain.” 

 “No briefings or work are to begin until we jump. That’s going to limit us a little, but do what you can with what you have for the moment.”

 “Are you going to brief the crew?” Zebrova asked.

 “With the saboteur on board, we can’t dare.”

 Quinn frowned, “There’s no way we can hide what we’re doing, skipper.”

 “Play it as preparations for battle, and tell your people that they are going to be doing work on the outside of the ship when we arrive. Make stuff up, anything to throw the saboteur off the scent.”

 Shaking his head, Quinn said, “The only way we’re going to catch him is when he breaks cover. What about Cooper?”

 “He hasn’t been seen since the message was sent yesterday,” Zebrova said. “I think we have to assume that he is dead.”

 “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Caine said.

 “No, she’s probably right,” Marshall said. “If he wasn’t, he would have found some way to get in touch with me. He must have found out who the saboteur was, and I suspect he paid for that knowledge with his life.” Looking around the room, he said, “For the present, no-one outside the room is to know that Cooper wasn’t the traitor.”

Nodding quietly, Lane replied, “It isn’t fair on him, but we don’t have much choice. I’d like to countersign the citation for whatever you want to place on his record.”

 “You tried to kill him,” Quinn said, shaking his head.

 “I tried to kill a man I thought was a traitor to us all, Lieutenant. That isn’t quite the same thing.”

 Marshall raised a hand, saying, “That’s enough. I don’t need to tell you all that I’m going to need the absolute best from you over the next few days. Odds are that afterward, we’ll have a long time to relax, one way or another. We’re going to run at least one evacuation drill while we’re in hendecaspace, make sure the crew is up to date.” Glaring at each of them he continued, “And one final thing. The only one to have the privilege of going down with the ship is the Captain.”

Chapter 21

 Orlova had been looking at the microphone sitting on her desk for a long time, going over what she was going to say in her mind. Any words she could come with seemed woefully insignificant for what she was about to ask the crew to do, and for the hundredth time, she wished that there was someone else present to whom she could pass her burden. At the end of the day, though, this job was hers, and she reached for the microphone.

 “Sergeant Mathis,” she began, trying to keep her voice as carefully poised as she could, “connect me to the entire ship.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” he replied, throwing a switch. “You’re on, skipper.”

 “This is the Captain. As you all know, we now have access to a second starship, in the form of the Dumont. She is supplied and prepared to make the trip back to Spitfire Station along the new route we have discovered, a route that provides a safe way home. It is of paramount importance that the information we have accumulated should get back to the Admiralty.”

 “What is of no less importance, however, is the fate of our comrades on Alamo, who even now are on their way into an ambush set by our old friends of the Cabal. This ship is going to proceed to their relief, to throw our weight into battle alongside that of our fellow starship crewmen. I cannot and will not simply abandon them to their fate.”

 Taking a deep breath away from the microphone, she continued, “I know that you have all been through a lot, and that you all deserve a chance to go home, to see your loved ones once again. Already you have performed far above and beyond the call of duty, and I do not believe that it is fair to ask you to do any more. Therefore, I have decided that for this mission, Hercules will only be crewed by those who volunteer to remain.”

 “Those who wish to go home will crew the Dumont on its nine-week journey back to Sol. That crew’s mission is no less critical than that of Hercules, no less important to the future of the Confederation. I want to be clear about something else, also; in my opinion, proceeding to the relief of Alamo is a one-way mission.”

 “Hercules has been through a lot of battles, traveled all across the stars in the service of her country, and her career is about to come to an end, not in the slow death of decommissioning, but in the fiery heat of combat. I think that’s the way she’d like to go out, and I think she has earned the chance to avenge her years of captivity by the Cabal, as have you all.”

 “I will be leading the Hercules on this flight; the senior officer who opts to return will command the Dumont. We will be jumping in eight minutes. Those who wish to transfer to the scoutship should report to Airlock One immediately. That is all.”

 Closing her eyes, she reached for a tube of water and took a long, deep squeeze, the cold liquid running into her mouth and escaping into the room in small bubbles. Rubbing her hands across her forehead, she pushed out of the office onto the bridge, and looked around at the assembled crew, already somewhat diminished. 

 “Frank, you’re staying?” she said to Nelyubov, wondering exactly when they had switched from antagonism to first-name terms.

 “I hate to miss a fight, ma’am.”

 Durman was leaning by the captain’s chair, and said, “I might as well stay. You did tell me that Hercules was the best way out of the system.”

 “We’ve secured the station. You don’t have to go anywhere,” she replied.

 Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. I can be of use.”

 “I certainly won’t argue with that. Frank, you take the conn, I’m going down to the airlock to see who we’re losing.”

 “One thing before you go, ma’am,” he said.

 “Yes?”

 “I think we can crew her with six if we have to. Lousy on damage control, but if needs must, we’ll manage.”

 “Thanks,” she said, drifting into the elevator. Contingency plans ran through her mind as she waited for the doors to slide open again, trying to determine which stations needed to be manned, where she would position a small crew; Hercules was already running with a skeleton staff, and would soon be reduced further. Still, they weren’t going to have to worry about what happened after the battle.

  A small group of eight were waiting for her out of the airlock, more than she had hoped but fewer than she had feared. Curry was at the head of the pack, trying to avoid looking at her; Orlova drifted over in front of her.

 “You’re going?”

 “Maggie, I don’t agree with what you are doing. I don’t think it is the right thing to do, and...I want to go home. I think I’ve earned it.”

 “I know you have,” Orlova replied, holding out her hand. “No grudges.”

 Taking it, she said, “Thanks.”

 “I hereby appoint you as the commander of the Dumont. Your orders are quite simple – get home and alert the Admiralty to the situation out here, and push them to dispatch a relief force to Hydra Station.”

 “I’ll do what I can.”

 “With any luck, we should do enough damage to that fleet to buy you some time, but you’ll be best getting out of here as fast as you can.”

 Nodding, she said, “I know what to do.”

 Pushing past, she saw Mathis and Ballard holding a whispered conversation; Mathis looked up at her, embarrassed, and said, “I’m staying, ma’am, but I wanted to see Clara off.”

 “It’s nothing personal, ma’am,” Ballard said. “Maybe I’m being selfish, but I want to see my son again.” She looked over at Mathis, “I’ll be waiting for you, Winston. You get through this.”

 “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a way. Right, Lieutenant?”

 “You can’t write Hercules off yet, Corporal. She’s pulled off a few miracles already, and all we need is one more to get us home.”

 Looking at the rest of the group, Orlova said, “I don’t for one moment blame you all for going; in fact I somewhat suspect the sanity of those who have declined the invitation. I wish you the best of luck, and a safe journey home.”

 Vargon drifted down the corridor, coming after the group, slowly swinging gracefully from handhold to handhold, bringing himself to a dead stop at the wall.

 “Wait,” he said. “Lieutenant, I wish to stay.”

 Shaking her head, Orlova said, “I wish you could, but you can’t. Someone’s got to help get Dumont home, and Curry’s going to need all the help she can get. Besides, your people want to put their case before the Triplanetary Senate, and Hercules is heading in the wrong direction.”

 Looking at the elevator, he nodded, then said, “This feels wrong. As though I am running away.”

 A few of the crewmen looked down at the deck at that, but Orlova said, “You’re doing a job that needs to be done. All of you.” With a smile, he said, “Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

 “Good hunting, Lieutenant,” Curry said, looking back at her crew. “Come on, everyone, let’s get out of here.”

 The group quietly filed into the airlock, leaving Orlova and Mathis alone in the corridor as the hatch sealed, locking into place, and a brief judder rocked through the deck as the shuttle disengaged on its journey to the Dumont. Orlova looked across at Mathis. 

 “Not too late for you to change your mind, Sergeant.”

 “I’d rather like to see this one through, I think. Be there for the end, whatever it might be.”

 “I’m going to do everything I can to get the crew off at the last.”

 “I know.” He turned to her with a smile, “I trust you to do everything you can, and at the least to make sure that all of this is not in vain.”

 “We’re going to have a damn good try,” she replied. “Come on, let’s go up to the bridge.”

 The two of them stepped into the elevator, Orlova this time in somewhat higher spirits. She now had only seventeen people left on her crew, but all of them were volunteers, all of them knew what they were going to be in for, and all of them had chosen that course willingly. She stepped out onto the bridge with a smile on her face, then frowned as she saw Ixia standing on the deck.

 “You don’t need to be here,” Orlova said. “You should be down on the planet.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “A few of us decided that we would rather assist you. Those of us who have received training in maintenance and engineering; the Dumont was a harsh teacher, but some among us learned our lessons well.”

 “We rescued you because it was the right thing to do. You don’t owe us a thing.”

 “Perhaps not, Captain Orlova, but the question is what I owe myself. I murdered a man, and I must atone for my sins.”

 “By killing more?” Mathis said.

 Looking at him, she said, “By making his death have some meaning. If it was part of a greater good, then it will be a worthwhile end to his story.”

 “I thought you’d approve,” Nelyubov said.

 “I do, Frank. How many have we got?”

 “Enough to replace the damage control team we just lost.”

 The elevator opened again, and Carpenter drifted out, “I’ve been around the ship, and everything seems to be about as ready as it will ever be.”

 “Sure you want to stay?” Orlova said.

 With a faint chuckle, she replied, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

 Nodding, Orlova turned and said, “Sergeant, could you raise the station, please?”

 “On it,” he replied, throwing a switch on his panel. “I think he was already standing by.”

 Price’s face, a few more worry lines added, appeared, “I guess you’re about to go, then.”

 “In about a minute. How are things going over there?”

 Sighing, he said, “Everything’s about ready for the evacuation. Most of our supplies are down on the surface, and Kormax is dispersing my people into safe areas. A few of my boys will be heading over to help crew the Dumont, but I’ll be staying on board with a skeleton staff until the last minute. If I see a dimensional instability and it looks bad, I run for it.”

 “You realize they’ll be able to track you down to the surface.”

 “Let me worry about that. We’ll keep the flag flying here as long as we can.” He paused, then said, “Do you think we’ll get a relief column?”

 “I hope so. I can say nothing more than that.”

 “Honest guesswork I can live with. Well, Hercules’ visit has certainly been a memorable one. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Good luck, and give ‘em hell.”

 “Will do. Hercules out.”

 Nelyubov pushed over to take guidance control, working the controls and looking over his shoulder at Orlova, reporting, “Everything’s ready here for the jump. Course computed, and we’re in position at the hendecaspace point holding station keeping. Good to go on your command.”

 “Mathis, give me the ship again.”

 “It’s yours.”

 Resting back on her chair, she said, “Just to make sure everyone has this straight. Hercules is about to make her last jump, and is heading into her final firefight. Let’s make sure that the old lady dies with as much glory as she has lived, and that we don’t fail her this time. Mr. Nelyubov, you have the call.”

 “I have the call. Initiating hendecaspace jump.”

 Orlova took one last look at the planet rotating beneath them, the pin-point lights of station and scoutship that she was about to leave far behind. A voice in her head said that it was not too late for her to change her mind, for them to all head home, but then a blinding blue flash rendered all her hesitations and second thoughts moot. The viewscreen flickered out, and Hercules vanished into hendecaspace. 

 “Transition successful, ma’am, and for the record, that was jump nine hundred and eighty-seven.”

 “Just short of the thousand, then,” she replied. “Damn shame.”

 “Well, we’re committed now,” Carpenter said, sighing.

 “Any regrets?” Orlova said.

 “Quite literally thousands, but not about this.”

 Nodding, she said, “Five days from now the fun begins. We’ve got to make sure we’re as ready as we can possibly be for the fight.”

 “Five days’ work for about three minutes of battle, most likely,” Nelyubov said. “I suppose nothing ever changes.” 

 “Not a thing, Lieutenant. Let’s get to work. We’ve got an awful lot to do if we’re going to get this girl ready for the dance, and I think I hear the fat lady doing her warm-ups.” 

Chapter 22

 Caine’s voice echoed around the airlock, waking Cooper up. He struggled to open his eyes, groggy from the drugs, his arm sore from the rough injections he’d been given. Blinking in a desperate attempt to focus, he tried to stand, reaching for the panel to pull himself to his feet.

 “Emergence from hendecaspace in thirty minutes,” the voice shouted. “All hands to standby stations. Report status to the Operations Officer.”

 His hand slipped down the panel, catching switches and buttons, and he heard a loud rushing noise; he’d accidentally increased the mix of oxygen in the air, and his swimming vision began to settle down as he took deep breaths. Standing with an effort, he looked around for the first aid kit, tugging it open and snatching at a vial of stimulants. Ignoring the recommended dosage, he tipped the tube into his mouth, swallowing the tablets dry, and felt a rush of energy surge through his system. Doubtless he was going to pay for his chemical holiday later, but he’d have time to handle that when he had completed his task.

 Switching the oxygen back to safe levels, he opened the door – now so easy, when just a few minutes ago it had seemed the hardest task he could conceive, and stepped out onto the deck. He was somewhere in the lower levels, and as he made for the nearest elevator, he had but one thought on his mind – Diego. With a battle coming, the traitor should be in the barracks, preparing to repel boarders; he stabbed the control to send the elevator speeding through the decks.

 It jerked to a stop, revealing the raised sidearms of Duggan and Zapolski pointed at his chest. Both of them fixed stern glances on him as they gestured for him to step out into the corridor.

 “Nice and easy, no moves,” Duggan said.

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “We don’t have any time for this. Diego is the traitor.”

 They glanced at each other again, then back at him; Orlowski said, “You have proof?”

 “I’ve been locked in an airlock under sedation for four days. Of course I don’t have proof, but do you really think I am the saboteur?”

 “Then why did you send a message to the enemy, secret information,” Duggan said. “We trusted you.”

 “I was following the Captain’s orders!” He glanced around the corridor, not seeing anyone else, and continued, “Look, this whole business was a set-up to feed false intelligence to the Cabal through the saboteur. I wasn’t planning to do the job myself, but he blackmailed me into it – and given that it was my mission anyway, I went along with it.”

 “You can prove this?” Duggan pressed. 

 “Contact the Captain and ask,” he replied.  

 “We can’t,” Zapolski said. “There’s a problem with the communications on the lower deck. Diego…,” he looked across at Duggan, then said, “he went up to find out what was going on, and that was quite a while ago.”

 “There’s a battle coming, and he means to have you all locked in your barracks while the fighting goes on,” Cooper said. “Look, who do you want to trust? Me or the Major?”

 “What are you going to do?”

 “That man caused our comrades to be captured, threatened us all, almost killed me, and is passing on secret information to the enemy. What am I going to do?” His face wore the smile of the hunter, “I’m going to put a bullet into the bastard and start breaking bones until he tells me where our people are being held.”

 “The rest of the platoon is alive?” Duggan said.

 “Twelve of them, and he knows where. I’m going to beat that information out of him, then find a way to get them out. Are you with me or not?”

 Zapolski looked down at the deck for a second, then reached down to his ankle holster, pulling a pistol from it. After a second’s hesitation, he turned it around and held it out to Cooper, grip first.

 “You’re going to need this, and we don’t have time to get to the armory.”

 “Where are we going to look for him?” Duggan said. “He could be anywhere by now.”

 “As soon as we jump, we’re going to be surrounded by ships. He’ll be anywhere he can do the most damage.”

 Duggan grimaced, “Quinn’s been stockpiling missiles in the hangar bay. No idea why, but there are dozens of them stored there at the moment.”

 “An explosion that large would tear the ship in half,” Cooper said. “That’s where he’ll be. What security?”

 “No idea,” Zapolski said, ruefully. “Diego said that it would be handled.” 

 “Which means he’s probably been ignoring orders for you to guard it. What are we waiting for?” He stepped into the elevator, Duggan and Zapolski following, and tapped for the hangar bay, tapping his foot on the deck as it opened. The three of them pointed their weapons at the door, ready for whatever would happen at the other end. Cooper tapped the communications control, and was not at all surprised when it worked.

 “Cooper to bridge. I need to speak to the Captain, right now.”

 Kibaki’s voice replied, “Cooper? What the hell?”

 Before he could reply, Marshall’s voice came over the line, “I’m here, Corporal. What’s the story.”

 “It’s Diego. I think he’s in the hangar bay. I’m on my way now.”

 After a few seconds, he replied, “He is indeed, as well as a lot of people and enough explosives to rip the ship into small pieces.”

 “I intend to take the bastard down, sir.”

 “Very well, Corporal, proceed as you think best. Good luck.” 

 Duggan looked at Cooper, then said, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

 “Yes you should,” he replied. “If you’d acted differently I would want to know why.”

 “Thanks.”

 The door opened one level short, and Cooper shook his head, “He’s rigged the elevators as well.”

 “Not a problem. How do you want to handle it?” Zapolski said.

 “We catch him in a crossfire, three sides of the deck. Spread out along the maintenance crawlspace and drop down. Nothing clever, nothing that will allow him any time to do a damn thing – take him down as soon as you can. Go for the hands.”

 “The hands?”

 “If his hands are gone he can’t push a button or fire a gun. Shoot to kill if you have to, but remember that I want to talk to him first.”

 The three of them raced off down the corridor, splitting off into different directions. Cooper shook his head, still trying to clear it from the chemical hangover he was going through, then pulled at the side hatch and clambered in. His eyes widened when he saw the mess inside; Diego had done a good job at preventing anyone from getting through.

 Taking a deep breath, he started to scramble down the shaft, twisting and bending around corners and underneath piles of machinery, tangles of cable and sharp objects that ripped at his uniform, shredding his sleeves and his trousers, trickles of blood running down his calves that he ignored. All that mattered was getting to the hangar bay as fast as he could. Any thought of a co-ordinated attack was now gone – there would be no trace of tactical finesse today. As long as he did what he had to do.

 Finally, he reached the hatch. Resisting the temptation to dive right in, he paused to take a series of deep breaths, trying to calm himself as much as possible, getting ready for what might be his one shot at Diego. Counting to ten, he gently pulled open the hatch, looking down at the deck fifteen feet below, and with a smile, jumped down.

 Remembering his training, he rolled as he landed, twisting down and falling behind a series of boxes that he belatedly realized contained warheads, not the best cover he could have selected. Diego was standing in the middle of a cluster of technicians, reaching for his holster, but before he could do anything Cooper’s pistol barked twice, bullets slamming into his shoulder and leg.

 The traitor collapsed to the deck, but he had his gun in his hand, and was pointing it at a terrified deckhand who was frozen in place while everyone raced to find some cover. Cooper glanced around, trying to spot Duggan or Zapolski, but they must be having troubles getting through the maze above.

 “It’s over, Diego,” Cooper said. “I’ve got you covered, and reinforcements on the way.” 

 “You want this kid to die, Cooper?”

 “I don’t want anyone to die except you, Diego.”

 “We can be reasonable, can't we? I want a shuttle.”

 “I want a beer. Neither of us is happy. If you tell me where the rest of my platoon is, I’ll think about it.”

 With a toothy smile, Diego said, “Now why would I give up my only bargaining chip?”

 “That chip is getting less valuable by the second.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I can detonate every missile in this bay. Don’t make my life too worthless, Cooper, or the temptation to set all of these warheads off will get too great to ignore.”

 “You aren’t going to do it.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because you value your pathetic existence far too much,” Cooper said. “And if you have such a bargaining chip, you might as well put me in a better mood and tell me what I want to know.”

 Chuckling, Diego replied, “Smart boy.” He glanced up at the deckhand, then said, “I’ve got all the cards I need. It won’t change a damn thing if I tell you, I suppose. They’re at Al-Sarfah.”

 “What the hell does that mean?”

 “I’ve told you where they are. Now your turn to give me something.”

 A hatch dropped behind him, and Cooper’s attention was elsewhere for a fraction of a second – long enough for the crack of a bullet to send his hand stinging; Diego had shot the end of his pistol, sending it flying across the deck.

 “The party’s over, Cooper,” Diego said, limping to his feet and staggering across the deck. His erstwhile hostage raced away, no longer needed and desperately attempting to seek cover; Diego turned, fired again, and sent the crewman tumbling to the deck, blood seeping from a wound in his back.

 “Might as well help my friends out some more,” he said. “You’re a better hostage anyway.”

 Duggan dropped to the deck behind Diego, weapon out, “Game’s over, Diego.”

 “You want Cooper to live through this, Private?”

 “Duggan, take the damn shot! That’s an order,” Cooper grunted through his pain, reaching for his pistol.

 “He dies if you do, Duggan,” Diego said, groaning as he clapped one hand down on his knee. “Get Duquesne down here. I need treatment.”

 Nodding, Duggan reached for his communicator while Cooper shook his head. He looked across at his pistol, just out of reach, but there was no way of knowing if it would even work, no way to tell whether a heroic leap across the deck would do any good.

 “Duquesne’s on the way,” Duggan said. “Spaceman Collins gets treated first, and that is non-negotiable.”

 “Only if you toss your weapon away, Private.” With a sneer, he continued, “I mean, if you aren’t planning on using it anyway, you might as well drop it and save us all the trouble.”

 “Where is Al-Sarfah, Diego? What planet?” Cooper said, trying to distract him.

 “It isn’t a planet, Cooper,” he said. “You know, I might have to set the bomb on that shuttle off after all.”

 Another hatch cracked, and Diego turned and fired; he had to be on some serious combat drugs to keep him moving with the wounds he had suffered. Taking the split second, Cooper danced across the deck, snatched up his pistol and fired, wildly. Diego turned to him, his gun drooping from his hand, and as blood ran down the traitor’s neck, slumped down to the deck, a control rolling out of his pocket. Duggan got there first, snatching it up.

 “It isn’t even connected to anything. He was bluffing.”

 “Collins didn’t think so.”

 Over in the corner, there was a loud thud; Diego’s last shot had been exactly on target, and Zapolski’s body fell to the deck. Cooper raced towards it, looking down at his friend, a puzzled expression on his face, his eyes locked into a glassy stare, a hole in his chest. With a sweep of his hand, Cooper closed Zapolski’s eyes for the last time, looking up at Duggan.

 “Next time I tell you to take the damn shot, you take it!”

 “Then it would be you dead, instead,” Duggan said.

 “My choice to make, Private,” he snapped in reply.

 The elevator opened, and Duquesne stepped out onto the deck, medical kit in hand and nurse by her side. She took one look at the scene and raced towards Collins, flinging herself to the ground next to him. Looking up at Cooper, she said.

 “Business is starting early today. I think he’ll make it.”

 “Good,” he said. “I’m glad someone will.” Looking over at Duggan, he said, “Come on. We’d better get to our battle stations, and we might as well swing by the armory. I think we’re going to need a lot more ammunition today.”

 As they left the deck and the technicians resumed their interrupted work, Collins groaned as Duquesne began her battle to save his life. The elevator doors closed, and Cooper’s eyes lingered on his dead friend for a moment, then mused over the last words of Diego. Where the hell was Al-Sarfah?

Chapter 23

 “I suppose we’d better get this done,” Marshall said, leaning back in his command chair, looking out across the bridge. His crew were all ready at their posts, poised for battle; while he had not told the crew that he was anticipating a major fight at their destination, somehow he hadn’t had to. They knew without being told, and it raced through the whole ship like an electric pulse.

 Caine, nodding, tapped a control on her console, “Tactical to Crew. All hands to battle stations. I say again, all hands to your battle stations. This is no drill. Repeat, this is no drill. Report status to the Captain.” She turned to him, “Half the ship was already at alert status, I think.” 

 “Auxiliary Control to Bridge,” his father’s voice called. “We’re ready.”

 “Engineering to Bridge, Zebrova here,” another voice said. “All systems go.” Marshall smiled, recalling the argument he’d had with his executive officer about banishing her from the bridge. There was no choice, though. One thing he was certain about was that Alamo was about to sustain serious damage, and dispersing the senior staff was the only way to protect the chain of command.

 “Shuttle Squadron to Bridge,” Bradley said over a crackling communicator. “We’re ready.”

 The rest of the stations went through the list, one after another, and Caine checked them all off before saying, “That’s it, all systems go.” With a smile, she continued, “What about the Captain?”

 “He’s raring to go.”

 “Good to hear.”

 “What about our surprise packages?”

 “Quinn’s nursing them now, riding shotgun in Weapons Control. Let’s just hope they work.”

 “They will,” Marshall said. “We’re going to win this one.”

 “I damn well hope so.”

 Leaning forward towards the helm, he said, “Tyler, I want this ship to dance out of the egress point. Evasive maneuvers for the first twenty seconds, then punch it at full speed towards our destination. Every ounce of acceleration you’ve got.”

 Nodding, the young officer replied, “I’ve already taken the safeties off the helm controls, sir, and I think we can squeeze a bit of extra performance out of her.” He paused, then said, “Thanks for letting me sit in this time.”

 “Intelligence officer or no, Mr. Tyler, you’re still the best pilot we’ve got.”

 “One minute to the egress point, sir,” Steele reported from her station. “I want to get those bastards. We’ve earned a little payback.”

 “That we have,” Marshall replied, looking around the bridge. Retreating from this fleet had been one of the hardest things he had ever done, especially given the loss of Hercules once they had escaped. This felt like redemption, a chance to make up for what they had been forced to do before, and whilst it perhaps might not be the most tactically astute decision he had ever taken, it still felt like the right one. All his instincts were guiding him to this battle, and he’d learned to trust them.

 He tried to choreograph the battle in his mind, tried to work out the sequence of events. Seventy-two missiles were sitting in the elevator airlocks in the hangar bay, enough to knock out two or three battlecruisers if he could get those shots home. The laser was charged, ready to burn its way through a ship, and Bailey had her spooks on alert, ready with everything they had learned from the stolen Cabal database.

 Alamo was ready to put up a fight the like of which the Cabal would never forget, and perhaps just be able to cope with the enemy fleet. Do enough damage at the start of the battle, and they might get through all of this yet – and even if they didn’t, they should certainly be able to achieve Marshall’s secret objective, to do enough damage to the Cabal forces in this area that a conflict with the Confederation would be postponed indefinitely.

 A hundred years from now, how would this battle be seen? Would this be the first engagement of the Cabal War if this all went wrong, or would that be dated back to Ragnarok, or to Jefferson – or forward to some future battle, with some other commander in the driving seat. Would the names of his crew join those of Hercules on the memorial wall of Mariner Station, another selection of people labeled as ‘missing, presumed dead’, caught in a limbo of uncertainty.

 Glancing at the status board, he quietly checked the escape pods. If it got bad, if it looked as if Alamo was lost, he was ready to give the order for his crew to leave, to seek mercy from the Cabal fleet. While he could send his crew out into captivity if it was a choice between that or death, he would never leave himself. With a faint smile, he realized that the odds were high that his life expectancy could be measured in minutes, a last furious burst of battle to close out both his career and his life.

 As the last few seconds ticked away, he thought about everything that had led him to this moment, and realized that he would not change a thing. Not for himself, anyway. If he’d been told when he signed up that this was going to be his fate, he would have accepted it willingly. Hell, during the last war the life expectancy of a fighter pilot was down to a couple of months at the low point, and he’d already beaten the odds then. Maybe he could do it now.

 “Ten seconds,” Steele said.

 “Spinelli,” Marshall said to the sensor technician, “I want a complete picture of that system the instant we emerge.”

 “You’ll get it, sir.”

 “Deadeye, don’t wait for me to order you to fire. Save the surprise packages for my call, but get the normal missiles into the air, and take whatever shots with the laser you can get. Fire at will.”

 “Don’t usually get that order before a battle even starts.”

 “Five seconds,” reported Steele, working her console.

 “This isn’t a normal battle.” He looked around the bridge at his crew, then said, “Good luck, everyone.”

 “Two seconds. One. Realspace!”

 Alamo staggered into normal space like a drunkard, lurching on its thrusters and spiraling around as Tyler struggled to bring up thrust, ramping the acceleration up. Spinelli started frantically working at his console as the viewscreen cleared, the sensors focusing on their targets.

 “Threat warning! Five vessels, close aboard, four on intercept courses!” Spinelli yelled as alarms began to sound. 

 “Details, Spaceman,” Marshall said.

 “Four battlecruisers, one carrier, the latter at range. Launching small craft of unfamiliar design, no fighters yet. We’ve got energy spikes from the battlecruisers.”

 Alamo rocked as Caine fired her first wave of missiles, six racing out of the tubes towards the nearest battlecruiser, and then the lights dimmed as the laser cannon fired, a beam of light briefly connecting the two ships as it burned an angry gash down the side of her hull, ripping away deck plating and equipment, sending blasts of out-gassing atmosphere racing out into space.

 “Good shot, Deadeye!” Marshall said.

 “I think I got his sensors and some of his missile tubes. Thirty seconds to another shot. Our missiles are running true.”

 “We’ve got twelve missiles incoming now, sir, from two enemy battlecruisers,” Spinelli said. “Nothing from the others.”

 “Nothing at all?” Steele said.

  Marshall nodded, “Probing our electronic defenses. Get Bailey on the case. And I need to know what those small craft are, and I need to know now!”

 “Wow,” Caine said. “Bailey’s already taken down two of the missiles. Five of ours are still running. Ready on the first surprise package.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Fire first salvo, Deadeye. Hold on, everyone!”

 Alamo seemed to tumble back on itself as thirty-six missiles raced into the air, following in the wake of the five remaining missiles of the first wave, grouping into a series of clumps as they ranged into towards their target, the luckless nearest battlecruiser. Caine worked her controls, guiding them in and providing cover against counter-hacking, but the enemy ship had no chance at all, only a couple falling away as their hastily-prepared engines failed.

 “The incoming missiles are turning away, trying for the salvo!” Spinelli said.

 “That’s a bit desperate, isn’t it?” Weitzman said, looking over from his communications station.

 “Another salvo is in the air, six from the remaining battlecruiser, heading right for us,” Spinelli said. “Our missiles will impact in eight seconds, sir.”

 “Let’s see it,” Marshall said, and the viewscreen seemed to race forward as it zoomed into the targeted capital ship, gleaming white amid the blackness, twisting and spinning as its pilot attempted every trick in the book to mitigate the damage. He thought he could see lights racing away from the ship, escape pods making a bid for salvation.

 Then the first group of missiles, four of them now, hit home, slamming into the side of the ship and ripping away at the hull. That was nothing compared with the next impact, with thirty-four missiles hitting the ship in a simultaneous strike. There was a brief flash that the filters struggled to dim, and then all that remained was a twisted hulk of tangled wreckage, debris flying in all directions as the she broke into fragments.

 “The escape pods?” Marshall said, quietly.

 “Nothing could have lived through that,” Caine said, looking up at her status board. “Second salvo ready to fire.”

 “Sir, I think I know what the incoming ships are. Cabal shuttles, modified.” Spinelli said.

 “Shuttles?”

 “I believe they are planning to board us.”

 “Steele, get our missile shuttles into the air, and have them target the incoming ships. Caine, get that second salvo up, let’s knock another battlecruiser out of the fight while that gimmick works. And what about the incoming missiles?”

 “Just one left, sir, but I think it’s going to hit,” Spinelli said. “Somewhere aft.”

 “Brace yourselves,” Marshall said as the missile slammed into Alamo’s hull, a brief taste of the devastation they had just unleashed. “Where did they get us, Prentis?”

 The flight engineer looked up at his status report, frowned, then said, “Aft sensors, sir. Bandwidth in that area’s almost gone.”

 “Aft? Why hit that area?” Caine said. “Salvo ready, firing!”

 Alamo rocked again as the second batch of missiles sped away into the night, closing rapidly on their target, another hitherto undamaged ship that turned to try and outpace them, knowing that it would only buy them a few seconds more of life. This time the escape pods spilled out into space as soon as the salvo was launched.

 “They’re not even trying this time,” Steele said.

 “Sensible commander, trying to save his men.”

 “Two against one,” Caine said, “I like those odds a lot better than four to one.”

 “This battle isn’t over yet,” Marshall said, shaking his head. “Get Cooper on the horn, I want him ready in case those troopers touch down. We can’t afford for them to hit any critical areas of the ship.”

 “On it, sir,” Steele said. 

 “Picking up speed nicely, Captain,” Tyler reported. “Four thousand miles from the hendecaspace point, and distance increasing fast. Remaining active battlecruisers are closing on our position, trying for an intercept.”

 “A close intercept?” Marshall said, frowning. “Lousy tactics, I’d have gone for a chase. Not that I mind.”

 Spinelli turned to Marshall, his eyes widening, his hand shaking. He gulped a couple of times, as if he had temporarily lost the ability to speak.

 “What’s wrong, Spaceman?” Marshall said.

 “Dimensional instability, sir. Right behind us, and it’s big.”

 “Behind us?” Caine said. 

 Turning back to his station, Spinelli said, “Emergence now, Captain. Two more battlecruisers, and eight smaller craft, scoutships, I think.”

 “Trapped,” Steele said, her eyes widening.

 “We aren’t dead yet,” Marshall said. “More speed, Tyler, and let’s knock out the ships in front of us. We’ve got the speed advantage and we need to use it.”

 “Energy spike aft, sir. Twenty-eight missiles, bearing directly.” 

 Marshall looked at the sensor station to his left, and with a grin, said, “At least we’ve got a target-rich environment.”

Chapter 24

 The force of the shuttle’s engines kicked Barbara back in her couch as the acceleration built, throwing her onto an intercept course with the incoming fighters. A part of her was back on Alamo, worrying about Cooper; after four days of drugged catatonia, he ought to be in the medical bay being checked out by Duquesne, not preparing to lead men into battle. If she did her job, though, that wouldn’t be necessary.

 Running a hand over the newly-installed controls to her left, she checked the status of the missiles nesting in her cargo bay. Furious work had gone into preparing them, and now it was about to pay off; she thought with a smile of the instructor who had failed her for advanced flight training, dooming her chances to become a fighter pilot. She was going to get a dogfight after all, even if it was in an old orbital shuttle.

 Glancing across at her co-pilot, she saw Spaceman Hooke crouched over his controls, flashing a nervous look up at the viewscreen, as if he was looking for waves of incoming fighters to swarm in and destroy them. She tapped him on the shoulder, and he jerked up with a start.

 “What?” he hissed.

 “Relax, Con. You’ll do what you need to do when the time comes.”

 “Tell me that when the missiles are flying. All we’ve got is this countermeasure package.”

 Frowning, she said, “The last time I got shot at, I had a man next to me who didn’t even know how the systems worked, and we got through. I thought you were supposed to be an expert.”

 With a snort, he replied, “I was just the last one to step back when the Chief asked for volunteers.”

 A chime alerted her to an incoming call, “Caine to Bradley. We’re vectoring you in on the assault shuttles now. I’m afraid you won’t get much help from Alamo, we’ve got troubles over here. Good hunting.”

 “Troubles?”

 “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Hooke started to murmur.

 “You seeing the Second Coming on your sensors, Spaceman?”

 He looked across at her, his face pale, “Eleven more ships just jumped into the system. Eleven! What the hell are we going to do about it! What are we going to do?”

 “Calm down, damn it! We’ve got a job of our own to do. Let the Captain work out what to do with his new playmates. He’s counting on us to knock down those shuttles.” She tapped another control, then said, “Shuttle One to all Shuttles. No backup from Alamo now, so we’re on our own. Mesh your tactical systems with ours, and we’ll punch in towards those fighters.”

 “Then what?” a voice asked.

 Glancing down at her navigation screen, she said, “Then for us the battle’s pretty much over. We’re going to be crowding on the acceleration enough to throw us on a course to take us out of the combat zone for a later link-up with Alamo.”

 “Assuming Alamo’s still in existence then,” Hooke muttered.

 “One pass, guys, then all of this is over. Let’s make it count.”

 Throwing a series of switches, she armed the missiles then settled back into her couch for the burn, trying to ignore the stream of quiet complaints from the man next to her. Of all the co-pilots she could have been stuck with, she had to end up with this one. Warning lights began to flash from the engine, alerts that she was burning too long, using too much fuel, but she just ignored them. The shuttle had one destination, and it was to intercept the four arrowheads up ahead.

 Her warbook began to flash up information as fast as the sensors could gather it; these had been significantly modified from anything she had seen before. Bigger engines, toughened nose – were these actually intended to ram a ship? - more passenger space, and worst of all, a small cluster of missiles. This wasn’t going to be a bombing run, it was going to be a duel.

 “Focus on giving our warheads some cover, Hooke,” she said. “They’ll try and scramble them on the way in.” She glanced up at a readout, “Thirty-one seconds to contact.”

 “They’ll be trying to shoot at us as well,” he said. “I’m going to try and cover our butts and call it a win.”

 “Hooke, you will do what I say or you can find another ride home!”

 Sullenly, the technician returned to his work, while Barbara tried to concentrate on her own flying while keeping an eye on the other two. The rest of her flight had fallen into a ragged formation that any instructor would have condemned as hopeless, but it had the virtue of being a surprise to the enemy. It certainly was to her.

 “Fourteen seconds to range,” she said. “I’ll fire in twenty.”

 “Not right away?” Hooke replied. “We could turn off, then, head out of the battle area…”

 “Our job is to get those missiles to their targets, not to save our own skin.”

 Pressing home, she looked up as she saw a red light flash on, the enemy forces ahead drifting into missile lock. Working the controls, she sent the shuttle dancing across the sky, trying to frustrate the enemy systems, and Hooke finally began to work, furiously entering commands.

 “In firing range,” she said, and then to the other shuttles, “Go for time-on-target, people.” 

 “They’re launching! Three missiles! At us!”

 “Where did you think they would fire them, Hooke?”

 Her hand reached down to the controls, and with a casual flick she threw the launch levers, not knowing quite what to expect. The force of the launching missiles spun the shuttle off its course, sending it into a brief corkscrew before she regained control. With a glance across at the sensors, she saw six trails racing towards their target.

 The other shuttles had tarried longer than she had hoped, but their missiles were running now, fanning out in a wave to match hers, racing towards the boarding shuttles. She could concentrate on evasive action now, tossing the shuttle into a series of spins, knowing that it was unlikely to do any good but unable to just sit back and wait.

 Hooke was typing furiously now, sweat running down his forehead as he worked to protect their missiles while deflecting those of the enemy, his eyes leaping from one readout to the next, while he kept up a constant string of muttered curses. He might be annoying, but he seemed to know his stuff; two of the incoming missiles crashed into each other, while all six of theirs ranged towards their target.

 Then the modifications made to the enemy shuttles became obvious; their acceleration abruptly increased enormously to a level that must have made their crews borderline unconscious, but which forced the missiles to hastily change track to compensate. Somehow, the Cabal had managed to install afterburners; this was no quickly-improvised trick, the burn was lasting too long for that. This was planned.

 Barbara allowed herself a quick, satisfied smile as she saw one of her missiles swing around in a long arc, racing towards its target while the rest fell short, and a brief blossoming flame in the sky as it exploded just about the engine, sending the remains of the shuttle into a spiraling trajectory away from the battle. 

 Most of the missiles had been scattered all over the field of battle; the area was swarming with interference from the electronic warfare officers, and the missile guidance systems were struggling to cope. As the boarding shuttles curved away, she saw three more flashes in brief succession, and thought for a moment that they had accomplished their goal, only to be met by a doleful expression from Hooke.

 “One of theirs, two of ours.”

 “Both the others?”

 “Gone,” he said with finality, then looked down at his console, continuing, “And we’re next, by the look of it. We’ve got two missiles on our tail, and they’re coming in hot. Can you do that afterburner trick?”

 “Not this time,” she said. “Get onto that panel of yours.”

 “I have been,” he replied, but he continued to work despite his protests, his fingers running over the keyboards as he tried to feed misleading data to the missiles. None of it seemed to be doing any good, and Barbara watched the warheads close into their terminal track. No time to bail-out, and even if they did, based on Alamo’s battle plan that would just be a fast ticket to captivity. She’d had a good look at Discovery when they rescued the Hercules crew, and had no plans for such a fate.

 With a wild smile, she turned the engines off, waited for a second, then turned them back on again, a pulse that curved the approaching missiles onto a new course, actually gave them a few seconds more. Her mind raced as she tried to think of ideas.

 “I’ve armed the airlock bolts,” Hooke said. “Let’s get out of here?”

 “Don’t be stupid,” she reflexively replied, then turned to him with a grin. “Wait a minute, that’s a great idea!”

 Locking down the internal doors with the flick of another switch, she held her hand over the airlock hatch control. This was going to have to be timed to the microsecond, and whatever happened, the shuttle was still going to be crippled, but it might give them a chance of survival. As the missiles curved in for the kill, just a few meters away, she slammed the button then ducked back in her seat.

 The shuttle spun around with the force of the explosion, warning sirens sounding from thousands of hull breaches in the aft compartment, the primary engines now nothing but ruined equipment that would be next to impossible to identify. Ahead, the stars tumbled, the few remaining attitude thrusters completely unequal to the task of stabilizing the ship, but as she looked up at her status board, she shook her head in disbelief; they still had hull integrity.

 Hooke turned to her, then said, “What the hell did you do?”

 “Threw the aft airlock door at them. The detonation was about a hundred meters short of us. Enough to wreck us, but not to destroy us.” She looked around at the sensors, at the battle now far behind them, “Hopefully they’ll think we’re dead. I’ll have to work out some way of contacting Alamo.”

 The lights began to fade, and Hooke glanced up at panels as the readouts flashed out, one after another, “Main and emergency power is out. We’d better get in our spacesuits.” Reaching up to the overhead locker, he said, “What the hell do we do now?”

 “Wait and see who wins the battle. Someone will pick us up, eventually. I hope.”

 “You hope?”

 “Beats being dead.”

 As she nimbly slid into her spacesuit, she took one final look at the sensor display before it finally went dark. Two of the boarding shuttles had managed to get past her, and by now would be on their final approach to Alamo. Twenty, thirty troops that would shortly be racing through the corridors with murder in their minds.

 All that was left on board to face them was Cooper and a couple of troops, and whatever technicians were unfortunate enough to find themselves in the battle area. Alamo was facing attacks from all quarters, missiles ranging from all angles towards her, and the odds of victory had collapsed from slim to impossible.

 She chuckled to herself as the spacesuit completed its final locking sequence, the status lights winking green one after another. Here she was in a drifting piece of wreckage tumbling through space in a random direction, her life now measured only by the life support capability of her spacesuit, and she probably had the greatest chance of survival of any Alamo crewman in the system. And she would have given anything to be back there with the rest of them, instead of sitting here, waiting and praying for a miracle.

Chapter 25

 The trio of troopers pushed through the corridors, swinging from hand-hold to hand-hold, cursing the lack of gravity that made them cumbersome, dancing past huddled technicians as they raced to the calculated impact site. Cooper’s datapad kept screaming updates from the bridge, tactical reports giving projections of the number of enemies he was likely to encounter, all of them based on nothing but guesswork.

 He shouldn’t be having to do this. There ought to be squads of troopers stationed around the ship at key points, waiting to ambush any arriving forces, not a half-squad racing to try and get to the incursion point in time, before the invaders could have a chance to establish a foothold.

 “We’re here, guys,” he said to his two remaining comrades. “This is where we make our stand.”

 Space-tight doors had already sealed the other end of the corridor, long enough to at least buy them a little time, and this was the only other way through. Behind them was engineering, the heart of the ship, and a place they could not afford to lose. If the Cabal forces took control of that, the battle was over, and they were captured.

 The ship rocked, and Duvalier braced herself, asking, “That was three decks up. Are we in the wrong place?”

 “Missile impact near the sensor decks,” Cooper said. “We’re next.”

 Lane drifted up behind him, leading a pack of technicians who looked at least minimally comfortable with the weapons they were brandishing in their hands. She clapped Cooper on the back, then gestured to her force to spread out.

 “Where do you want us?” she asked.

 “Don’t you want to take command?” he replied.

 Shaking her head, she said, “You’re the expert, Corporal, and I’ll defer to your judgment.”

 “Good god, a sensible officer,” Duvalier said. “I suppose we had to find one eventually.”

 Steele’s voice screamed from the loudspeakers, “Impact in three seconds. All decks, brace for heavy impact!”

 “Here we go, everyone,” Cooper said. “Choose your shots, don’t fire indiscriminately, but blast hell out of anyone not wearing our uniform.”

 A loud thud smashed into the hull to their side, sending everyone flying to the far corners of the passageway, rendering any attempt to take cover moot; dust and debris scattered through the air, a thick cloud swirling around as the air filters struggled to cope. A blinding light shone through the air as the hull was torn in pieces, the boarding shuttles creating their own way into the ship, an intermittent thin whistle of atmosphere leaking before the holes could be sealed.

 This was years, decades ahead of anything that the Confederation had to offer; their boarding shuttles were far less sophisticated, but already Cooper could see the tactical flaw. Once these shuttles had attached themselves to a ship, there was no easy way of getting them off again. There was no possibility of retreat; it was victory or death, nothing more. Presumably that kept the troops well motivated.

 “Wait for them to emerge,” he said, looking around at the over-eager technicians while the scrambled back into the limited cover the corridors provided. “Don’t waste your shots.”

 A crack flew through the air, someone obviously failing to heed his words, and he looked around to try and work out who; no-one volunteered a sheepish grin, so he focused on the site of the shuttle impact. Then the lights began to flicker, and Duggan began to curse.

 “They’ve taken over local environmental control,” he said.

 “Don’t worry,” Cooper replied. “They need to breathe as well.”

 Alamo rocked as another missile slammed in worryingly close to them, and then with a huge eruption of noise, the side of the hull blew out, once again sending dust and shards of metal racing through the air; a couple of careless technicians were caught by the shrapnel, tumbling back with bloodstains running across their uniforms.

 “Let them have it! Volley fire!” Cooper yelled, shooting blindly into the light, disobeying his own advice. Shapes began to emerge, armored figures pushing into the corridor, weapons at the ready. Already their fire had begun to do some damage to them; a trio of bodies were also being pushed out into the corridor.

 A hail of fire burst from the incoming troops, and Cooper’s small force was pinned into their positions, hardly daring to risk the occasional shot of return fire in a desperate bid to stop them. More smoke billowed through the gap in the hull, far too much for it to be anything other than intentional camouflage, and it was doing its job well.

 Cooper lined up a shot, trying to ignore the screams of his dying and wounded men, trying to push back the memories of the last battle he had fought, and one of the troopers fell. They were doing damage, that much was certain, but they just weren’t doing enough to keep the force from pushing past their position – already they were beginning their advance.

 Glancing around at the technicians, hopelessly out of their depth, the dead and the dying drifting down the corridor, he shook his head. This wasn’t war, this was a slaughter. He looked over at Duggan and Duvalier, doggedly fighting, and smiled.

 “Troopers advance, technicians retreat!”

 He began to push forward, but Lane snatched at his ankle, “That’s suicide, Corporal.”

 “I’ve got a plan,” he replied, but she shook her head then turned back to the others.

 “What are you waiting for?” she yelled. “Get out of here.” Looking at Cooper, she said, “Let’s go.”

 With a battle yell, Cooper pushed forward, firing shots into the air to keep the enemy pinned down, racing up towards the environmental controls at the ceiling. Duvalier screamed briefly, then was silent, a bullet catching her in the stomach and slamming her body into the wall. Duggan pushed on, firing his gun, as Cooper swung up into the maintenance fairing. Lane was holding back, standing by the door, cracking bullets at the enemy as the technicians swarmed out.

 The Cabal forces had paused for a moment, not because of anything the troopers were doing, but to consolidate for their advance. Shots still rang out, bouncing across the walls, but the three of them that remained were in deep enough cover that taking them would not be cheap.

 “Surrender, and you will live,” a heavily accented voice yelled. “You will have one chance!”

 Duggan fired a shot to answer the anonymous figure, and Cooper looked at the hole in the wall from his vantage point as the smoke cleared. As he thought; it was one long seal, no airlock; the locks would simply get in the way, slowing the advance. No wonder they’d needed to secure local environmental control, but he had drifted in right by the override controls. He gestured behind him for the others to provide some covering fire, and began to work, fumbling at the unfamiliar systems.

 He felt a hand tugging at him, and saw Lane pushing him down towards cover, bullets cracking past him as he tumbled randomly away. With one hand, she started working the controls, then she turned towards him.

 “I know what you are doing, but I actually know how to do it!” she yelled. “Get into cover and give me supporting fire, Corporal! This is my job.”

 Somehow, the bullets missed Cooper as he slammed into the wall, recoiling behind a convenient bulkhead. The invading forces had worked out what was going on, but before they could jump up to Lane, Cooper and Duggan were on the case, pinning them down with suppressing fire, bullets flying into the bulkhead on the other side, ripping at the metal. Sooner or later, someone was going to get past them, but Lane only needed a few dozen seconds to complete her work.

 Bodies were drifting around the room, many of them still alive, but they continued their grim work; then, Cooper felt a sharp blast of pain in his hand, and his pistol drifted away into the corridor as he looked down at the bloody mess at the end of his arm, screaming in agony. Duggan looked at him, but he shook his head.

 “Keep firing, dammit!”

 A pair of Cabal troopers tried to take the opportunity of the distraction to make their way up to Lane, but Duggan made short work of them, slamming another clip home and tossing the used one away. Cooper was grimacing through the pain, watching his blood dribble past his fingers into the corridor, gasping for breath. If he moved, he would be shot, but if he didn’t move, he was probably dead in any case.

 He looked around, hunting for Duvalier’s body; he saw it tucked into a corner, a smile on her face, her pistol still locked into a death grip in her hand. Another friend dead, and with Barbara somewhere outside on a suicide mission, he didn’t have that many left. Bullets flew around, ricocheting from corners, thudding into corpses and dangerously close to his position; his vision began to blur as he tried to suppress the shock, tried to hold on for long enough for the battle to be over.

 “That’s it!” Lane said, throwing the last few shots. She took an experimental push away from the console, but a series of cracks convinced her to remain in cover. Cooper looked up at her and managed a smile, then turned to Duggan.

 She looked at the troopers, smiled, and yelled, “Get out of here! I’ll hold them off!”

 “Lieutenant…”

 “Go! That’s an order!”

 Cooper attempted to comply, but his hand was a ball of agony, and every movement made him wince; he’d never be able to move fast enough to get out of the chamber, never mind dodge the bullets that were flying in their direction.

 “What?”

 “In about thirty seconds,” Cooper hissed through the pain, “the atmosphere is going to be vented from this section. Get moving.”

 Duggan nodded, tossed his weapon away, and snatched Cooper by the belt, pushing off towards the nearby blast doors. Lane smiled, firing a few shots to keep the Cabal troopers pinned down as they desperately made for their shuttle, hoping to find some sanctuary there, some means of escape. If the plan worked, it would only at best postpone the inevitable.

 “Leave me, dammit,” Cooper said. “I’m slowing you down.”

 “Shut up, Corporal,” Duggan replied, “You saved my life, now it’s my turn.”

 The two of them flew through the hatch, sirens sounding around them, just as it began to slam shut. A fusillade of shots, the result of desperation, followed them through the hatch as, with a loud click, it locked into position. One button press could have opened it again, but the series of explosions from the other side of the hatch, strong enough to rattle the hull, told him that they had run out of time.

 “What the hell happened?” Duggan said, coughing twice in quick succession.

 “Fire suppression system. In the event of an emergency this close to engineering, it blows a hole in the hull to expose the area to vacuum. I guess the troopers didn’t know about it.”

 “Lane?”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “How come I only like her after she’s dead?” The ship shook once again, another missile impacting somewhere up above them. “Go get to a damage control station. I’ll try and get to sickbay.”

 “No way, I’ll get you there.”

 “Are you ever going to obey orders? There’s a battle going on, and they need your help to fight it.”

 “You could fit what I know about engineering in a couple of kilobytes, Corporal, and you’d never make it on your own. Now keep quiet and let me try and save your life, damn it. Besides, you weren’t the only one who got hit.”

 Cooper looked at Duggan, and saw him clutching at a slowly expanding red patch on his side, grimacing from the pain. He tossed Cooper into the elevator, then staggered down himself, collapsing onto the deck, coughing up blood, a rattle in his throat. Alamo’s last espatier jabbed his hand on the control, sending it down towards sickbay, then collapsed into unconsciousness.

 The last thing he saw, unnoticed by anyone else on the ship, was a bright blue flash from astern, another ship jumping into the system.

Chapter 26

 Orlova looked at the battered hulk of Alamo on the viewscreen, shaking her head in despair. Out-gassing from dozens of punctures in the hull, gouges ripped out of her side, another explosion from a missile impact as she watched. The debris of destroyed ships littered space – Alamo certainly wasn’t going down without a fight – but going down she was, and soon, unless something was done.

 “Frank, I want firing solutions on the nearest battlecruiser, and I want them yesterday. Tear holes in the bastard. Sergeant, I don’t care how you do it, get me Alamo, we need to try and get some tactical co-ordination in this nightmare. Race, get us into the fight, top speed.”

 “On it, ma’am,” he said, and Hercules shuddered as he pushed the old ship to the limit of its acceleration, the hull straining from the might of her engines. The ship shook as Nelyubov raced to obey her order, five missiles leaping forward from the ship towards the nearest target, lines appearing on the tactical display as they raced to connect with the enemy.

 “Another salvo in fifteen seconds, boss,” Nelyubov said. “Then twenty seconds after that, and then we’re back on the fabricators.”

 “Keep firing, any target you want, we’ve certainly got lots to choose from.”

 Carpenter, looking over Mathis’ shoulder, was pale as she glanced over to Orlova, “Two more hits on Alamo. Six now since we’ve arrived. They’re tearing her to pieces.” She peered back at the panel, then continued, “Alamo just fired again! Four missiles, good and true.”

 “See if you can help them, Frank,” Orlova said. “Mathis, I need Alamo and I need it now!”

 “Got them!” he said, and Marshall’s battered visage appeared on the viewscreen.

 “Maggie?”

 “Hercules is on the case, Alamo, and we’re heading in at top speed to reinforce you. Get the hell out of the combat area. You’ve done your job, now it’s our turn. Can you move?”

 “Engines are about we have left. Maggie, I…”

 “Later, sir! We’ve got a battle to fight. Have Caine link in with Nelyubov, you got any more missiles ready?”

 “Surprise package ready to fire.”

 “Get them in the air!” Turning to the helm, she said, “Race, more speed!”

 “We’re already at the maximum, ma’am!”

 “Go past it. Use every override on that panel of yours, we’ve got to get into the action.”

 “First impact!” Nelyubov said. “Good hits on the aft of that battlecruiser, she’s dropping back out of the fight.”

 “Looks like we’re the center of attention,” Mathis said. “Three of them now heading for us, just one staying with Alamo.”

 “We’ve evened the odds for you, sir,” Orlova said. “Can you handle it?”

 “Damn right we can,” he said, then after a brief pause, “Thank you.”

 “Any time. Hercules out.” Looking around the bridge, she said, “We’ve got a battle to win, let’s get on with it!”

 “Missiles incoming, fourteen, bearing directly. Make that sixteen. Not a proper salvo.”

 “Getting messy out here,” Race said. “Am I going anywhere in particular?”

 “Right down their throats.”

 “Second salvo away, ma’am! I’ll get to work deflecting the incoming missiles…,” Nelyubov began.

 “No,” Orlova said. “Concentrate everything on getting our missiles to their targets. We knew that this was Hercules’ last battle.”

 “First impact coming in twenty seconds,” Mathis said.

 “All hands, stand-by. Get the damage control teams ready, Durman.”

 “On the case, Maggie.” 

 The tactical screen was a living nightmare; three long, blinking lights indicating the battlecruisers now closing in on their location, a series of missile tracks leaping forward to connect. Orlova knew the condition that Hercules was in – there had been no time for more than the most superficial repairs, and she wouldn’t withstand many impacts. Amazed, she looked at the telemetry from Alamo – twenty-nine missile impacts since entering the system.

 The deck rocked as missiles slammed into its side, ripping holes into empty compartments, sending the ship waving off its course as Race struggled to compensate. Alarms flickered into life and died as Durman disabled the systems; no-one on the bridge needed to be told how desperate the situation was.

 Three more shocks sent the ship tumbling, the tearing of the deck a scream of anguish as though Hercules was a mighty beast that was being hunted down. Race wrestled with the controls, desperately trying to maintain a straight heading, all thoughts of evasive action rendered moot by the damage they were still sustaining.

 “Keep her moving, Race!”

 “Second salvo impacting,” Nelyubov said, “We’re getting some good hits in!”

 Orlova looked again at her tactical display, and a grin started to spread across her face. Those battlecruisers were lagging well behind Alamo, enough that if she could get past the remaining ship there would be a strong chance that she might actually get away. Of course, the more damage they did here, the better it would be. 

 “Hull breaches on five, six decks now,” Durman said. “Damage control teams are on the way. We’ve lost the starboard thrusters, sensors are gone aft and to port, and the communications antenna are gone.” Another impact, and he continued with a tinge of panic, “Fire in the aft crew quarters, and the suppression systems are failing!”

 “It’ll reach vacuum soon enough,” Orlova said. “Third salvo, Frank?”

 “Firing now, but the targeting computer’s overloaded, I’m having trouble locking them on anything.”

 “Just fire them! Odds are they’ll hit something that isn’t us!”

 Mathis said, “Lots of missiles beating those odds right now! We now have twenty missiles incoming, the last wave on time-on-target.”

 Another blast, this time close to them, shook through the ship, and Orlova nervously looked at the all-too-fragile patchwork on the hull breaches they had sustained in the previous battle. For the present, the temporary repairs were just about holding, but there was no guarantee that they would stay that way.

 “Two more hits, and they’re getting deep now, Lieutenant,” Durman said. “Right into the guts of the ship. I’m reading fires in two more places.”

 “Look at that!” Nelyubov said, and one of the enemy battlecruisers exploded, a flash of light filling the screen for an instant. “We must have found a weak spot, or Alamo had already done something to it.”

 “Don’t question it,” Orlova said. “Just enjoy it.” She was interrupted by another impact, near enough to send her tumbling out of her seat towards the floor. Reaching out a hand to stop herself, she drifted over to stand behind Race, looking down at his controls. “How are we doing?”

 “Gaining speed nicely, but we’re going right into the heart of them.”

 “That’s exactly where we need to be,” she said. “Let me take her.”

 He looked up at her, nodded, and kicked back out of the seat, Orlova’s hands gliding into position over the console as she began to set up a course right into the nearest enemy ship, tapping override after override to get around the collision prevention system. Durman was still shaking his head at his console.

 “That last one got right to the superstructure, we’ve got fractures there now in five places.”

 “Another wave of missiles launched!” Mathis said. “It’s so thick out there you could walk on them!”

 “It won’t make any difference,” Orlova said as she reached for another control. Five more missiles hit together, and the lights began to flicker as the power distribution network struggled to compensate for the damaged areas. She glanced up at the clock; they had only been in this system for a minute, and it was a toss-up whether they’d survive another one.

 “Orlova to all hands,” she shouted. “All hands abandon ship!” 

 The bridge crew needed no urging, Carpenter leading the wave out of the door towards the airlock and the shuttle that was waiting outside, prepared to get the command crew to safety. All across the ship, the damage control teams would be racing for their escape craft, trying to navigate a way through the wreckage before time ran out.

 She remained at the console, looking at the courses as they converged on the battlecruiser ahead; the ship kept pitching from side to side, blasts of escaping atmosphere tossing it around, making it next to impossible to keep a straight heading. Another trio of missiles smashed into the hull, a desperate creaking noise running up the decks, and a hand locked down on her shoulder.

 “Come on, Maggie,” Carpenter said. “Shuttle’s loaded and ready to go.”

 “We’re not on a direct course, I need to reset it,” she said, tapping commands into the console.

 “Hercules knows where it’s going, and you aren’t going with it.” After a few seconds, she continued, “Dammit, Maggie, her back’s broken! It’s time to go!”

 With one last, defiant look around the bridge, Orlova pushed away and made for the airlock, letting Carpenter go ahead of her. She paused at the airlock hatch for a final minute, looking around at the bridge that had so briefly been hers, looked at the readouts bathing the room in red, the devastation being unleashed upon her first command.

 Quietly, a tear in her eye, she whispered, “Thank you,” then pushed into the shuttle. Nelyubov was at the controls, and as soon as she was on board, the airlock door slammed shut and he pulled away from the ship, burning the engines as fast as he could on a course for the only safe haven left in the system – the Alamo, still fighting a battle of its own.

 Under other circumstances, she would probably be fuming about not being at the helm herself, having someone else piloting for her, but all her attention was focused on battered Hercules, her hull twisted and gouged worse than Alamo had ever been, the skeletal interior structure exposed in numerous places. Her engines were still firing, though, and she ducked and dived towards her target.

 The enemy battlecruiser had taken herself too close for safety in its bid to make a quick kill, thrown out of position. Some of Hercules’ missile hits had wrecked havoc with its maneuvering thrusters, and though the Cabal pilot was obviously good at his job, he wasn’t good enough. 

 In a motion that almost seemed unreal, sluggish and slow, Hercules smashed into the Cabal ship, its hull buckling and fragmenting as explosions ripped into space, vanishing as fast as they appeared, dull glowing embers of metal heated far beyond its tolerance ripping into the hull. The ship was traveling fast enough to fly right through it, and some fragments of the superstructure pushed through the fragile hull of the other ship to carry on, slowly revolving as a silent, permanent monument to the brave ship. Of its target, two large pieces of debris remained amidst millions of fragments, the shrapnel even leaping out to some of the other ships, Hercules still dealing more blows after her death. 

 “We’re clear of the debris zone,” Nelyubov said, dully. “Two other shuttles got away, by the looks of it, ahead of us.”

 “Two?” Orlova said.

 “Two. That means…”

 “That means at least one of the damage control teams couldn’t get out in time.”

 “It’s not your fault, Maggie,” Carpenter said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

  “I was in command. That makes it my fault.” She turned her head, looking out of the window as the tears flowed freely down her face, trying to spot some sign of her lost ship. It felt strange; she’d only been on board for a few weeks, only been in command due to a fluke, but she felt as if she had betrayed her oldest friend.

 At least she’d done her job. The other two battlecruisers had both sustained damage, and now were hopelessly behind Alamo. Wiping a hand across her face to sweep away the tears, she walked forward to sit in the co-pilot’s seat behind Nelyubov, the scanner a blur as she struggled to see what else was going on.

 “Skipper?” Nelyubov said.

 “It’s Sub-Lieutenant now, Frank. Assuming they let me keep my rank.”

 “I wouldn’t worry about that. In case we don’t get time for this later, it has been an honor to serve under you. I think the rest of the crew feels the same way.”

 “Those who lived through it.”

 “All of them.” He smiled, “She had a good end. One that made up for everything the Cabal put her through.”

 “I just wish things could have been different.”

 “I know,” he replied.

 Taking a deep breath, she said, “Well, Lieutenant, let’s get to Alamo as fast as we can. By the looks of it, they need all the help they can get.”

Chapter 27

 Marshall looked over at the Flight Engineer’s station, watching Prentis desperately struggle to keep up with the influx of new damage reports as another missile slammed into Alamo’s rear, just missing the realspace engines. The internal communications system was only working intermittently, switching from station to station, and far too many of them were worryingly dead.

 “Damn,” Spinelli said, shaking his head. “Hercules just rammed one of the battlecruisers! Direct hit!”

 Caine looked up at her station, “Clever, Maggie, Clever. One of them gone, two much too far behind, that just means we have just one more to deal with.”

 “I’m having trouble maintaining attitude,” Tyler said. “Too much damage to the thrusters, too many holes in the hull.”

 “Ride the horse, Mr. Tyler. I want a firing solution on the remaining battlecruiser right now. Deadeye, I think we’re ready for the fireshuttles.”

 “More than ready, Danny,” she replied, flipping a stray lock of hair from her forehead as she leaned over her panel. “I can’t manage another salvo, too much damage to the launch tubes.”

 “Spinelli,” Marshall said, “any escape pods from Hercules?”

 “Resolution was far too low to see them, sir. And the Cabal are far better placed to snatch them than we are.”

 “Damn it, Maggie, you got so damn close. Launch those shuttles, get them flying.”

 He looked ahead at the last remaining battlecruiser, still with the scar Alamo’s laser burned into her hull at the start of the battle. Its commander had taken the reserve position in the formation, hoping that the others would be able to deal with Alamo; instead, the two Triplanetary battlecruisers had wrought awful damage on the Cabal forces.

 “Tyler,” he said, “make it look as if we’re trying to get past them. They’ll know that we haven’t any offensive capability at the moment, so I want it to appear as if we’re desperate.” 

 “We are,” Weitzman said, leaning over to help Prentis with damage co-ordination.

 “Shuttles away,” Caine said. “How does that fit in?”

 “Rats escaping from the exploding ship. Prentis, what’s the score?”

 “Hull breaches everywhere, but none of them too deep. Main power distribution out, auxiliary working for the moment, long-range communications and sensors out, hendecaspace drive...sir, it’d be faster to tell you what was working.”

 “And that is?”

 “Life support and realspace engines, just.”

 “That’s all we’re going to need, Spaceman,” he said, leaning forward to look at the display as it continued to update. Three more tracks were racing towards the battlecruiser, shuttles loaded with enough explosives – the combined power of eight missile warheads each – to blow the ship in two if they detonated.

 “They’re onto us,” Caine said. “Trying to divert the shuttles. I’m working on it, but we’re so damn short of bandwidth.”

 “Keep on it, Deadeye. Tyler, see what you can do to assist her. Make it look as if we’re trying for a laser pass, distract them any way you can.” 

 “Working on it, sir,” he replied, “but I’m not sure what I can do. It’s all I can manage to keep her flying at all.”

 “Missile salvo,” Spinelli said with a sigh. “Four up, heading for us.”

 “Not the shuttles?”

 “No, sir.”

 “Good.”

 Prentis turned back, horror on his face, and said, “Sir, we’re on the ragged edge here. One more hit could finish us.”

 “If we don’t finish that battlecruiser, all of us have had it anyway. Steele, anything from the lower levels? Their boarding party?”

 “Nothing, sir, but I’m getting readings that the area is exposed to space,” she said, frowning as she looked at other reports, “and Corporal Cooper has been admitted to sick-bay as a critical case. No details. Should I call down there?”

 “I don’t think this is the time to disrupt the good doctor, do you?”

 “Damn, we lost one!” Caine said, as one of the tracks abruptly came to an end; the shuttle had self-destructed rather than risk it turning back towards Alamo, the oldest trick in the book and one that Marshall was not disposed to allow to happen to him. “Others still flying, ninety seconds.”

 “That long?”

 “These are shuttles, not missiles. They’re meant to carry passengers instead of warheads.”

 Marshall sat in his chair, fuming, powerless. Alamo had taken everything that could have been expected of her and more, and just as all hope of survival seemed to have been lost, Hercules swept in like an avenging angel, catching the Cabal forces completely by surprise. When he’d entered into this battle, Marshall had been resigned to losing it, and his life with it. Now, to come so close to snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, it didn’t seem fair to fall at the final hurdle.

 “Security is working on those missiles, we’re down to four,” Spinelli said. “Come on, Lieutenant, knock those bastards down.”

 “Shuttles still..., no, we’re down to one,” Caine said. “They got one with a missile.”

 “That just means you only have one to worry about, Deadeye,” he replied.

 “So do they,” she said.

 Tyler had given up any attempt at misdirection, trying to settle Alamo down as the navigational systems labored to stabilize the ship, to adjust to the atmosphere leaks from various decks and the destroyed thrusters. Slowly he was winning the battle, but the cost was the absence of even the vestige of evasion. Raw speed was all that he could provide, but with any luck, it was going to be all that Alamo needed.

 “Thirty seconds, sir,” Caine said. 

 “Impact in three, two, one,” Spinelli said, and the world seem to turn sideways as the three missiles smashed into the hull, just over Alamo’s bridge. The lights all flickered, then died, all the monitors going with them as the links to the rest of the ship were finally severed. Dull green lights finally came on, giving the room a ghostly, eerie feel.

 “Everyone alright?” Marshall said, peering around in the gloom. “Tyler, Caine, Prentis, do you have any controls?”

 “No, sir,” Tyler said, tapping dead buttons. “All out.”

 “Here too, Danny,” Caine said. “We had only twenty-seven seconds before impact.” She looked down at her watch, “Which is due right...now.”

 “If the enemy didn’t knock it down,” Weitzman said.

 “Spinelli, try and get that elevator working. It’s a separate system, it should still be functioning.” He pulled a communicator out of a locker on the wall, and flipped through the channels of static. “Marshall to anyone, come in please.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Marshall to anyone, respond.”

 “Internal communications must be fried,” Weitzman said. “We need to get to another location.” Looking around at the dead consoles, he said, “Unbelievable. Three independent systems, all of them knocked out.”

 “When we get back they’ll probably install a fourth to be on the safe side,” Marshall said.

 A line of white light shot into the room, setting Marshall blinking as his eyes adapted. Sparks were shooting from the control systems where Spinelli had hot-wired the mechanism, but at least there was still a car waiting for them.

 Looking around at the bridge, Marshall said, “Let’s get out of here. They’ll need us all elsewhere.”

 “No more missile impacts,” Steele said. “That must be a good sign, mustn’t it?”

 “For all we know, whoever is in command ended up surrendering,” Prentis said. “We really were on our last legs, sir.”

 “Enough of that, Spaceman,” Marshall said. “Thoughts, Deadeye?”

 “As far as we know, Auxiliary Control was undamaged. The automatic systems would have transferred control across instantly, so your father is probably running the ship right now. Whether they were able to get that last fireshuttle home is the question.”

 “I just hope those switchover worked in time.” Marshall crowded himself into the shuttle, and tapped for Auxiliary Control; when that button failed to respond, he tried the Hangar Deck, and this time the doors obediently closed. “Must be some damage to the shafts. It’s close enough, anyway.”

 Slowly, the elevator began its descent, and Marshall pulled his communicator out again, fiddling with the controls in an attempt to pick up a signal from anywhere. No matter what he tried, there was no response. He couldn’t even get a data pickup.

 “Thirty missile hits,” Caine said. “I wouldn’t have thought we’d still be in one piece.”

 “Don’t underestimate this old girl,” Marshall replied. “She’s taken damage that would have seen any other ship smashed into pieces and still been ready for the fight.”

 “Perhaps we could go for a while without proving it again, Danny?”

 Sighing, Marshall said, “What the hell is going on out there? Are we winning? Have we lost?”

 “We’ll know in a few moments,” Caine said. “Relax.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I don’t find limbo that relaxing.”

 “By now, the battle is over, whatever has happened. There’s no sense worrying. We all did the best we could, the whole crew. You included. And we certainly made a mess of that Cabal fleet.”

 The doors finally slid open, disgorging the erstwhile bridge crew into a mostly-abandoned corridor, a couple of dazed technicians sitting in a corner, limply holding onto a rail, looking up at the crew as they approached. Marshall looked at Caine, and drifted past them onto the hangar deck, finding pandemonium reigning as technicians struggled to ready the elevator airlocks.

 “What’s going on?” Marshall said to no-one in particular.

 One of the technicians turned to him, and said, “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll have the elevator airlocks ready in a minute.”

 “Ready for what? Could someone tell me what the hell is happening around here?”

 “Got it, Chief,” one of the technicians said, and a loud bang hit the deck, followed by the noise of hardware straining to work long after it should by all rights have given up.

 “Hercules Shuttles One, Two, Three, arriving docking bay,” Kibaki's voice announced over the intercom. “Medical teams stand by, servicing teams stand by.”

 “Hercules?” Marshall said, kicking off towards the battered shuttles as they rose to the deck. As the first shuttle rose, he brought himself to a stop just short of the airlock, and waited for it to open; Orlova drifted out, slightly dazed, tears streaking down her face, and Marshall, without even thinking twice, took her into a bear hug.

 “Damn it, Maggie, I thought you were dead!”

 “We thought Alamo had been blown up,” she replied, shaking her head.

 “How did you get here?” Caine said.

 Glancing across at her friend, Orlova said, “Picked up some intelligence that Alamo was about to be ambushed, so here we are. Good shooting, by the way.”

 “When? Good shooting when?” Marshall said.

 A familiar voice from the rear said, “About two and a half minutes ago, when the last fireshuttle caught that bastard battlecruiser amidships. It’s going to be a long time before that ship gets back into service.”

 “Dad! We won?” Marshall yelled.

 “You did, Captain,” he replied with a broad smile. “The gamble paid off. The enemy fleet is either crippled or destroyed, and we’ve got clear space. Makarova’s keeping her nice and stable.”

 “The carrier?”

 “Standing off. I guess they only had one shot, and they used it.”

 Orlova drifted over to the Major, downcast, and said, “I’m sorry, sir.”

 “Sorry? What the hell for?”

 “You told me to take care of Hercules. I led her into a battle, and rammed her into a ship. I’m sorry, sir.”

 “Sorry, Maggie? The old girl went down exactly as she would have wanted to go, wreaking havoc on the enemy that kept her in chains for a decade. She had a glorious death.” More Hercules crew were emerging from the shuttles, several of them right to the medics. Only a few of them had escaped burns, broken burns, or other injuries.

 “Alamo, sir?” she said to Marshall.

 “She got through, Maggie,” he replied. “When it counted, she got through. Her and her crew.” A smile built up on his face and just kept growing, “Welcome home, Maggie. It’s good to have you back.”

 Behind, in the background, a noise was building around the deck. It took Marshall a few moments to realize that it was cheering, applause. Looking across at a beaming Caine, he turned to clasp his father’s hand, holding it aloft as though he’d just won a prize fight. He knew how much still lay before them, how much more work they still had to do, but for the present, he was content to just sit back and enjoy the moment. They could pick up the pieces later, now they knew they would have one.

Chapter 28

 The wounded were stacked out into the corridor; Marshall shared a few smiles and nods with those who were conscious as he walked into sickbay, looking around for Duquesne. She was over by a corner, drinking a cup of coffee, bleary-eyed and pale, while her staff moved from patient to patient, trying to do what they could for the more serious cases. At the far end of the room, nestled in a bed, Marshall found the man he was looking for, and he walked over to sit beside Cooper.

 “How are you doing, Corporal?”

 “Can’t complain, sir,” he rasped. “Sir, Lieutenant Lane.”

 “What about her?”

 “She gave her life to save the ship. We wouldn’t have stopped those troopers without her. She did it willingly, she knew what she was doing.” He stopped with a cacophony of coughing, and slumped back down, trying to breathe.

 “Easy, Cooper. I’ll see she is honored. The others too.”

 “Thank you, sir.” He looked around, down at his bandaged hand, “I’ll be back on duty as soon as I can.”

 “You get some rest, Corporal. That’s all you need to do right now. We’ll manage until you get back on your feet.” 

 “Aye, sir,” he said, his voice trailing away as he relaxed into unconsciousness. Duquesne walked over to the bed, shaking her head as she looked down at him.

 “I hope he’ll let himself rest now. He wouldn’t let go until you’d seen him.”

 Looking up at the doctor, he replied, “He’s a brave man.”

 “That much is obvious.”

 “Will he recover?”

 Sighing, she said, “That depends on your point of view. He’s out of the Espatiers, that much I know.”

 “Why?”

 “Because they don’t take people with a prosthetic hand. I couldn’t save it.” She slumped down into a chair. “If he’d been my only patient today, I might have. All I could do was save his life, and that was hard enough. I didn’t have time for anything else.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “What’s the count right now?”

 “Fifteen dead, including six from Hercules. Most of them in the Battle of Engineering.” Looking up at him with empty eyes, she said, “And sixty-one wounded.”

 “That’s more than half the crew…”

 “Burns, broken bones, shrapnel damage, exposure to vacuum, you name it. About twenty of them are clear for light duty, about a dozen of them...well, we’ll see if I can work a few more miracles. I’m going back into surgery in a minute.”

 “You’re doing everything you can, Doc.”

 “Yes,” she said. “Was this really necessary?”

 “Those fifteen people might have saved fifteen thousand if we’ve managed to prevent the next war. We did a hell of a lot of damage to those devils, Doc.”

 Nodding, she said, “I’ll try and hold onto that, then. Until I can crash out myself in a while. I’m getting too old for this.”

 “We all are.”

 Clapping him on the shoulder, she walked over to the operating room, running her hands through the sterilizer as the door closed behind her. He looked around the ward for a moment, shaking his head. A few of them looked up and smiled, one even managed a salute; it was all he could do not to break down himself. He walked out of the room, almost colliding with a figure at the threshold.

 “Sorry, sir.”

 “That’s fine, Bradley, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

 “Is Cooper in there, sir? I heard he was wounded in the battle.”

 “Back of the room. He’s not conscious, but I think you’d do worse than to sit with him for a while. By the way, that was damn fine work out there.”

 “I failed, sir,” she replied, looking down at the deck.

 “Half the enemy force was destroyed before it could get to Alamo, and you were flying improvised craft thrown together at the last minute. You did good. Who the hell turned you down for fighter pilot training?”

 “I had an attitude problem, sir. So I was told.”

 “If you still want to try for it, I’ll have a word with a couple of people when we get back, see if I can get you in. Whatever happens there is definitely a promotion in your near future.” He glanced across at Cooper, “His too. When it dawns on him that he can’t stay in the Espatiers, you tell him that they’ll always be a place for him in the crew of any ship I command.”

 “Thank you, Captain. I will.”

 Nodding his head back towards the ward, he said, “Go. Consider yourself on leave for the rest of the day. I think you’ve earned it after being locked in a cockpit with the Hook for that long.”

 Walking out into the corridor, he gratefully stepped into the elevator, walking past a technician working on the control circuits. Reaching past her, he tapped for the bridge, scanning his datapad to look at the catalog of damage. He turned with a start as he realized it was one of the Neander, a survivor from Hercules.

 “Are you Captain Marshall?” she said, eliciting a surprised nod. “I have heard many things about you from Captain Orlova.”

 “Captain Orlova?” he replied with a smile. “I deny everything.”

 “You should not. Her comments were more than favorable.”

 The elevator jerked to a halt at the bridge, and Marshall tapped the override to open it. The room was still dark when the doors opened; Quinn was in the gloom, directing a repair gang.

 “Sorry, sir, we’re running a bit behind schedule. We should have everything here running again by tomorrow, and I’ll try and take steps to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

 “I was impressed enough that it happened this time.” He tapped the bulkhead, then said, “How’s our girl?”

 “Battered and bruised, but we’ll put her back together again. Might take a little while, but it’s nothing we can’t fix. The superstructure is intact, no hits got that deep.” With a smile on his face, he looked around the deck, “She took more damage than I thought possible and still kept flying. You ought to give Tyler a commendation, by the way; I don’t think I could have kept a straight heading under those conditions.”

 “Way ahead of you, Lieutenant. Can I use my office?”

 “You can, and Maggie’s waiting in there for you right now.”

 Nodding, Marshall stepped into his office, slipping sideways through the stuck door, to see Orlova already waiting for him, standing at parade rest in a corner of the room, looking at the flickering viewscreen. He moved around her to take his seat, and gestured for her to do likewise.

 “First of all, Maggie, I’d like to apologize.”

 “That’s quite all right, sir. I was expecting censure.” 

 “Censure?”

 “I lost Hercules, sir.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I was apologizing for putting you into that situation in the first place. It wasn’t fair to leave you in command, but you performed magnificently, Maggie. Better than I could have ever expected, ever hoped.”

 “Sir?”

 “I’ve read your report, and a bigger piece of self-flagellation I’ve never read. Fortunately I’ve also looked at the ones submitted by Carpenter, Race and Nelyubov, and all of them sing your praises like the Callistan State Choir. It is they I am choosing to believe. Why were you so hard on yourself?”

 “I was in command, sir,” she said, quietly, “and therefore I was responsible for everything. I took excessive risks, and I not only lost the ship but six of her crewmen with it.”

 “Good answer,” Marshall said. “You’ve learned the hardest lesson of all, that when you are in command you must hold yourself to a higher standard than anyone else will ever set for you. It’s something that no-one can really understand unless they have been there.”

 “Exactly, sir,” she replied, nodding.

 “Except I have been there, Maggie. Exactly where you have been. At twenty-four the last war put me in command of a wing, ten years before I should have had to do that job. I know exactly what it means to be catapulted into a position of responsibility that you aren’t ready for.”

 “Then you understand, sir. It was...the greatest burden I’ve ever known.” She looked down at the floor, “I wasn’t ready. I may never be.”

 With a smile, Marshall leaned back, “If someone said that they were ready when they sat in that chair for the first time, I’d kick them out of it. No-one is ever ready to take command, Maggie, not in their own mind. There’s always that little voice in the back of your head, the one that longs for someone else to arrive, that tries to think of ways to get out of it.” He paused, then said, “You need that little voice. That’s what stops you getting overconfident, what keeps you grounded.”

 “Even you, sir? I’ve never…”

 “You want to talk to Deadeye some time on this subject. I’ve sat in this office more than once, longing for someone else to take this job, to make a big decision for me. It’s something we all go through, no matter how long we’ve been in the chair.” With another smile, he said, “You realize, of course, that nothing will ever be the same again.” 

 Frowning, she replied, “Sir?”

 “You’ve commanded a ship, Maggie. It might have only been for a few weeks, but you had an independent command, and what is more you executed it magnificently. It changes you; I know it changed me. It made me look at the big picture a lot more, made me less focused on my own department and more on how it affected the ship. Take that, use it properly, and it will make you a better officer in the long run.”

 “I’ll try, sir.”

 “That, and based on this performance, Commodore Tramiel will be on first-name terms with you when we get back. You may have noticed that only ship commanders – or prospective ones – exist in his universe.”

 “You’ve been using my first name as well, sir.”

 “Have I?” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

 “It’s fine, sir.”

 “I think you’ve probably earned the right to use my first name as well. In private, at any rate.” Leaning back, he continued, “This won’t be the only time you command a ship, you know. Give it five, ten years, and you’ll have your own bridge again. It was always on the cards, but this has probably sealed the deal if you don’t mess it up.” Shaking his head, she said, “First contact with a long-lost branch of humanity, discovery of another habitable planet, securing a strategic outpost in the heart of the Cabal and a secret supply route back to our space...you really hit the jackpot this time.”

 “I was lucky.”

 “Luck favors the prepared. You used that luck well.”

 “You didn’t do badly yourself.”

 “Alamo would have been destroyed if you hadn’t arrived, Maggie. We’d have smashed that fleet, but we’d have left only a few escape pods and some wreckage to tell the tale. If we were lucky. Now we can capitalize on the victory; I’m taking us to Hydra Station.”

 “Price will be glad for that, sir. I told him relief was on the way, but I didn’t expect it this soon.”

 “Now comes you, Maggie.”

 “Sir?”

 “Your future on this ship.”

 “I was hoping to return to my position at Security, sir.”

 “Lieutenant Bailey is doing an excellent job there. I don’t like the idea of moving her.”

 “Perhaps the Beta Watch Shift, then; I was sorry to hear about Matsumoto.”

 “Based on your reports, I actually thought that Mr. Nelyubov would be a good fit there. And when we get back, I intend to see he gets that promotion he was expecting.”

 “Thank you, sir, but what about me?”

 “I’ve still got one vacancy to fill. What do you think about taking over as Operations Officer?”

 Her eyes widened, and she said, “Operations Officer? Sir, I’m only a Sub-Lieutenant.”

 Passing a datapad across the table, Marshall replied, “Actually, you’re a full Lieutenant. With seniority dating back to your assumption of command of Hercules. I signed the paperwork for a field promotion this morning.” Raising a hand, he continued, “It’s the least I could do. You saved my ship, Maggie, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have in this job.”

 “I wasn’t expecting this.”

 “I know,” he replied. “Lane left some pretty big shoes to fill, but I’m confident you can do this.”

 “I’ve never even served as a watch officer.”

 “You’ve commanded a ship. I think that trumps it. Look, you’d probably have got the promotion when we got back anyway, but I think you’ve earned the right to get it ahead of schedule. Hell, if you haven’t, I can’t think who has.”

 “Thanks,” she said, “I accept.”

 “Good. You’ve got a lot of work to do, and your first job will be…”

 “Integrating my people from Hercules into the ship’s complement.”

 “See what I mean? Oh, I want a report on Hydra Station and what we can expect out that way on my desk before we jump. Assuming we can get the internal networks working again, that is.”

 “I’m sure Quinn will manage something.”

 “Dismissed, Lieutenant,” he said, stressing the rank. She smiled and walked out of the room, sliding nimbly through the door, as Marshall sat back at his desk again, looking at the flickering starfield. Fifteen dead, and perhaps more to follow, but at least they had clear stars again. The remnants of the Cabal fleet were still licking their wounds, and there was no way they could guess their destination this time.

 The crew was back together again, and they were going home.

Thank you for reading 'Sacred Honor'. 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

Watch out for Battlecruiser Alamo #8: Stars in the Sand, coming in September...

For a sneak preview of the first spin-off from the Alamo series, Spitfire Station: Triple-Cross, keep reading….

 The shuttle tossed around in the storms of Kumar, trying to ride the waves of thunder; lightning flashed as Logan Winter, acting commander of Spitfire Station, peered out of his viewport. The weather report he’d coaxed out of the station’s sensors hadn’t been promising, but he didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the storm to abate before closing in. Through a gap in the clouds, he saw what he was looking for; an object seemingly floating in the sky, a huge balloon with some small modules strapped to its underside.

 Though it appeared motionless, Logan knew that it was traveling at hundreds of miles an hour, the currents throwing it across the sky. With a sweep of his hand, he zoomed in on the target; it seemed to be intact, and there was no sign that anything was docked to any of its locks. His eyes drifted up, catching a cluster of small dots up above, diving down towards them, flying in a lop-sided formation. He slammed down on a button.

 “Ryder, tell me we haven’t got fighters incoming!”

 His pilot – and executive officer, he’d been forced to strip the station’s meager personnel bare in order to pull off this little operation – replied after a brief second, “Want me to lie to you, sir?”

 “Don’t call me that.” 

 “They are fighters, but civilian. Diamond runners.”

 “You’re sure?”

 “That’s what the manifest says.”

 “So you aren’t sure. Stand by on evasive maneuvers if we need them.”

 Gritting his teeth in frustration, Logan turned to the cabin. Four espatiers, the finest troops he’d been able to scrounge from Alamo before it left, were sitting in full equipment; Harper – his pet hacker – was sitting in the midst of the military in a borrowed civilian spacesuit, the helmet resting in her lap, a grin on her face.

 “Skipper?” Lance-Corporal Volski said. “You going to tell us what we’re doing out here?”

 “We’ve got reason to believe that some of the pirates Alamo chased out of the system are holed up in this aerostat. We want them – alive, at all hazard. Brass wants some people for trial.”

 “That’s it?” Harper said. “What am I here for?”

 “I want to own their systems as soon as we touch down. Anything that’s in the databanks needs to be secure – encrypted so that only I can access it.”

 “Just you?”

 “Just me.”

 Volski looked around at his troops, and with resigned looks on their faces they stowed their rifles underneath their clips, replacing them with puny-looking dart guns. Meyer, the lone female trooper, shook her new weapon with disgust, the pistol small in her hand.

 “Come on, gang, we know how to do this. We expecting trouble, boss?” Volski said.

 “Always,” Logan replied. “That’s usually safest.”

 “Closing for docking, sir,” Ryder said over the intercom. “Hold on to something, this is going to be rough.”

 The pilot’s prediction was correct. The shuttle bounced off the side of the aerostat four times before – more by luck than judgment – Ryder managed to mate the two docking connectors. With a reassuring clang and a hiss, the latches engaged, though immediately the ride grew worse. When they were in free flight, Ryder had been able to compensate for the disturbance. Now they were being thrown from side to side, lurching around; Logan tumbled from his seat onto the floor as Harper laughed.

 “Not funny,” he said.

 “It’s very funny,” she replied, as she started to pull off her spacesuit.

 “What are you doing?”

 “If we’re being thrown around this much, we’ll damage something. That and I don’t like those things anyway.”

 “And if the station is holed?”

 “Then wearing a suit will just give me more time to enjoy the view on the way down.”

 Logan looked at Volski, nodded, and said, “Good point. Corporal, you want the suits or not?”

 Glancing around at his squad, the corporal shrugged, “I think she’s right. I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad.”

 “Great,” Meyer said. “No real weapons, no armor. This mission’s turning into a full-on Charlie Foxtrot.”

 Shedding his spacesuit into a pile on the floor with practiced ease, Logan pulled out a dart gun that superficially looked like the ones the espatiers were using, and made his way over to the airlock. The camera pickup showed nothing but darkness, and he gestured over to Harper.

 “Lights, maestro?”

 Nodding, she walked over to a terminal and started to type; almost immediately, the lights came on, and she exchanged a look with Logan. Volski walked forward, blocked by an outstretched arm from Logan.

 “That was too damn easy.”

 “Yeah,” Harper replied. “Hold on a moment.”

 She continued to work her controls, playing the keyboard as an expert would play the piano, and after a few seconds a grin began to spread across her face.

 “Well?”

 “Nasty little trick with the docking clamps. We’d have been thrown back out into the atmosphere.”

 With a sigh, he replied, “Can you…”

 “Override it?” she interrupted. “Already done.”

 Nodding, Logan tapped the control, and the two doors slowly jerked open. He took a tentative step forward, gun low by his side, and looked out into a long corridor, running the length of the habitation module. A small pile of used food containers decorated the floor, and a brown-stained overall was hung limply on a hook. Volski walked in by his side, his pistol outstretched, eyes darting around.

 “We should go first, boss,” he said, but Logan shook his head.

 “I need to lead from the front this time. I’ll take point, you guys check the rooms as we go. Be alert for more traps.”

 “You don’t need to tell me twice.”

 Leaning back into the airlock, Logan yelled, “Close up behind us, Ryder. In case you get any surprise guests.”

 In response, the hatch slammed shut, this time far more quickly. Logan was beginning to get the idea that his assistant wasn’t particularly fond of him. He walked cautiously down the corridor, looking around, while the espatiers methodically searched each room. Harper ran up by his side.

 “Why are you making them search?” she whispered. “They aren’t going to find anything.”

 “Not here, no. My guess is that they’re up in the control room.”

 She looked at him, green locks dropping down over her eyes, “You don’t guess. You know.”

 “What makes you say that?”

 “Observation.”

 “Harper, you know just enough to be damned dangerous.”

 Volski jogged up behind them. “Nothing in this section, sir.”

 “Nothing at all?”

 “Just some quarters, obviously in use. No sign of any documents or data crystals, computers dark.”

 “Harper, shouldn’t you work on that?”

 She shrugged, “You think I could have knocked out that trap without breaking into their system? I’ve already got everything copying over onto the shuttle computers.”

 With a thin smile, Logan said, “Let’s get moving, then. Corporal?”

 He waved the espatier into position by his side; the troops positioned themselves to be alert for any sudden movement, any threat, and waited for the door the open. With a gentle tap, Volski opened the door, and a loud crack issued forth; Meyer immediately returned fire, and there was a sudden snap from the other compartment.

 “Hold fire,” Volski said, peering in. An empty spacesuit lay on the floor on the other side of the door, sprawled on the deck with a dart sticking in it; another crack sounded from a box placed next to it, and Logan grinned.

 “They’ve got a sense of humor, anyway.”

 “Not funny,” Meyer said. “Not funny at all.”

 “Just be glad the bullets aren’t real today,” Harper added with a grin.

 “They aren’t real yet,” Logan said. “Go search; Harper and I will wait here.”

 Splitting into two pairs, the espatiers moved into the next compartment, methodically searching the two long rooms. The aerostat lurched to the side, sending them tumbling into the wall, and another crack sounded from up ahead, followed by a pair of shots, and another crack.

 “That isn’t a speaker,” Logan said. “Come on.”

 His pistol in his hand, he sprinted down the corridor, ducking and rolling into one of the side rooms. Meyer was lying on the ground, twitching; a discarded dart was by her side. Volski was in cover behind a long bank of controls, and there was a shape moving up ahead. Of all the places to choose for a gunfight, Refinery Control was probably one of the worst.

 He glanced over at Volski and blinked three times in quick succession, making certain that the gunman couldn’t see him. The corporal curtly nodded, and nestled back into cover. Counting down in his head, when he reached three he jumped out of his hiding place, shouting and waving his arms about, creating a distraction that lasted just long enough for Volski to get in his shot. With a satisfactory snap, the gunman collapsed to the deck.

 “Good shot,” Logan said, moving forward.

 “Thanks, skipper,” he replied. “Meyer’s fine. They’re using darts too.”

 “She’ll have a hell of a hangover, though,” Logan replied. He slipped a small needle from his pocket, and stabbed it into the gunman, who slumped onto the deck. The tranq shot would keep him out for the better part of a day, long enough that he’d wake up in a nice, comfortable – and quiet – cell back on Spitfire.

 “This one’s out cold. No need to put a guard on him, we’ll pick him up on the way back.”

 “I’ll get Meyer back to the shuttle, skipper.”

 The aerostat jerked to the side again, a strong gust of wind pulling it out of place. If anything, the storm was getting worse; he was beginning to get a little worried about the docking connectors.

 As Volski picked up Meyer, throwing her into a shoulder lift, he walked out into the corridor. The other two espatiers were waiting, standing ready in the corridor, with Harper leaning quietly against a wall.

 “Nothing in the other room?”

 “Storage compartment, sir. All secure.”

 Nodding, Logan said, “There’s a prisoner in there; go and search him. Keep your ears open; if I need you, I want you back out in the corridor in a heartbeat.”

 The two troopers walked into Refinery Control; as soon as they had left the corridor, and Volski had made his way through the hatch, Logan walked over to the opposite end, his pistol at the ready. Before he could open the door, Harper stepped out in front of him.

 “Stand aside,” he said.

 Her head tilted to the side, she replied, “Why did you want the troopers here if you don’t intend to take them with you?”

 “In case I need backup.” Glancing around, he continued, “Finished? I’m in a hurry.”

 She shrugged, stood to the side, and opened the door with the touch of a button. The view on the other side almost sent Logan reeling back to the wall. The forward module was not connected with a hard lock as were the other two modules; the access to the command station was across a long, underslung tunnel – and someone had decided to make it transparent. No doubt it had seemed a wonderfully aesthetic design choice when the aerostat was first constructed, but right now it was making him sick to his stomach.

 Clutching his pistol tight on his hand, he edged out into nowhere, cautiously planting first one foot, then the other, as if he was walking on the clouds. That the corridor was swinging gently from side to side didn’t help, and flashes of lightning surrounded him, swirling amidst the orange and purple. Every step was torture as he forced himself into the void, a voice inside his head telling him that he was going to fall, that there was nothing under him, that this was suicide.

 Another blast of lightning, and he was tossed from his feet once again, his hands reaching for a non-existent handrail. The invisible floor was soft, but it still knocked the wind from him; he edged across on his hands and knees. Someone was using this as psychological warfare, and it was damned effective. While most of his mind was terrified, another part was noting this as a useful tactic to employ in the future.

 Finally, he reached the hatch at the far end, panting for breath. Everything was just about going to plan thus far, but he paused while he dragged the tattered shreds of his sanity back together again, making himself ready for the fray. Taking a deep breath, pistol in hand, he tapped the control to open the door.

 He walked inside, gun at the ready, ducked nimbly into cover behind a convenient pile of boxes, and with a pull of the trigger he sent a figure tumbling down to the deck. Four others were positioned to cover the entrance, but he quickly made out their positions, and tapped a control on his gun, switching it to image acquisition, and sliding a datachip into the butt of this pistol.

 Waiting impatiently for a green light, he looked around the room, scanning the consoles with care; all systems seemed to be functioning normally, but the most critical controls were up ahead in the master control section. Finally, the gun was ready to fire, and pointing it up into the air, he squeezed the trigger four times, sending four homing darts flying across the room. They instantly ranged into their targets, and with a series of crackles, they dropped down to the floor, limp.

 Carefully pulling himself to his feet, Logan walked from person to person, slipping each of them a strong tranquilizer; he didn’t want them to be talking for a while. He turned with a start as he saw a figure in the corridor behind him, her arms crossed; only his cautious instincts prevented him from shooting Harper in the chest.

 “That’s a nice toy. Why doesn’t everyone have one?”

 “It’s only useful in certain situations.”

 She nodded, “Such as when you have full biometric data on the people you are hunting down? What the hell is going on?”

 “I was under the impression that enlisted spacemen do as their officers tell them.”

 “Forgive me for providing corrections to your world-view.”

 With a smile, Logan replied, “Close and lock that hatch behind you. This isn’t the trap I was fearing, and the two of us will be enough to do the job.”

 She complied, then turned back, saying, “Well?”

 “There is more to this than I can say. Suffice for the moment that yes, I knew who would be here, and yes, I was expecting all of this. Except for that damn tunnel.”

 “That’s why you wanted to stay behind when Alamo left, regardless of what the ship was doing.”

 “Exactly.” He took a deep breath, then said, “Look, you are basically in Intelligence now, whether you like it or not…”

 “Actually, I do.”

 “Which means that should anything happen to me, a file will miraculously appear in your little secret archive that will give you full information, as well as a couple of parting gifts. Until then, I need you to accept that there are things I can’t tell you.”

 “Why?”

 “Because I…”

 “No, why the hell do you trust me?”

 With another grin, Logan said, “A hacker of your skill? I haven’t got much choice, have I?” He glanced up at the door. “Come on. If you are going to be here, you might as well make yourself useful. Cover me.”

 Logan walked over to the far end of the room, and gently tapped the door with a smile, darting through before Harper could follow and slamming it shut behind him. His gun was still in his hand as an afterthought, but he turned around to see a tall, dark man with a beaming smile standing in front of the master control complex, a pistol stuffed into his belt. Logan approached him cautiously.

 “You took your time,” the figure said.

 “Damn it, Bernie, what the hell was with that corridor? I almost had a heart attack.”

He raised his hands, saying, “Don’t blame me, it was Fox’s idea. I couldn’t exactly tell him that we were all meant to get caught, could I?”

 “No, of course not.” Logan looked around the room. “Any more surprises I need to know about?”

 “I should be asking you the same thing. I thought you’d be sneaking on board with a few easily-bribable types, not assaulting this place with a squad of Triplanetary Espatiers. And why the hell are you commanding that station up there now?”

 “Not my plan. Sometimes circumstances change.” He paused. “Have you got everything we need?”

 “Everything’s ready to go. I’ll be glad to get home. It’s been too long.”

 Logan eyed his friend cautiously, “Three years. Was that too long?”

 “What are you saying?”

 He shook his head, “Nothing, never mind. It’s been a long week.”

 “All five of my people are secure?”

 “I doped them myself. They’ll have a sweet wake-up in about twelve hours.”

 Bernie looked at the gun, “That’s pointing a bit too close to me, my friend.”

 “Well, I’m afraid I have to change the plan again.” He gestured at the door. “If you walk out of here conscious, it’s just going to lead to questions we don’t want to answer.”

Sighing, he sat down at the console, “That’s something I never did like about working with you, Logan. You improvise so quickly the rest of us can’t catch up.”

 “Ready?” Logan said, raising his pistol.”

 “I hate these damn things. Bad dreams.” He sighed. “Get it over with.”

He squeezed the trigger, and his friend slumped in his chair. Carefully stepping forward, he checked his vital signs then injected him with the same tranquilizer, then slapped a pair of stiff handcuffs onto him. The door slid open, and he waved Harper forward.

 “Took you longer than normal to hack the door,” he said.

 “I thought I’d give you a little privacy.” She looked at the figure in the chair. “Who’s he?”

 “Bernie Spender.” He turned back, frowning. “Know the name?”

 “I know the UN has a million-credit bounty on his head.”

 “Let’s hope the station isn’t similarly informed. Give me a hand, we’ve got to get him back to the shuttle.”

 As he walked back over to his friend, Logan tapped a pair of buttons, completing the control sequence. As soon as they were safely clear, the aerostat was going to have a malfunction, and slide slowly down into the heart of the storm. It was always good practice to make sure to cover one's tracks, and a gas giant’s gravity well was an excellent place to dispose of unwanted evidence.

If you want to see what happens next, Triple-Cross can be purchased through Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00L72526M

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