STARS IN THE SAND

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 8

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #8: Stars in the Sand

Copyright © 2014 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: September 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.

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

With Thanks To: Peter Long and Ellen Clarke

Went the day well,

We died and never knew,

But, well or ill,

Freedom, we died for you.

John Maxwell Edmonds

Chapter 1

 Lieutenant Orlova, so new to her rank that the insignia still felt strange, stood at the rear of Alamo’s bridge, watching and waiting for the ship to emerge from hendecaspace. She was not accustomed to having nothing to do; her role as Operations Officer was essentially administrative, and certainly she could be profitably employed in her office right now working on the backlog, but somehow she thought that the bridge was where she belonged, especially now.

 Partly it was her experience; she was the only one on the bridge who had been here before, who might know what to expect at their destination. While commanding the now-destroyed Battlecruiser Hercules, she had secured a deal for port facilities at Hydra Station, an outpost that still officially serviced the Cabal, but she didn’t know whether the station commander, Lester Price, had agreed out of a true desire to switch sides or simply because she had half a dozen missiles pointing at his station.

 Of course, the Alamo was a bigger, tougher ship, with a stronger armament – normally. Less than two weeks ago, she had been involved in the biggest battle of her life, a battle that resulted in the destruction of most of the Cabal’s task force, but also the loss of the Hercules. She still choked up a little thinking about it; she might have only been in command of it due to an accident of seniority, and for only a few months, but it was her ship none the less. She felt as though her home had been destroyed, and though Captain Marshall had promoted her and given her a new job – and one that saw her leapfrog half a dozen people in the chain of command – she still felt almost as though she was a stranger on Alamo once again.

 She looked around the bridge, her eyes roaming from station to station. Lieutenant-Captain Marshall sitting in the command chair, of course, as if born to it – she was perhaps the only person on the bridge who realized just how alone that feeling could be, the insecurities that he would be battling back, trying to push out of his mind to reassure his crew. The only other person who might know was Lieutenant Caine, the Captain’s oldest friend, sitting at Tactical; she caught Orlova’s glance and threw her a surreptitious wink.

 Sub-Lieutenant Steele’s Beta Shift was on duty; she could still remember when Steele was a midshipman, arrogant as hell and thinking she knew it all. Since the death of her lover in action, the arrogance had melted away to cold resolution, and eagerness to have her revenge on the Cabal. The days when they would share bull sessions in the mess were long over; she spent most of her time in her quarters now. Next to her, Sub-Lieutenant Reid, originally of the Hercules but transferred to Alamo before Orlova had taken it off on its accidental joy-ride. Ten years behind the state of the art, and he still seemed far too cautious with the controls for safety, but he had the most battle experience of anyone on the bridge, and presumably the Captain was hoping that would make the difference if it came to a fight.

 The three enlisted crewmen on the bridge were all old friends, as well. Senior Spaceman Spinelli, sitting at the sensor station, staring up at his display as if willing it to show him the secrets of the universe. The long-suffering Spaceman First Class Weitzman at communications, glancing at the Captain as he ran his fingers over his controls, and Prentis at the flight engineering station, perpetually busy putting out fires and manipulating the networks to keep things moving. Alamo had been damaged almost to the brink of destruction in the battle, and despite two weeks, the engineering team had yet to put everything back together again.

 The elevator door slid open, and Lieutenant Quinn, Systems Officer, stepped out onto the bridge, followed by Senior Lieutenant Zebrova, Alamo’s Executive Officer. The two of them glanced at each other as Quinn walked over to Marshall, a datapad held in his hand. The Captain looked up, a frown on his face, and Quinn shook his head.

 “It isn’t good news, skipper,” Quinn said.

 “Two weeks to get a full damage report, Lieutenant,” Marshall replied. “I didn’t think that it would be a happy picture.”

 “Almost every system was damaged to a greater or lesser degree, a lot of them serious. The laser cannon is a wreck, I’m not sure we actually can get it fixed. The combat fabricators are out, and our main systems aren’t much better; we’ve just about got one of them working again to fix the others. Hull breaches all over the place…”

 “Can you give me your assessment of our combat effectiveness, Mr. Quinn?”

 “Slim to none, sir. We certainly couldn’t handle any serious opposition, nor could we maneuver effectively. I’ve got one salvo of missiles in the tubes, but reloading them would be a problem. Our electronic warfare suite is out of commission as well, I’m afraid.”

 “What?” Marshall said. “It wasn’t damaged in the battle.”

 Zebrova looked at Quinn and said, “We’re having to use the network systems to keep the internal communications and power distribution going. Until we can strip down to the internals, it’s going to have to stay that way.”

 “How long to repair?” Marshall said.

 “Theoretically, it isn’t possible without a full shipyard,” Quinn replied.

 “So how long?” Caine said from her station with a smile.

 “Well, Hydra Station has at least some of the facilities we need, so...ten weeks. Twelve at the outside.”

 A collective sigh of disappointment echoed around the bridge. Marshall replied, “And if we proceed without repairs?”

 “We’re going to have trouble fixing her up after the dimensional shift this time, Captain,” the engineer said, “I wouldn’t want to re-enter hendecaspace without at least securing the hull.”

 “Twelve weeks sitting helpless around a planet,” Spinelli said.

 “Not so bad as that, Spaceman,” Caine said. “We dealt the Cabal a big enough blow that it will take months for them to recover, and they don’t know where we’ve gone.”

 “If it has to be, then it has to be,” Marshall said. “Expedite the repairs as best you can, Lieutenant.”

 “Coming up on emergence,” Reid said, briefly looking away from his station. “Forty seconds.”

 “Spinelli…,” Marshall said.

 “All sensors are ready for a full look at the system as soon as we emerge, Captain,” he said, not looking away from his instruments.”

 “Good. Deadeye, get those missiles ready to fire if we need them. Just in case.”

 “Aye,” Caine replied, “but I don’t think we’d do very well if our target is able to shoot back, skipper.”

 “Ten seconds. Nine. Eight.”

 Orlova tensed up, her eyes fixed on the viewscreen. With a bright flash, Alamo broke out into normal space, and the stars faded back in once again. The tactical display hastily updated, and the planets and moons jumped slightly in their course as the data feeds poured in. Immediately, a panicked expression leapt across Spinelli’s face.

 “Threat warning, Captain!” he yelled. “Enemy vessel at the station!”

 “Details, Spinelli,” Marshall said. “Weitzman, see if anyone’s talking.”

 “I have the Station Commander for you, sir. Tightbeam laser,” the communications technician replied.

 “Excellent. Put him on.”

 The familiar voice of Price crackled through the bridge speakers, the signal strength fading in and out – evidently whoever was at the other end of the laser was having trouble compensating for Alamo’s movement now that it had left hendecaspace; Reid had wasted no time in getting the ship moving once they were secure in normal space.

 “I’m guessing this is Alamo, and that I’m speaking to Captain Marshall.”

 “Right on both counts,” Marshall replied. “What the hell is going on?”

 “A transport ship, the Ouroboros, arrived in system just after the Dumont left last week. As soon as they saw your ship coming they demanded I allow them to undock. Captain, can you shoot them down?”

 Marshall turned to Caine, who shook her head, “With only one missile salvo, I wouldn’t bet the dome on it.”

 “Too much battle damage,” Marshall replied to Price. “Can you stop them?”

 “They outnumber me, Captain, and still think I’m on their side. I’ve got to think of my people here on the station.”

 “Transport has undocked, sir,” Spinelli said, “and is making its way to the hendecaspace point at...wow, fast acceleration. Two and a half gravities.”

 Price cut in, “Ouroboros is a fast courier. She can sustain that speed.”

 Steele looked up from her station and said, “They’ll be at the hendecaspace point in forty-one minutes unless we do something about it.”

 Orlova looked around, and walked over to the watch officer’s station, leaning over Steele’s shoulder as she started to plot an interception course. Steele glanced down at the course she was setting, and looked up at Orlova with a frown on her face.

 “Alamo can’t make anything like that acceleration, certainly not with our current level of battle damage, Lieutenant.”

 “Quite right, Steele. Alamo can’t, but our shuttles can.” She glanced across at Marshall, “Sir, our shuttles can intercept that transport with a ten-minute margin of error.”

 “Ten minutes?” Zebrova said, shaking her head. “You’d have ten minutes to take control of that ship. With whatever personnel you are able to scrounge on no notice. Even a team of Espatiers would struggle to manage that in the time, and we don’t have any left.”

 “No, ma’am,” Orlova replied. “We’ll have ten minutes to stop it from leaving the system. Once we’ve disabled its hendecaspace drive, we can take as long as we want to take control of it.” Glancing up at the clock, she continued, “To make this work, we have to leave in three and a half minutes.”

 “Sir, I recommend against this course of action,” Zebrova said, fixing Orlova with a glare. “Let the missiles do their work, and we might be able to work out something better.”

 “We haven’t managed to fix the tactical systems in ten days, Lieutenant,” Caine said. “What are we going to do in half an hour?” Looking at Marshall, she said, “Sir, I think we should let her try.”

 Marshall glanced at Orlova, nodded, and said, “Get down there, throw a crew together, and get moving.” He paused, then said, “Maggie, if you can’t take control of her in the time, I’ll have to try that missile salvo regardless of who is on board. And we’ll be targeting the very areas you will be trying to take. Are you sure that you want to do this?”

 “We’ll be sure to keep our heads down, Captain,” she replied, sprinting across the bridge, a datapad in her hand. “See if you can get Frank Nelyubov down there, Steele.”

 “I’ll see what I can do, ma’am.”

 “Good luck, Lieutenant,” Marshall said.

 As the doors closed on her and the elevator began its journey down to the hangar deck, she heard the Captain ordering the shuttles to be readied for immediate launch, weapons to be rushed from the armory, courses to be plotted to the transport. She quickly glanced over the limited data Spinelli had garnered on the transport, trying to work out something of its internal layout. Given time, they could have cross-referenced the ship with their captured Cabal database, but time was their most precious commodity.

 “Now hear this,” Steele’s voice echoed through the elevator. “Stand by to launch shuttle craft. All shuttles stand by for immediate launch.”

The doors opened on the hangar deck, and without any ceremony she raced towards the nearest shuttle, its airlock open and inviting. One of the maintenance technicians tossed her a rifle, and she snatched it out of the air with an outstretched hand as she made for the cockpit, waving away the pilot as she settled into the flight couch.

 “Shuttle, ah,” she looked around, not even sure which of the craft she had climbed into in her haste, “Two, ready for launch.”

 “One hundred and thirty seconds for preflight,” Caine’s voice said. “Guess that has to be a new record. You are clear for launch.”

 Glancing back at the passenger compartment, she saw half a dozen people strapped down, all of them armed with weapons she sincerely hoped they knew how to use. No time to wait for anyone else to climb in; she flicked a switch to close the passenger hatch, checked to make sure that all the seals were green, then pulled a lever to lower the shuttle through the elevator airlock into free space. Ready or not, here they came.

Chapter 2

 Cooper sat on the hangar deck, watching the crew bustle about at they prepared for the transition to normal space, the maintenance technicians working on the shuttles – all of which still showed signs of damage from the battle they had flown through. Only one of them was marked ‘Alamo’; the remainder still carried the livery of Hercules. Under normal circumstances, they would have been repainted as soon as they had been transferred from one ship to another, but somehow, no-one had the heart to do it given the circumstances.

 His girlfriend, Senior Spaceman Barbara Bradley, climbed out of one of the shuttles, having an argument with one of the maintenance technicians, and her vitriol gave him a brief smile. He hadn’t had much to be happy about of late; he looked down at the stump where his left hand once was, a souvenir from the attempted Cabal boarding action on Alamo. The battle that had cost him the last remnants of his once proud platoon.

 He was the only Espatier left on the ship, the others dead or captured, and as soon as they got back home again, he would be out as well. The regulations were quite clear on that; no combat trooper would be permitted to serve with an artificial hand. When he got it fitted – once there was fabrication capacity on the ship to manufacture it – his new hand would work almost as well as the old one. Almost, but not well enough. The Captain had offered to transfer him to the regular fleet, where the physical requirements were far less rigid, but it didn’t seem right. It wasn’t the uniform he’d wanted to wear.

 Suddenly, his chain of thought was broken by sirens and alarms. Somehow he had managed to miss the ship’s return to normal space, but he couldn’t miss the crew being called to action stations. The technicians switched from lethargy to frenzy as they hurried to prepare the shuttles for launch, and Barbara was called into a quick huddle with the Deck Chief along with the other pilots, raised voices suggesting that something special was taking place.

 The elevator doors opened, and Lieutenant Orlova raced out, sprinting for the nearest shuttle, pushing one of of the pilots out of the way in a frantic bid to get space-borne. People began to file in off the deck, weapons being passed around, and he stood up, running over to the technician handing them around, a life support technician named Manning.

 “What the hell’s going on?”

 “Don’t know. Some sort of boarding action…” The rest of the technician’s words were drowned out by the sirens as one of the shuttles slid down from the deck, on its way, presumably, to the enemy vessel. Not waiting for the rest of the story, Cooper snatched a pistol from the pile on the deck and raced for Barbara’s shuttle, only to crash into an unfamiliar officer wearing a Sub-Lieutenant’s uniform.

 “Where are you going, Corporal?” he said.

 “To do my job, sir,” Cooper replied.

 Shaking his head, he said, “Not as you are, you’re not.”

 “Sir, you’ve giving guns to food technicians and sensor staff. Even with one hand I’m better at fighting than they are, and I certainly know a damn sight more about small-unit tactics and boarding actions.” More sirens sounded, the second shuttle heading on its way. “Can we have this argument in the shuttle, sir?”

 Glancing across at the other shuttle, the officer’s attention was distracted for just long enough for Cooper to sprint over to the crew airlock and scramble in, Barbara reaching out a hand to pull him into the cockpit. She gestured down at the co-pilot’s seat and he slid into the couch, then cursed as he tried to pull the harness on with a hand he no longer possessed. With an effort, he strapped himself in, as the shuttle began to descend into its elevator airlock.

 “Where are we going?”

 “Later. We’re last off the deck,” Barbara replied, working controls with the proficiency of a master, not wasting any trace of thrust as the shuttle span out into free space. She played the thrusters against each other, then fired the main engine up to – and slightly beyond – the red line, settling back in her couch.

 “We’re clear. Twenty-nine minutes to contact.”

 “Now, where are we going?”

 “Apparently a Cabal freighter was docked at the station, and its commander decided to do the proper and noble thing – flee the system and tell their fleet where we are. Given that we only just managed to get away from the bastards, the Captain decided not to let them, so here we are.”

Shaking his head, Cooper said, “We’re launching a full-scale boarding action with people who have no idea what they are doing?” He smiled, then said, “I think I can guess who is leading this one.”

 “Lieutenant Orlova’s in the lead shuttle, though I’m going to see if I can beat her to the punch. I think I know these shuttles better than she does. The man you almost knocked to the deck is Sub-Lieutenant Nelyubov, a Hercules hand, and she apparently wanted him for this operation as well.”

 He leaned forward, fiddling with the controls, “Mind if I call her?”

 “Nothing else to do for the next half-hour, I guess.”

 “Lance-Corporal Cooper to Lieutenant Orlova,” he said into the speaker. “Do you read me, Shuttle Two?”

 “Cooper? What are you doing on board?”

 “I didn’t get my invitation, so I decided to crash the party, ma’am. I hope you don’t mind.”

 “Are you crazy? I hate to break it to you, but…”

 “I can fire a pistol with one hand, ma’am, and probably with more accuracy than most of the people you have on board for this one. I'm fit and ready for regular duty, and frankly, I'm the best you've got.”

 There was a pause for a moment, then she replied, “Good point, at that. Go and co-ordinate with Sub-Lieutenant Nelyubov, see what you can do to get whoever you have on board ready for a battle.”

 “Will do, ma’am. Cooper out.” Shutting off the communicator, he glanced over at Barbara with a smile, “Guess they still want me after all.”

 She nodded, then said, “Gabe, I’m not going to do anything stupid like tell you not to go…”

 “Thanks.”
 “...but be careful. Please.”

 “Always,” he replied. She shook her head with a smile as he made his way through to the rear compartment. Nelyubov was sitting at the back, browsing through a datapad, while five others were sitting on couches, holding their rifles, and failing to conceal their fear. He looked at rank insignia; two of them outranked him, but there were no Petty Officers in the bunch, no NCOs.

 “Lieutenant Orlova just told me you were on board,” Nelyubov said, looking up from his datapad. “Perhaps you could assist our strike team in getting ready for action.” Frowning, he continued, “I presume you are planning to go on the mission yourself.”

 “I am, sir.”

 Nodding, he said, “Very well. I will leave you to assess your own capabilities.”

 The youngest, a freckled red-head with ‘Cantrell’ stenciled on her uniform over her left breast, looked up at him, saying, “We’ve all had basic training, Corporal.”

 “Which covered the use of ship-safe pistols and rifles, maintenance and some time on a firing range, yes?”

 “You think they’ll put up a fight?” one of the senior crewmen, Heitz, said in a mild accent.

 “Best to assume they will. That way we are pleasantly surprised if they don’t, rather than taken by surprise if they do.” He looked around the group, trying not to shake his head. They didn’t have the bearing of troopers, were not even a pale imitation of the unit that should be launching this attack.

 “The first key is to use cover. Take advantage of anything you have, and don’t leave yourself out in the open. Now, your weapons are designed to minimize recoil, but in zero-gravity that isn’t going to mean a damn thing. One shot and you’ll be thrown all over the damn place. Get used to the idea, and make sure you don’t fire your weapon unless you have secured your position.”

 Shaking her head, her hair tossing lightly from side to side, Cantrell said, “We know this, Corporal.”

 With a smile, he replied, “I’m sure you did well enough in your basic training, Spaceman, but I’m also sure that my basic training was twelve times longer than yours. Now, I had to make do with Sergeants rather than Chief Petty Officers, but take it from me, they’re not twelve times dumber.” Cooper became aware that Nelyubov was watching him out of the cover of his eye; he wondered whether he was meeting with approval. Or whether he should care, given that his probable future in the fleet was almost over.

 “I’ve fought in these environments before. Anyone want to tell me what the most important thing is?”

 “Hitting the target,” a tough-faced shuttle technician called Grogan said.

 “Why?”

 “Huh?”

 “Why is it important to hit your target?”

 Cantrell replied with a sneer, “Because you want to kill the enemy?”

 “Wrong. You need to hit your target, Spaceman, because hitting almost anything else is likely to break something important, and at best that means that maintenance technicians like you get to spend hours tidying up the mess. Worst case, we all end up swimming home.”

 “I thought the guns were low-powered?” Grogan said, glancing down at her rifle.

 “They are, but that just means you probably won’t cause a hull breach.”

 “Probably?” Grogan said, her eyes widening.

 With a grin, Cooper continued, “That doesn’t mean that you can’t damage something critical. Quite the reverse – Murphy’s Law is alive and well when it comes to boarding actions. You will always destroy the one thing that you can’t do without.”

 “What are you trying to say?” Cantrell said. “Don’t shoot?”

 “Only if you are damn sure that you are going to hit what you are aiming at. At least I don’t think that you will be going up against anyone with armor on this battle. It’s unlikely that the transport would be carrying combat troopers – but don’t underestimate your opposition.”

 “Good advice at any time, Corporal,” Nelyubov added from the rear.

 “Cooper, I want you up here to pick a docking airlock,” Barbara’s voice echoed through the overhead speakers. He looked over at Nelyubov, who shrugged with a smile.

 “You’re the expert, Corporal. We might as well use you while you are here.”

He walked into the cabin, sliding down into the couch, a frown on his face. Barbara looked at him, shaking her head.

 “That bad?”

 “I just hope none of them gets killed as a result of their ignorance.”

 “This whole plan is a bit on the desperate side.” She patted her hip, and Cooper saw the unmistakable bulge of a holster, “Don’t worry, I’ll be going along too. I’ve fired a gun in anger before.”

 “I hope so.” He peered forward at the console, looking over the view of the freighter as the sensors gained resolution. “Where do you want us to go in?”

 “Our goal is the hendecaspace drive, right?” he said. “As near as possible to their engineering deck.”

 “We’re not trying anything clever, set up a decoy or anything like that, then?”

 “The cleverer the plan, the more likely it is to get everyone killed. We’re better off going with something that is likely to work, especially as we only have a matter of minutes to carry it out.”

 “You’re the expert, Gabe.”

 “Are we going to be the first ones in?”

 Barbara glanced down at her scanner, then looked back up at him, “We are if I’ve got anything to do about it. Hang on, I’m going to set us up for turnover.”

 As the shuttle turned around, the engines briefly pulsing off as the shuttle pivoted around on its thrusters, Cooper felt his stomach churn. He reached down for the pistol, feeling the weight in his good hand, then placed it back in the holster. Ten minutes to contact. Ten minutes to worry about what they were about to encounter. Ten minutes too many.

Chapter 3

 Orlova stood by the shuttle airlock, bracing for the docking, a rifle held in one hand, her other hovering over the hatch controls. The autopilot was handling the final few seconds of the docking, homing them in to the airlocks Cooper had selected. She allowed herself a quick smile, noting that despite the best efforts of Spaceman Bradley, her shuttle was going to dock first, if only by a handful of seconds.

 “Brace yourselves,” she said to the waiting, nervous throng behind her. All her hopes were for an easy victory here. At her back was a gaggle of eager amateurs, none of whom had fired a weapon since basic training, and her only consolation was that her opposition was likely facing the same problem. One quick glance at her watch – there were only seven and a half minutes for her to take the drive room and prevent the Ouroboros from jumping out of the system, or Alamo would be forced to fire its missile salvo.

 With a near-crash, the shuttle slammed into the side of the freighter, the docking clamps locking into place, sirens sounding to warn of a collision. The hull was intact, but it had been a close thing – the pilot must have tried to swat them away with the bulk of his ship at the last minute. Taking a deep breath, she slammed the hatch control and, without looking, swung through the airlock, catapulting herself into the corridor, rifle out and ready to fire.

 Waiting for her in the freighter were a couple of confused-looking crewmen, and she snapped a couple of shots in their direction, pushing herself away down the corridor. Neither even threatened to get near their targets, but they dived dramatically out of the way into cover; the bullets harmlessly smashing into the hull.

 “Come on!” she yelled through the hatch, and her troops piled out into the corridor, spreading around into a loose clump. Seeing that they were outnumbered, the two freighter crewmen pushed away, a salvo of wild shots chasing them as they retreated.

 “Fire discipline!” Orlova said. “Don’t waste your shots, and only shoot if you have a target!” She’d have been happy enough if the rest of her group contented themselves with simply looking menacing, leaving the shooting to her, but admitting that would probably have had a bad impact on morale.

 Another clang echoed down the corridor, and as she watched, a second airlock slid open, Nelyubov and Cooper bursting through it almost before it opened. Cooper reacted quickly enough to turn his pistol on one of the fleeing crewmen, causing him to spin out of control and smash into the wall. Nelyubov grabbed him, securing him with his arm, then turned to Orlova with a grin.

 “Looks like we’ve found a tour guide, Maggie.”

 “Where’s the drive room?” Orlova asked. “Quickly.”

 Cooper held his gun close to the man’s temple, his face a mask of iron, and the crewman looked up, trying to blink away tears of fear, his gaze switching from one to the other. They wouldn’t have shot him out of hand, but the crewman didn’t need to know that.

 “Deck Five, aft,” he said, his voice trembling. “They’re making a last stand there.”

 “Think he’s telling the truth, Lieutenant?” Cooper asked.

 “We’ll find out soon enough. Secure him in the shuttle, and let’s get on with it.” She turned to see Durman drifting out of her shuttle, the last one out, shaking his head. “Problem?”
 “It’d be nice not to keep fighting my own people. That’s all.”

 Looking around, she said, “Take charge of the rear guard. Six men to guard the shuttles.”

 “Thanks.”
 “The rest of you, follow me!”

 There was no time for a tactical plan, no time to really think about what they were doing. All they could do was race for the drive room – or at least, where they hoped the drive room was – and see if speed could compensate for skill. She kicked towards the nearest elevator, presuming that her strike team would select itself. Those who reacted fastest would make it in time, the rest would have to wait in the corridor.

 Not waiting to see who that would be, she slammed her fist on the control for Deck 5; Nelyubov, Cooper, and a trio of maintenance technicians were with her – Cantrell, Grogan and Manning. All of them from Cooper’s shuttle, she noted. Evidently he had a talent for quick training that she hadn’t considered.

 “Don’t try for cover when we get down there,” she said. “Just go for it. We might be able to take them by surprise, and we can’t afford a battle of attrition, we just don’t have the time. Cooper, Nelyubov, give us covering fire as we advance.”

 The two veterans exchanged a glance, both of them knowing what that order meant. They – and Orlova – were the only ones who might reasonably be expect to hit what they would be aiming at. The first group would be charging headlong into opposition as a distraction while the rest secured the position.

 “Remember,” Cooper said, “don’t just head forward in a straight line. Use any hand-holds you can find to change your trajectory. If they know where you are going they will shoot you. And try not to slam into the wall.”

 Orlova braced herself, glancing left and right at the technicians, and inwardly sighed. They weren’t trained for this, and should be back on Alamo working on getting the ship back into one piece. It didn’t seem fair to throw them into the fight, but if this freighter could alert the Cabal of Alamo’s hiding place, they’d be just as dead at the end.

 The doors opened, and they burst out into the corridor, swinging out towards an obviously hastily prepared series of barricades swung across the ground to provide cover. Behind her, carefully placed shots cracked, sending the enemy forces down into their hiding places; she used the first barricade as a handhold, twisting herself onto a new trajectory – only to reach up to swing off a light fitting when she saw herself on a collision course with the ambling Cantrell.

 A crack next to her ear confirmed that the defenders had managed to get themselves together, and she pulled a pistol out of her belt, loosing off a shot at one of the freighter crewman behind her, the recoil pushing her faster down the corridor towards her destination. The gunshots were coming thick and fast now, cries of pain echoing all around her. Then, with another crack, the lights went out – someone must have managed to hit something vital.

 The corridor glowed an eerie red under the dim emergency lighting, and shots began to wildly fly through the air from gunmen hidden in the shadows. Any thought of a goal other than reaching the drive room was forgotten, and she tried to duck and dive towards her target, unable now to concentrate on anything other than her own progress through the gloom.

 Finally, her hand reached the far wall. The hatch didn’t open, but she hadn’t thought it would; in her hand she held a data crystal loaded with intrusion software, its simple computer mind dedicated to one task only – opening doors. With a single move, she slid the crystal into position, then twisted around behind a tangle of boxes, unknowingly smashing its occupant out of cover into the middle of the corridor – a series of shots fired, and his body grew limp, globules of dark liquid spilling forth.

 Another figure slammed into the wall beside her, and she glanced up to see Cooper, a grin on his face and his pistol in his hand, gesturing down at the corridor.

 “Thought you might like some company, Lieutenant,” he said, panting for breath.

 A ray of light blasted down the corridor as the hacking crystal did it job, the hatch sliding open; she wasted no time in swinging into the room, surprised to see no-one inside waiting for her. Evidently everyone had decided to make their stand in the corridor. Cooper span around to cover the rear, then gestured forward.

 “Where’s everyone else?”

 “Nelyubov’s back at the top of the corridor in cover, taking shots at anything he can see. The rest ended up getting caught by the third barricade, pinned down.” He looked up, peering into the dark, then continued, “He called Durman to send another wave. Help’s on the way.”
Looking down at her watch, she smiled. They still had three and a half minutes to go, and she turned to look at the drive control mechanism. A series of countdowns showed hendecaspace jump preparations in progress, but she could have guess that already. None of the controls matched those on Alamo, and she held her hand over them, frowning. All the readouts might as well be in gibberish for all she could understand them; she didn’t even recognize the language the control console was displaying.

 “Well?” Cooper said.

 “This isn’t what I was expecting.” Taking a deep breath, she started tapping buttons, and smiled; she’d guessed right, and the language changed back to English. Now she could begin to work, but she immediately began to frown; none of her commands worked. She slid a duplicate of her hacking crystal into a reader, but it didn’t even make a dent.

 “Damn,” she said.

 “What is it, Lieutenant?”

 “Locked tighter than a drum.”

 “Can we sabotage it?”

 Shaking her head, she said, “This is just the control room; we’d never get down to the drive systems themselves. At a pinch they could probably engage the drive from the bridge.”

 “Two minutes, fifty seconds,” he said, looking at the door.

Pulling her communicator from her belt, Orlova said, “Orlova to Alamo. Patch me through to Lieutenant Bailey, right now.”

 Weitzman replied, “Aye, ma’am.”

 A few seconds later, the voice of Alamo’s Security Officer replied, “Bailey here.”

 “You haven’t managed to break through the freighter’s firewall yet?”

 “No, still working on it.”

 “I need your gang to start working on hacking the drive systems. If I splice this communicator into the console, can you crack it?”

 “Can do, Lieutenant.”

 Without further ado, she tugged a cord out of the communicator and fed it into the console, snapping it into position underneath. The channel closed, but the readout on the device started to show datafeed at maximum capacity, the hackers starting their work.

 “How long, Lieutenant?” Cooper asked.

 “Hopefully less than two and a half minutes,” she replied.

 Two more figures burst through the door – Cantrell and Manning, the latter sporting an angry gash down the side of his arm. The red-headed Cantrell spun around, taking a position opposite Cooper as if to the manner born, while Manning lumbered into the room clutching his arm. Orlova gestured towards the first aid kit on the wall.

 “Get that seen to, then start monitoring the hack. They’ll be attacking any minute.”

 “Any second,” Cooper replied. “We’ve got movement out there.”

 Alamo’s last Espatier leaned forward, taking a shot into the gloom with his pistol. The crack was followed by the noise of a ricochet, and he cursed under his breath before firing again, Cantrell immediately following suit; her shot was rewarded with a cry of pain.

 “Got one!” she yelled.

 “Beginner’s luck,” Cooper said. “I’ll be impressed as all hell if you can do it twice!”

 She leaned back, staring out into the shadows and gloom, raising her rifle to be ready to take the next shot. Cooper beat her to the punch, a pair of cracks from his pistol followed by a series of swear words in an unfamiliar language.

 Orlova looked down at the terminal, watching as Alamo’s security team fought an electronic duel with the freighter’s spooks. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d been running that mob herself, and she had some idea what they were capable of, but they had so little time to work.

 “Lieutenant,” Cooper said, “I think they’re getting ready for an attack.”

 She turned to the gloom, looking at the shadows slowly moving around, before she realized what the obvious next move was going to be.

 “Cover an eye!” she yelled, slapping a hand to her face just in time for the lights to blaze back on, dazzling her exposed eye. Cooper had closed his eyes, but none of the others had managed to follow her order before the enemy had thrown the switch. She dropped her hand and raised her rifle, firing a trio of shots at the advancing technicians, swinging forward on hand-holds in a bid to rush them while they were confused. Orlova and Cooper had a perfect field of fire at the advancing group, and two of the technicians paid the price for the failure of their plan while the rest skidded into cover, though far closer than they had been.

 “Alamo for you, ma’am,” a squinting Manning said, “Captain Marshall on the communicator.”

 He tossed his communicator over to Orlova, who grabbed it and raised it to her ear in a single motion. “Orlova here, sir.”

 “What’s your status?”

 “Ask Lieutenant Bailey; we’re just about hanging on over here.”

 “You’ve got sixty seconds to go. Can you get out of there?”

 She looked into the corridor, and a crack flew past her head. “No, sir. We’re pinned down.”

 A brief pause followed, “Maggie, I’m going to have to pull the trigger on the missiles in forty-nine seconds.”

 “We all understand, sir. Though I hope we can render that unnecessary.”

 “Ma’am!” Manning yelled, “Something on the status board!”

 Orlova tossed the communicator to Cantrell; she took it with a surprised look on her face while Orlova dived for the console. Bailey’s group had done their job, and the board was clear again. With a loud laugh, she started to enter the override commands. Evidently the bridge had realized what she was doing – a loud command in a strange language echoed from every speaker, and the freighter crew pushed forward once again, desperately attempting to overwhelm their position.

 There were six of them, two of them holding back to provide somewhat ineffective covering fire, the rest advancing into steady gunfire from Cooper and Cantrell, both trying to push the technicians back. With a thud, two of them slammed into the door, reaching for the two crewmen. Cooper took a shot at one, dropping the crewman but sending himself spiraling away into the room, while the other struggled with Cantrell.

 Orlova didn’t look up, not for a second, but continued to work, furiously typing commands into the console to scramble the system, anything to stop the ship from jumping. In the corner, the communicator was shouting at thin air; Manning drifted over to it and started to give a report to the Captain, but everything other than the console was fading away for Orlova.

 Her attention was finally grabbed by a loud shout from the far end of the corridor, and a wave of shots sending the remaining crewmen into cover, those who were still able to move at all. Durman had made it with the reinforcements at long last, and the battle of the corridor was over. With a series of winking red lights on the panel, Orlova realized that her personal battle with the console had also been won, and she gestured for Manning to throw her the communicator.

 “Hendecaspace drive disabled, sir,” she reported. “We have secured the engineering section.”
 “Casualties?” Marshall asked.

 “On our side, looks like a few wounds, nothing serious. The Ouroboros crewman didn’t fare so well.”

 “I see. Proceed and secure the ship, Lieutenant, and bring it in to Hydra Station. We’ll see you there.”

 “Aye, Captain. I’m on my way to the bridge.” She closed the channel, looked around at the devastation, and shook her head, before pushing back out towards the elevator.

Chapter 4

 “Where are we going?” Cantrell asked Cooper as he floated down the corridor.

 “I’m trying to find Astrogation,” he replied, gesturing at a door. “Manning, Frazer, check out that room.”

 “Astrogation?”

 “Best we find out where this ship was going. If there’s a concentration of ships we don’t know about, we should get that information as soon as possible. It isn’t likely to be heavily guarded.”

 “Oh.”

 “Disappointed?” he replied with a smile, as he continued to push down the corridor. He’d sold Orlova on the idea that Astrogation was a key area to take, but both of them had known why he really wanted to get there as fast as he could, before anyone could decide to start deleting anything. Before he died, the Cabal traitor, Diego, had given him a clue to the location of the Espatiers that were being held captive.

 Days of work with Alamo’s database and the Cabal files they had acquired had drawn a blank; he needed a new source of information, and Ouroboros was his last hope to make any sort of sense out of the clue – a single word, Al-Sarfar. It had occurred to him that the traitor might have just said anything in a bid to get out of trouble, to try and pacify him, but he tried to push that thought to the back of his mind.

 “Nothing in the room, Corporal,” Manning said. “Just stores. Want an inventory?”

 “Later, Spaceman,” he replied. “Let’s get going.”

 His group turned a corner, and came across a single figure nervously standing in front of a door. Before he could even raise his weapon, Cooper fired a shot over his shoulder, sending him ducking behind a hastily positioned packing crate.

 “Give it up!” he yelled. “We have control of most of the ship; surrender and you will not be harmed.”

 The figure peered over the top of the box at the group of people, then tossed his pistol away into the corridor. Manning pushed forward with Cantrell, quickly searching him.

 “What do you want us to do with him?”

 “Let him go.”

 “What?” Cantrell said, frowning.

 Turning to the man, he said, “What’s your name?”

 “Tanaka.”

 “Go down to Deck 4, and turn yourself into the rear guard. They’ll see you are taken prisoner.”

 He looked from side to side, then said, “Why do you trust me?”

 “It really doesn’t matter. If you go somewhere else, you’ll be caught soon enough, but if you go where I’ve said, you likely won’t get shot in the process. Your call.” Looking at the rest of his team, he said, “Come on. Let’s get this done.”

 He pushed back the surprised Tanaka, flashing a quick look to Manning, who released him and followed into the room. The facility was unmanned at the moment, banks of consoles and terminals flickering on and off under automatic controls, clipboards and datapads drifting around the room, orbiting a trio of empty food cartons. Cantrell snatched one out of the air, took a sniff, and shook her head.

 “Don’t they care that someone has to clean this up?”

 “Freighters aren’t run like warships,” Cooper said. “You should hear my uncle on the  subject.”

 Turning back to the door, she said, “Tanaka’s gone the wrong way.”

 “Probably gone for help.”

 “Don’t you care?”

 “Not really, he won’t get anywhere. This is a non-vital area; anyone left is probably on their way to the bridge, where I am sure Lieutenant Orlova will shortly be forcing a surrender.”

 “But…”

 “Spaceman, they’ve got nothing left to fight with. Once we stopped them jumping out of the system, we gave ourselves all the time in the world to secure this ship without taking any risks. We can starve them out if we have to, but it won’t come to that. My guess is that the captain will put up a glorious last stand to look good for his employers, then surrender.”

 Shaking his head, Manning said, “Still seems wrong just to turn a prisoner loose like that.”

 “Well, just on the off-chance, Manning, you can guard the door.”

 With a shrug, the technician drifted over to cover the exit, while Cooper slid his pistol into his holster, and started to work the controls. He’d spent a lot of time in Astrogation on Alamo over the last week, and almost knew what he was doing.

 “There it is,” Cantrell said. “The course computation.”

 He glanced up, then said, “I forgot you worked down on the sensor decks.”

 “Want me to take over?”

 “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve got this.”

 “I’d be faster.”

 “Maybe I need the practice,” he replied. “Hold on, I think I’ve got it.”

 A series of calculations burst into life, and he breathed a sigh of relief; the ship had been heading back the way they came, towards the Cabal fleet that Alamo had recently defeated. There would be no help from that quarter, though no doubt the enemy commander would have been willing to make the attempt if they’d got the information.

 “We’d better get up to the bridge,” Cantrell said, looking at the door.

 “No hurry, Spaceman. I haven’t finished yet.”

 “You’ve got the information. We can send it over to Alamo and get on with securing the ship.”

 Turning to her with a frown, he replied, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Spaceman, but you are enjoying this far too much.”

 “I joined up to get some excitement, and this is the first chance I’ve really had.”

 His eyes widening, Cooper began, “Over the last four months….”

 “Yes, but I haven’t been able to do anything. Just down below decks putting things back together again, repairing battle damage or being terrified while things explode all around me. I wanted a chance to really get my hands dirty.”

 “Get your hands dirty?”

 Nodding, she said, “I wanted to see some action.”

 Cooper paused, turned to her, and said, “During the Interplanetary War, the average injury rate for Marines was 201%. Do you realize what that means? That on average, a man would be seriously wounded twice and still come back for another try. At one point, strategic command assumed that 25% of a detachment wouldn’t be coming back from a combat operation. I lost an older brother and an aunt that way.”

 “I’m sorry,” she began, but he continued.

 “Let’s look at some recent history. Out of a detachment of thirty Espatiers on Alamo, I’m the only one that is left – and because of my hand, as soon as I get back I’m going to be invalided out of the service. So basically, Alamo began with thirty and ended up with none. It’s a dangerous galaxy out there, but for the footsoldier – because despite our fancy training and equipment, that’s still essentially what we are – it is a million times worse.”

 “That’s my point,” she said.

 “What?”

 “I don’t see it as fair that you are taking the brunt of the casualties. I mean, I lost a couple of mates in the last battle when the sensor deck was hit, but you...you lost everyone. I wanted to do my share.”

 Sighing, Cooper replied, “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

 “I’m sorry I hit a sore spot. I didn’t mean to.” She looked around, then asked, “Is it always like this?”

 “Usually it’s a damn sight worse. We didn’t lose anyone today.” He frowned, then continued, “You got lucky as well, you know.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “You shot three people, and all of them are going to live.”

 “They were the enemy, and they were attacking us. What else would I have done?”

 “How old are you?” Cooper asked, shaking his head.

 “Eighteen, just before we left. I just finished Basic in time to be assigned to Alamo.”

 “Ah, you’re still a kid, then,” he said.

 “Really?” she replied, waving down at her uniform.

 “That doesn’t count,” Cooper said, turning back to his work.”

 “What will do it?”

 “I’ll tell you what did it for me,” he replied, “if you really want.”

 “Go on.”

 “I grew up the first time I killed someone, and watched one of my friends die in front of me. If I were you, I’d try and find an easier way.” He looked up for a moment, and his gaze seemed to be focus a long way away. “I wish to hell I had.”

 A light beeped on the console, and he was drawn back to the system, his face breaking out into a smile that widened as he realized that he had found what he had been searching for. Alamo might not have been able to put the pieces together, but Ouroboros had been able to give him the last piece of the puzzle.

 “That’s it!” he said, grabbing Cantrell by the shoulder. “Get on the other terminal, pull up everything you can find about the system I’ve highlighted. The whole works, and get it downloaded to Alamo’s mainframe as fast as you can.”

 Peering down at the display, she said, “Why?”

 “Because, Spaceman, that’s where the prisoners they took from us are being held. At least a dozen members of my platoon have been taken there, and I want to get them back.”

 Looking up, she replied, “There are no habitable planets in that system. It’s much too hot.”

 “A planet doesn’t have to be habitable to be inhabited, does it?”

 Sighing, she started to read out, “Let’s see. Denebola, nineteen planets by the IAU definition, including six gas giants, all ice. Lost of dry dusty moons, hmm…”

 “What?”

 “Three asteroid belts, and one of them close in. Good for resource extraction if it wasn’t so far from Sol.” Looking up, blushing, she said, “My father is an asteroid prospector.”

 “Hell, sounds perfect.”

 “One planet in the Goldilocks zone, but even if the star wasn’t too bright, it wouldn’t be any good. According to this readout it’s a carbon-type, lots of nasty stuff in the atmosphere. Pressure and temperature are fine, though. You wouldn’t need a full spacesuit, just a respirator.”

 “We’ve settled less promising worlds. Go on.”

 “It is inhabited. Reference database lists a population of 15,000 citizens, 85,000 workers. Whatever that means.”

 “Indentured, probably. Like in the bad old days on Mars before the Revolution. Or criminals, prisoners...what about military assets?”

 “Cooper…”

 “Gabe.”

 With a smile, she continued, “Gabe, this is a civilian database.”

 “It should have facilities listed, for purposes of navigation if nothing else.”

 “One spaceport, no serious facilities, though. There’s an orbital defense station, but I’d guess that’s normal, nothing special. Gabe, this could be a pretty big hub. A major industrial facility.”

 “That it could.”

 She looked up at him, then said, “I’m a sensor specialist, not an astrogator – and hell, I just repair stuff, I don’t do anything more than that, but this is going to be a long run. Several jumps, there and back, and through Cabal territory worse than we’ve been through before.”

 “I know.”

 “You think the Captain’s going to take Alamo back to rescue them? After all, we’ve only got the word of a traitor that they are there at all.”

 “Right now, we have. I bet when we start digging into the Cabal database for it, we’re going to find a lot of evidence that captured prisoners of one sort or another are being used for industrial work. Probably the dangerous kind. They’d want expendable people for that.”

 “Which makes it more urgent to get them out,” she said. Shaking her head, she continued, “Gabe, I’d go for it. But I think if the Captain told the crew that after our repairs, we were going to double back into Cabal space, there would be a mutiny. All that people are talking about is going home. They’ve already pulled off a miracle.”

 “I know. I feel the same way, but...let’s leave it to the Captain. He told me that if there was a chance of getting our people back, he’d take it. I don’t think he’d go back on his word.”

 “He might not have a choice.”

 Silently, Cooper turned back to his console, clearing the course information he had harvested, and working his way into the system status setup, filing through reports to try and find his way to the central telltales.

 “What are you looking at now?” Cantrell asked.

 “I want to give the Captain an alternative.”

Chapter 5

 Marshall sat in his office, skimming through the after-action report on the taking of Ouroboros, periodically tapping out notes on the datapad, recommending citations for individual crewmembers. He shook his head as he read about the battle of the corridor; a good piece of work, but too risky, especially Cooper’s involvement.

 “Sir,” a voice chirped from the desk speaker, “Mr. Price is on board now.”

 “Send him right in, Mr. Kibaki,” he told the watch officer. “Is Lieutenant Zebrova around?”

 “No, sir. She’s over on the station running an inventory check.”

 “I see. Well, page Lieutenants Caine and Quinn, then.”

 “In the works, Captain.”

 The door slid open, and Price walked in, looking around the room with evident envy. He stood in front of the viewport, looking at the planet revolving below, and shook his head, before turning back to Marshall.

 “This is a fine ship, Captain, even if it is a little beaten up.” He smiled, “Hell, my office is half this size, and it doesn’t even have a window. It must be twice as big as Hercules.”
 “A requirement for the laser cannon, primarily,” Marshall replied. “It wouldn’t be effective if it was much smaller, not for the required power loads. I understood that the Cabal had similar systems, though.”

 “The particle beams,” he said, nodding. “They’re only effective at short range, and I don’t think anyone really understands how they work. The technology was found on an abandoned world somewhere, though they always kept the details quiet. Hell, I reckon most of our tech was scavenged rather than invented.”

 “Interesting…”, Marshall said, before the opening of the door interrupted him; Caine and Quinn walked in, taking seats flanking Price. “Have you got the latest version of the damage report, Mr. Quinn?”

 “I have,” he said, placing a datapad on the desk. “To call it extensive is an understatement. I don’t think any system escaped some damage. We’ve got a lot of work to do here.”

 “Hercules was in a hurry to leave,” Price said. “What’s your window for departure?”

 “Want to get rid of us?” Caine said.

 “This time we’re going to do it right,” Marshall said. “Our way home lies through unexplored territory, and with no idea what we might face, I want the ship in the best condition possible for the trip.”

 “So, how long?” Price asked.

 “Based on my estimates,” Quinn said, “twelve to fourteen weeks.”

 “Weeks?” Price said, shaking his head. “Is that taking our full facilities into account.”

 “Without your facilities, I don’t think we’d be able to do the job at all,” Quinn replied.

 “Captain, that’s a long time for Alamo to be sitting here helpless. If a Cabal vessel turns up…”
 Nodding, Marshall said, “We’ve dealt the Cabal a major blow in this part of space; I don’t think that fleet is going to be a problem for a while. Any civilian vessels that come into the region can be dealt with in the same manner as the Ouroboros, but we’ve come up with a plan that should make both of us secure. Caine?”

 She turned to Price, and said, “I’ve been working on plans for the installation of a planetary defense network. Mr. Quinn and I think that we can put together a standard satellite network without too much trouble.” Caine tapped a pair of controls, and a holoimage of a satellite appeared over the desk. “Quite simple, really; a trio of missile tubes connected to a combat fabricator, powered by a small internal reactor. We’re going to put six of them in synchronous orbit close to the station, and six more in various orbits around the planet to provide full coverage.”

 “Who controls them?” Price asked, frowning.

 “We both do,” she replied. “The tactical station on Alamo will run the system until we’ve given you the equipment and control software; we can set it up for you, if you like.”

 “You’re giving me an offensive capability?”

 Marshall smiled, and said, “Either we trust you, or we don’t. You’re going to need this after we’re gone, anyway, in case a Cabal ship comes calling before Triplanetary reinforcements can arrive.”

 From outside, Marshall could hear an argument, raised voices on the bridge; he couldn’t quite make out who from this side of the door. The shouting grew louder, and finally the door burst open to show a red-faced Cooper, Kibaki’s hand on his shoulder.

 “What the hell is going on?” Marshall said.

 “Sir, I need to speak with you immediately, and I don’t trust the communications system.”  He looked at Price sitting at the desk, then frowned. “This is top priority, and urgent.”

 “I see.”

 “I’m sorry about this, Captain,” Kibaki said. “He burst onto the bridge and before I could stop him…”

 “That’s all right. I understand. Cooper, this is really urgent?”

 “It is, sir. I think it requires a command decision.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Marshall nodded, then turned to Price, “I’m sorry about this, but…”

 “I quite understand.”

 Quinn shrugged, “Why don’t I show you around the ship? I think you’re about due for a tour, and it’ll give me a chance to ask you some questions about your facilities. The report I got from Orlova was a little vague on some of the details.”

 “By all means. Come in, Corporal.”

 Cooper slid past Price as he and Quinn left the room, and took a seat next to Caine. He waited a moment, then pulled a battered datapad out of his pocket, sliding it onto the desk.

 “Well, go on, Cooper,” Marshall said.

 “I’ve found them, sir.”

 Marshall’s eyes widened. “Where?”

 “Who?” Caine asked.

 Turning to her with a start, Cooper said, “The captured members of my platoon. Before he died, Diego gave me a single clue about their location, trying to barter it for his life. When we boarded the Ouroboros, I was able to get a look at their astrogation computer.”

 “What about the Cabal database?”

 “All of this is buried in there somewhere, and I used it to fill in the details.”

 “Go on, Corporal.”

 “If my information is accurate, and I have every reason to believe that it is, then the captured Alamo personnel are being held on Denebola VII. It’s an industrial hub, a site of significant resource extraction for the Cabal.”

 Caine whistled, “It’s also, what, four jumps from here.”

 “But not necessarily back the way we came; we can avoid the Cabal fleet.”

 “Corporal,” Caine said, “I don’t think Alamo is in any condition to head back into Cabal space again. Not to mention that we have a lot of valuable information that we need to get to the Admiralty.”

 “I agree,” Cooper required. “Sir, I request permission to use the Ouroboros to rescue the prisoners.”

 Marshall leaned back on his chair, and said, “The freighter?”

 “I’ve had a word with Chief Wilson, and he thinks that it should be easy to get it back to full function. It’s a civilian vessel with all the proper permits, and it’s even been there before. I should be able to sneak in there without being detected.”

 “That’s a big risk, Corporal,” Caine said.

 “They are my comrades, Lieutenant, and all of them would do the same for me. May I have your permission to try, Captain?”

 “What makes you sure that Diego wasn’t lying?” Marshall asked.

 “I thought of that, sir, but there are records indicating that indentured workers make up the majority of the population, including penal labor. The crew of Hercules were used in exactly the same manner on Ghawar, during the first years of their captivity. I don’t think the Cabal waste manpower unless they have no choice.”

 “He might have a point,” Caine said. “None of them are of any major importance from an intelligence standpoint, so after some interrogation...based on what we know of the Cabal, I’d say the Corporal’s theory might have merit.”

 “Hell, sir, getting a look close up at the Cabal would be worth it anyway. Intelligence would love us forever. We’ve got the database, but other than that we’ve only been on the fringes of their space. We don’t know what they are really like.”

 “I presume you’ve talked someone into giving you a course estimation?”

 He blushed, then said, “It’s pretty rough, but it works out at thirty-two days each way. Assume eight days to find and free the prisoners, a seventy-day mission.”

 “Which is just about within the repair estimates for Alamo,” Marshall said, rubbing his hand across his chin. “Is that your full report?” he asked, gesturing at the datapad.

 “It is, sir.”

 “I’ll take a look at it and let you know in the morning. Dismissed, Corporal.”

 “Sir…”

 Marshall looked up, “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

 “Captain,” Cooper said as he rose, “You told me a couple of months ago that you would take any chance to rescue my comrades.”

 Looking up, Marshall replied, “I haven’t forgotten, Cooper.”

 Nodding, the trooper turned and walked out of the room, and the door slid shut behind him. He picked up the datapad and started to flick through it while Caine watched him, her gaze never leaving him.

 “What is it?” he finally said.

 “We both know two things, Danny. You’re going to approve this mission…”

 “Probably.”

 “And you’ll be commanding it yourself.”

 He dropped the datapad to the desk, then said, “Cooper can’t take the ship out by himself.”

 “No, but there are any number of people on board who you could delegate this one to….”

 “I know,” he replied, standing up. “You could do it, Zebrova, Orlova would take a crack at it...but this is my job, Deadeye. These are my people every bit as much as they are Cooper’s.” A smile crossed his face, “And before you say anything about my being indispensable, both my father or Zebrova are more than capable of getting Alamo home.”

 “You’re the Captain, though.”

 “I’m tired of sitting at the back and watching everyone else take the risks. I can’t do that, not this time. I can’t ask anyone else to do this if I am not willing to do it myself.”

 “What do you think the brass will say when we get back?”

 Chuckling, he replied, “I think I’m a long way past worrying about that. I’ve already stretched my orders beyond the limit in any case coming this far out. Either they will back me or sack me, but that isn’t the issue here.”

 “What is it, then?”

 Turning to the viewport, he said, “I brought us out here because it was the right thing to do, because in my opinion it was necessary for the safety of the Confederation. That’s why they give autonomous authority to deep-space commanders, because we need the ability to make those decisions. If the brass decides that I was wrong...well, I think I was right, and if I’m willing to risk the ship, I’m certainly willing to risk my career.”

 Moving back to face Caine, he continued, “This is no different. Bringing those Espatiers home is the right thing to do. I’m not putting the ship on the line this time, but I will put myself at risk for it, and if someone decides to cashier me for it, I’ll accept that – if it means that I’ve got a dozen people who I am responsible for back to their families.”

 With a frown, she replied, “This won’t bring back the dead, Danny.”

 “They might rest a little easier knowing that their shipmates have got home.”

 “You feel that strongly about it?”

 “Damn right I do.”

 She was silent for a moment, then said, “There are good intelligence reasons for trying this mission, anyway. Cooper was right about that; we’ve got a lot of military data, but we know next to nothing about the civilian set-up. That could be useful for other infiltration attempts in the future.” She smiled, shaking her head, “Fleet Intelligence is going to set up a shrine to you after this mission, you know.”

 “Would be nice to have some friends back home.”

 “Are you going to select the crew yourself?”

 “Volunteer only. The crew have been through enough, without me making them go any further. I think I’ll find enough of them willing to take a crack at it.”

 “I know you will.” She took a deep breath, and said, “I’m one of them.”

 “Deadeye…”

 “There are four other people qualified for Tactical. I can be spared. You’re going to need someone to watch your back out there, and I don’t trust anyone else to do it.”
 “You don’t have to do this.”

 “Remember that day in the Officers’ Club at Mariner? Right back before you assumed command of this ship? You told me then that you needed me on board, that I was the one crewman you couldn’t do without. Your wingman, you said.”

 “I remember,” he nodded.

 “That’s why I signed up. And that’s why I’m coming with you on this mission. Besides, you know I’m a born tourist. You think I’d miss a chance to take a look at a Cabal world close up?”

 “From Cooper’s report, it doesn’t sound like much of a tourist spot. Apparently it rains oil.”

 “Sounds lovely. Bet there are some good fleshpots, though.”

 “You can file a report about the possibilities for shore leave when we get back.”

 She smiled, then said, “So that’s settled, then.”

 Leaning back to his desk, he said, “We’ve got a lot of work to get done tonight. Call a meeting of the senior staff for noon tomorrow, and make sure that Cooper is present.”

 “Do I tell them what it is about?”

 “Not yet. I’ll have a word with Tyler about the intelligence angles of this, see if he can bulk up Cooper’s research a little. Most importantly, see whether he comes to the same conclusions. You get on Quinn, and get his word on what it will take to get the freighter back up to specification.”

 “We could probably make some modifications to it, as well.”

 “Nothing that will show on a search. Better EWO software, though.”

 “I’ve never met a freighter that wasn’t loaded with secret compartments for smuggling. I suspect the crew might be willing to tell us where they are.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “There’s a real danger that I might actually start to enjoy this, I think. See what you can find out from a scan. I’ll have Tyler start an interrogation schedule for them on that and anything else they can tell us about the lie of the land. Usually the most interesting details aren’t in the database.”

 “Right, will do. Should I have a word with Mulenga, see if he can scare us up some sort of course?”

 “No, that really would give the game away. We’ll leave that until after the meeting.”

 She stood up, saying, “I guess I’m not going to get much sleep tonight, am I? I’ll take the next shuttle over to Ouroboros and take a look, see what I can find. I want to check the cargo as well, see what they were carrying; we might be able to sell it at Denebola. And see what is on our route, as well.”

 “Cooper didn’t find any military installations to speak of.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “We’re pretending to be on a trading run, remember. It’ll look suspicious if we don’t have anything to trade.”

 “Good point. Can you be ready by noon?”

 “I think so. I’ll let you know what I find.”

 “Right. On your way.”

 She nodded, then walked out of the room, no doubt the subject of endless curiosity on the bridge about their discussion. Marshall watched her leave, then started to look through the datafile again, pausing at the dossiers of the captured Espatiers. There were twelve letters to their families logged in his system, missing more than a month ago. It was worth this risk if he might be able to delete them.

Chapter 6

 The Espatier barracks on Alamo had been eerie enough with only four people living there; now that Cooper was on his own, it was even worse. There were ghosts everywhere, memories of his friends either dead or missing. Along one wall sat a sad pile of kitbags, carefully prepared with the possessions of the platoon to be shipped back home to their families; Cooper had seen to that himself, and the first thing he had done upon leaving sickbay was get the last three put together.

 He looked down at the stump where his hand once was; it was itching like mad, as though it was still there. Doctor Duquesne had told him that it would go away in time, especially once the new hand was fitted. He’d seen people in the past using them, but never really thought he would be one of them. When he signed up with the Espatiers, he had been quite prepared to die. Enough of his relatives had failed to come home during the war that he knew what the price of the uniform was. Somehow, though, being crippled had never occurred to him.

 Sliding a datapad out of his pocket, he started to look over his mission plan again. He knew that some parts of it were short on detail, were too rough and ready, but the basic plan seemed sound – and moreover, wouldn’t place Alamo at any serious risk. They could certainly manage without him for a while. One soon-to-be-ex-Espatier; he wouldn’t be missed.

 “I thought you’d be in here,” Barbara said, walking into the room.

 “Where else would I be?”

 “Well, there aren’t any surprise boarding actions going on at the moment, so this is probably the most likely place.” She looked around the room, then said, “I thought you were assigned new quarters?”

 “Something like that. I’ve got a berth here, though.”

 “It isn’t healthy for you to be here by yourself.”

 With a deep sigh, he said, “I’d feel like I was abandoning them if I left. It just wouldn’t seem right, somehow.”

 “You think any of them would want you to be sitting here moping?”

 “I think at least a dozen of them would rather be sitting here with me.” He tossed the datapad to the side. “Not that I think they’ll get the chance.”

 “Did you get in to see the Captain?”

 “Oh, I pushed my way into his office, all right. You should have seen old Kibaki’s face; I never thought it was possible to make him angry.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “You could have made an appointment.”

 “There isn’t time,” he replied. “We need to be getting started on putting Ouroboros back together, get a proper mission plan outlined. Hell, I need to get that new hand fitted if I’m going to be at full ability for this mission.”

 “You did well enough on the freighter.”

 “That was a short boarding action, and not exactly against top-grade opposition.”

 “Even so, there were enough bullets flying around for you to get yourself into real trouble.”
 “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

 “That’s what’s worrying me.”

 She walked over, sitting down beside him, “What makes you think that the Captain will turn you down?”

 “The look on his face,” he replied. “I don’t think he really believes they are there.”

 “You know,” she said, “This is going to need more that just you. If you fly as well as you hack, you’ll need some help.”

 “Are you volunteering?”

 “I guess I am. I’ve looked over that ship, and I think I could fly her. She isn’t that different from the ships your Uncle had me working on.”

 Placing his hand on her elbow, he replied, “Thanks. That means a lot. I had a word with Cantrell, earlier; she thinks she can handle the sensors.”

 “Cantrell? Lisa Cantrell? Sensor tech?”

 “Yeah. Turned out to be a pretty good shot. The only one of the newbies to actually hit anything.”

 She withdrew, shaking her head, “You realize that she’s just trying to tick you off her list, right?”

 “Huh?”

 Sighing, she said, “How can you get so naive?”

 “Are you jealous?”

 “Don’t be stupid.”

 “You are!” he said, smiling. “Don’t worry, I know where to find my girl.”

 “You’d better,” she replied, pulling closer again. “What are you going to do if that Captain says no?”

 Glancing at the viewport, the freighter just sliding into position, he said, “I thought about taking matters into my own hand.”

 “Wait a minute…”

 “They’re our people, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get them back.”

 “Do you actually think the two of us – even with the dubious assistance of Loose Lisa…”

 “What?”

 She shook her head, “Evidently you haven’t been hanging around the lower decks enough.”

 “I guess not.”

 “We’d need at least a dozen people to man that ship. Where are you going to get the rest from?”

 “I’ll think of something.”

 She paused, then said, “For whatever it’s worth, I said I’d go, so I’ll go.”

 “You don’t have to.”

 “Yes, I do,” she said. “Something interesting, though; I just had to ferry Lieutenant Caine over there. She’s doing some sort of inspection, looking for hidden compartments or something like that.”

 He sat bolt upright, “Why didn’t you say that before? I bet the Captain’s having her check the ship out. She sat in on my meeting with him.”

 “Those two are tight,” she said. “If he was going to send anyone over quietly, I bet it would be her.”

 “Which means we might be getting to go after all, without doing anything desperate.”

 Cooper’s communicator bleeped, and he reached for it with his stump. He cursed under his breath, reached around and raised it to his ear, “Cooper here, Captain.”

 “Captain?” Duquesne said. “Are you promoting me, Corporal? I wish you’d reconsider, if so. I don’t want the damn job.”

 “Sorry, Doctor. I was expecting a call from the Captain.”

 “Well, I’m sorry to interfere with your social arrangements, but I want to see you at 0700 tomorrow morning. Quinn’s delivering your new hand around then, and we need to get it tuned.”

 “I thought I wasn’t getting it for a fortnight?”

 “Someone bumped you up the priority schedule. Obviously you have friends in high places now. Put in a word for me, will you; I could use a pay rise.”

 “Thanks, Doctor. I’ll be there on time.”

 “Bring coffee. Lots of coffee. I don’t do mornings well. Duquesne out.”

 “Did I hear that right?” Barbara asked. “They’ve bumped you up ahead of the critical ship repair components.”

“Let’s not get our hopes up,” he said. “This could be the Captain’s idea of a consolation prize.”

Shaking her head, she replied, “He doesn’t strike me as that sort. I think if he said no, he’d just say no, he wouldn’t try and pacify you.”

“When we lost them, he told me that he would do anything it took to get them back. I understand that he can’t commit Alamo to this. Most of the crew just want to get home, and I don’t blame them. That’s why I tried to give him the alternative, so that he didn’t have to commit the whole crew to this. Hell, I know that the ship would never get through. We’ll have to sneak in, and the freighter is perfect for the job.”

“It won’t be as easy as that,” Barbara replied. “There are a lot of hoops to jump through. The Captain has to think of all of them.”

“We can do it, though. Between Alamo, the freighter and the station, we’ve got everything we would need to pull this mission off.”

Pausing for a second, she looked around the empty room, “Even if all of that is so, you’ve got to remember the odds. This isn’t exactly going to be a low-risk operation. There’s a good chance that we could end up captured like the rest.”

 “I know. I’m willing to take the risk.”

 Another figure appeared in the door, and uninvited, Cantrell walked in, carrying a pair of ration packs. She looked at the two of them with a smile and walked over to sit opposite them, dropping her cargo onto the table.

 “What’s up?” she asked.

 “We were just having a conversation,” Barbara said.

 “I think I can add something to it. Besides dinner.”

 “What?” Cooper asked.

 “Petty Officer Fox just got back from the station. He was grousing in the mess about being on double duty; he’s been ferrying prisoners back and forth all evening.”

 “Did he say why?”

 “Something about an urgent series of interrogations. Top priority stuff. Hey, and I took a look around the freighter with Caine, and she was installing some new stuff in the computer systems. You know what that means.”

 “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Barbara said. “We could just be planning to take the freighter home with us. I could think of a hundred reasons for a software upgrade.”

 “Only one of them makes sense, though,” she said, snatching a piece of nearly-cheese from the food pack. “They’re going ahead with Coop’s plan, and we get to head out into the wild black yonder again.”

 “What do you think we’ve been doing?” Barbara said, shaking her head. “Alamo already holds the record for the longest patrol in history without friendly resupply, and we do have five new systems to explore on the way home.”

 “Brown dwarves and all boring as hell, most likely. I’ve been working on the long-range surveys, and all we have to look forward to are barren rocks and ice giants. I can see those any time.”

 “Pining for the bright lights of the Cabal?”

 “I joined up to see new things, explore the universe! Did you ever see the Captain’s recruitment advert?”

 Cooper looked at Barbara, then said, “I must have missed that one.”

 “Just after nothing at all interesting happened at Uranus, he did a ninety-second piece about the settlement at Ragnarok, about how it opened up the whole universe to us, about what the Triplanetary ships were doing. That’s why I dropped out of college and signed up, even if my mother did just about disown me for it.”

 “And so far the frontier hasn’t been exciting enough for you?” Barbara said, shaking her head. “I’d hate to be on a cruise you’d find interesting.”

 “So you aren’t going on Ouroboros, then?”

 “If the Captain decides to go for it, then I’ll sign up.” She looked across at Cooper, then said,  “Someone has to keep him out of trouble.”

 “From what I saw during the boarding action, he can take care of himself.”

 “Obviously you’ve never been on leave with him before.”

 “Come on, it’s a big mission, and a chance to actually do something hands-on. Smaller crew, so we all get to share the fun stuff. I’m bored with data analysis and replacing burned out relays.”

 Cooper’s datapad bleeped; he glanced down at the screen and smiled with glee. “I just got a diary update.”

 “That’s a cause for celebration?” Barbara said.

 “It is when the update is instructing me to report to the briefing room at noon tomorrow for a meeting with the senior staff.”

 Cantrell whistled, then said, “That’s it, then. The Captain’s way of telling you the mission is happening.”

 “At the very least, he’s giving you a chance to present your plan to the senior staff,” Barbara said. “I don’t think he’d do that if he wasn’t in favor.”

 “My God,” he said. “We’re going to do it. We’re actually going to get to do it.”

 “Looks like it,” Cantrell said.

 He looked at the two of them, then up at the clock, “Feel like pulling an all-nighter?”

 Barbara frowned, then said, “What do you have in mind?”

 Waving his datapad in the air, Cooper said, “I want to get this report perfect for tomorrow. I’m not going to have time to work on it in the morning, so…”

 “So you want the two of us to beat it into shape now,” Barbara said. Cantrell bristled, but made no attempt to move.

 “Look, if this is a chance for me to sell this plan, I don’t want to mess it up. This needs to be as good as I can make it, so I need to get it right.” He swung over to sit opposite them, moving his datapad in front of him. “Barbara, you pretend to be the Captain. Lisa, you are Zebrova.”

 “Must I?”

 “Try and tear my plan to pieces. If I can make it bomb-proof tonight, we might get to go on the mission tomorrow.” He cleared his throat, took a swig of juice, and started to read.

Chapter 7

 Alamo’s senior staff were sitting in the briefing room, most of them looking puzzled. Cooper was sitting at the far end of the table, fidgeting with a datapad, and Zebrova fixed her stare on him, trying to interrogate him through thought alone. Marshall walked into the room, taking his seat at the end of the table, and looked around the room.

 “Good afternoon, everyone. First things first; Mr. Quinn, is your estimate of Alamo’s repair schedule still good?”

 “I’ve inspected the facilities at Hydra Station,” replied the engineer, “and I think everything will be satisfactory. Eighty to ninety days remains my estimate, probably towards the beginning of that time period. We’ll have the orbital defenses in position in ten days.”

 “Excellent.”
 “Three months drifting in orbit,” Orlova said. “The crew could use the break, sir. I’ve already had several requests for shore leave.”

 “That sounds like a good idea,” Marshall replied. “What about Ouroboros?”

 “My team has completed a damage survey, sir,” Quinn said, “and I don’t think it will take much to repair. A few days should see it back to full working order.”

 “Are we taking it with us, Captain?” Zebrova said. “We have got the personnel to man it, and having a second ship could be useful.”

 His father, looking at him from his chair, shook his head, “I think he has something else in mind.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Last night, Corporal Cooper came to me with some new information regarding the fate of the Espatiers captured by the Cabal. I think he should begin this briefing; Corporal?”

 Rising to his feet, flexing his newly fitted artificial hand, Cooper looked around the room, obviously trying to conceal his nerves. It seemed strange to Marshall that a man who had been in combat four times should be afraid of public speaking.

 “Before he died, the traitor Major Diego attempted to trade his life for some information on the location of the prisoners. I couldn’t make any headway in interpreting it with Alamo’s computers, nor with the Cabal database, but I had more luck with the astrogation systems on Ouroboros. The prisoners are being held on Denebola VII, a Cabal resource extraction hub, where they are being used as part of a labor workforce.”

 “What is your basis for that, Corporal?” Zebrova said, flashing a look at Marshall.

 “I didn’t know it at the time, but Diego was telling me the colloquial name for the system; it is a variable star, and that was the term the Arabs used for it on Earth in ancient times. More than that, the information we have indicates that the population is predominantly indentured labor, and prisoners are used there by the extraction corporations.”

 “That fits,” Bailey said. “It’s exactly what they did with us at Ghawar. Though we were kept segregated from the main workforce.”

 “I expect the same will be true here, Lieutenant,” Cooper said, his manner easing. “My plan is to use the Ouroboros to send in a strike team to infiltrate the planet and free the prisoners, then returning them to Alamo.”

 Zebrova shook her head, “I can’t even begin to tell you the flaws in your plan, Corporal.”

 “There’s a lot more too it than that. We can trade our way to our destination, disguising ourselves as a normal freighter crew.”

 Bailey nodded, saying, “I’m pretty sure we can provide fake civilian identification documents without too much trouble. We’ve got a lot of examples to work with.”

 “Once there, we can evaluate the situation and determine the best way to break our people out. It’s a civilian facility, not a military one, so security will not be as tight. And they won’t be expecting it,” he added. “With luck, we’ll catch them by surprise.”

 “I am always concerned about plans that rely on luck. What if the prisoners are not there?”

 Cooper took a deep breath, then said, “In that case, we make the most of the opportunity to gather some intelligence about the Cabal from the civilian point of view. Most of the information we have is focused on the military.”

 Tyler said, “Our intelligence staff will find such information useful.”

 “Not to mention the bonuses for any possible negotiations,” Caine added. “Knowing what the civilian population wants as opposed to the military could give us a few extra bargaining points.”

 Marshall looked around the room, then said, “I’ve been considering Cooper’s plan all night, and…”

 “Sir,” Zebrova said. “The risk factor is great.”

 “Dammit, these are our people,” Cooper said. “They’re out there waiting for us to rescue them. If we have the guts to try.”

 “Corporal!” Marshall snapped. “Stand down.”

 Cooper looked around, then replied, “Sorry, sir.”

 “As I was saying,” Zebrova continued, “In my opinion this mission is too risky. You can’t ask the crew to go any further than they already have. Some of them haven’t been home for ten years.”

 “I’d like to take a crack at it,” Orlova said. “I volunteer to take out Ouroboros, sir.”

 “That eager for another command?” Marshall said with a smile. “I’ll be glad to have you with me, though.”

 The room grew silent. It was Mulenga who finally said, “You intend to command this mission yourself, Captain?”

 “I do indeed, Lieutenant.” He raised a hand, then said, “I don’t want any arguments about it, either. The decision is mine, and it is made. I am conscious of Lieutenant Zebrova’s points, and therefore this mission will be volunteer only.”

 “Sir, you can’t go yourself,” Zebrova said. “Why not let me take her out.”

 “I appreciate the offer, Lieutenant, but you are needed here. Alamo will be sitting in orbit for eighty days; the mission is currently timelined out at seventy, including ten days to complete our objective. If it looks like extracting the prisoners is too risky, then we will turn around and come home, with whatever intelligence we have managed to gather along the way.”

 “Alamo…”

 “Can manage fine without me for a while. You were talking about shore leave, Lieutenant; I have considerable leave time saved up. More than enough for this mission.”

 Caine chuckled, then said, “A working holiday, then.”

 “You know how hard I find it to turn off, Deadeye.” He looked across at his father, then said,  “In my absence, Major Marshall will assume command of this ship, as the next-senior officer.”

 “I must formally protest, Captain,” Zebrova said. “I request that you enter in your log my objections to this mission, and to your assumption of command of Ouroboros.”

 “So noted,” Marshall replied. “Nevertheless, I intend to do everything we can to rescue our people.”

 “How many people will be needed?” Mulenga said.

 “Eighteen,” Caine replied. “That will be sufficient to crew the ship, and leave plenty of space for rescued prisoners.”

 “They’ll be eager to get out of there,” Bailey said. “I know that we would have given anything to get out from Ghawar. We made the attempt.” She shook her head, “And we know why it failed, now. I think if we can do this, we should.”

 “Does that mean you are volunteering?” Zebrova asked.

 “Lieutenant Orlova,” Marshall said. “Are you still wanting to try this?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Lieutenant Caine has already volunteered also, and I can’t strip the senior staff any further.  Therefore, no-one else in this room will be permitted to go.”

 “Sir,” Quinn began, but Marshall cut him off.

 “We need you here, getting Alamo back into shape for the passage through the Shrouded Stars, Lieutenant, though it would be good to have you with us.”

 “Are you going to put out a request for volunteers, Captain?” Zebrova asked.

 “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I want you all to go around your departments and ask for volunteers. I would prefer if they didn’t have any...attachments back home, though ultimately I will leave the decision to the conscience of the individual.”

 “I presume we have five already,” Caine said. “Corporal Cooper and Spaceman Bradley.”

 Cooper blushed, and replied, “I have spoken to her, yes, and she has indicated a willingness to volunteer.”

 “Which means thirteen more people will be required,” she said, looking around the room.

 “Security will have your forged documents, sir, including a bill of sale indicating that you have purchased the Ouroboros,” Bailey said. “Otherwise someone might ask what had happened to the original crew.”

 “You have a devious mind, Lieutenant,” Marshall said, “I approve. It’s even true, in a sense; I presented Captain Newton with a formal requisition from the Triplanetary Fleet this morning, the usual receipt redeemable at Mariner Station.”

 “If we ever do establish formal relations,” Caine said, “they’ll be a long queue outside the Fleet Disbursement office the next morning.”

 “As long as I’m not the one manning the desk,” Marshall said. “This is going to need a big effort from all of us; I want the Ouroboros ready to depart in three days. Which means we’re going to need the volunteers ready to go in twelve hours. Mr. Quinn, can you have the ship ready in that time?”

 “You’re going to need more than I was expecting, Captain. All signs of the battle are going to have to be removed. Fortunately there was no exterior damage...I think that will work.”

 “Mr. Price has indicated that he will lend us a shuttle from the station; we will not be taking any Triplanetary equipment with us, other than our uniforms.”

 “Uniforms?” Mulenga asked.

 “In the event that our capture becomes certain, if we are wearing our uniforms then we will be imprisoned, rather than being shot out of hand as spies.”

 “A distinction that I am uncertain the Cabal share,” Zebrova said. “Weapons?”

 “Cabal make only, and again, we can tap Hydra Station for what we need.”

 Cooper looked down at his hand, the mechanical fingers flexing; there had been no time to add the plasti-skin yet, not until he had finished training the new device to work with his nervous system.

 “Sir…”

 “Don’t worry, Corporal. Artificial hands all look pretty much alike, and if someone is checking that closely, there are plenty of other things they’ll pick up. Our job is to make sure that they don’t take too much of an interest in us; we’re going to need to use stealth, not force.”
 “We don’t have that much force available, anyway.”

 “We’ll need a cargo, as well,” Orlova said. “I’ll have a look at the other systems along the way, see what would make good trading goods. Might as well make a profit out of this mission.”

 Frowning, Mulenga said, “Do you think that is necessary, Lieutenant?”

 “Customs will be rather surprised if we’re out to make a loss, sir. If we want to avoid unwanted attention, we should try and do this right.”

 “Agreed. Take charge of that, Lieutenant.”

 “Aye, sir,” she said, leaning down over a datapad.

 “I’ll plot a best-speed course for you, Captain,” Mulenga said. “I might be able to shave a day or two off your flight time.”

 “Good.” Marshall looked around the room, then said, “There’s something I want to make quite clear. Alamo is not to wait for us to get back. You will conduct your repairs as rapidly as possible, Mr. Quinn, and as soon as they are complete, whether Ouroboros has returned or not, you will, Major, proceed to Spitfire Station.”

 The Major grew pale, then said, “Aye.”

 “Don’t worry too much,” Marshall continued. “We’ll still have a ship of our own, remember. We might catch up to you at the Shrouded Stars, even if we are a little late. The important thing is that I will not hazard Alamo or the remainder of her crew. Caine, Orlova, if after hearing that you want to back out now, feel free.”

 “No, sir,” Caine said.

 “Orlova?”

 She looked up from her datapad, frowned for a second, then shook her head. “Not a chance, Skipper. You’ll be wanting to borrow my flight jacket again, anyway.”

 “I presume I don’t have to ask you, Corporal?”

 “You don’t, sir.”

 “Then I will call this meeting to a close. We’ve all got a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it. Dismissed.”

 The officers rose, and walked out of the room, muttered and murmured conversations in the wake. Cooper looked triumphant, better than Marshall had seen him in weeks; this was his mission, and he was getting to have a try at it. After the crowd had left, only his father remained, still sitting opposite him.

 “You’re leaving me in command,” he said.

 “Don’t get too comfortable, Dad. I intend to come back.”

 “You’d damn well better,” he replied. “I only just got you back, and you’re going off on a one-way mission.”

 “Dad…”

 “I’ve been there, remember. I’ve made the decisions you are making now, and I know what the cost could be. You’re going out with no support, no backup, no way home if this goes wrong.”

 “Wouldn’t you have done the same thing?”

 “Yes, but I was young and stupid at the time,” he replied, sighing. “Eighteen people, Danny. Eighteen of you heading out into the dark.”

 “If we pull this mission off…”

 “Dammit, Danny, what is it going to take to satisfy you? How many times do you want to beat the odds? What is enough? We got here, you rescued my crew, avenged my ship, dealt the Cabal a serious blow...and now…”

 “Now I’m going to go and get the people who were captured to buy time for us to get away. Without their sacrifice, none of us would have got this far.”

 “That’s the point, isn’t it. Their sacrifice. You’re throwing that away.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “I would be if I chose to risk the ship. That’s why I’m asking for volunteers for this one.”

 “Hah,” his father snorted. “I know starship crews as well as you. Clannish, they are, and they’ll take risks to get back their own. You won’t be wanting for volunteers.”

 “Then…”

 “But you are in charge. You aren’t meant to be giving them options like this. There are other options. Now that we know they are there, we might be able to negotiate their release.”

 “You don’t really believe that. Besides, I’m not going to buy back our people. If we do that, then they’ll start hitting our installations just to capture warm bodies. You do not negotiate with terrorists. I learned that much at Command School.”

 “I just...don’t want to lose you.”

 “I’m not leaving a wife and son behind me.”

 His father’s face dropped, “Danny…”

 “I don’t have any ties back home. No family. Some friends who’ll drink a toast to me in the Officer’s Club and remember old times, but I don’t have as much to risk. Caine is the same. As for Orlova, well, her father would cheer her on all they way. I know him.”

 “What about me?”

 “You’re going to get my ship home, if I am unable to do so. You will make no attempt to rescue me, no attempt to come after me.”

 “I’m not sure I can obey that order.”

 “I am. You’ve got to get Alamo home and see that they send a task force out here to secure Hydra Station. That has to be done, come what may. If I can get the rest of our people back, then we have a bonus. Besides…”

 “What?”
 “I want to send a message to the Cabal, loud and clear. Taking on that fleet was part of it, but going in after our people is another. They’re assuming that they have a superiority to them, and from what I can see it is the main reason they are contemplating an attack. If we can poke them a few times, make it clear that we can hit them where they live, they might have second thoughts.”

 “You just want to get your people back.”

 “Damn right I do.”

 Taking a deep breath, his father said, “I’ll get Alamo home for you. That’s a promise. But if you do not get back, then I will come to get you, whatever it takes.”

 Marshall looked up, nodded, and smiled, “Like son, like father, then.”

 “Something like that.”

Chapter 8

 Orlova manipulated a pair of controls, bringing her shuttle up to match Ouroboros’ orbit; this time she wasn’t needing to rush it quite so much, and she eased back, conserving fuel while the navigation computer refined her course. Durman drifted in behind her, sliding smoothly into the co-pilot’s couch.

 “All secure back there, Maggie,” he said. “There are going to be a lot of bland meals down on Driftwind for the next few months. Three tons of herbs and spices, all itemized and indexed.”
 “You gave me the idea; we’re hitting a lot of small prospecting outposts on the way. Luxury goods we can trade for rare elements, precious metals. Did that vodka come on board?”

 “Much to Price’s protests, it did. You do realize you need a license to trade that stuff? I could have a word with your security people.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “That isn’t a cargo, it’s an offering. I know Customs officials. If they don’t find anything illegal, they’ll keep looking until they do. If we make sure that they find it, we end up having to pay a bribe or a fine, and then they let us in. We might even get to keep most of it.”

 “You know rather too much about this.”

 “I was a smuggler, not that long ago. This isn’t new to me.”

 “Does the Captain know?”

 With a smile, she said, “First time I met him he hired me to smuggle him onto Alamo.”

 “Onto his own ship?”

 “It wasn’t his ship then. Long story.”

 “I see,” he said looking around. “Maggie, how are you doing for volunteers?”

 “Pretty well, so far, so I hear. We’re going to sort out a final list tonight.”

 “I want to put my name down.”

 “Are you sure about that? If I get captured, then I get arrested and end up as a prisoner. If you were captured, they’d shoot you as a traitor.”

 “I’ve thought about that, but you need me. Someone you knows the lie of the land, who knows what the security forces will be looking for. If this is going to work, then you’ve got to have my help.”

 “Going up against your own people, again?”

 “In for a centicred, in for a megacred, Maggie. I’ve gone this far, so I might as well go a bit further. I’m not a bad mechanic, as well, and I’m pretty good with a gun…”

 “You don’t need to give me your full resume, I’ve seen you in action.” She paused, then said, “I’ll put your name on the list. The Captain’s going to pick from the applicants, but I’ll tell him why you want to do it. I think it does make sense for you to go, even if I think you are crazy to do it.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Thanks.”

 She glanced at her board, and a trio of lights began to wink on. “Hold on, I’ve got to sort out the docking.” Playing a series of thrusters around, she lined the ship up with its target, guiding it into the cradle that extended out from the underside of the freighter. A couple of light taps with the thrusters, and the shuttle came to a stop, and the mechanism began to work, pulling them inside.

 “I think I prefer getting on board this way,” Durman said. “Getting shot is not my top hobby.”

 “Seems to happen to me too damn often,” she replied, throwing a series of switches to start the automated post-flight checklist. “Can you get the cargo stowed away? I should be heading up to the bridge.”

 “Will do.”

 Unstrapping herself from her couch, she gently glided over to the hatch and drifted out onto the deck; Chief Wilson, one of her old crew from Hercules, waved at her as she came on board.

 “Permission to come aboard?”

 “Granted, Lieutenant,” he replied. “I’ll get the shuttle servicing started.”

 “You over here with the repair crew?”

 “Actually, I’m over here for keeps.”

 She looked at him, shaking her head, “You already escaped from the Cabal once.”

 “No, I was rescued, which is why I’m going. Thought I’d better return the favor. Besides, after all this time, I don’t have anything much back home to worry about. Reckon a lot of us from the Herc are in the same boat. I’m not the only one to volunteer for this mission. Captain Marshall had a long talk with me about it, and I pointed out that you’ll need a good mechanic.”

 “That we will,” she said. “I’m glad to have you with us.”

 “Be just like old times, eh, Lieutenant.”

 “I hope there aren’t as many missiles flying around. The point is for this to be an easy mission, for us to just go in and out of the Cabal without anyone noticing.”

 “Oh, I get that, Lieutenant. I just don’t think it’s going to be that easy. We’ll find a way through, though, I think. She’s not a bad ship, tough and old.”

 A voice crackled over the loudspeaker, distorted enough that she couldn’t make out who it was. It repeated twice before she could make out, “Lieutenant Orlova to the Bridge.”

 “Looks like they’re singing my song, Chief,” she said.

 “Must be nice to be popular,” he replied as she pushed off towards the elevator, swinging on the handrail and tapping the control button. It was sometimes nice to be in zero gravity, though it could get old after the first few months. She ran her fingers through her hair, making a note to see if Hydra Station had a decent barber on board before they left. Gravity was a luxury she was beginning to take too much advantage of.

 The door slid open on a surprisingly crowded deck; Weitzman and Spinelli were having an argument over the Exterior Operations Station, trying to squeeze two sets of controls and software into a panel that could barely fit one, and Nelyubov was sitting at the helm, a toolkit strewn about him as though he was being orbited by debris, poking at the console.

 “That you, Lieutenant?” he said, turning his head.

 “What’s up, Frank?” she replied.

 “We’re having trouble configuring the helm controls. I’m pretty sure that we can squeeze some more maneuvering out of her, but we might have to be remotely piloted by Alamo on our first jump.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Skip it, then. We’ll leave things as they are.”

 “If we have to dodge something big…”

 With a hollow laugh, she replied, “If we’re in that much trouble, everything’s gone to hell anyway. We’ll just have to manage with what we’ve got; this is a fast ship, anyway.”

 “Yes, but I can make it faster, I think.”

 Pausing for a second, she said, “You’ve volunteered, haven’t you?”

 “I think I’ll be accepted, too.”

 “You’re crazy.”

 “If I am, so is Race. He’s signed up as astrogator, and I already know he’s been accepted. Someone’s got to steer us through all this.”

 “Why?”

 “Two reasons. First because it’s the right thing to do, and second, well, you’re going.”

 Her eyes widened, and she said, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

 “I can only speak for myself, but, well, I trust you.”

 “Captain Marshall’s in command, not me.”

 “I don’t know him well enough to judge, yet, but from what I can see you have a talent for getting yourself into and out of tight situations. I’m willing to take a bet on that, and so is Race, for that matter.”

 She hung from a ceiling bar, looking around the bridge, “You realize there is a chance we could be captured. They’d send you right back to one of the resource worlds.”

 “I thought about that. Alamo’s going back, so even if we don’t make it home, my folks will know what happened to me, and the Fleet will do something to get us home.”

 “If they can.”

 “Isn’t the Fleet doing just that now? You’re telling me that Captain Marshall is the only one who would send off a mission like this?”

 Shaking her head, she said, “No, there are a few others who would have a try.”

 He started to flick switches on the console, then said, “I’m going to need to visit the station tailor, though. I don’t think I can wear this on the bridge, and I’d like something comfortable. Something else – I know we’re not supposed to take anything Triplanetary on board, but do you think anyone would mind if I updated the software in the food processors?”

 “The food processors?” Orlova asked. “Why?”

 “You haven’t gone down to the mess yet, then. I thought Alamo’s systems were bad until I attempted to eat lunch.”

 “The freighter crews managed.”

 “Barely.”

 Frowning, she said, “If I was inspecting the ship, looking for signs that the crew wasn’t who they were meant to be, the food systems is one of the places I would look.”

 “We’re installing a new countermeasures package, Lieutenant,” Spinelli said from the rear.

 “That’s different, Spaceman,” she replied. “Electronic warfare programs hide themselves by their very nature. If we’re flying around with a Triplanetary food system, it could raise too many questions.”

 “Go down and have a sandwich, then talk.”

 “We can take on food, though. As long as it isn’t labeled, and we use it up fairly quickly,” she said. “In fact, we should trade for it as we go; I bet the freighter’s crew did that all the time. It’ll make it look more realistic.”

 “I’ll head over to Alamo and order three month’s worth of packed lunches.”

 “Good. We can use some more trade goods.”

 “That’s a point,” Weitzman said, “We’re carrying spices and herbs, aren’t we.”

 “No breaking into the cargo,” Orlova said. “There are hungry miners out there ready to pay well for that stuff.”

 Orlova heard a cough from behind her; she turned to see that Marshall had drifted in, and immediately snapped to attention, along with everyone else on the bridge. He raised a hand, looking around.

 “I appreciate this, but while we’re in flight, you’d better make sure not to do that, even when we’re alone. The last thing we need is someone slipping. First-name terms while we’re in flight.”

 “Aye, s...Skipper,” Orlova said. “I think that’s probably about the best you’re going to get.”

 “I can live with that. Can I have a word, Maggie?”

 “Sure,” she replied, drifting out into the corridor behind him. He waited for a moment for the door to close, then looked around to make sure that no-one was listening.

 “I’ve had a word with Deadeye about this, and I’ve come to a decision. I want you to be my second-in-command for this mission.”

 “Sir?”

 “Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?” he said with a smile. “Caine doesn’t want the job anyway, not really, and you’ve got more command experience than she has…”

 “And ten years’ less seniority.”

 “That doesn’t make any difference to me, not with this mission. What is important is that that if I don’t make it, the crew has the best chance possible to get home, and I think you will give them that chance.”

 “I don’t know what to say.”

 “You can curse me, if you like. This isn’t a pleasant job I’m giving you. Caine will handle Tactical on the way out, Nelyubov Operations, or whatever will pass for it.”

 “I’m honored, Skipper. I mean that.”

 “As I said, it isn’t an honor, it’s a duty, and a damned unpleasant one at that. I’ll do my best not to make this any worse than necessary. I promise not to do something stupid and get you killed.”

 Smiling, she said, “So Frank’s going, then?”

 “Yes, I’ve got the officers picked. Most of the crewmen, as well, though I’m still working on the last three or four. Ten left to choose from.”

 “Plenty of applicants, then.”

 “Much to my surprise, yes. Looks like quite a few of the crew are willing to follow us into another lion’s den.” He gestured back towards the bridge, “I’m heading back to Alamo now, see if I can clear my desk for my father. I’ll see you at the surprise party.”

 “What surprise party?”

 “The one you, Caine and Quinn haven’t organized on the station as a send-off.”

 “Oh,” she replied. “That surprise party.”

 “Don’t worry, I think it’s an excellent idea.” He glanced down at his watch, then said, “See you later.”

 “Aye, skipper,” she said, turning back to the bridge, drifting through the door as he headed back down the corridor. She looked around at the stations, lost in thought for a moment, a hundred things running through her head. Nelyubov turned from his work towards her, frowning.

 “Everything all right, Maggie?”

 “Yes,” she replied, nodding. “Everything’s fine. You’re definitely going, by the way.”

 “Good,” he said. “I don’t think this is a party I want to miss.”

 “Let’s get everything cleared up here, then. We’ve still got a lot of work to do in the next couple of days if we’re going to meet the Captain’s deadline. Weitzman, Spinelli, hurry up and get that console configured before I have to come over there and issue a judgment of Solomon. Frank, chase up Race and see how long it’s going to take him to update the astrographic database.”

 “You’re beginning to sound like a Captain again,” Nelyubov said with a smile.

 “Let’s hope for all our sakes that it doesn’t come to that,” she replied, swinging over to the command couch. She settled in, and started configuring it to her settings, saving them as she went, hoping that this was just going to be unused data in the system.

Chapter 9

 The sound of laughter and music echoed down the corridor as Marshall walked towards the recreation room that Caine had hijacked for the party. Alamo had been all but deserted when he finally managed to clear his desk, staffed only by a somewhat resentful skeleton crew. He clutched his holdall in his hand, swinging it as he walked; he’d be going right from the party to Ouroboros, departure time scheduled in just eighteen hours – almost a day ahead of schedule, but that day could make the difference between success and failure.

 “Captain Marshall?” a quiet voice said to him, making him jump. He turned to see Ixia, one of the Neander who had shipped out on Hercules for her final battle, nursing a toolkit in her hands.

 “What can I do for you?”

 “I’ve been asking around, and I understand that one of the volunteers for your mission has to stay behind.

 He nodded, replying, “Yes, Hollister broke his leg this morning. Nothing serious, but he’ll need to knit it in gravity if he ever wants to walk properly again.”

 “I would like to take his place.”

 Marshall frowned, regarding her more closely. She seemed eager, yet nervous, as though she was desperate for him to agree, but equally hoping that he would reject her application.

 “There are grave enough risks for us. Wouldn’t you be returned to slavery if we were caught?”

 She shook her head, replying, “Do not concern yourself with that, Captain. I will be executed immediately as an example to others of my people.”

 His eyes widened, and he said, “Then why do you want to take such a risk?”

 “Because someone must,” she replied. “This world, Driftwind, is special. One of the few places where my people walk free, their heads held high. There are hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, held in subjection throughout the Cabal. I believe that you and your fleet may hold the key towards their freedom, and if I can help you in any small way, it will be but scant repayment for that.”

 “Ixia, I can’t promise anything. I’ll try, and I’m certain that the Senate will be sympathetic, but I’m less sure that they will authorize a full-scale war against the Cabal, especially if we can prevent it by other means.”

 Her eyes fixed on him, seemingly full of wisdom, “I know your people better than you, perhaps, Captain. If your government decides that it dare not risk war, there are those among you who would venture such a task.”

 “Are you certain you want to do this?”

 “More than I have ever been.”

 “Request approved. I’ll have a word with Maggie.” He smiled, then said, “How do you feel?”

 “Scared.”

 “Don’t worry. So am I. Shall we go in and enjoy the party?”

 She looked at the crowds, and shook her head, “I’d rather start moving my things onto Ouroboros, if you don’t mind.”

 “Your life is your own; go where you wish.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “That has not been true for a long time. Perhaps it is again.”

 He watched her walk down the corridor, a spring in her step that had not been there before, and for a moment paused at the threshold of the party, looking at the celebrating crew. This was more than just a send-off, it was a catharsis, an affirmation that they had survived one crisis. And now he was taking a portion of his crew into another one, this one a gamble as large as that which had taken Alamo out here in the first place.

 Caine, over by the sound system, saw him hanging around by the door and bounded over, delegating the music duties to a wandering life support technician nursing a glass of something non-regulation, then snatched his arm.

 “Come on, Danny, you’re going to enjoy yourself this evening.”

 Sighing, he nodded, and stepped into the room, allowing himself to be ushered around the crowd. The music was deafening, probably loud enough to be heard all the way through the station, but he caught snatches of population, brief glimpses into the personal lives of his crew. He found it oddly fascinating to listen to the gossip, to the conversations and arguments of lovers.

 “Captain,” Grogan said, spotting his interested, “We were just discussing shore leave. Tell this ass that Aeolis Mons beats anything on Callisto for free climbing.”

 “You’ve never been to the Gomul Crater, obviously,” a medical technician, Avilov, replied. “Sheer terror all the way.”

 “I did a little when I was training,” Marshall replied, “but never at that level. I did some climbing at the Xanthe Montes, but that was just for gliding. That’s where you get the real terror. Nothing but a few pounds of wing-surface between you and your last crash landing.”

 “I tried that once,” Avilov said, “last time I was on furlough. Just a run down the Canyon, though.”

 “Everyone does that. You want to get out into the high plains, into some of the mountain ranges. They might not be much to climb, but when you’re soaring over them, you get one hell of a view.”

 A figure moved up behind him; he turned to see Mulenga standing over his shoulder, a pair of drinks in his hands.

 “Could I trade a glass of punch for a moment of your time, Captain?”

Excusing himself from the friendly argument, he took a sip of the drink, surprised that it had not yet been spiked, and said, “How can I help you?”

 “The crew list…”

 “I’m sorry, I can’t make any exceptions. Anyway, Alamo will need you to work out the best route through the Shrouded Stars.”

 “I understand that, Captain. That isn’t my problem.”

 “Then what is it?”

 “You’re taking Cantrell with you.”

 He frowned briefly, then said, “She’s only a Spaceman Third; she can’t be that critical to your department.”

 “That is precisely the problem, sir. She isn’t at all critical to my department. Frankly, I was going to recommend she be transferred to shore-side duties when we get back.”

 “What’s wrong with her?”

 Mulenga glanced around before quietly replying, “She’s just not good at her job. Worst analyst I’ve got, by a long way, and sloppy at maintenance as well. I don’t know who passed her through Basic, but I suspect it wasn’t her skill that got her through.”

 “That’s quite a serious charge, Lieutenant.”

 “I mean it, sir.”

 “Have you spoken with her about it?”

 “Repeatedly. The last time with Lieutenant Zebrova present. I was planning to invite you to sit in on the next meeting.”

 “I see.” To call Mulenga’s command style relaxed was the understatement to beat them all; he’d never heard the Astrogator this concerned about someone before. “And I haven’t been brought into the loop on this because…”

 “Normally I would deal with a situation such as this within my department. I would suggest you reconsider taking her along.”

 He shook his head, then said, “Noted, but I’m still taking her. Race can keep an eye on her, and it will give me a good chance to monitor her performance.” Raising a hand, he continued, “Not that I don’t assume you know what you are doing, but I want to see for myself. Just transferring her to another command is a cheap way of solving the problem.”

 “Sometimes it is the only way, sir. Move her to a less critical station.”

 “Or out of the service altogether, if it comes to that. We’ve got her on board for six months anyway, so let’s see if she can shape up. Perhaps she is simply in the wrong department.”

 “Perhaps,” he said, shaking his head. “I would still suggest taking someone else.”

 “Aside from Race, she’s the only other person from your department to sign up, and I’ll say this, she was awfully eager to go.”

 “And a volunteer is worth ten pressed men?” Mulenga said. “Perhaps it is so. I’ll be interested to hear your thoughts on her when you get back.”

 “I’m glad you are assuming that I am coming back.”

 With a smile, he replied, “I don’t have any doubts that you will find a way to get through, Captain. Whether you are able to complete your mission is perhaps less certain, dependent on circumstances somewhat beyond your control, but you and your volunteers will return.”

 “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

 “I envy you, you know. You’re going to see some very interesting things – not least a variable A-type star, close up. Make sure Race takes plenty of readings for me; I’ve given him a list. I wish we could upgrade the exterior sensors.”

 “One day we might get a chance to send a proper research team.”

 “I hope so. It...offends me that we have to sneak around the stars like thieves. We should be able to travel where we will, in peace. There is so much to see, to learn.”

 “You’ve got the Shrouded Stars to look forward to, at least.”

 “I’m already working on the scientific program. Sub-Lieutenant Carpenter’s going to be too busy working on the surface to handle it…”

 “And besides, she isn’t a space science specialist.”

 “I suppose I can’t criticize. As a cosmologist, I study whole universes. Individual stars should be rather small scale for that.”

 “We’ll do some exploring on our way home. And the Cabal isn’t everywhere, as well. We might be able to get a pure science mission yet.”

 His face dropped, and he shook his head, “The odds of a battlecruiser being free to do such work while the Cabal are an extant threat seem all too remote, I fear.”

 “The two of you are looking awfully serious,” Caine said, walking over. “This is supposed to be a chance for us all to not talk shop.”

 “We weren’t,” Mulenga said. “Well, not any more, anyway.”

 “Once was too often.”

 Marshall glanced around the room, looking for the volunteers. Weitzman and Spinelli were over in a corner with a group of shuttle technicians, playing some sort of card game where the rules seemed to change with the level of alcohol consumption, and Bradley was on the improvised dance floor with Cooper, demonstrating the Espatier’s clumsiness, by the looks of it.

 Orlova walked into the room, looking around, and snatching a glass of punch from a tray by the door. She made a bee-line for Marshall, glancing at the festivities.

 “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “We’re still trying to get the new electronic warfare package to work. Convincing the communications system to cope with that much bandwidth is fun.” Glancing past his shoulder, she said, “Is there a buffet? I haven’t managed to eat anything for a while.”

Caine shook her head, then said, “I might as well give up on the ‘no shop talk’ rule.”

 “Sorry, Deadeye,” Marshall said, “I guess we’re just a bunch of crazy workaholics.”

 “Crazy’s the right word for it.”

 “Well, what do you want to talk about, then?” Orlova said, nibbling on a hastily-procured sandwich. “You pick.”

 She paused for a second, shook her head, then said, “You know, I can’t think of anything.”

 “Then we might as well talk shop. Have you had any thoughts on a replacement for…”

 “Already taken care of. Ixia’s coming.”

 “Who?” Caine asked.

 “One of the Neander.”

 “She’s a pretty good mechanic, good at damage control,” Orlova said. “Surely it’s a bit of a risk, though.”

 “I was thinking about that,” he replied. “One thing she is likely to be is invisible; she can go places that we might not be able to get into. I tried to talk her out of volunteering, but she wants to do it.”

 “Perhaps I should have a word with her,” Orlova said.

 “Everyone’s made their choice,” Caine replied. “If she wants to go, and she knows the risk, we should let her. We’re all taking a big enough risk on this trip.”

 Marshall noticed another figure by the door, and walked over to his father, standing in the threshold, standing out in his Martian uniform from the rest of the crowd.

 “I thought I’d come over and take a look,” he said, while showing no interest in entering the room.

 “I’m glad you did.”

 “So, what, eighteen hours to go.”

 “About that.”

 “Is there any way that I can talk you out of this? Let someone else go in your place?”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Not this time.”

 “What you said, earlier.”

 “It wasn’t fair. There was a war on, and…”

 “No, you were quite right.” He looked around the room, at Hercules crewmen mingling with Alamo. “None of this is your fault. If anyone is to blame, I am. I took Hercules way off our patrol route, trying to find the Cabal.”

 “And you did.”

 “Look what happened as a result. My ship destroyed, my crew captured. All because, I suppose, deep down somewhere I didn’t want the War to end. You were at the front, fighting all the battles, son. I just got to roam around the stars, hunting down outposts and freighters. We had the fun.”

 “Dad…”

 “Let me finish. I know what I did, and I’m coming to know why I did it. Don’t make the same mistake as me. A lot of people suffered for my sins, son, and I don’t want you to go through the hell I put myself through.”

 “You saw a clear and present danger to the Confederation, and you decided to investigate it. If you’re going to take the blame for what has happened, take some damn credit as well. We’re out here, and we’ve accomplished a hell of a lot. I don’t know what they’ll say when we get home, but I can know that what we did matters. The information we’re getting fulfills the Commodore’s mandate a dozen times over, and if it wasn’t for you, we’d still be in the dark about the Cabal.”

 “Maybe. I don’t know any more. I just know that I don’t want to lose you again.”

 “You won’t. I’m coming home, all of us are, and then we can go back to Mars with our heads held high, our mission accomplished. Now come on. The two of us are going to follow Caine’s orders and enjoy this damn party.”

Chapter 10

 The painkillers were barely suppressing Cooper’s hangover. He couldn’t remember much about the night before, only that by the time he’d got to the dispensary they were all out of anti-drunk. Zero-gravity helped in one sense, though his stomach was churning; usually he prided himself on his iron constitution, but today he’d decided to skip breakfast and lunch, not wanting to send butterflies flying across the mess.

 He drifted out onto the bridge, and the Captain waved him to a vacant couch in the corner, over by the life support systems. It was strange to see everyone wearing civilian clothes, and obvious who had been forced to fabricate them in a hurry. Orlova looked right at home in a battered old flight jacket that had obviously seen better days, poking controls into the helm, but Weitzman was wearing his jumpsuit as though it was a uniform.

 “We’re cleared for departure, skipper,” he said, looking across at the Captain.

“Thank you, Otto,” he said with an obvious effort. It was going to be hard to get used to this, though he suspected that it was going to get even more difficult to switch back to formality again later on. Alamo was drifting past the viewscreen, and he looked over its battered lines; it felt like he was leaving home, even to the extent that he was feeling a little homesick.

 “Cooper,” the Captain said. “Want to give the order. This is your charter.”

 He looked around the bridge, then mustered up, “Take us out, Maggie.”

 “Aye,” she replied, working a series of controls and turning the engines to full. “I want to see what she can do, run her all the way to maximum acceleration.”

The force of two full gravities – six times the Martian norm they adopted on Alamo, pushed him back into his seat. The pressure crushed him down for a moment, before he slowly began to adapt, but he didn’t want to get up. After a moment, Orlova started to swear, and she cranked the acceleration down.

 “Wilson, what’s going on down there?” she said into the communicator. “I just lost half my maneuvering thrusters.”

 “I think we’re riding her too hard, Maggie,” a disembodied voice replied. “We haven’t got the processing power to handle running the engines at full and make course changes as well.”

 “Are you trying to tell me that someone fitted a full-speed engine without bothering to make the computer upgrades?”

 “Hell, we got her for a discount price, Maggie,” Marshall said. “You’d have to expect some teething troubles.”

 “Teething troubles my...what can I run her at without everything going out?”

 “One-third, until I can put something together to fix it.”

 Shaking her head, she adjusted the controls, turned back to Marshall, then said, “Stepping up to two Mars gravities.”

 “Don’t worry, Maggie, we’ll get there soon enough.”

 “I wanted a baseline for handling performance.” With a snorted laugh, she continued, “Actually, I suppose I got it.”

 “Better we find out now than when we have a Cabal cruiser at our back,” Weitzman said.

 “Don’t joke,” Cooper replied.

 “Who’s joking?”

 “Thirty-one minutes to the hendecaspace point,” she said. “Assuming that works at the first try. I’ve got the first leg set up in the navicomputer.”

 The time passed slowly, Alamo and the station first shrinking into nothingness, then the planet itself visibly receding into the distance. Cooper silently watched while the rest worked around him, watched as the countdown slowly ticked down the minutes and seconds until they would be heading of into the unknown. He’d wanted this, he’d fought for it, but now, as they were on the threshold of launching his mission, all he felt was a strange feeling of dread. At one point, he caught a glimpse of Marshall’s face and knew that despite the show he was putting on, the Captain felt it as well.

 “Coming up to the egress point,” Orlova finally said.

 “You have the call, Maggie.”

 “Fifteen seconds.” She threw a trio of switches, then shook her head and tapped a button by the side, and a mess of numbers and symbols flashed down the screen, letters in a text he couldn’t read.

 “Damn. Language banks have re-set.”

 “Do we need to abort?” Marshall asked, leaning forward.

 “No, no, I can do it by eye. Two. One. Now.”

 A familiar blue flash enveloped the ship, but Cooper felt a strange, grinding sensation, as though some invisible force was attempting to tear him apart. He shook his head to clear it, his eyes briefly seeing double.

 “That has to be the worst transition I’ve ever experienced,” Marshall said.

 Shaking her head, Orlova replied, “The dimensional compensators are on their last legs. They’ll get us there and back, probably.”

 “Probably?”

 “Might be worth investing any profits we get in an upgrade. We didn’t have the Cabal components to do the job back at Hydra; apparently they keep a tight hold on hendecaspace equipment.”

 “Which means we’re going to have to go through that again every time we jump.”

 “It might be a little easier when we emerge.”

 Cooper rose from his chair, his head swimming. “May I head back to my quarters, sir. After that…”

 “I’d head down to the sickbay, if I were you. I made sure they stocked up properly before we left. Don’t hit it too hard, though; we don’t have a medical fabricator on board to make new pills.”

 “Thanks, Skipper.”

 He unbuckled his straps, kicking around to float down the corridor. He drifted past Manning, who was busy damaging some of his repair work to make it look like the rest of the wall, and swung into an elevator. It proceeded in fits and starts, slowly grinding down a deck – so slowly that he made a mental note to just use one of the shafts in future. Compared to Alamo, this ship was tiny, barely a hundred meters long. Floating around it would be a fast business.

 Garland was waiting for him at the dispensary, a pair of pills in hand and a smile on his face. He tossed them across the room to Cooper, then gestured at a bulb of water hanging from a strap by the side of the room.

 “One for the hangover, one for the jump,” he said. “Bon appetit.”

 “You’ve been hanging around with Duquesne for too long.”

 Cantrell dived in, almost crashing into him, her arm flailing around. “Got another one of those, Roger? I think I left my stomach back on Alamo.”

 Shaking his head, Grogan reached into a drawer for the bottle, saying, “Don’t get used to this. I haven’t got that many of them until we get a chance to resupply. There usually isn’t much call for them on Alamo.”

 “Say, did you see the Mule talking to the Captain at the party,” she said. “Bet they were talking about me.”

 “The Mule?”

 “Mulenga.”

 “You probably need to watch that,” Grogan said. “What makes you think they were talking about you.”

 “He thinks I’m a personnel problem. That I don’t pay enough attention, or something like that.”

 “Cheer me up and tell me we have someone other than you tuning the sensors,” Grogan said with a sigh. “This trip is getting worse by the minute.”

 “Well, do you have a problem?” Cooper said.

 “I don’t like being bored.”

 “Cantrell, space travel is long periods of boredom interspersed with periods of sheer, unadulterated terror,” Grogan said. “Take it from a med-tech on his fourth tour with Alamo. Savor the boredom, relish every moment if it. When it isn’t around, you’ll find you miss it. Put in for a transfer to medical if you want some real fun.”

 “Come on,” she replied, “why did you even sign up for this anyway?”

 “Because Ouroboros needed a med-tech, and no-one else from my department had signed up. I’m filling a needed role, and it’ll look good the next time I go up before a promotions board. You never know, the Captain might even give me a battlefield bump. He’s done it before.”

 “This is just a job to you?”

 “Eight hours a day, seven days a week, twenty-eight days of paid leave a year and good pension benefits, Spaceman. Plus I get to serve my country, which is a nice bonus, and they pay for all of my training. In a few years I can sign up with any one of a dozen hospitals at a nice job and settle down. Don’t you have a plan? What about you, Cooper?”

 “Hell, I am...was, doing exactly what I wanted. Still, I figured that I’d end up with a corporate security outfit at some point. Deep space experience would look good.” He sighed, shaking his head, “Though I thought that would happen in fifteen, twenty years, not now.”

 “Scuttlebutt said you were transferring to the Fleet,” Cantrell said.

 “The deck telegraph got it wrong. It was offered, I said no.”

 “Aren’t we good enough for you, Cooper?” ask Grogan with a mock-frown.

 “It just...I’m not trained for it. I don’t have any experience, and almost all the enlisted are one sort of technician or another. All I have to do to break something is look at it the wrong way.”

 “Quinn’d take you on,” Cantrell said. “He loves fixing stuff.”

 “No, I’m out, I think, after this mission,” Cooper said. “Don’t know what I’ll do. I guess I’ll think of something.”

 “I’d think hard about that,” another voice said. Caine drifted into the room, and she continued, “After all, the reason all of us are out here is because of what you came up with. You prepared the mission profile, got all of the ducks in a row. That’s something to be proud of.”

 “I will be,” he replied, “once we get my friends back and we get them safely back to Alamo.”

 “Not Mars?” Caine replied.

 “That’s the Captain’s job. My work is done when we’re back on a friendly deck again.”

 “Are you here for some pills as well?” Grogan asked with a sigh.

 “I’m afraid so, and I’m not the last. I think most of the crew are down with it.”

 “Smart of you to be at the head of the line, anyway.” He grabbed the bottle, then said, “I’d better go around the key areas and start delivering. Too many people are reluctant to get ‘em when they need ‘em.”

 “Does he always grumble like that?,” Cantrell said to his departing back.

 “He had a rough fortnight,” Caine said. “I think Duquesne pitched this to him as a bit of a holiday. We aren’t likely to give him much business, at least, I hope not.”

 “Me too,” Cooper said, looking at his hand. The plastoskin looked strange, wrong; Duquesne had cobbled it together out of specifications in the database at Hydra Station, and evidently the Cabal were behind in bionics. Either that, or they didn’t care to hide it.

 “Got a job for you, by the way.”

 “A job?”

 “Captain wants you to give everyone a run down in small-arms training. We’re not expecting to use it, but from the reports, we’ll be in some rough places. Unarmed combat might be a good idea, as well.”

 “I’m not sure I…”

 “If not you, then who’s going to do it?”

 “I’m with Cooper,” Cantrell said. “I had enough training in Basic to last a lifetime.”

 “I doubt you trained with someone who came top of his class for marksmanship.”

 “Second,” he replied.

 “The winner didn’t graduate, though.”

 “Winning by default isn’t winning.” He glanced across at Cantrell, “What the hell, it should relieve the tension a bit. This include officers?”

 “It certainly does. I’m looking forward to getting some zero-g practice again. It’s been much too long.”

 Kicking away towards the corridor, he said, “I’d better head down to one of the cargo decks, see about outfitting it as a firing range. I wonder if we have any laser targeters in stock.”

 “I doubt it. You’ll need to cobble something together.”

 “I’ll give you a hand,” Cantrell said. “Sensors are supposed to be my specialty, after all.”

 With a smile, Caine replied, “I’m sure that Mr. Mulenga will be very pleased to hear that.”

Chapter 11

 Marshall lay in the command couch, tugging at his borrowed flight jacket. Despite five days’ work, it still didn’t fit quite right, and at this rate he somehow doubted it ever would. Looking around the bridge, he barely managed to suppress a laugh at the motley appearance of his crew; they looked like a collection of actors waiting to perform ‘Pirates of Cydonia’ rather than spacehands. Orlova, lingering near the rear, was the only one who had managed to pull it off, drawing on her own experience; he was rather afraid to ask what he looked like.

 “Coming up on emergence in ten seconds, Skipper,” Nelyubov said at the helm. “That should put us just fifteen minutes from Sinbad Outpost; the egress point is really well positioned in this system.”

 “I’m surprised it isn’t better used.”

 “Nothing much here,” Orlova said. “Just some pretty decent Euxenite deposits, but if it wasn’t easy to get to, no-one would be here. And ice, of course, so we can top up.”

 “Emergence,” Nelyubov said, and everyone hung on to their couches – and their stomachs. Despite round-the-clock work on the dimensional compensators, it was still like a visit to the galaxy’s most sadistic dentist, and Marshall shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision as they slid back into reality.

 Tapping a button, he said, “Wilson, if you don’t fix that you’re walking home!”

 “I’ll see what I can do, skipper,” his voice replied, tinny over the antiquated microphone. “No guarantees, though, not with garbage this out of date.”

 Snapping the channel closed, he turned to Spinelli, “Get me the dockmaster.”

 “Trying, s...skipper. All I’m getting is some loud music.”

 “Music?”

 “Wait, oh, hell. I must have broken into a commercial frequency.” He glanced up at his board, “Lots of small ships in the vicinity. Dozens, mostly singleships, all civilian. Couple of tankers and support craft. I’d say we’re the only hendecaspace-capable ship in the system.”

 “That’s good news, anyway.”

 “Got him!” he said. “Dockmaster coming on now.”

 “Who is he?” Marshall said, quietly, turning to Orlova, who was glancing at a datapad.

 “Zaid Karim,” she whispered.

 “Basil, what are you doing back here already?” a voice boomed from the speaker. “I thought you were going to lay over at Hydra and fix that ship of yours.”

 Taking a deep breath, Marshall replied, “This isn’t Basil, I’m afraid. My name is Daniel Trent, and as of a week ago, I’m the owner-operator of this ship.” Most of the crew were going under their own names, the Cabal unlikely to pick up on them, but Marshall’s profile was high enough that Bailey had insisted on providing him with a pseudonym.

 The voice was growing soft, suspicious, “Basil sold up? Why?”

 “All I know is that he was selling a ship, and I had the money to buy it.”

 “And how come I’ve never heard of you before?”

 Orlova looked at him, and Marshall nodded, “Because I’m new to the area. We got ran out of Sol System when the Triplanetary Confederation broke up Cornucopia, and my crew and I managed to make some money selling our ship to the Fleet.”

 “You have proof of this, naturally.”

 “Boss,” Nelyubov said, “three missile tubes just opened.”

 “They’re working on a firing solution,” Spinelli said.

 “Don’t do anything yet,” he said quietly, then pulled the microphone back to his mouth, “I can transmit all the documentation to you right now.”

 “I think you should do just that,” the voice replied.

 Tapping a series of controls on his console, Marshall sent the entire package across to the station. Bailey’s security team had worked for days to get it perfect, taking advice from the Hydra Station security contingent, but if there was one mistake, this party would end right there and now. He glanced up at the standby course plotted into the helm, taking them on a merry chase deep into the system to a distant hendecaspace point.

 Looking at the tactical plot, they would almost certainly get away from the station without any trouble; three missiles would not be a real deterrent, and they could easily swing around and away, but the mission would be over even before it had begun, and it would be a depressing two weeks as they slowly cruised through the system. This was part of the point, though. If their story wasn’t going to hold up, then it would be a lot better to find that out now, rather than waiting until they reached the heart of Cabal territory.

 This was taking too long. The seconds crept around, and Ouroboros slowly drifted in towards the outpost, still on an interception course for docking. It looked remarkably like Spitfire Station, actually – a cluster of modules strapped to a central core, though this one had been set spinning; the Cabal liked their artificial gravity. That, or the tours of duty on this station were longer than the six months recommended for zero-gravity exposure.

 The microphone crackled again, “Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Trent. You can dock at Bay 2; I’ll have refueling facilities standing by. What cargo are you carrying?”

 “Exotic foodstuffs from Hydra Station.”

 In the background, a cheer seemed to sound, and the voice replied, “My crew are eagerly anticipating your arrival; I think I can provide you with a good price for your wares. Come up to my office when you have docked. Is there anything else you need?”

 “A dimensional compensator?”

 A low, lumbering laugh echoed from the loudspeaker, and he replied, “I fear such items are not permitted in our stores. You’ll have to make do with what you have for a little longer. Sinbad out.”

 “It could be a trick,” Nelyubov said. “A lure to draw us into the station.”

 “Well executed if it was,” Orlova replied. “I’d still recommend caution.”

 “That’s a good policy for any situation,” Marshall said as he tapped another button, “Deadeye, Cooper, report to the main airlock on the double. Wear sidearms, and make them obvious.” He gently rose to his feet, uncertain in the variable acceleration. “Take her in, Maggie. I’m going to get dressed. And watch for any trouble.”

 “Want me to go?” Orlova replied as she swung into the command couch.

 “I’ve already given my RSVP. Besides, it would be expected for the Captain to handle the trading negotiations. I’ll be careful.”

 She turned to him, then said, “Keep a channel open on your communicator. If you run into trouble I’ll bring a team in to come get you, and I guarantee that station will never be the same again.”

 “Maggie…”

 “This is what happens when you put her in command,” Nelyubov said. “Goes to her head.”

 “Don’t let him rip you off, sir,” she said, throwing a stare at the helmsman. “We need to get everything we can for that cargo. And…”

 Shaking his head with a smile, Marshall replied, “I’ve looked over the econ-charts. Don’t worry, I think I know what I’m doing. And if it goes wrong, we’ve got a few tin cups knocking around in the mess somewhere.”

 He walked down the corridor, carefully watching his steps, and turned into his cabin. A folding bed with a loose strap dangling by the door, a desk bolted to the floor with a few Cabal datapads velcroed to it, and a holster lying on the floor, the gun half-out of it. Picking it up, he carefully strapped it to his leg underneath his flight jacket, tugging at it until it was easily visible.  He reached down, checking that he could get at it easily; he’d been a big enough Western fan when he was a kid to know that he was hopeless at a quick draw, but looking potentially dangerous was key.

 Caine stood at the doorway, smiling, and said, “Danny the Kid strikes again.”

 “Remember what Price said. This is standard out here. The lawless, wild frontier.”

 “With Cabal surveillance everywhere, most likely.”

 “Which is why we have firearms licenses along with everything else.”

 “Come on,” she said, “Cooper’s down at the airlock.”

 Abruptly, Marshall began to float; Ouroboros was coasting now, drifting into its position by the station. Aside from a trace of thrusters, the acceleration was over for a while. He pushed off down the corridor, making sure to stay close to the floor, and headed for the nearest shaft, Caine behind him. Two decks down a dusty passage, a maze of odd smells and worrying patches of slime, and he dropped out at the primary airlock.

 Cooper was waiting, wearing a carefully-battered jumpsuit that looked a little strange; Marshall made a note to have everyone pick up new-old clothes from the local market. At least his pistol looked convincing, down by his side, and Marshall suspect that he was good at a quick draw.

 “Docking in thirty seconds,” Orlova’s voice reported over the speakers. “Stand by for refueling, stand by at primary airlock.”

 “You’ve rubbed off on her too much,” Caine said. “She sounds too military.”

 “We’ll have to practice our informality a bit.”

 With a loud crash, the freighter slammed against the side of the station, a series of heavy clicks heralding the sealing of the docking latches. They were bolted to Sinbad Outpost now, and effectively trapped; only someone in Station Operations could release them. Of course, they could fire their engines anyway, but that would likely just kill them all. A last resort at best.

The airlock slid open, and a tall, well-built man walked out, wearing a suit at least two sizes too small for him, flanked by a tall, thuggish looking Neander. He didn’t wear a gun, but one look at him suggested that he simply didn’t need to.

 “Trent?” the man said, glancing up at his bodyguard.

 “Call me Danny,” Marshall replied. “You must be Karim.”

 “I am. These are your guards?”

 Nodding, he said, “Caine and Cooper.”

 Karim looked at Cooper, then smirked, “Should change your name to Abel. I could make money putting you two in one of the arenas. People like the odd stuff.” Gesturing to the side, he said, “My people are connecting the fueling hoses; I’ll see that the ship’s account is updated before you leave. I do not extend credit even to people I consider friends, so…”

 “We will pay our debts,” Marshall said. “I don’t like leaving bad feelings behind me. Doesn’t help repeat business, and I’m thinking about setting up a trading route.”

 With a low chuckle, Karim said, “Others than you have tried, but though you can make a little money on those spices, demand isn’t that great.”

 “What about tourism?” Caine said.

 “I’ve been to that dump, shot my beast, and it wasn’t worth the effort. Planets are dirty places, full of odd smells and danger. Sinbad is my world, and I know every inch of it – and what I do not own, I control.” He broke out into a smile, then said, “I know nothing, of course. Perhaps you will find some bloodthirsty epicureans out among the stars who will pay well for the service you are proposing. I would find such traffic valuable, so I will not oppose you.”

 Glancing at Caine, Marshall said, “How long have you been here?”

 “Oh, since my father was born. He built this station, at least, financed it, though I could show you the areas he pulled together with his bare hands. He was a legend, that one. Men such as that appear once per generation.” He slapped his stomach, then said with a barking laugh, “Now, of course, it is my turn!” He gestured up to a hatch, “Let us adjourn to my office, Danny, and break bread together in private. Our attendants can wait below as mutual guarantors to our goodwill.”

 “By all means,” he said, following Karim into the room. His office was a comprehensive mess, every wall festooned with checklists, pin-ups and prints, his desk covered in print-outs, datapads, and the other debris of office life. He slid up into a chair, reached into an alcove and took out a pair of bulbs, containing an amber liquid.

 “You wish to toast our business?” he said. “The nectar of the gods themselves; Whisky from New Caledonia.”

 Marshall accepted the bulb and took a sip; it tasted like engine oil, but he initially put on a good face of it before he finally lost his composure, spitting some back into the bottle.

 “What is this stuff?”

 Karim chuckled, and smiled, “One of our local brews, and not a good one. I am perhaps more inclined to trust you now; I measure a man by his knowledge of good drink. Certainly a smuggler.”

 “I don’t know what you mean.”

 “Of course you don’t,” he said, leaning back with a smile. “Your predecessor and I had an arrangement on these matters; I don’t know what exactly it is you are smuggling, and I care still less, but I will collect my usual cut.”

 Frowning, Marshall replied, “He didn’t tell me anything about that.”

 “Ah, Allah has his jests. No ships come through here unless they are bringing something in from Sol, just the bulk freighters every year or so. I had heard that the situation had deteriorated back there, that Spitfire Station was no longer a place that was open for business. A pity, if so.”

 “What is your cut?”

 “Simple,” he said, folding his hands together. “My crew hunger for their food to taste of something other than paste; for their sake, and for my own, I will take the spices and herbs you have on board, and exchange them for a load of euxenite. It is a reasonable transaction; you will be able to offload that cargo for almost as much money, and it will allow you to proceed undisturbed with your real cargo.”

 “And if I was to tell you that I was carrying nothing other than the spices?”

 His smile beamed still further, “Then I would warn you that among my many duties is that of Customs Inspector, and I would be forced to subject your ship to a very thorough, and prolonged, investigation.”

 “Tell me,” Marshall said. “What if those supply lines could open up again?”

 “I would be eager for such trade, as, I venture, would many in the core systems. There are so many things that we cannot produce ourselves, notably the luxuries of life. Out here,” he said, sighing, “the good things in life are few and far between, I fear. A pity that I was born into this sparse and Spartan existence.”

 “I will not be the only one coming this way.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Karim said, “Is this a not-so-subtle hint that you have backers and supporters? It would be hard for a man to raise such funds without assistance, certainly at such short notice.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “You are interpreting what I am saying; I will not tell you whether you are correct or not.”

 “Certainly not; where would be the fun, the sport, in that. Though you do interest me. I will make an undertaking with you. Half your cargo I will permit you to retain, if there is some reason you wish it, but I will not provide you with euxenite.”

 “All of my cargo.”

 His face beamed, and he said, “Half, and I will not charge you for fuel, spares, or new documents that might actually fool someone. I have known Basil since he was a boy; he would no more sell his ship than I would sell my right arm.”

 Marshall’s face dropped, and he said, “Those documents are not forged.”

 “Of course not. Fortunately, my people are experts at the art of...shall we say, data interpretation. I also have an eager interest in the possibilities of increased trade in this region; you might tell your superiors that.”

 Frowning, Marshall replied, “My superiors?”

 With a deep sigh, Karim said, “I was not born yesterday, Captain. I presume you have a rank of some sort. I have sources of my own, and I know that a Triplanetary ship has been in this region.” He raised a hand, and said, “Your business is no concern of mine; my business is my profit margin, and it would be most lucrative for this station to be on a trade route.”

 “I work for myself, not for any fleet,” Marshall said, but locking eyes with Karim, he knew that he had been found out.

 “Of course you don’t. I was simply speculating. Here,” he said, pushing a datapad to him. “I took the liberty of providing you with full specifications of my facilities, in the event that you – or a friend of yours – chooses to visit the station in the future.”

 “Thank you,” Marshall said, placing the datapad in his pocket. “I know my people will be glad of some shore leave.”

 “You will instruct your crew that deep pockets are the most favored here, but also that they should pay close attention to them. I would have your people give me their money, not see it distributed among the criminal classes. Now, I think we have little more to discuss; you will arrange for the transfer of your cargo, and I will arrange for the return of your documents.”

 Nodding, Marshall dropped back down into the corridor, Caine and Cooper in a stand-off with the guard. He gestured for them to head back to the ship, and they turned back into the airlock. As soon as the door closed, Caine shook her head, sighing.

 “I can’t believe we pulled that off.”

 “Neither do I,” Marshall said. “We didn’t. I just got offered a trading pact.”

 “What?” she said.

 “It seems that the Cabal’s hold on its outposts is not as strong as it would like to think. Go and arrange some shore leave for the crew,” he said, “and be sure to tell them to have deep pockets.”

 He left the two puzzled people behind him, and drifted back up to his cabin, a smile on his face. The smile dropped away, and he shook his head. They’d almost been caught at the first hurdle, at a small pioneer outpost. What chance were they going to have at Denebola?

Chapter 12

 Cooper walked into the unromantically named ‘Commerce Module’ of Sinbad Outpost, underneath a technicolor banner labeled ‘Bazaar’ in about a dozen languages; that seemed a lot more appropriate given the look of the place. The aroma of incense filled the air, and the corridor was swarming with people wearing all manner of costumes and dress, most of them seemingly down on their luck. There were definitely two classes of establishment; one for those who had completed successful prospecting runs, the other for those who had come back with a hold full of granite.

 He felt a hand reaching close to his pocket, and acting on instinct, slapped it away; a yell came from a small boy behind him, who looked ruefully up at him with doleful eyes, hoping that pity could reap the rewards that his dexterity had failed to provide. Cooper glanced down at his shoes, noting that either he came from a wealthy family or he had recently visited a cobbler’s shop with his loose fingers.

 “Plenty of drunks up ahead, lad,” he said. “You’ll find them an easier mark.”

 “Where’s the challenge in that?” the boy replied with a cheeky grin.

 Shaking his head, Cooper walked on down the corridor, past a stand that seemed to be selling old antiques from the early days of spaceflight – no doubt all manner of knowledge about the history of the Cabal was waiting for him in there, but he had neither the training nor the finances to explore them. Of somewhat more interest was a vendor selling burgers; he reached over to the stall, the woman behind it speaking what he thought was Arabic at what seemed to be a hundred syllables a second. Even if he had a translator, he’d never keep up.

 He pointed at a burger, and she nodded, reaching for his credi-card. He shook his head, and slipped it into a proffered slot; all the writing was in Arabic as well, though, and he couldn’t understand a word. She passed him a burger, loaded with cheese and tomato sauce, and he took a bite; it tasted delicious, and he flashed her a thumbs-up as he walked away, enjoying his meal. For all he knew, he’d just spent ten thousand credits on a burger, but it wasn’t his money.

 Wiping his hands on his trousers, he carried on around the concourse, soaking in the atmosphere. A trio of musicians were playing on a stage near the middle, and he lingered for a moment before noting the return of his friend from before, this time reaching into the pocket of one of the crowd. Probably the musicians would claim a cut of his winnings, but they were providing a rather pleasant distraction.

 “Forget the cares of the world,” a soft, feminine voice said from behind him. He turned, keeping a hand close to his wallet, and saw a stunning, dusky woman who was looking him over; her costume was cut to encourage closer examination of her figure, and for a brief second he was almost tempted. Then he spotted Barbara over in the corner, making her way towards him with a bag in her hands, and he shook her head.

 “Some other time,” he replied, walking over to meet her.

 “I see you are enjoying the view,” she said with a smirk.

 Shrugging, he replied, “I can hardly help the effect I have on women, can I?”

 “Showering a little more often might solve that problem.” She waved the bag, gesturing with her hand, “You been to any of the stalls yet?”

 “Just to have a burger. I would never have thought I would miss a carniculture vat.”

 “Are you feeling well?” She said, shaking her head. “I managed to pick up some incense on the cheap.”

 “Won’t that cause problems with the air circulators?”

 “I’m rather hoping it masks their musk. You want a drink?”

 “Music to my ears,” he replied. “Any idea where is good?”

 “That depends whether we are being prosperous or frugal, I think.”

 “The Captain told us to have deep pockets.”

 Gesturing behind her, she said, “I think a few of the others are gathering at the Rusty Rocket back there. I seem to remember a saying about safety in numbers.”

 “The Rusty Rocket?”

 “Hell, I don’t care what it’s called as long as the beer is good. There’s a sign up there saying that they brew it on the premises.”

 “Well, that could be good, or it could be bad, but it’s definitely worth further investigation.”
Arm in arm, they walked through the concourse, each keeping an eye on the other’s wallet. Along they way, they picked up a selection of knick-knacks of various forms, a bottle of aftershave for Cooper, a box of music crystals for Barbara, a bottle of something purple and alcoholic for both of them on the flight to their next port of call.

 Their destination proved to be a rocketpunk bar, decorated with a selection of old mission badges from the 20th century, images of rockets launching from Earth on every wall, a huge model of the first International Space Station hanging from the ceiling. Grogan and Manning waved at them from their table, a group of empty glasses indicating that they had already been here a while.

 “Come on, sit down,” Grogan said. “I’ll get a round in.”

 Cooper looked at Grogan, frowning, and quietly said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to get too drunk out here, Kate.”

 “We’re having a night off, Gabe,” she replied. “Let your hair down a little.”

 Barbara looked at him and shrugged, “If you want to stay sober tonight…”

 “I didn’t say that, exactly.” A waiter came over with four drinks in tall glasses, placing them down in the middle of the table and collecting the empties. She tapped a sequence of buttons on the table, and a hologram flashed up with the menu.

 “Special today is the egg salad; made with real duck eggs. Want something more substantial, the goulash is pretty good. Try the soup at your peril. We don’t do refunds.”

She strutted away, Cooper looking after her in disbelief, “Looks like the manager’s having trouble getting good wait staff.”

 “Real eggs, though,” Manning said, shaking his head. “I haven’t had them since I left Mars.”

 “Come on, there’s got to be something wrong with them,” Barbara replied. “You think a place like this is going to have something that good on the menu?”

 Cooper took a sip of his beer, then a swig, and said, “This is good stuff.”

 “Told you,” Grogan said. “Nothing but the best for this crew; the skipper said we should have deep pockets.”

 Sighing, Barbara shook her head, muttering, “And now the price of everything just doubled.” She took a drink of her beer, and gestured towards a corner, “Looks like we have company.”

 A group wearing purple and green uniforms walked in, a logo on their shoulder. The manager walked over to them, followed by a server carrying a tray of drinks, obviously on the house. Cooper looked them over; all of them looked fairly similar in build – muscular, toned, and fit.

 “Some sort of corporate group,” Barbara said, quietly, and Cooper nodded.

 “Acting like they own the place,” he replied.

 “Maybe they do.”

 One of them pointed towards their table, and a short, heated discussion commenced, not one word of which Cooper could understand. Then, taking reluctant steps, the manager walked over to them.

 “I’m afraid I need to ask you to move to another table. This one has been,” he glanced over to the group, “reserved by Holstein Enterprises.”

 “There wasn’t any sign on the table when we sat down,” Grogan said, stifling a belch. “Why should we move?”

 “The error is mine,” he said. “Notification should have been present. I will provide you with a round of beer on the house to make it up to you.”

 One of the men walked over to the table, looking down at them with a sneer, “They should not be bribed to move, just do as they are told.”

 Manning looked up, his face flashing red, but Cooper shook his head, “Take it easy, Clive. We’ll take the drinks. Any other table do?”

 “No, we’ll take the drinks. Have them delivered to us.”

 Glancing at Cooper, Manning said, “Are we just meant to take this?”

 “Plenty of space in the bar for both of us,” Cooper said. “Come on. Someone help Grogan.”

 “Yes,” the man sneered. “Someone help Grogan. You can leave the pretty one here, though, she can entertain us until the dancers come on.”

 Cooper stood up, looking the man in the face, “We’re moving. All of us.”

 “Maybe she’d like a real man, not one with a metal hand.”

 Since it was fitted, Cooper had wondered what would happen when his new, titanium hand connected with another man’s face. The result was a rather satisfying, bloody mess, and the man collapsed down onto the floor screaming in pain. No doubt the manager would have liked to ask him to leave, but he was too busy diving for cover as his compatriots raced over to avenge his injury; Barbara and Manning rose to stand by his side, Grogan sitting at the table drunkenly cheering them on.

“This can end now,” Barbara said, but one of the women dived towards her, fists flying through the air as they both crashed down onto the floor. Cooper moved to help, but soon had problems of his own; two of them had grabbed onto him, trying to push him down to the ground as well. Manning threw a few ineffective punches at them, but they didn’t even seem to notice as they wrestled Cooper down. With a twist, he managed to get his legs underneath one of them, sending him toppling, smashing into the table; beer, glass and metal flew through the air, Grogan leaping to her feet in rage.

Somehow, Cooper found himself on top of the throng, but when he tried to bend his hand for a second try, he found it would not respond. With a sickening feeling, he lashed out with his legs, managing a kick that connected with an elbow; he found, after listening to a crack, that he could suddenly get to his feet. Barbara was on the ground, wrestling with her opponent; before he could do anything, Grogan had smashed a glass over the crew-cutted figure on the deck, knocking her to one side.

 Glancing up, he saw another group in uniform heading in their direction and yelled, “That’s it for this party, back to the ship!”

 Grabbing at Barbara with his working hand to get her moving, he started to walk out of the bar; the room had emptied at a spectacular rate, drinks and food abandoned in the rush for safety. A crack rang out, and he realized that someone had just decided to escalate. He didn’t waste any time trying to find the culprit, instead, throwing himself to the ground, toppling a table to provide him with cover. With an effort, he tugged his pistol out of its holster, looking around the room from his safe vantage point.

 Grogan was still on her feet, and another crack close to her must have missed by inches; Manning, crawling on the ground, pulled her at the knees to send her to the ground, knocking her cold in the process. That was probably for the best, he mused, as he looked around the room. The gunman had taken a position behind the bar, and was well covered; the surface was some sort of metal, but the side was just plastic. Fairly thin plastic.

 Taking a shot that was as much guesswork as training, he fired through the thin material and was rewarded by a string of curses from behind the bar; he’d managed to shoot somewhere painful, but not fatal. Unfortunately, they were no longer the only ones with weapons in the arena. He saw at least two weapons out, and a crack from nearby told him that either Barbara or Manning was getting involved in the action; he would have bet on the former.

 His guess would have been wrong; he turned to see Cantrell sprinting down the concourse, gun in hand, firing into the bar. He frowned at first, her shoots seemingly wild, but then smiled as he realized she was keeping them pinned down, shooting over their heads to hold them while she got in position to make some better shots. She might be doing something stupid, but she was at least doing it in a clever way.

 “Here comes the cavalry!” she yelled, hurling herself into position next to Cooper. “Heard the fun clear across the room.”

 “So did their friends,” he said, gesturing to the far side of the bar; another three figures were moving into position. One of them moved, and he took another quick shot, a glass shattering and sending its contents flying across the room.

 “You’re slipping,” she said with a smile, lining up another shot. His eyes widened; she was aiming right for the head, and he batted her arm away with a curse.

 “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

 “Trying to get us out of this mess,” she replied.

 “Killing someone isn’t going to help.”

 He heard a hissing noise from overhead, and looked up to see something coming out of the air vents. Obviously security had finally woken up to what was going on, and had decided to intervene; the concourse was full of coughing and spluttering. Pulling his shirt over his face, he took a couple of deep breaths while the air was still breathable, and clambered out of his position to make for the exit.

 He managed nine steps before collapsing to the deck, his last thought that the pickpockets were going to have an absolute field day.

Chapter 13

 “This way,” Karim told Marshall, gesturing him down a corridor marked ‘Detention’. They walked past jeering drunks and sullen inmates, past a group wearing tattered purple-and-green uniforms who kept staring at him, until he reached the final cell, holding five of his people. One of them, Grogan, seemed to be fast asleep on the floor; the others leapt up as he approached, barely able to stop the reflex of standing to attention.

 “Under other circumstances,” Karim said, “I would note and admire the discipline of your crew. As it is, I will leave you to speak to them. Call the guard when you wish to leave.”

 Marshall stood at the entrance to the cell, looking at each of them in turn, then said, “Anyone have anything to say?”

 “I’m responsible, sir,” Cooper said. “I threw the first punch.”

 “Damn it, Gabe,” Manning said, “You were well and truly provoked. That guy wanted a fight, and you gave it to him. He just didn’t realize the odds.”

 “Perhaps he will think again when his facial reconstruction is completed.”

 Cooper looked down at his still-broken hand, then said, “I didn’t realize it would have that much of a kick.”

 “What the hell did you think you were doing, anyway?”

 Caine walked down the corridor, nodding at the guard, and moved to stand behind Marshall, “I’ve spoken to the manager of the bar.” She turned to look at them, “For reference, nineteen thousand credits. And that’s with the bill split between two ships. No doubt he ripped us off, but I wasn’t really in a position to negotiate.”

 “Thanks, Maggie,” Marshall said. “Have you anything to say for yourselves?” He tapped a pocket, and said, “I have taken steps to make sure we can’t be overheard.”

 “You can’t blame Cooper,” Barbara said. “He tried to calm everything down, but Manning’s quite right; he was asking for trouble. We weren’t getting out of there without a brawl.”

 “A brawl is one thing,” Caine said. “Pulling out pistols is another.”

 “I didn’t fire first,” Cooper said. “When they started shooting, I had to defend myself, but I made sure not to shoot to kill – just to put down.”

 “The medical bills are about as substantial as the damages to the bar, but I understand they are claiming off their insurance,” Caine replied, looking up at Marshall, “I think their commander feels the same way about this affair as you do.”

 “Hell,” Barbara said, “I could make an argument that we were only trying to keep cover. It would have looked strange if we’d just slunk away. There’s such a thing as keeping too low a profile.”

 Marshall shook his head, “You will all no doubt be glad to know that the Station Administrator has agreed to release you all into my custody. Over the next couple of weeks you will all be intimately familiar with the rather more disgusting areas of Ouroboros; I’ve arranged for some cleaning equipment to be provided for you all.” He tapped a button, and the door slid open. “All but Cooper, get back to the ship.”

 “Sir,” Barbara began, but he interrupted her.

 “I gave you an order.”

 She looked briefly as though she was going to refuse, but walked out of the room, followed by the others; Manning and Cantrell carried Grogan between them. Cooper stood at almost-attention, looking ahead.

 “Are you going to behave like that when you are next down on a planet?”

 “No, sir. I will be operating either alone or with a partner, not trying to chaperon a group of drunks on shore leave.”

 “You really are sure that your career is over, aren’t you.”

 “How is your hand?” Caine asked.

 “It stopped working after the punch. Hopefully Garland can fix it.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Probably. We’ll make sure we have the spares on board, anyway. Do you think this was a set-up?”

 “I don’t think so,” he replied. “It looked like a group of arrogant blowhards pushing their weight around, and probably wanting to relieve some tension. They got their wish. Are shoot-outs common out here?”

 “Common enough that every part of the station has tranq canisters fitted, triggered by gunshots that don’t come from a registered weapon,” Caine said. “Good bit of design.”

 “In that case, I stand by what I said.”

 “I’ve looked at the footage, and it corroborates your story. Had you not been provoked, I’d probably have just left you here to pick up on the way back, but ultimately, no harm has been done. Nevertheless, I will put a citation on your record, if that means anything to you.”

 “It does, sir,” he replied, looking at the ground. “I won’t let you down again.”

 “I’ve canceled all leave, anyway, so this won’t recur. Once you’ve got your hand fixed, you can report for cleaning duties.”

 “One thing, sir. Cantrell.”

 Marshall glanced at Caine, then said, “What about her?”

 “She came to help her crew out, sir. Wasn’t involved in the fracas. I don’t think you should say anything to her, but I rate it as a good sign.”

 “Noted. Now head on up to medical and get that hand sorted out.”

 He nodded, managing to resist the urge to salute, and walked past the two of them, half-jogging to catch up to the others. Marshall glanced after him, then turned to Caine.

 “His heart’s in the right place.”

 “You had to do something official, though.”

 “Hell, we’ve both done worse on leave.”

 “We didn’t get caught, though.”

 Looking around, he said, “They obviously have a lot of business here.”

 “Typical belter outpost. I could show you ones that look just that same at Proxima and Sirius.”

 “The difference being that we are more than thirty light years from home. Feels strange that being out here is…”

 “You were expecting strange alien cities, mysterious lost worlds?”

 “Not having to get my people out of hock for bar brawls.”

 “Cooper has a hell of a lot of tension to work out of his system. It might be no bad thing for him to do it now, rather than when it might get us into real trouble.”

 “Maybe,” he said, shaking his head. “We might as well have a walk around the station ourselves. There’s an observation deck a few levels up.”

 “Don’t fancy going to the bazaar, then,” she said, smiling.

 “I think I might give that a miss for a while.”

 The two of them walked out of the corridor, and were about to step into an elevator when Karim appeared, moving between them and the door.

 “Yours was not the only crew represented here last night,” he said. “It happens, out here.”

 “Nevertheless, I apologize, once again.”

 “Hassim has enough money to repair his bar, the idiot who decided to challenge a man with a titanium fist will have a scar that will attract the ladies for the rest of his life, and certain elements of your ship will be cleaner than they have been in many years, I suspect. Where is the harm?” He grinned, then said, “We are used to people playing hard. As long as they pay for the damages, it is well.”

 “Discipline…”

 “Is for ships plying the stars. Not men and women sitting in bars.”

 Caine looked over at Marshall, then said, “This is about you canceling shore leave.”

 “It really isn’t necessary,” Karim added. “I am not displeased with your crew.”

 “I am,” Marshall said, “and I fear it is necessary. In any event, we will be leaving in a couple of days.”

 “Schedules are the enemy of pleasure. I caution you to savor life while you can.”

 “You never give up, do you?”

 “Being an honest merchant, I would never get anywhere if I was not persistent.”

 “Perhaps next time.”

 “Could I at least offer the two of you refreshments? I happened to overhear that you were making your way up to the Observation Deck. The twin planets are crossing our little red star at present; it is a beautiful sight.”

 Looking down at his watch, he replied, “That would be very good of you.”

 “I will have them waiting for you.”

 They stepped into the elevator, while Karim started barking into a communicator behind them. It took only a few moments to rise to the top of the module, and the two of them stepped out into a spectacular hemispheric dome, starlight shining through in a million directions. Behind them, the twin planet the station was orbiting – which once was one, before some unknowable catastrophe had shattered into two tumbling halves – was passing in front of the red dwarf primary, dimmed through its thin atmosphere.

 Waiting for them on the table was a silver platter, loaded with vegetables, hard-boiled eggs and pate; Marshall looked down at it, then up at Caine, who shrugged. He reached down for a piece of lettuce, and smiled at the crunch it made in his mouth.

 “This is real.”

 “We’re being spoiled, Danny.”

 “And eggs, as well. I don’t think they’ve been fabricated.”

 “Only one way to find out,” Caine said, reaching down. Marshall looked at the underside of the platter, and noticed a trio of almost-imperceptible bulges underneath. With a smile, he looked up at Caine, and winked.

 “I think now we can discuss our plans. After all, we’re alone up here.”

 “Yes,” she said, kneeling down opposite him as he pulled a stylus from his pocket.

Lowering his voice, he said, “The most important thing…”, before slapping the hidden microphones with his stylus as loud as he could. Caine did likewise, and they knew that somewhere, a straining operator was going to be reaching for the aspirin.

 “Thanks for the food,” Marshall said to the air, “but I don’t think you will find our conversation particularly interesting.”

 “A pity,” Karim’s voice said, echoing through the chamber. “I give up my lunch for nothing?”

 “You’re welcome to join us,” Caine said.

 “Alas, a commander’s work is never done. Enjoy the food, and the view, and if you are inspired to yield some of your secrets, feel free.”

 “We’re far too boring for that,” Marshall said, “but the sentiment is appreciated.”

 Caine wandered over to one of the walls, taking periodic bites from the egg, “That’s Sol, isn’t it.”

 “That it is,” Marshall replied. “So damn small, isn’t it.”

 “Just another star, lost among millions.”

 “What about Hydra Station?”

 The wall glowed over in a far corner, evidently it was programmed to respond to voice commands. He squinted at a dim point of light, and shook his head. His ship was back there, and more than a hundred of his crew. For the first time he really regretted leading this mission himself, though he knew that if he hadn’t, he would almost certainly be back there right now, sitting in his office, regretting not having led the mission.

 “Even smaller,” Caine said. “I think the wall must be using magnification to show it at all.”

 He turned to her, then saw a blue flash up above, and his face grew pale, “Deadeye, is that what I think it is?”

 Turning, she saw the light fade, and a small dot appear, slowly moving towards the station. “We’re both thinking the same thing. Dammit.”

 Reaching for his communicator, Marshall said, “Ouroboros, this is the Captain.”

 “Race here. We just…”

 “We saw it too. Civilian or military?”

 “Identification says both. Military supply auxiliary.”

 “We’re on our way back. Stand by to get the ship buttoned up, and make sure all our supplies are on board.”

 “I can guess where they are going,” Caine said as she made her way to the elevator.

 “So can I. Fleet spares and repairs.”

 They stepped inside, and tapped for the docking ring. It waited a moment, as if reluctant to obey their orders, then started to race through the levels, heading back for their adoptive ship. Suddenly, this station felt like a dangerous place to be, and even the comparative safety of Ouroboros would be welcome.

Chapter 14

 Orlova leaned over the sensor console, watching the unidentified ship cruise towards the station; behind her, Race was frantically programming a new hendecaspace course into the computers, his fingers rattling across the keys. Spinelli looked up at her, shaking his head,

 “Heading right for us. I’ve identified it as a military supply tender, Arak-class. From the way she’s accelerating, I’d say she’s running empty at the moment.”

 “Any clue as to where she has been?”

 “No signs of battle damage, she looks brand new.” He shook his head again, then said, “Your guess is as good as mine. We didn’t see any tenders of this type during the battle, but they’ve had enough time for someone to get there and back. We’re still only one jump away here.”

 She turned to ask Race a question, but saw him snapping a stylus in two; she decided to reach over to the auxiliary station and get the answers for herself. Ouroboros was fully fueled now, at least, and the inventory records showed that most of the components they needed were back on board. Only four members of the crew were on the station – but that including Caine and the Captain.

 “Spinelli, get us launch clearance from Station Operations. For, say, ten minutes.”

 “Shouldn’t we wait until the Captain gets back?”

 “Having it doesn’t mean we can’t change our minds, does it?”

 “No, ma’am,” he said, turning to his station.

 “Once you’ve got it, I want to speak to that ship.”

 Nelyubov drifted into the bridge; his eyes widened, and he said, “You’ve got to be crazy.”

 “Right now we’re operating in a vacuum. We need to know where that ship has come from, and if they’ve managed to identify us. We haven’t got the equipment or the people to run a proper hack, so the only thing I can think of is to ask them.”

 “And if they decide that we are the bad guys, and to try and swat us?”

 “Two missile tubes is all they have,” Spinelli said, “and no sign from my board that they are preparing to fire them.”

 “They’d wait to close the range before they played their hand, Maggie.”

 “We have launch clearance,” Spinelli added. “Do you still want that ship?”

 “Get its Captain on the communicators now. Voice only unless they insist.”

 “Aye, ma’am,” he replied, and Orlova braced herself for the impending conversation. She reached down to a liquid bulb underneath her chair and took a quick sip of water, clearing her mouth, then pulled up a microphone.

 “This is Margaret Hooke,” she began – like the Captain, she’d decided a fake name was best, “First Mate of the Ouroboros. Thought I’d check in and welcome you to the system.”

 A stern voice replied, “This is the Hermann Balck. While your greeting is welcome, it is not necessary. We instruct you to clear your docking port at once.”

 “Balck, there are several other docking ports…”

 With a sneer, he said, “And you have the priority one, which is the one we need. You’ve been given clearance to take off, anyway, so leave.”

 Race turned from his station, saying, “We can leave the system. We’re cutting it a little tight, but it’s only a short jump to the next star on our list. Course is laid in.”

 “Message from Airlock Two; Marshall is now on board, and heading up here.”

 “Very well, Balck,” she said. “We are departing now. I hope you enjoy the docking port as much as we did.” Snapping off the channel, she said, “Race, clear the station and proceed to the hendecaspace point, best acceleration. Spinelli, I want you to watch that ship like a hawk. If it so much as twitches, I want to know about it.”

 “Maggie,” Race said, “You realize that our course will take us well within firing range of the Balck.”
 “I do,” she replied. “If we make an effort to stay out of its way it will be so obvious that the dimmest tactical officer would have to notice. Just hang tight.” With a jerk, the ship detached from the station, dropping down and away, and the engines flicked on, the acceleration pushing her back into her seat. “Frank, get the countermeasures running.”

 “Right,” he replied, tapping controls. All he got for his troubles was a frown, and he said, “They aren’t working.”

 “Not working?” she said. “What’s wrong with them?”

 “I don’t know. I can’t get a feed through to the exterior antenna. Spinelli, am I doing something wrong?”

 The technician started to run a series of quick checks, then replied, “If you are, then I am too.”

 “I’m going down to the communications suite,” Orlova said. “Frank, you have the conn until the Captain gets up here.”

 “Any orders?”

 “Cross your fingers and try and look innocent. And don’t talk to any strange tender captains.”

 “Got it,” he replied, as he struggled up to his feet, taking labored steps over to the command couch before sliding in. Orlova grimaced as she walked over to the elevator, the sudden return to gravity weighing her down. Pausing at the weapons locker, she pulled down a pistol and slid it into her holster.

 “Traditionally I think engineers use a toolkit,” Nelyubov said.

 “Just being careful. Get Weitzman down there, and tell him to make sure he is armed as well.”

 She stepped into the elevator, tapping a button and holding carefully onto the rail. The car slid down the decks, then back to the rear of the ship; this ship might be smaller than Alamo, but at a gravity and a half she didn’t really want to have to walk. The doors slid open, and she cautiously stepped out into the corridor, Weitzman apparently already waiting for her, standing opposite the doors to the communications suite.

 “What are you waiting for, Otto?” she said, walking forward, only to find out as she reached the door. Durman was standing at the console, one hand working the controls, the other with a plasma pistol pointing at the communications technician.

 “What the hell? You decide to turn us in now?” she said.

 “I’m just doing what I have to do, Maggie,” he replied. “Stay still, or I’ll have to use this.”

 “Fire that, and you’ll take out the hull. We’ll all die.”

 “Your choice, right now. Not mine.”

 A voice echoed down over the ceiling speakers, and Orlova took advantage of that to throw herself out of the way, pushing Weitzman in the other direction. She managed to get out of range, but Weitzman stumbled on the floor, still just in the line of fire.

 “Don’t move, Spaceman. I haven’t got a choice on this, and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

 “Dammit,” Orlova said, “with a gun like that, you don’t need a hostage.”

 “I know what I need better than you.”

 Pulling out her communicator, she said, “Orlova here. Get me the Captain.”

 “Way ahead of you, Maggie,” Marshall’s voice replied. “What’s happening?

 “Durman’s gone rogue, he’s taken over the communications suite.”

 “Spinelli breaking in. He hasn’t sent any messages, yet. I can realign the antenna so that isn’t an option.”

 “Why has he taken the communications suite, then? He must know we'd disable his external feeds,” Orlova said.

 “It doesn’t matter. We’ve got to get him out of there.”

 “He’s got a plasma pistol, and Weitzman as a hostage. It isn’t going to be that easy.”

 “What about the airlock access?” Nelyubov said.

 “No, we’d have to stop accelerating. Our new friends in-system would suddenly develop an interest in us, and the game could be up.”

 “If he’s sending signals to someone, the game is up anyway.”

 “He still isn’t though. And I’ve got countermeasures back on-line,” Spinelli said. “All running as they should.”

 “Get Cooper and, ah, Cantrell to the elevator access point. I’ve got an idea,” she said, walking away down the corridor. As she turned a corner, Weitzman flashed her a desperate look, and she tossed him a quick wink in reply; she wasn’t going to abandon him. Walking over to the wall, she pulled upon the deck maintenance locker, and started to work her way down the rack of tools.

 The door opened, and Cantrell bounded out first, gun in hand, “What’s going on?”

 “We’re going up into the air shafts.”

 “What good will that do? He’ll have the room isolated by now.”

 Tugging out a diamond drill, she said, “That just means I’m going to have to make a new hole, doesn’t it. Cantrell, go to the life support station on this deck, and start lowering the pressure in the communications suite.”

 “It won’t do anything,” she said.

 “Not yet, but once the system registers that it has access to that area again, it should go into overdrive. I don’t want him killed, just sleepy.” Tugging out a respirator, she tucked it under her arm. “Cooper, head down to the corridor and keep an eye on Weitzman. When I give the word, I want you to create a diversion. Make sure it is noisy.”

 “A plasma pistol firing is pretty loud,” he said. “I presume that isn’t what you want.”

 “Got it in one, Corporal,” she said, reaching up to the ceiling hatch, grunting as she climbed up the hand-holds on the side of the corridor, pulling the control and, with an effort, sliding into the overhead space. She pulled herself down the shaft, carefully negotiating the corner, glancing up at the wall for directions; the network was a maze in this region, that looked more as if it was grown rather than built. Reaching forward, she almost toppled down as her hand found nothing, and looked down into a deep shaft, running all the way to the bottom of the ship.

 Pausing to take a quick breath, she inched her way cautiously around the hole, glancing down at her watch. Turnover in two minutes, and if she remembered the course plot right, they’d be in optimum firing range any second. There was still a long way to go, and she continued to drag herself forward in the gloom, only the occasional ceiling light to illuminate the passage.

 A warning siren sounded, and she braced herself; the acceleration ceased, and she started to float. This was an opportunity she wasn’t going to waste. In ten seconds she could get further than she would with five minutes of crawling, and she pushed off down the sides of the shaft, racing as fast as she could, swinging from hand-holds and pushing off from every protuberance on the wall. All too soon, Ouroboros began to decelerate, and she slid to the ground with a crack, knocking the wind from her body.

 Now, at last, the junction she was looking for was ahead. Dropping into position, she pulled the drill from her pocket, braced it into position, and started to cut her way through the hull. This ship had been rather over-engineered in a few places; reading between the line, its Captain had been concerned that someone might try a takeover, and the communications suite and bridge were both sealed, able to be cut off from the rest of the ship. They’d been fortunate not to have as much of a fight when they boarded, though Bailey’s technicians had been able to open a few doors for them.

 The drill whirred, and she carefully watched as it bored its way into the hatch. They still had ten minutes before they were going to jump, and she should be into the room in eight. Her communicator chirped, and she jumped for a second, the drill briefly slipping out of its groove before she replaced it.

 “Orlova here.”

 “Cantrell here. I’ve got the air systems working.”

 “That took a while.”

 “He must have realized we’d try it. I had to hack into the system.”

 Her face flushed red, “Could he have known you did it?”

 “I don’t think so. No sign of data transfer, anyway.”

 She frowned, then said, “Go and join Cooper. Orlova out.” It might not matter whether or not Durman realized what they were doing. Trying to tamper with the life support systems was an obvious trick, and they wouldn’t necessarily know that it wouldn’t work. Suddenly, she felt very exposed up there; one shot of the plasma pistol, and she’d never know what happened.

 Her wrist began to ache as the drill continued its ever-slow progress through the hatch, a small pile of dust growing as it finally began to make headway. The minutes seemed to be racing past, but finally, she realized that she was close to her goal. Pausing for a second, she pulled out her communicator.

 “Cooper, time for the diversion. I’ll be through in a few seconds.”

 “Right,” he replied. Through the hull, she had no idea what he was going to do, or whether it would be effective; she just had to trust him. The drill bit dived into the hull, and finally, with a crack, broke through. Tugging the drill free, she braced herself for Durman’s response, then felt a strong breeze pulling at her, the life support system following it instructions. She waited for what seemed like an eternity, before the hatch beneath her slid open, Cooper standing underneath her, Cantrell tying Durman up in a corner with a convenient cable.

 Tumbling down into the room, she raced over to the communications console, slamming switches to disable everything he had done. Over in a corner, Cantrell was restoring the pressure – just as well, as she was gasping for breath despite the fresh air coming in from the corridor – and Weitzman was briefing the bridge. It seemed darker in the room than normal; she glanced up to see that one of the light fittings had been shot away.

 “Your diversion?”

 Cooper smiled, then said, “Seemed like a good idea at the time. What did he do?”

 “I don’t know. I’ve closed off the communications channels he opened, but I can’t work out what he was doing with them. There’s no record of any communications with the other ship.” Pulling out her communicator, she tapped for the bridge. “Orlova here. Any change in target aspect?”

 “Negative, Maggie,” Marshall replied. “They’ll be docking at the station in a minute.”

 “This makes no sense,” she said. “What was so important to him?”

 “Hey,” Cantrell said, glancing at a console, “He’s tied in all the gravitic sensors to this console.”

 “The gravitic sensors?” she said, frowning, walking over to it. Her eyes widened, and she reached for her communicator again, the channel still open to the bridge.

 “Mr. Race, you have the call,” she heard Marshall say.

 “Belay that!” she yelled, but an instant too late; she felt the brief disorientation as the ship transition into hendecaspace, and gave a deep sigh.

 “Maggie, what’s wrong?” Marshall said.

 Glancing over at the console, she replied, “There’s only one thing Sleeping Beauty could have been doing. He’s plotted a new hendecaspace course.”

 “Are you sure?”

 She walked back to the console, and started going back over the logs again, “He routed it through half a dozen auxiliary systems, but that’s what he was doing. He must have just finished when I captured him.”

 “So what you are trying to tell me is that…”

 “That we aren’t going where we planned to go, and that only an unconscious traitor knows what is waiting for us at the other end.”

Chapter 15

 “Any luck working out where we’re going?” Caine said to Marshall as they walked down the corridor.

 “Right system, wrong hendecaspace point. The problem is that we don’t know which one. Apparently there are half a dozen egress points close together, some sort of crazy cluster of plutoids out in the system’s Oort cloud.”

 “So until we make the transition…”

 “We won’t know which one. It’s strange,” he said, shaking his head. “It isn’t even as if there is anything in the system to write home about. According to the logs, there are no permanent settlements, no outposts, just an unmanned relay station.”

 “Which means it must be a trap.”

 “A very well sprung one,” Marshall said, drifting around a corner. “Whoever set it couldn’t have known we’d head this way.”

 “Then Durman was just...no, that doesn’t make any sense either. He’s had far better opportunities to betray us, and he passed up every one of them. That he would choose now just seems illogical.”

 “I agree,” he replied, “but the fact remains that he held two of my crew at gunpoint, and hacked into the astrogation computer. I want to know why.”

 The two of them turned another corner, and saw Cooper standing at parade rest by a sealed door, a pistol at his belt. Marshall drifted to a stop opposite the door, peered in through the hastily installed viewport, and turned back to the guard.

 “Has he said anything?”

 “Not a thing. He ate the ration pack I tossed in there an hour ago, but didn’t say or do a word. Held well back from the door when I opened it.”

 “And he hasn’t had any visitors?”

 “No-one. I searched him, and he didn’t have anything other than his plasma pistol on him. All his other possessions were in his cabin; Weitzman and Cantrell packed them all up and put them in an airlock.”

 “Good,” Marshall replied. “Now open the door. I want to talk to him.”

 “You aren’t armed,” Cooper said, pulling out his pistol and offering it to him, butt first. “You should have a weapon, skipper.”

 He shook his head, replying, “If he decides to try anything, you’ll stop him quickly enough, and I think I can probably match him in a brawl long enough for you to come in and rescue me. Open the door.”

 “Yes, sir,” he said, tapping a nine-digit sequence into a keypad; the door slowly swung open, and Marshall drifted in, moving over to the opposite corner from Durman. He looked up as Marshall entered the room, and gave a curt nod.

 “Captain. I was expecting you sooner.”

 “If you wanted to meet me so badly, you should have made an appointment.”

 “Could you pass my apologies to Weitzman and Orlova? I had intended not to take hostages, but when they arrived, my plans had to be altered in a hurry.”

 “I don’t think the inconvenience you put them too is what you will need to seek their forgiveness for. Sabotaging the ship and sending us into the hands of the enemy is a rather more serious affair.”

 “I apologize for what I did, if it helps, but I cannot go into any details now.”

 “Why not?” Marshall replied, leaning down. “We’re in hendecaspace now, unable to contact anyone until we emerge.”

 “Frankly, Captain, I don’t trust you. It isn’t a matter of personal choice, simply a reality of the current situation. I can’t afford to take any risks.”

 “What are you afraid of?” Caine said.

 With a smile, Durman said, “I can’t tell you that, either. No doubt you will seek means of compelling me to talk; I’ve been given training to resist such techniques.”

 “We don’t do that in this Fleet,” Marshall said.

 “Interesting if true, but I have only your word for any of this.”

 Gesturing outside, he closed the door and looked at Caine, “Training to resist interrogation?”
 “That rules out the usual hypnosis, probably.”

 “Not what I meant,” Marshall said, looking at the door again, “That means that he’s just admitted that he is a Cabal agent. Why else would he have had such training; I can’t imagine that it is standard for colonial administrators.”

 A slender figure walked up the corridor; Ixia, a repair kit in hand. She looked at Durman in the cell for a long time, shook her head, and then turned to the Captain.

 “He isn’t a bad man, Captain,” she said. “I worked in some labor gangs on the surface on occasion, and he never imposed corporal punishment, always made sure we were fed and rested.”

 “A kind overseer, then,” Cooper said with a sneer. “Still the master to your slave, though.”

 “What other option had he? It was not in his power to free us, but he could help keep us alive.”

 “That doesn’t sound like much,” Marshall said.

 “Back then, it was,” she replied. “When you don’t have any control over your own destiny, you take any crumb of consolation you can get.”

 She turned away down the corridor, heading to complete whatever task she was working on, and Caine looked across at Marshall, shaking her head.

 “We put her up before a Senate Committee talking like that, and the Cabal will be getting an ultimatum by the end of the day.”

 “I’m afraid you’re right,” she replied.

 “I know what you mean,” he said. “Another war, and we’re not ready for it. Even if we hadn’t just used up about five battles’ worth of dirty tricks, we’d still be struggling. In a few years, when we get the new ships on-line…”

 “You don’t think it will take that long, do you?”

 “That’s what all of this is about. I keep thinking that we’re taking greater and greater risks, and then I realize just what the stakes are.”

 “I think it might be time to think about cashing in, Danny,” she said.

 “Go back?” Cooper, who had been silent through the exchange, shouted. “We’re not going back, we can’t go back. We set out to rescue the prisoners and we’re damn well going to do it.”

 “I feel the same way you do,” Marshall said, “but all along, we knew a point might come when we would have to abort the mission. I hate the idea, but we might be reaching that point.”

 “We don’t know what’s waiting for us out there,” Cooper said.

 “I’m not particularly optimistic of a friendly reception, though.”

 “Then let’s do something about it, sir. Get the ship ready for battle.”

 Caine shook her head, “We’ve looked into that, but in hendecaspace, there isn’t that much we can do. To fit any sort of a defensive system, we need access to the exterior of the ship.”

 “Besides, we’d have no choice but to turn back if we did that. Anything we did would make our modifications too obvious. This isn’t a Q-Ship; we couldn’t go toe-to-toe with a cruiser, or anything with any significant argument. Running away is about the only tactic we’ve got.”

Turning to the door, he said, “Let me have a word with Durman. I’ll find out where we’re going.”
 “You’ll stay clear of him, Cooper, and that’s an order. That sort of interrogation never works, and even if it did, we might as well sign up to the Cabal right there and then.”

 He took a deep breath, then said, “I just...don’t like being helpless, sir.”

 “Helpless we aren’t. How’s that training going?”

 “Slowly and painfully, with a few exceptions.”

 Glancing across at Caine, he said, “Pick your best three and concentrate on them. I’ll clear them of other duties – and the punishment cleaning is canceled as of now. Get me a team I can use to fight off a boarding action.”

 “With pleasure, sir.”

 “Now open the door again.”

 The door slid open, and Marshall drifted in, looking down at Durman on the floor, “Have you changed your mind?”

 “No, I still don’t have anything to say. Except that I am not a traitor, not to you, anyway.”

 “What does that mean?” Caine said.

 “It means exactly what I said.”

 She looked at Marshall again, and shook her head. He said, “If you change your mind and decide to talk, tell the guard, and I will come right down. Other than that you will have no visitors, and can consider yourself in solitary confinement.”

 “Can I have something to read?”

 “I don’t trust you with a datapad, and we don’t have any printed material on board. Nor am I inclined to waste the ship’s resources on you. I suggest you occupy your time with thinking, and this other consideration. We haven’t got the time to keep you prisoner indefinitely. My intention is to drop you off at the next Cabal port, along with a full account of your activities to date.”

 His eyes bolted open, and he said, “You can’t do that?”

 “Technically, I believe all I am doing is extraditing a wanted criminal to a foreign power, albeit in a slightly unorthodox way. If I can’t trust you, then I need you off this ship, Mr. Durman, and the sooner the better.”

 Pushing out of the cell, he slammed the control, and the door glided shut on a now alarmed prisoner. Caine flashed him an accusing glare, and he shrugged.

 “What else do you want me to do, leave him in there to rot? Besides, if he is working for the Cabal, he ought to welcome repatriation. Head back for a heroes’ welcome.”

 “He panicked, Danny. There’s more going on than we know about.”

 “Factional infighting, perhaps. Worried that the wrong group might get hold of him.” He turned to Cooper, then said, “Was there anything in his possessions that might give us at least some sort of lead?”

 “Nothing. Most of it was drawn from Alamo stores; he left all of his things back on Driftwind,” Caine said. “As for the rest, clothes – which we analyzed as best we could, finding nothing, and a datacrystal.” Forestalling Marshall’s question, she continued, “Which contained music even you would find offensive. We don’t have the cryptographic systems here we do on Alamo, but there isn’t anything obvious there.”

 “Besides, if they had a message of some sort, wouldn’t he have sent it to the ship when he had a chance? There wasn’t anything we could have done to stop him,” Cooper said.

 “We’re not going to have the answer to any of these questions for another two days,” Marshall said, looking from one to the other. “Cooper, get that team of yours ready. I’m going to start a series of simulated battle drills.”

 “Battle drills? What with?”

 “We still have damage control and electronic warfare to deal with. Deadeye, you take a lead on that one. I want surprise drills, and I want each watch to have at least one. Don’t tell me when they are.”

 “I’ll make sure to schedule then when you are least expecting.”

 “See that you do,” he turned back to Durman, shaking his head, “I just want answers, but I’m worried how much they are going to cost.”

 “At least we’re heading to the right system,” Cooper said.

 “And to an Oort cloud, as well. No-one’s ever visited an extrasolar Oort cloud before.”

 “No-one that we know of, Deadeye. I have the distinct impression that the Cabal have been fairly frequent visitors.”

 Cantrell walked down the corridor, a surprisingly earnest look on her face, “Has the bastard talked yet?”

 “Not a word,” Cooper said.

 “Skipper, that music crystal we found on him?”

 “What about it?” Marshall said. “Do you have a lead on what it might be?”

 “Huh? Oh, no, I was wondering if you’d mind if I made a copy of it.”

 “A copy of it?” Caine said, shaking her head. “All of this going on, and you’re worrying about expanding your music collection?”

 “I liked it,” she said with an irreverent shrug.

 “What the hell,” Marshall replied. “Go ahead.”

 “Thanks, skipper!” she said, turning and walking away.

 “When I get back,” Marshall said, “I’m going to find out who passed her through basic training, and we’re going to have a long conversation.”

 “I think I’ll join you, Danny. Might be a few others wanting in on that interview.”

 Cooper frowned, then said, “I don’t know, sir.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “She’s been good under fire, twice. Very good for a rookie.”

 Turning to him, Marshall said, “You’re putting her on your team?”

 “As a matter of fact, yes. Unless you order me not to.”

 “Your team, your choice. I think you’re crazy, though.” With a smile, he said, “But then, who am I to talk.”

Chapter 16

 Orlova lay in the pilot’s couch, tensed up, her hands poised over the controls, ready for action. They were less than a minute from emergence, and still had little idea where they were going to end up. According to the records, this was an empty, uninhabited system, but Durman would not have thrown his freedom away for nothing. Everyone was waiting for a trap.

 Down at the main airlock, Cooper was waiting with his improvised tactical team, and Race was riding shotgun in astrogation, preparing to compute a new course to get them out of the system. Everyone was quiet, waiting; she tried to ignore Marshall looking over her shoulder, focusing on her duties.

 “Thirty seconds,” she said, unnecessarily; all eyes were on the countdown clock in any case.

 Gritting her teeth, she started to set up a course change to get them some acceleration, but with so little information about where they were going to end up, she didn’t dare lock anything into the system. That would be an easy way to take them into worse danger, whether human or natural.

The unpleasant thought struck her mind that she might have stumbled upon the point of the exercise. There were egress points that were unusable, too filled with debris to risk emergence. They were at points of gravitational stability, and had a tendency to attract floating space junk. During the early days of space travel, it had happened all the time during deep-space surveys, before the development of the mass detectors.

 Of course, those were only fitted to ships that expected to be exploring new areas. Alamo had them, but they were too expensive to fit to civilian transports. Either that, or the Cabal had never developed the technology. Whatever the reason, they were flying blind, and Orlova prepared to take evasive action, just in case there was a tumbling rock ahead of them with their name on it.

 “Emergence!” she said, and the universe returned to the screen. She looked down at her scanner, and there was a lot of rubble in the area, but none of it on a collision course with the ship. While the computer struggled to calculate trajectories for the thousands of fragments within range, she let Ouroboros coast, slowly drifting forward with the scant momentum provided by the emergence.

 “Anything on the sensors?” Marshall asked Weitzman.

 “Nothing, sir. No sign of life at all. Just the signal from the automated beacon in the inner system; we expected that. They’ll be recording our presence in about three hours.”

 “Three hours,” he replied, shaking his head. “We really are out in the dark, aren’t we.”

 “Nearest large body is a big chunk of ice, maybe two thousand miles across. Some atmosphere in its surface, outgassing at a guess. Five moons, no less. No sign of life on any of them at first glance, no activity in the electromagnetic spectrum at all.”

 “I don’t understand,” Orlova said. “I was expecting something. A Cabal fleet, debris field...Weitzman, are you sure that the sensors haven’t been tampered with?”

 “I’ve run the checks three times, and the distant universe is exactly as it should be. Besides, you only have to look out of the window to see that it matches the scanners. It’s cold out here.”

 “I suggest we get Durman up here,” Orlova said, turning to Marshall. “Perhaps now that we are here, he might be in a better mood to talk.”

 “Can’t see what we have to lose,” Marshall agreed, and he tapped a control next to his chair. “Cooper, have one of your team escort Mr. Durman to the bridge.”

 “There’s another possibility,” Caine said from the auxiliary station. “Maybe the trap hasn’t been sprung yet. There could be a Cabal task force on the way right now. We’re stuck here for at least six days, after rushing things back at Sinbad.”

 “Unlikely,” he replied. “He’s had no chance to co-ordinate anything, and he couldn’t have known that we were coming this way. We didn’t know until a few days before we left, remember. How could he have arranged for an intercept?”

 Orlova frowned, then said, “He might not have had to. There could be a regular patrol. It wouldn’t take much of a ship to bring us down.” She started to play with her controls, “Shall I set in a course out of here? There are three other egress points that we can reach in the time.”

 “No,” Marshall said. “We came here for a reason, and I want to find out what that reason might be. There’s a mystery here, and we’ve got to solve it. And if we don’t,” he paused, then said, “then we’re going back to Alamo.”

 The doors slid open, and Cantrell ushered Durman in at a gunpoint before taking a position by the door. Her eyes never left the traitor, and her gun never wavered from its aim; she braced herself by the wall, so that the recoil wouldn’t send her spinning.

 “Here he is, sir.”

 “I would have come if you had asked, Captain,” Durman said, rubbing his arm. “I didn’t have to be manhandled.”

 “Let’s cut out the fun and games. Neither of us have time to play them at the moment. Why have you brought us here? There’s nothing, just some tumbling balls of ice.”

 “Nothing?” he said, shaking his head. “I certainly hope not. Mr. Weitzman, if you set your channel to transmit on the hydrogen band, and send the signal code-name Chameleon, you might find something very interesting happens.”

 Weitzman turned to Marshall, “Should I do it, skipper?”

 “It could be a trap,” Caine said, “but it’s a pretty poor one if they are counting on us to trigger it.”

 “If it works,” Orlova replied, “then it doesn’t matter how clumsy it was.”

 “Then you think we shouldn’t?” Caine said, raising an eyebrow.

 “No, I think we should. While keeping our eyes open for any risks.”

 “Mr. Weitzman,” Marshall said, “Go ahead and send the signal. I want sensors on full, and Maggie, let’s get an evasive course instituted at once. Countermeasures to full, and isolate the communications system from the rest of the network in case some decides to have some fun.”

 “Sending now,” Weitzman said after a brief pause. Almost instantly, something happened; a bright spot of red light appeared on the surface of the rock, a laser beam flashing around as it sought to connect with Ouroboros.

 “Low power,” Caine said. “A comm laser.”

 “Shall I let them connect?” Orlova asked.

 “Cease maneuvering,” he replied.

 Within a few seconds, the beam operator managed to follow Ouroboros’ new course track, and hooked into their reception antenna. Weitzman, turned, surprise on his face.

 “I have someone for Mr. Durman.”

 Nodding, Durman said, “Good, I was expecting this. Could you put them on?”

 “Sir?”

 “In for a centicred, Spaceman,” Marshall replied. “Go ahead.”

 An image appeared on the screen, a brown-skinned man with long, flowing hair, wearing an urban camouflage jacket. The background was digitally altered, a blur of pixels – they were obviously keeping their communications room secret, but had no problem showing them that. Durman drifted into the pickup, and smiled.

 “Hello, Ram. It’s been too long.”

 “Have you been mistreated?” he said with a clipped English accent.

 “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “They took some sensible precautions, but nothing more. I am fine.”

 “That is well.”

 “Excuse me,” Marshall said, “but could someone let me in on what is going on?”

 Durman turned to him, and said, “Ram, may I introduce Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall, of the Triplanetary Fleet. Captain, this is Brigadier Ram Singh, commander of the Democratic Underground.”

 “The resistance!” Orlova said. “You’re rebelling against the Cabal!”

 “Quite so,” Singh said. “Major Durman has elected to bring you to one of our key headquarters. I am most curious to learn why.”

 “I think the two of you need to talk; you can certainly be of help to each other. Captain Marshall is attempting to retrieve some captured members of his crew from Ahwaz.” He turned to Marshall, then said, “Denebola VII.”

 “I see,” Singh said. “Captain, I invite you to pay a visit to my headquarters. You may bring one officer with you; both of you will be unarmed, and no recording devices will be permitted.”
 “I’ve got a better idea,” Marshall said. “Why don’t you come on board my ship?”

 “Because, Captain, I have five particle cannons trained on your vessel, and my tactical aide has just informed me that he has a good firing solution.”

 With a thin smile, Marshall replied, “That does sound like good reasoning.”

 “It could still be a trap,” Caine said.

 “Captain, if Ram wanted you dead, by now this ship would be a collection of floating atoms. The Underground has a lot to offer you, and I venture that you have a lot to offer it. I’ll come with you.”

 “That doesn’t reassure me. This could still be a means for you to return to the Cabal.”

 Shrugging, he said, “Then I’ll remain here as a hostage. This is where I get off, though; if you take me to Denebola, we’re dead. I’m wanted there.”

 “For what?”

 “Mr. Durman, in his youth and under a different name, assassinated Admiral Dunbar at a rally,” Singh said. “A particularly vicious thug. The Underground contacted him shortly afterward, and arranged for his escape.”

 “You weren’t in the Underground then?”

 With a chuckle, he said, “We called ourselves the Black Hand Gang. Too much history.” The smile faded, and he continued, “I never found out what happened to the others. I hope they got away, but I doubt I’ll ever know.”

 “If you’re telling the truth, you don’t have anything to fear from us,” Marshall said. “Brigadier, I accept your invitation.”

 “Excellent,” he replied. “I will send a shuttle to pick you up. It should arrive at your main airlock in ten minutes. Singh out.”

 The image flashed out, and Orlova turned to him, “Sir, let me go in your place.”

 “No,” he replied, and turning to Caine said, “You aren’t going either, Deadeye.”
 “Danny…”

 “If this goes wrong, if it is a trap, then both of you have to stay up here to think of a way to get out of the mess I’ve got you all in. No protests on this, that’s an order.”

 “You’ve got to take someone with you,” Caine said.

 “I will indeed. Weitzman, have Cooper report to the main airlock. Inform him that I want him in uniform.”

 “Dress uniform, sir?”

 “If he brought it along for this ride, he might as well. I didn’t, though; smart casual will have to make do. Maggie, you have the conn, and I want to make something clear now to all of you. No attempts are to be made to come after me. The ship is your first priority. Is that clearly understood.”
 Orlova looked at Caine, and said, “Yes, sir.”

 “I’ll be in my quarters. Once the shuttle has departed, resume evasive pattern. No point making it too easy for them.” He turned to Durman, and said, “No offense, but…”

 “You want me back in detention.”

 “Please.”
 “Very well,” he said, glancing at Cantrell. “I believe this dance is ours.”
 “Wait a minute,” she said. “Captain, take me with you instead of Cooper. He could lead a rescue attempt if this goes wrong…”

 “I’ve already given orders for that eventuality, and while I appreciate your enthusiasm, I think this is a job for a trained Espatier.”

 She looked for a moment as if she was going to provide a counter-argument, then shook her head, and replied, “Aye, sir. I’ll get Durman to the brig.”

 Marshall pushed past her, diving into the corridor and out of the bridge. Orlova looked after him, then ducked back into the command couch, stabbing a button to summon Nelyubov to the bridge.

 “Shuttle launching,” Weitzman said. “This is odd.”

 “What?” Caine asked.

 “It’s one of ours. Triplanetary design, Mark IV.”

 “A copy?”

 “No, definitely one of ours. Clearing atmosphere, so I can get a good shot at it.”
Orlova looked over at Weitzman, the said, “Any chance you can get a serial number?”

 “I think so...got it.” He tapped a pair of buttons, then said, “CSS Daedalus. Lost fifteen years ago, at the Battle of Ross 128.”

 “That ship went down fighting the UN,” Caine said. “I had a friend on board.”

 “Are you sure, Deadeye?”

 “My friend told me the story after the war over some drinks. Most of the crew were captured, a few got away on Thunderchild.”

 “That doesn’t mean anything,” Orlova said. “There’s a lot of war surplus stuff flying around out there. I wouldn’t be that surprised to find some of it had made its way out this far, especially with Cornucopia on the case.”

 Weitzman shook his head, “I checked the register. We never salvaged that shuttle, or anything from the Daedalus. All of it ended up in UN territory after the war. Just the usual casualty retrieval permitted.”

 “Which means that if anyone salvaged that shuttle, it would be the UN.” Orlova nodded, “Better page the Captain.”

 “You think this is a trap?” Caine said.

 “This doesn’t change anything. Not yet.” She smiled, then said, “Hell, I already thought it was a trap.”

 “Then…”

 “It’s a trap that has already been sprung. I just hope the Captain can talk us out of it.”

Chapter 17

Ducking down the corridor, Marshall swam towards his cabin. He swung in, and started to pull off his flight jacket, curling it up into a ball and tossing it to the wall. Folded carefully in a drawer was his uniform, and he carefully slid it on, making sure to keep it as smart as possible. After a moment’s hesitation, he clipped his medal ribbons into the slot over his breast. He didn’t usually wear them on duty, but it was as near as he was going to get to dress code.

 Running his hands through his pockets, he removed everything, just sliding his communicator into his belt, setting it to record. No point taking anything unnecessary on this trip, certainly not taking anything that could provide any information in the event he was captured. He unclipped the holster, and placed it back in the drawer, gun in position with it. Not that it would do him much good against an entire base of people if he took it with him, but somehow, he still felt naked.

 He drifted back out into the corridor, making his way towards the elevator. Cooper was waiting for him, still tugging on his olive-green duty uniform, and the two of them drifted inside, riding down the decks in silence while the trooper finished dressing, struggling to tug his boots on in the zero-gravity.

 The door opened, and they stood at the airlock, waiting for the shuttle to dock. Marshall peered out of the viewport as it approached; it was a standard atmospheric shuttle, an older mark, but one he knew well enough to fly.

 “Definitely one of ours,” he said. “I flew it often enough during the War.”

 With a loud clang, it docked, and the airlock slid open. Marshall made to enter, but Cooper shook his head, pushing past him, cautiously ducking inside, tensed for action. After a second, he went into the cabin.

 “Hello,” Cooper said. “No-one’s home.”

 Marshall flew into the passenger section; it was empty, six couches ready for use. All the usual emergency stores were in position, a trio of spacesuits hanging on the wall. Drifting forward, he tapped a control, and the hatch to the pilot’s cabin opened.

 “No pilot, either,” he said. “Must have come up on automatic, or remote guidance.” He slid into the chair, then shook his head, “The manual controls have been disabled.”

 “Of course, Captain,” a voice said from overhead. “We know the way a lot better than you  do. Please strap yourselves down.”

 Glancing back at Cooper, he said, “Looks like this airline is safety conscious.” He strapped himself into the pilot’s cabin, looking out at the planet below. Gray, with mottles of blue, and periodic cryovolcanic eruptions from a belt of mountains at the equator. The shuttle dropped away from Ouroboros, and the engines began to fire, sending them flying down towards the surface at speed, the acceleration pushing him back in his chair.

 Instinctively, he reached for the useless controls, planning to arrest their descent, but pulling the lever had no effect. Shaking his head, he sat back and tried to enjoy the view. There had only ever been one trip to a planet like this, the 2093 Pluto expedition, long before he was born. Getting out that far wasn’t easy, even now, and aside from research, there was never any reason to. The exogeologists would have a field day here, if they could open the place up for them.

 Whoever was flying the shuttle was somewhat overenthusiastic; the thrusters tossed them to one side, getting out of the way of another eruption. Then the ship dipped, the nose pointing down towards the horizon, and a trio of alarms started to sound as his communicator chirped.

 “Danny,” Caine’s voice said. “We show impact in four minutes.”

 “I read the same from here,” Marshall replied. “I can’t do anything, there are no controls on board.”

 “We’re getting a shuttle after you. Stand by…”

 “Negative,” he replied. “You’d never make it in time. No point killing someone else. My orders stand, Deadeye.”

 “Danny, we can’t just sit up here.”

 “Yes you can, and yes you are. Marshall out.”

 He snapped the channel closed, hoping that she would obey his order. There was still time, just, for the shuttle to stop its descent, and he somehow had the feeling that someone was testing him. A series of red lights flashed on, and the shuttle passed the point of no return. He shook his head, leaning forward over the useless controls.

 “Skipper,” Cooper said.

 “I’m sorry, Corporal,” Marshall said. “I’m reading about three minutes to impact. If you want to send any last messages to Alamo, now would be a good time.”

 “Never was any good at speeches, sir.”

 The shuttle span around, the engines burning at full, and the ship began to decelerate. Marshall turned back to the sensors, a brief feeling of hope quickly dashed as he looked at the altimeter.

 “Just prolonging the inevitable. Somehow I find it offensive that we’re going to die because someone made a mistake; I guess they weren’t out to kill us after all.” He peered at the trajectory plot, “We’re heading right for one of the volcanoes.”

 Marshall unbuckled his straps, not wanting to die uncomfortable, and stretched out on his seat, watching the surface grow closer. A desert of blue crystals, illuminated only by flashes of starlight, and now the trail from the shuttle’s engines. Not an unattractive place to end up, though not quite what he would have expected.

 “Captain, would you please strap yourself in?” the voice said again. “You will be landing in five minutes.”

 “At a speed that will make wearing the restraints rather pointless.”

 “Not at all, Captain. At this moment you are on course for a safe landing.”

 “I think you must be looking at a different shuttle.”

 “Things are not always as they seem.”

 Peering at the trajectory plot again, he saw that they weren’t just heading for the volcano – they were heading for the crater at the top, on a course that was set to take them right inside. He punched a couple of controls – at least the navigational computers were working, even if the course was locked. If they had another twenty-nine miles, they would be able to slow to landing speed.

 “Strap in, Cooper! This one is going to be interesting!” He fastened his restraints again, and looked at the shuttle’s aft view, watching it descend on a pillar of flame into the heart of the volcano. Any pilot trying a stunt like this would loose his wings back at Sol, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the skill that must be involved.

 As they passed inside the volcano, he took a deep breath; the shuttle’s searchlights came on, and it began to descend on its lateral thrusters, racing deep into the heart of the planet. Further they fell, still slowing, until the walls opened up again to an immense natural cavern, supported by pillars of rock, on the shores of a faintly glowing sea, sparks of light dancing across its surface. The shuttle dropped down to the side of a dome, the same design that he had seen a hundred times on bases across the Solar System and beyond, and he could see a transport car racing across to the landing site.

 “That was fun,” he said to Cooper, as the shuttle rested into position on the landing pad.

 “I think I’d rather have known in advance, skipper.”

 “Next time I want to try it on manual.”

 With a smile, Cooper said, “Would you be awfully offended if I sat that dance out, Captain?”

The airlock opened, and they turned to see a figure standing inside, wearing the same urban camouflage pattern; a tall woman, long gray hair wrapped around her shoulders, and a frown on her face.

 “I take it you are Captain Marshall, and this is your aide?”

 “That’s right. And you are?”

 Looking around the cabin, she said, “The Brigadier is waiting for you. I’ll handle post-flight; you can head to the base.”

 “Some welcome,” Cooper said.

 Turning sharply at him, she replied, “You are not welcome. If a Cabal ship enters the system now, the rebellion could be pushed back by a decade. All we want now is for you to leave.”

 “Don’t blame us,” Marshall replied. “You have your Mr. Durman to thank for our presence here. If we aren’t wanted, we’ll leave.”

 “Now that you are here, your visit might as well not be for nothing. If you will step this way?”

 The two of them stepped into the waiting car, and were far from surprised when they found that it was as empty as the shuttle had been. It departed without any warning, jerking Marshall down into a seat and sending Cooper sliding to the floor. He pulled himself to his feet, sliding into a chair.

 “Bumpy ride,” he said.

 The dome grew closer; it seemed deceptively far away, and they bounced over the landscape for a mile before turning around, reversing into a large airlock. He got a good view of the underground sea as he approached; he couldn’t quite believe it was water, and the strange glow cast an eerie light on the surroundings. With a very final clang, the doors slammed shut, and a light flashed on, air hissing outside.

 “Green light, skipper.”

 “No spacesuits, so I guess this is shirt-sleeve. There’s only one way to find out.” He tapped the release button, and the doors opened. Waiting outside was Brigadier Singh, a young woman standing next to him in the ubiquitous camouflage.

 “Welcome to Verne Base, Captain.”

 “Verne?”

 “Are we not in the center of the earth? Or as close to it as one is ever likely to get?”

 “A point well taken,” he replied. “I wish you had given us some warning.”

 Shaking his head, Singh said, “This base is our greatest secret, Captain. And it must remain so.” He pulled an antique communicator out of his pocket, and passed it to Marshall, “If you would like to reassure your comrades in orbit about your safety, this will route through a scrambler.”

 Taking the device, he said, “Marshall to Ouroboros. Come in.”

 “Captain?” Weitzman’s astonished voice replied. “We...I’ll give you Orlova.”

 “Thank you, Spaceman,” he replied.

 “Sir,” Orlova said. “It’s very...how the...what happened? We saw you crash!”

 Glancing at Singh, he said, “I’m not at liberty to provide you with any details until I get back, but suffice to say that their landing system is somewhat complicated.”

 “Can I see for myself, Captain?”

 Marshall fiddled with the controls for a moment, and managed to turn on the camera; Singh gave a disapproving stare, then a curt nod. He played the camera over himself, then over Cooper.

 “As you can see, we’re under no restraint or compulsion.”

 “Very well. We’ll be waiting, Captain, and our shuttle is on standby. Spaceman Bradley thinks that she can duplicate your landing curve.”

 “Don’t attempt it unless I give you specific orders, Lieutenant. Is that understood.”

 “Yes, sir. When can you call again?”

 “Keep monitoring. I’ll attempt to call in four hours. Marshall out.”

 Singh took back the communicator, then said, “I will see that you are able to keep your appointment, Captain. If you would come with me?”

 He led them down into a large room, decorated with magnificent murals on every wall except that facing the sea, filled with plastic furniture. A quartet of mugs were waiting for them on a table, the smell of coffee rising into the air.

 “I thought you might care for something to drink. I’m afraid we have nothing stronger on the base.”

 “Coffee will be fine, thank you,” Marshall said, taking a seat. “You must know that we have a thousand questions to ask.”

 “I will not answer anything related to any current operations, Captain, and I presume – your present mission excepted – you will not provide any tactical information relating to your Triplanetary Fleet, either.”

 “That seems to be a good basis to begin with,” he replied. “This is Corporal Cooper, by the way, one of my staff.”

 “A pleasure, Corporal. If I may say, you seem rather more civilized than your reputation suggests. I followed your conquest of Ragnarok and Jefferson with some interest.”

 “Conquest? We liberated Jefferson from the Cabal, and last I heard there was a force of military advisors on the way. As for Ragnarok, they held a plebiscite and opted for Triplanetary membership after we helped prevent a Cabal-backed uprising!”

 "You must understand, the Cabal Fleet controls all formal news media. I only speak from what I have heard, though I am willing – for the sake of our present conversation – to accept your good intentions.”

 “Shortly you will be learning that we have conquered Hydra Station as well, I suspect.”
 “Interesting,” he replied with a smile. “Do you further realize that your Alamo has been destroyed?

 “Destroyed?” Marshall’s face grew pale.

 “In battle with a Cabal fleet, about a month ago.”

 His face cracked into a smile, “We beat that fleet, Brigadier. One of our ships were destroyed, but it more than paid its way to Valhalla.”

 “Interesting. I believe they are afraid of you, and your fleet.”

 Leaning forward, Marshall said, “Have you any information about a possible invasion of our territory?”

 “You will be surprised to learn that we do not have direct access to their inner counsels, but we have heard that a military build-up was under way, and they have been strengthening some of their supply depots on the path to Sol.”

 Cooper looked at Marshall, “That could mean that war is imminent.”

 “Or that it is months, or years away. We’re building up strategic supplies at Ragnarok, if it comes to that – for all we know, they are worried that we might be preparing to invade them.”

 “Are you?”

 “I’ve been away too long to know what the current planning is,” Marshall replied, “but when I left, that wasn’t Triplanetary policy. Our mission was information-gathering.” He gestured around,  “What about this station?”

 “Ah. You see the last resting place, Captain, of the Rakesh Sharma.”

 Marshall glanced around, “What happened to Captain Chambers?”

 “Who?”

 Cooper said, “I don’t think he means our ship, sir.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “There is a ship of that name in the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 A faint smile crossed Singh’s lips, and he said, “I am glad to hear it. It is a proud name, worthy of such an honor. This version left Earth in 2058, a project of the Indian Diaspora. Our goal was to establish a remnant of our country out among the stars, as everything fell to pieces back home.”

 “Our goal? You were on board?”

 “I was much younger, then. I still remember my last look at Earth from Vostochny, those bleak wastelands. I understand it was destroyed.”

 “Not long afterward. There are no records of your flight, but we know of other, similar ships. Such as the settlement of Ragnarok, for example.”

 “We were willing to take a desperate gamble, but we had hoped for either a friendly welcome or a fair chance. Instead, we found the Cabal. We jumped into a system, were hailed, and they attempted to board us.” He smiled, once again, “That was a battle worth writing epics about. For three days they fought us, before we managed to leave the system. Our engines straining with one final effort.”

 “When did that happen?”

 “Sixty years ago.”

 “The turn of the century? How long were you in flight?” Cooper said.

 “Most of that time was spent in hibernation, Corporal. Our drive was not as good as yours. When we arrived here, it was apparent that our ship had fought its final battle, so the survivors, led by myself, decided to dig in. That was fifteen years ago. We had two goals – to hide, to protect ourselves from the hostile forces around us, and to defeat the Cabal and liberate the worlds it had enslaved.”

 “And since then?”

 “We managed to duplicate what you call the hendecaspace drive, with the...assistance of a former Cabal drive technician, and began our efforts. Progress has been slow, but we are gaining ground.” He took a deep breath, and said, “I know of your Confederation. You are not the first officer from your alliance I have encountered.”

 “There were others? From Hercules?”

 “No,” he said. “Not from Hercules. Over the years...but that is a discussion for another day. You are seeking to rescue your crew from captivity.”

 “That’s the goal. Then head home with the intelligence we have gathered from the Cabal.”
 “Which is?”

 He looked at Cooper, then said, “We have, at Hydra Station, a full Cabal military database, as well as access codes for the lower security levels.”

 Singh’s eyes widened. and he replied, “Fifteen years, and we have never come close to a breakthrough of that scale.”

 “We have resources you don’t.”

 “Evidently. I would be willing to make a trade with you, Captain. A name, a set of co-ordinates, and a codeword, for all the information you have gathered.”

 “Most of it isn’t here.”

 “We have a ship of our own, able to make the run to Hydra Station.” He chuckled, “The commander of Sinbad Outpost is eminently bribable, and asks no questions of his guests.”

 “One name?” Cooper said.

 “Understand the level of risk I am taking. It has taken years for us to begin to gather an intelligence network in the Cabal. Many of my friends have died in this enterprise. In exchange for your information – information that we might be able to use in strategic strikes against the Cabal, a goal that I believe is compatible with yours – I will give you access to that network. I can make no promises about what they will be able to do for you, that will be for the commander on the scene.”

 “And the co-ordinates?”

 With a smile, he said, “We were not the first occupants of this world. Upon our arrival, we located some interesting astrographic information, carved into the rock…”

 “A shortcut! A brown dwarf with a planet!”

 “I see you have made discoveries of your own.”

 After a pause for a moment, Marshall said, “We’ll need to refuel.”

 “That can be arranged.”

 “Then if I can borrow your communicator again, I believe we can formalize this relationship.”

Chapter 18

 The colony dome and the landing pad were almost out of sight, dipping down under the horizon, as Cooper walked along the bank of the Subterranean Sea, Barbara by his side, The lights glowed and flickered across the sea, dancing into patterns that appeared and vanished almost faster than the eye could see; the effect was hypnotic, a dance of light that drifted across the crest of the waves.

 “Isn’t it everything I promised?” asked Cooper, glancing at Barbara in her suit.

 “It’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”

 “According to the Brigadier, that’s some sort of life form. Feeds off the radioactivity in the water.”

 “And five billion miles from the star. Hard to believe. Where is it we are going?”

 “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

 Their feet crunched in the sand, leaving a series footprints as they went; they were obviously not the first ones to follow this route, a path worn into the ground by constant use. Looping around a huge pillar, he gestured up to a trio of crystals embedded in the rock, reflecting the blue lights from the sea.

 “When you said that you had arranged shore leave down here, I thought you’d lost your mind.”

 “I’m glad I talked you into coming,” he replied. “They don’t need us right now back there. The Captain’s having fun dickering with the Brigadier. We could be here for a while.”

 “Most of the people here seem rather more distant.”

 “I don’t think they get many tourists. Might change if we can get through here; this would be a great base.”

 She turned to him, and said, “I thought we were having a day off, not evaluating the strategic possibilities of this world.”

 “Sorry.”
 “Because if we are, I’ll get my datapad out and start taking notes.”

 “Come on. We haven’t got much further to go.”

 He trudged on, angling away from the shore, and in the horizon could just make out the wall of the cavern up ahead, a sheer cliff face with strange patterns appearing, faintly glowing in the rock, carved ten feet tall along the wall. Barbara walked behind him, looking up, shaking her head in disbelief.

 “What is it?”

 “Our old friends, the Neander. They were here, ten thousand years ago, more, maybe. About another two or three miles down the coast are the ruins of their settlement.” He gestured up at the wall. “This was their legacy, their message to us. Astrographic information, another three brown dwarves to add to our maps.”

 “How did we miss so many new systems,” she said, shaking her head.

 “It took them centuries to find them. We’ve only just entered our third century as a spacefaring race, remember, and for the first century the Moon and Mars were the wild frontier. We’re new around here.”

 She walked up to the rock, running her hand across the wall, “These are old, Gabe. While these were carved, our ancestors were hunting mammoths with stone-tipped spears. And all the time there was a civilization out here.”

 “Hard to believe, isn’t it. But here they are, real as life.”

 Turning to him, she said, “What else are we going to find out here?”

 His face fell, “After this mission, it won’t be we.”

 “This again?”

 “It’s a fact I’m having to face. I’m enjoying what I can, while I can.”

 “Damn it, Gabe, transfer to the Fleet! I had a word with the Captain, well, he had a word with me. You’d transfer over with a promotion…”

 “And do what?”

 “You didn’t do that badly on my right seat. How about retraining as a security technician?”

 “Not bad isn’t good enough, Barbara. I’ve got to be the best, or there’s no point me trying. I’ll work, work like hell, but I’m ten years behind the curve. I’m a trooper. It’s what I’m good at, and it’s what I do best.”

 “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but life isn’t always fair.”
 “No, it isn’t,” he replied. “Or they wouldn’t be about to throw me onto the scrap-heap.”

 “You know what, I’m sorry I said anything.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “No, it’s my fault. I’m spoiling this by being depressing.” He looked up at the markings on the wall, solemn and ancient. “They’ve glowed all the time the settlement has been here. Some sort of bioluminescence, living off the radiation again.”

 “That something like that could evolve…”

 “No, it seems too perfect for that. I wish Carpenter was here.”

 “Fancy a threesome, do you?” she replied with a smile.

 “I think it might be artificial. Some sort of biotech. More advanced than anything we’ve ever come up with.”

 “What would it be used for?”

 He turned to her, and said, “Why does it have to have a practical use? It’s beautiful. Isn’t that enough?”

 “Well, enough for me, but for them…”

 Cooper glanced back, and saw another, slender figure walking towards them, uncertain in her spacesuit. Through her helmet, he could just make out the face of Ixia, looking up at the images with reverent awe.

 “Magnificent,” she muttered, barely loud enough to trigger the microphone pickup. “Magnificent.”

 “It’s amazing,” Barbara said. “I wondered if you would come out to take a look.”

 “I had to,” she replied. “I apologize if I am disturbing you.”

 “You have more right to be here than we do,” Cooper said. “This is your heritage, your history.”

 “To think that my people once walked among the stars, proud and tall, their ships sailing to new worlds. There are bodies of my people buried in this soil, over at the old settlement. I have been there to pay homage, but I had to come here also.”

 “I don’t blame you,” Cooper replied. “Your people will rise again.”

 She turned to him, and said, “I hope so. Yours is a vigorous and jealous race; I wonder how you will take the survival of my people.”

 “As a wonder,” Barbara said. “To speak to another race is a dream come true. I know that’s one of the reasons I signed on in the first place.”

 “That is my question, though,” Ixia said. “How will my people fare in this brave new world of yours? Will we simply become chained to your destiny, or will we be free to find one of our own.”

 “Driftwind is a free planet,” Cooper said.

 “They are tied to a dying world, and still scurry around in the mud. I would look to the stars. That is our future, if we still have a chance to take it.” She looked back at the ruins, the crumbling towers barely visible. “Or have we had our chance, and lost it. Our people were brought back from the very brink of extinction, and we squandered that gift through war. Perhaps we deserve our fate.”

 “We nearly destroyed ourselves. More than once. We fought back, pushed on, and made it out here into space, and now look where we are!”

 “On the verge of another war, with my people caught in the middle. Captain Marshall wishes me to testify in front of your Senate, and he thinks it will lead to the Triplanetary Confederation declaring war on the Cabal.”

 “Don’t you want that?” Barbara said, frowning. “We would liberate your people, and you must know us well enough to know that we will not enslave you.”

 Turning to her sharply, Ixia said, “I have killed. I have taken life with my hands. And I tell you with all my heart that it was wrong, and that if I could take it back, I would do so. Each life is unique, infinitely complex, an irreplaceable part of the tapestry of the universe. To remove one is to remove something special, something wonderful, something that will never be again.”

 She looked up at the symbols on the wall, and said, “Ten thousand years ago my people forgot that lesson, and the price they paid was death, misery and subjugation. My planet was little different than Driftwind, only that we were more numerous. Now it is a human colony, and we toil in their fields, their mines, their factories. A servant class.”

 “That can change.”

 “And the cost will be how many dead? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands?” She sighed, then said, “Many of my people will follow you. To glory, to victory, to freedom. I am not naive enough to believe that I can stop what will come, but I can regret it.”

 “We might yet prevent war,” Cooper said, quietly. “No-one wants war.”

 “I hear you all talking. War is inevitable, you say. The Cabal must be stopped.”

 “They are planning to subjugate us. Would you permit that?”

 “You exchange one government for another, and are of the same race. In a century, a millennium, it will all be a distant memory. All you plan on fighting over is whether human space is ruled by a Cabal or a Confederation.” She looked up again, then said, “No-one cares who won my people’s war. At least they had sense enough not to preserve those memories, only those that were important. The knowledge, the legends, the stories. Not the wars, the battles, the victories. All of that is fleeting over time.”

 Barbara said, “What are you suggesting, then?”

 “I? I suggest nothing. I am here because I am in your debt, and I will see that debt repaid. I am here because I want my people to be free, though I mourn what will be to make them so. And perhaps, I am here because I fear you.”

 “Fear us?”

 “You are a young society, so vibrant, racing out to the stars that you believe are your birthright. I fear that we may be swept away in your tide, a footnote in history.”

 “Can’t we be partners, discovering new worlds and reclaiming those you have lost?”

 “Tell me,” she said. “How long before there is a human colony on Driftwind?”

 “I’m sure there will be a trading outpost, a research station,” Cooper said. “What’s wrong with that?”

 “Nothing. But people will bring their families, and will raise children. An outpost will become a city, and then another, and another, and my people will have no place in that.”

 “That won’t happen. The Senate would never do that.”

 “Can you vouch for the actions of your people in a century from now? Promise me that some tyrant will not rise up and wipe your democracy into history?”

 “We fought against tyranny. We wouldn’t let it take root at home.”

 “I’m sure those words have been said before. I have taken the opportunity of our trip to read some histories of Earth, and I find them terrifying. You have such potential, but so frequently do you squander it.”

 “Your people can expand as well,” Barbara said.

 Nodding, Ixia replied, “And then we have two expansionist empires reaching among the stars, pushing at each others borders, arguments building mistrust, and mistrust building to fear, and fear building to war. A war such as my people fought before. A war that will end with all of our civilizations swept away into history, waiting for someone to reach for the stars once again.”  Looking out over the sea, she continued, “Perhaps it is the curse of our shared ancestry.”

“It doesn’t have to end that way,” Cooper said. “Looking out at all of this, perhaps we can learn from the past. Yes, we will likely fight the Cabal, but after that…”

 “There will be someone else. The United Nations, the Lunar Republic, some new grouping that today does not yet exist. I hope, I hope with all my heart, that you are right.”

 “My dad used to tell me that all you could do was make today the best day it could be. That you had to take each day at a time, and not worry about it until it arrived. We can leave the future to our descendants, and just try not to make too much of a mess about our present.”

 “Your father was wise,” Ixia said, taking one last look at the symbols. “I will leave you to your privacy. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

 She walked away, heading back for the ruined settlement, and Barbara and Cooper watched her until she disappeared over the horizon, then turned back out to sea. It would be a long time before either of them said another word.

Chapter 19

 Orlova guided the shuttle deftly into a landing, a triumphant smile on her face. She’d known that a manual landing was possible, and though it had been rather expensive on fuel, and taken a lot longer than the computers, she had been certain of pulling it off. Throwing a trio of switches, she unbuckled her straps and tapped a button.

 “Shuttle to Ouroboros. Landing successful.”

 “Finished showing off?” Caine said. “We’ve just about completed refueling; the last of the tankers is on its way back down now. As soon as you get back on board we can get out of here.”
Glancing at the course tracker, she said, “Right. I should be up in, say, twenty minutes.”

 “It’s a date. Ouroboros out.”

 The hatch to the rear compartment slid open, and Durman poked his head through, a bag in his hand. He looked out over the scenery, and shook his head.

 “I don’t think I’ve traded up. It’ll be good to get back to Driftwind.” He paused, took a deep breath, then said, “I haven’t had a proper chance to apologize yet for what I did.”

 Keeping her back facing him, she replied, “You should have trusted me.”

 “This is our most important installation! I might trust you, but I don’t – don’t dare – trust some of the others. You’ve had traitors on board before, and might still.”

 “What are you suggesting?” she said, turning around, red-faced.

 “That trust is a very rare and precious commodity when you are a resistance fighter.” He waved around, gesturing at the view, “This place is a treasure, a hidden space that the Cabal can’t find. So deep that it can’t be detected by scanners from orbit, not unless you knew where to look. If we ever manage to win our war, then it will because we have kept the secret of this base.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Things and places don’t win wars. People do.” Sliding a hand into a pocket, she tossed a data crystal to him, “Our log entries, reports, and last letters. I’d appreciate it if you deliver it to Major Marshall personally on Alamo; in the event we don’t make it back, it contains everything we’ve learned so far.”

 “Including the location of this facility?”

 “No. The Captain decided it would be better to handle that in person.”

 “I see.”

 “One thing,” she said, frowning. “You put yourself in this situation. No-one forced you to volunteer; you could have stayed at Hydra Station, headed to the Confederation on Alamo, and no-one would have thought anything of it. Why did you come in the first place?”

 He smiled, and said, “Two possibilities, really. Either I was dumb and enthusiastic enough not to realize what I was getting into until it was too late to get out of it, or perhaps I thought that two groups ought to get together for the mutual benefit of both, no matter what either might think about the idea.” Hefting his bag, he walked towards the airlock, sliding on a spacesuit. “I don’t think I’ll wait for the transfer van. Bye, Maggie.”

 “Catch you at Driftwind,” she replied, turning to her console and smiling as the lock cycled, and his suited figure walked along the surface, heading for the shoreline rather than the settlement.  While she waited, she started to program her course for the return to Alamo, a vertical climb for almost thirty miles to the surface, then a more conventional trajectory to orbit.

 She shook her head at the regularity of the shaft; she’d never done any spelunking, but she had friends who had, and none of them had ever told her about anything like this. It was almost as if it was carved. Her smile dropped, and she called up a view of the site on her tactical display. This place hadn’t just appeared naturally; someone had built it, and done a very careful job of it. Not that it mattered for the present. Just one more interesting piece of information for the future.

 A loud clang on the side of the shuttle snapped her back to reality; the transfer van had arrived, and the airlock was cycling. She scrambled into the passenger cabin, sure to stand at attention as the door opened. Captain Marshall stepped inside, followed by Brigadier Singh, smiles on both their faces.

 “This must be your Lieutenant Orlova,” Singh said, as she saluted. “A pleasure to meet you at last.”

 “Likewise, sir,” she replied, conjuring up her most formal appearance. “Ouroboros is ready for space, Captain. Lieutenant Caine reports the last fuel tanker is on its way down.”

 “Excellent,” he replied, turning back to the Brigadier. “I think I’m the only thing they are waiting for, now.”

 “May you have the best of luck on your mission, Captain; I shall offer prayers for your safe return.” He placed a data crystal in his hand. “The astrographic data I promised you; the knowledge we have gained of the brown dwarf network in this region.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “This will not fall into the wrong hands. I give you my word on that.”

 “Thank you for that, Captain. I look forward to meeting you – or whoever the Triplanetary Fleet sends – again.” With a salute, he turned, walked through the airlock, and he hatch slammed closed, another shudder running through the hull as the van headed back to the colony dome.

 “We’re clear for launch, sir,” Orlova said. “I’ve got the course plotted into the computer.”
 “You want to fly us up on manual?”

 “I was planning to.”

 With a smile, he nodded, “I won’t pull rank on you this time; go ahead. I want to take a look at this data anyway.”

 “I thought we were getting information on a single star?”

 “So did I; we’re getting details on three. Which means we can bypass Sinbad Station on our way home.”

 “Peace and quiet once we get out of Denebola would be nice.”

 “I want to match this with the Shrouded Stars.” He smiled, then said, “I can’t wait to see Mulenga’s face when we get this information to him. Hell, we’re going to give the gravitic measurement boys something to do. I wonder how many others we’re missing.”

 A brief chill ran down Orlova’s spine, a warning registering in the back of her mind, but she shook it of, uncertain what her subconscious had noticed. “I’d better get to the cockpit.”

 “Take us up when you are ready.”

 She slid into the pilot’s couch, tapped a sequence of buttons, and the shuttle began to rise on its lateral thrusters. Normally they were only used for a few seconds, just enough to kick a shuttle up from the surface on an airless world, or to bring down to a pinpoint landing. This time she’d be riding them for ten minutes. The challenge of this takeoff was something she relished, but it was like threading a needle while wearing a spacesuit – damn near impossible, unless you took your time about it.

Switching the camera angle to look up the shaft, she tapped a button and the thrusters fired, kicking them into the sky. With a series of tweaks, she adjusted the upward course, moving them from side to side to line up with the shaft, then ran the acceleration up as high as she dared, her eyes darting from the throttle to the sensors, occasionally looking at the viewscreen.

 Coming down had been one thing, but going up was proving a lot harder. Some of the protuberances that she had nimbly darted past on the descent looked more like impassable obstacles as she climbed, ducking around them while still trying to maintain her upward momentum, careful not to overcompensate and crash into the wall.

 She wiped a hand across her forehead, rubbing the sweat onto her trousers; she was surprised how much this was affecting her, but she resisted the temptation to switch back to computer control. Something about being totally reliant on the ground worried her, and despite the risks she knew she was running, she felt safer being responsible for her own destiny.

 Finally, starlight began to shine from up above, the end of the passage coming up, and she burst out into free space with a sigh of relief, cutting the lateral thrusters and throwing the main engines to full power, the computer now taking over as it switched onto its orbital trajectory, heading behind the horizon to Ouroboros, skimming low over the planet. Taking the opportunity to do a little snooping, she flashed her sensors down, covering the surface she was flying over as thoroughly as she can, watching to see if anything was picked up.

 “Found anything?” Marshall said, tapping her on the shoulder, jerking her almost out of her seat.

 “Sorry, sir. I wasn’t expecting you.”

 “Don’t worry, I should have known better than to surprise a pilot in mid-flight.”

 Tapping the screen, she said, “Another settlement site, maybe five hundred miles from the rebel base. No sign of any activity.”

 “Not surprising. They must know about it, but any investigation would be obvious if someone else took a look – especially if they landed there.”

 “I don’t think I’d resistant the temptation to take a peek, sir.”

 Looking across at her with a smile, he replied, “Just between the two of us, neither would I.”

 Glancing down at the trajectory plotter, she said, “Ouroboros coming up.”

 “Two more jumps, and we’re really heading into the lion’s den,” he replied. “Looking forward to it?”

 “To have a proper look at the face of the enemy? Yes.”

 “I’ll be glad when its over and we’re on our way home.”

 Frowning, she replied, “That’s not like you, sir.”

 “Maybe I’m getting old, or maybe all of this is beginning to sound like a jump too far.”

 “If it looks impossible, we can always abort. With the new security documentation, we ought to get through security without any trouble. Everything after that depends on what we find.”

 “I’m just thinking what Intelligence would think of this plan. Their covert insertions are usually planned months, years in advance.”

 “I suspect they take advantage of opportunities just like we do.”

 “Probably,” he said. “I’d better let you concentrate on docking. One minute to target.”

 “Aye, sir,” she replied, turning her attention back to the viewscreen. She was on manual again – automated docking was something else that the freighter didn’t have, though the computer on the shuttle was doing most of the work. She tweaked the thrusters back and forth, and smiled as the ship locked into position in the cradle, a crunching sound from above as the refueling cycle began.

 Before she could get out of her seat, the freighter began to accelerate; obviously they were in a hurry to get on the move. She pulled herself up and walked on board, Wilson waving at her as she climbed onto the deck. The Captain was already on his way to the bridge, but she was still shaking off the nerves of the launch, and she paused to check on the shuttle post-flight.

 “No problems down there, Lieutenant?” Wilson asked.

 “Not as far as I know, Chief. Just a bit of a rough flight.”

 “I’ll bet. I watched…”

 Suddenly, as he was talking, a burst of loud, discordant music echoed across the speakers, sending her hands clapping to her ears. It stopped as quickly as it came, and she ran down the corridor towards the communications suite. That was unmistakably Durman’s music, and they were still close enough to the planet that she could make her feelings known if this was some sort of practical joke.

 She reached the suite to find a blushing Cantrell sitting at the controls, a pair of data crystals in her hands. As she entered, the technician turned, raising her hands, and gesturing at the console.

 “I’m sorry, it’s this damn system. I was just trying to back up my copy of the music.”
 “Why can’t you use your own terminal? Half the ship must have been deafened.”

 “It’s too slow, the data transfer rate is lousy. I wanted to…”

 “Well, next time, perhaps you might think of the ship ahead of your own convenience.” She looked around the suite, then said, “I think this room could do with a clean, don’t you, Spaceman?”

 “Ma’am?”

 “Go get to work. I’ll be back in four hours to inspect it, and if I’m not completely satisfied, you can start work on the corridor.” Cantrell sat there for a moment, and she continued, “The clock’s ticking. I’d move.”

 Turning, she decided to head to the bridge, shaking her head. She was going to have to keep a close eye on that one; at this rate, it was only a matter of time before she did something outright dangerous. She turned, and saw Cantrell methodically begin to start work, her attention focused on her task. Maybe, at least, Orlova had found something she was good at.

Chapter 20

 Cooper walked into the cramped cargo bay, looking out of the small viewscreen in the corner. Ouroboros had settled into a tight orbit around the brown dwarf primary, just ahead of a dull, green-misted world, barely half a million miles from the star. He could make out faint patterns on its surface, storms twisting as they raged across the desolate wasteland; if anyone had ever lived on that planet, the weather would have long ago blasted it from the surface.

 Behind him, Orlova drifted in, Nelyubov alongside her, holding out a datapad. A moment later, the Captain followed, Caine floating after her, and took a position at the head of the room. The brief chatter stopped as he cleared his throat, calling for attention.

 “Well, we’re almost there. One more four-day jump, and we arrive at Ahwaz. You are all familiar with the planet from the briefing we have pieced together, but there are an awful lot of gaps. The official reports won’t tell us the details we really need to know, the information that we have to gather. I’ve given this a great deal of thought, and I have decided that those of us in this room will constitute the three investigation teams.”

 “I still think it is too big a risk for you to go down,” Caine said.

 “We’ve talked about this, Deadeye. I’m listed as the commander of this ship; I’m going to have to go down to the planet anyway to negotiate cargo, pick up contracts, and talk our way through customs. I might as well do some snooping while I'm down there. Besides, you will be right with me every step of the way.”

 “So I get to keep you out of trouble,” she said, shaking her head. “Story of my life.”

 “We’re going to be in ready reserve. Our job is partly to attract attention, partly to gather information from official sources, and generally to play the tourists. Orlova, you and Nelyubov will be contacting the resistance.”

 She nodded, “That’s not going to be easy, skipper, even with the information we’ve got, but I think we can manage it.”

 “Cooper, you are the strike team. We can’t take weapons down there, so procuring something is your first priority, and then you will be responsible for bringing out the prisoners, with support from the rest of us. The odds are that we won’t be able to meet up and discuss this once we’re down on the surface, not and be certain not to be overhead, so I want to get all of this arranged now.”

 “Am I working alone, sir?” Cooper asked.

 “That’s up to you. If you want to pick a partner, go ahead.”

 He didn’t have to think for long before saying, “Cantrell.”

 “Are you joking?” Orlova said. “I’ve just had to put her on report.”

 “She might not be much on the ship, but I’ve seen her in action, and I think she’s the best choice for the job.”

 “Cooper,” Marshall said, “are you sure about this? She’ll be working with you on the surface, and if anything goes wrong, you are liable to find yourself in the firing line.”

 “I understand that, sir. I’ll talk to her; I think I might be able to work something out.”

 “Very well. You can brief her immediately after this meeting.”

 He nodded, “Are any of the others going down?”

 “On a rotation I’ve worked out, yes. Except for Mr. Race, who will be remaining in command. We can’t risk our astrogator, not with the course we’re going to have to run to get home. None of the others are leaving the immediate vicinity of the starport, though; they have been instructed to act as though they are on shore leave, with strict orders,” he said with a smile, “not to get drunk.”

 “Won’t that seem a little out of character for a crew on leave?” Nelyubov said,

 “That’s a risk we’re going to have to take. They’ll report anything they see, but we won’t be in safe contact with them after we touch down.” He looked around the room, then continued, “We will remain in orbit for only as long as we need to. Five days, one hour. Any rescue attempt we make will be timed to get us away from the planet, and into hendecaspace, at the correct time.”

 “It might take longer than that to locate them, sir,” Orlova said. “It’s a big planet.”

 “Then we leave without them,” Marshall said.

 “Captain, you said…,” Cooper began.

 Interrupting him, Marshall replied, “We’re not going to take the risk, Corporal. There is a single window of opportunity to pull this off, and during those five days we will do everything in our power to find our people and get them home, but if after that period we have drawn a blank, then we cash in the chips and leave.”

 “I could remain behind,” Cooper said. “Perhaps make contact with the resistance and work out another way home.”

 “I’ve made my decision, Corporal, and it stands.”

 “Yes, sir,” he said, sullenly.

 “What are we going to do about our cargo?” Orlova said.

 Marshall shrugged, then said, “Unload it, and try and replace it with something high value, low mass. We can’t afford to compromise on maneuvering.”

 “I wondered if we might be able to take on something that could be useful for Alamo.”

 Nodding, he replied, “I didn’t think of that. Good idea.”

 “Medical supplies would be useful,” Cooper said. “We don’t know how our people have been treated down there.”

 “Noted, Corporal. Is there anything else?” No-one said anything, and he continued, “Don’t discuss any details of the mission with any other members of the crew. What they don’t know can’t hurt them if they get picked up. Dismissed.”

 Cooper was the first one out of the room, heading down to the sensor controls; when he arrived, just down the corridor, the room was dark, the stations unmanned. He glanced at his datapad; Cantrell was supposed to be on duty, but a quick check of the system logs showed that she had never turned up. Shaking his head, he headed over to the elevator, electing to spend some time at his cobbled-together firing range. Working out a bit of tension would do him good.

 Already there was the missing Cantrell, expertly lining up shots at the target. He hung quietly in the doorway, waiting patiently to finish, noting her score. Perfect. His eyes widened; he’d struggle to get a perfect score, even on a range. That just didn’t happen.

 “Afternoon, Corporal,” she said. “Guess I’ve got beginners’ luck.”

 “Looks like,” he replied, drifting over to take a gun from the locker. Making sure his back was blocking the view, he slid a clip into position, and pulled out the laser projector from the barrel.

 “Fancy a challenge?” he said, before turning round.

 “Sure, though I think it’s unfair competition.”

 He turned, and pointed his gun at her chest, saying, “Try this, then. Who the hell are you?”

 “That was pretty agile work,” she replied.

 “I’m surprisingly good at sleight of hand. My parents gave me a magic kit on my fifth birthday. Now talk.”

 “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about,” she said, pouting.

 “Nice try,” he replied with a smile, “but you’re too damn competent for someone who doesn’t know what they are doing. Add that to your carefully calculated reputation as a screw-up, and it all comes together to something I don’t accept.”

 “Fine,” she said, “I’m not good at my job, and probably don’t belong in the service and your precious uniform. Are you happy now?”

 “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “You don’t make any sense.” He reached down to his pocket, and said, “I think it might be time to bring the Captain into this discussion.”

 “Don’t do that, Corporal,” she said.

 “Give me a reason.”

 “How about a direct order.”

 “I hate to break it to you, but Spacemen Third Class don’t give orders to Lance-Corporals.”

 “Sub-Lieutenants do.”

 His gun wavered for a second as he replied, “What?”

 With a sigh, she said, “I’m not a Spaceman Third. Well, that’s what my record says, but I’m actually a Sub-Lieutenant with Fleet Intelligence.”

 “Does the Captain know?”

 “It was decided that he didn’t need to know that I had been embedded into this mission. Intelligence wanted an officer of their own on board.”

 “I thought Winter was doing that job.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “Mr. Winter had orders of his own; he was never going any further than Spitfire Station. My mission was to stay low and observe, to monitor the situation and to provide a full report when we get back.”

 “Which is why you kept a low profile until this mission was launched,” he said. “You couldn’t risk missing out on the opportunities it would provide, but your record to date wasn’t going to impress anyone.”

 “Do we need the gun now?” she asked, and he put it into his holster, keeping his hand close by. “I wasn’t trained as a sensor tech. I’ve been trying, and admittedly failing, to pick things up on the job. I didn’t even have a commission until a week before Alamo left.”

 “Don’t they normally train people up for jobs like this?”

 “Usually, but there wasn’t time. We had to replace all of our field operatives, hell, we didn’t have any idea who might have been turned by the Cabal. That meant quite a bit of unorthodox recruiting.”

 “What did you do to get this job?”

 She shrugged, then said, “Hacked into the computers at Intelligence headquarters. I wanted interesting work, and it seemed the easiest way to get it.” She smiled, then said, “I think they use that as a recruitment tool, anyway.”

 “Why the hell didn’t they add you to the security team. The number of times we could have used a hacker…”

 “Corporal, use some common sense. Where would you expect to find a spy?”

 Nodding, he replied, “I’m guessing that you were made as nondescript as possible so that you’d have the best chance of getting away should the Cabal capture us.”

 “That was the plan. It’s just business, Corporal.”

 “And this mission?”

 “An opportunity. To both retrieve information and recover our lost people. You might find this hard to believe, Corporal, but I want to get them back too. Any more intelligence we can gain is a bonus.”

 Nodding, he replied, “So, what happens now?”

 “That depends on you, I think. I’m not stupid enough to think that you will obey any order I give you to keep silent, but I will point out that we are about to head into enemy territory, and ask you to refrain from putting my life at greater risk.”

 “The Captain should know.”

 “And if he gets captured, and interrogated?” She shook her head, then said, “He shouldn’t have gone on this mission in the first place.”

 “He cares about his people.”

 “He should care first and foremost about the security of the Triplanetary Confederation. Still, that’s neither here nor there. Thank you for selecting me as your partner, by the way.”

 “You had the place bugged,” he said. “I should have expected that.”

 With a smile, she replied, “You wouldn’t have found them if you had looked. We’re going to be extraction, then; that sounds like a good use of our talents. With you as the muscle and me running shotgun on the computers, I think we should have a good chance.”

Shaking his head, he said, “I’ll go along with your deception on two conditions.”

 “And they are?”

 “First, if I decide the Captain needs to know, I’ll tell him. And it will be my decision when that is, not yours. Is that clear.”

 “Quite clear.”

 “Second, our objective is to rescue our people. If we have an opportunity to gather some more intel, we’ll take it, but that isn’t what we’re there to do. That is non-negotiable.”

 “I’m with you on that one, all the way. For the present, I will naturally continue to follow your lead on operations. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll do a good job. We are on the same side, Corporal. I just have a rather wider skill set than you might have anticipated.”

 “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

 “Probably, but like the Captain, you don’t need to know. Yet.”

 “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I.”

 “Relax, Corporal,” she said, putting her hand on his arm, “Stick with me and I’ll make sure you live to regret it.”

Chapter 21

 “Situation report,” Marshall said to Weitzman as Ouroboros emerged from hendecaspace.

 “Checking,” the technician replied. “Well, there’s already something wrong, skipper. An orbital defense network, brand new. Laser-based by the looks of it.”

 “How many?” Caine said, standing behind the command couch.

 “Three. They don’t have complete coverage, but they are certainly getting there. Other than that, I’m reading half a dozen large bulk freighters in orbit, all unfamiliar types, and maybe a couple dozen smaller vessels, shuttles, mostly. One station in a high orbit, best guess a command and control center.”

 “Based on what?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Lots of antenna, missile tubes, and what looks suspiciously like a docked fighter squadron. It’s screaming no civilian access.”

 Leaning over his shoulder, Caine said, “This place is a hell of a lot better armed than we had expected, Danny.”

 Glancing up at her, he quietly replied, “This doesn’t change anything. Let’s find out if we’re about to be blown out of the sky.” Raising his voice, he said, “Weitzman, get Traffic Control and clear us for orbital insertion.”

 The technician nodded nervously, and started to play with his controls. After a moment, he  turned to Marshall and said, “I have Orbital Control for you.”

 “This is the Free Trader Ouroboros, requesting permission to enter orbit,” he said.

 A voice crackled over the speaker, saying, “What do you want, a round of applause?” He paused for a moment, then said, “You have an appointment with the skymaster in thirty-five minutes. I’ve cleared a descent vector for your shuttle. That all?”

 “I think so,” he replied.

 “Good. Control out.”

 “That’s the most laconic trap I’ve ever heard,” Caine said.

 “Well, we have an appointment, so we’d better keep it. Frank, have Bradley get down to the shuttle bay; we’re on our way. I’ll keep you informed about what’s happening down there.”

 “Just tell me when I can start breathing again, skipper.”

 “Come on, Deadeye, let’s get this done.” He slipped a datapad under the arm of his jacket, and the two of them floated off the bridge, making their way for the elevator. Flicking through the datapad one last time to familiarize himself with the false documents, he almost crashed into Caine in the corridor.

 “Haven’t you got this stuff memorized yet?” she said.

 “Yes, just...it’s like my flight training. I knew all of it, but I was still nervous as hell. And if I’d screwed that up I’d have had a re-sit. I don’t think the Cabal do those.”

 “Relax,” she replied. “Just stick to the basics, don’t expand on anything you don’t need to, and look as if you have something to hide. They’ll expect it.”

 “We do have something to hide,” he said.

 “Perfect. Just act natural, then.”

 Shaking his head, he swung into the elevator, continuing to read the material as it slid down through the decks towards the shuttle bay. Barbara was waiting at the airlock, wearing a suitably disheveled outfit, and Cooper was hanging around at the rear.

 “Wondering if you have room for two more, skipper.”

 Marshall looked at Caine, then said, “Why?”

 “Because if you run into trouble, then you’ve got one team on the surface, and we’ll have a chance to get lost in the bad side of town before the others turn up.”

 “He’s got a point, Danny,” Caine said.

 “The risk…”

 With a smile, the Espatier replied, “There isn’t much of a risk. If everything goes wrong, then you’ll need someone to rescue you.”

 “Now he really does have a point,” Caine said.

 “I take it Cantrell is hanging around somewhere as well.”

 She dropped down from the roof, swinging gracefully on a trio of hand-holds, “Morning, boss.”

 “Fine, you might as well join the party. Get aboard.”

 Barbara swung into the pilot’s cabin, and Marshall briefly thought about following her before shaking his head; it made a lot more sense for him to continue to brush up on the ride down. He noticed the pilot flashing an odd look to Cantrell as she boarded, sitting next to Cooper at the back, but dismissed it, gliding gently to a window seat.

 The shuttle dropped away from the freighter, gently gliding down towards the planet below. Marshall glanced out of the window, but there wasn’t very much to see; a thick haze smothered the surface, blocking out the view with only occasional glimpses of black sea and gray land underneath, a bleak and forbidding wilderness.

 “First time to a carbon world,” Caine said. “I think it might be the last, as well.”

 “We’re not here playing tourist.”

 “I bet they have some good bars, though. A place like this demands it.”

 “Let's hope we have a chance to try some of them.”

 They were thrown from side to side as the shuttle tasted atmosphere, caught in high winds that tossed it around until Barbara could level off again. Marshall peered into the thick, viscous clouds, and shook his head. There’d be no way to see the stars from the surface. Just isolated under a perpetual gloomy haze, forever.

 Up ahead, a bright light shone on the horizon, and he could make out the planet’s single city – a trio of old domes surrounded by hastily-built prefabricated structures. Going outside here was just a question of slipping on a respirator, every house having its own airlock. Still, he was surprised that they hadn’t built additional domes, rather than spreading out like a virus across the plain.

 To the right, he saw the black sea, a trio of huge ships floating on it, massive tankers sucking chemicals in from the soup they rested on; a couple of helicopters darted around over the city, searchlights beaming down on the ground. They were slowed for landing speed now, cruising down towards the landing strip; Barbara brought them in for a perfect landing, twisting to avoid the crosswinds that threatened to toss them off course.

 As the shuttle skidded to a stop, Marshall stood up, pulling a respirator down from the wall and clipping into the small tank concealed in his pocket, enough to last for three hours. Caine, next to him, did likewise; Cooper and Cantrell set up more elaborate apparatus.

 “Bradley, you stay on board,” Marshall said. “Get post-flight done, see to refueling, and then head back up when you get the word from us.”

 “And if I don’t?”

 “Give it an hour, then head back anyway.” He turned to Cooper, “If you find yourselves stranded, I’ll leave it to you to find a way back up to Ouroboros.”

 “Don’t worry about us, skipper,” Cantrell said. “We’ll be fine.”

 “Well, Deadeye, let’s get going.” He tapped the control on the airlock, and the hatch slid open onto the runway, where a couple of bored technicians were making their way over to inspect the craft. They walked towards a cluster of offices at the far end of the runway, presumably the control center, splashing in the puddles of oil on the surface. A few other shuttles were grounded, in various states of repair; one of them looked as if it might have been there for years, several pieces removed and the inside exposed to the air.

 A sign in five languages directed them to the skymaster’s office, and they went through a checkpoint manned by an obviously bored security guard with barely a flicker of interest; like the rest of the buildings, it was an adapted prefabricated structure; a building site to one side seemed to be sign of a more permanent facility under construction, several workers wearing obviously old breathing equipment, worn and scratched, laboring in the conditions.

 Marshall started to feel a tapping on his shoulder, and looked at his jacket to see black stains running down it; gray rain was falling from the clouds, and he felt a chill wind on his face. It was with a relief that he walked inside, Caine hard on his heels, a receptionist wearing a garish green outfit looking up from her desk as they entered.

 “You got an appointment?” He nodded, and she gestured at the elevator in the corner, “Third floor for the skymaster.”

 With a quick glance at Caine, he stepped into the elevator, tapping for the designated floor. As the doors closed, a discordant whine began to sound; it took him a few seconds to work out that it was some sort of music, buried in a sea of electronic garble. He glanced around the car as it slowly rose, noting the temporary repairs to the keypad, the patched-up frame around the door. This was being allowed to slowly decay.

 The doors opened, and he stepped out into an anteroom, a pair of chairs by a window that gave a view of the city outside; it did not inspire him to look, and he knocked on the door; a moment later, it opened.

 “You the Ouroboros Captain?” an officious-looking man behind the desk said. “Got your papers?”

 Marshall nodded, and passed the datapad across the desk, trying not to let his nerves show through. The man skimmed the datapad, obviously only feigning interest, then looked up.

 “What cargo are you carrying?”

 “Spices, herbs, that sort of thing. We took on a load at Hydra Station.”

 “Quite a way out,” he replied. “I hear there was some action out that way.”

 “We didn’t see anything,” Caine said. “Sounded like the best idea to stay where it was quieter.”

 “Not a bad plan. Have you got a buyer, yet?”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “We’re operating on spec; I was thinking about doing a couple of repeats if I could turn a profit on the load.”

 “There is a problem with that,” he said, dropping the datapad to the desk. “You see, I can’t find anything confirming your purchase of the ship. No transfer of documents, which puts me in a rather difficult position. Technically, I should probably impound you.” He shook his head, then said,  “Given our latest round of budget cutbacks, it could take weeks to sort the paperwork out. I’m sure it is just an oversight, but even so…”

 Caine smiled, then said, “There’s no point just having our cargo sit there and go bad. Is there any way you could help us with a buyer?”

 “Perhaps, perhaps,” he said. “I’ll make a couple of calls for you. I’m a registered broker as well, of course. Had to be to get my skymaster certification. Naturally, if I’m working for you in an independent capacity, there will be a small fee.”

 “Worth it,” Marshall said. “If we can clear up this trouble.”

 “You know, I don’t see any need to waste the Proctor’s time on this, do you?” He placed a thumb-print on the screen. “We’ll just call this one authorized, and leave it at that.”

 “Thank you,” he said, taking the datapad back. “Anywhere good to visit on this planet?”

 “I’d stay in the domes if I was you. The hives outside are a good place to get yourself mugged, or worse. That’s where the indents and their brats hang out. Security’s a lot tighter in the Inner Cities.” He laughed, “Same as everywhere. There is a very boring museum, and a few decent clubs. I might be able to arrange something.”

 “That reminded me,” Caine said. “We were thinking of hiring a couple of indents.”

 “Usually more trouble than they are worth,” he replied, “but City Hall’s holding an auction day after tomorrow. You think you can pass the security requirements?”

 “Depends how much we have to pay,” Marshall said. “See if it is worth it with the upgrade costs.”

 “Well, your business, but even here there are better ways to spend some leave. I’ll get a shuttle up to offload your cargo, and let know you if I hear about a buyer.”

 “Thank you, Mr…”

 “Wilkins. Have a good day, Captain.”

 Managing a sigh of relief, Marshall walked out of the room with Caine, tucking his datapad tightly in his pocket. He’d expected to be extorted by the skymaster, but he had hardly dared hope that he would get value for his money like that. There was no way of knowing if it was his men that were to be auctioned off, but at least they had a lead now.

Chapter 22

 Cooper felt awfully exposed, walking across the tarmac of the runway towards town; Cantrell was hanging slightly back, looking around and making mental notes of the layout, while he was paying more attention to the security guards. Frustratingly, they were lax, which meant that they would not be the ones they would be dealing with during the escape. Whoever was in charge here would send in their own special teams to stop them, rather than relying on this crowd. Large areas of the perimeter were left uncovered, blind spots in the patrol paths.

 Peering around a pile of boxes, he realized why the guards were so lackadaisical; a group of men were loading some small crates onto a truck, and none of them were wearing starport uniforms. There must be a lot of smuggling going on here, a thriving luxury goods market, and the managers would naturally be collecting their cut.

 “Hey, over there,” Cantrell said, gesturing at a coach over to one side, workers climbing on board. The vehicle had streaks of rust running down its side, most of the passenger windows were broken, and there were no attempts at pressurization.

 “Bet that’s going into the indent areas.”

 “Probably,” he replied, then nodded. “Let’s go.”

 They walked over to the coach, joining the back of the line. No-one asked for identification, and they slid a pair of low-denomination notes to the driver on demand, not once making eye contact. While their clothes were somewhat better than the rest of crowd, they still managed to blend in, careful not to speak in order to conceal their off-world accents.

 Cooper took the window seat, looking out at the bleak landscape as they slowly crawled down the road to the city. Overhead, a passenger helicopter flew past, curving away towards one of the domes, while they headed right for the hive of buildings surrounding the protected parts of the cities.

 At about the half-way point, they drove past a long, enclosed cemetery, plastic markers stabbed into the ground almost randomly. There must have been thousands of them scattered across the landscape, the final resting place of the workers. Cantrell looked over his shoulder at them, shaking her head, and then at the others. None of them looked well, their breathing apparatus old, worn, patched. Back home none of them would have passed safety certification, but Cooper had the distinct impression that these were all they could afford.

 The coach turned around a corner, heading into the city itself, and bumped across a pothole, throwing Cooper forward. The buildings looked in the same condition as the respirators, old and in poor condition. More than a few of them looked to have been cobbled together from mismatched pieces, improvised shelter from the hostile wilderness. A couple of low domes were present, small areas protected from the environment, their airlocks tightly sealed and guarded.

 Passing through the outer areas, they dragged into the business district, bars, pawn shops, hardware stores dominating. A betting shop on the left, a brothel on the right. A small gaggle of better-dressed people were walking down the streets, surrounded by security, obviously some of the wealthier classes slumming for the day.

 “Reminds me of Mars before independence,” Cooper whispered.

 Shaking her head, Cantrell replied, “It was never this bad, Cooper. Though it might have been, given a few more years of occupation.”

 The coach jerked to a stop, and Cooper peered forward; there was a crowd forming around one of the few buildings that didn’t appear to be falling apart, banners waving in the air in languages Cooper couldn’t recognize, shouting coming from respirator speakers. The driver shook his head, turned around, and said,

 “I’m getting out of here. If you want out, now’s the time.”

 Cooper and Cantrell needed no further encouragement, following the crowd from the coach as it slowly snaked out onto the street, Most of them seemed to be heading for alleys and side streets, disappearing into the shadows, but others were heading for the crowd, joining its swelling ranks. As they began to disembark, the driver grabbed Cooper by the arm, and said.

 “Look, I get you are an offworlder. Those respirators are screaming it. Don’t go looking for trouble, the Proctor’s cracking down on your types at the moment. Want some free advice? Head down to Luigi’s. He’ll rip you off but you’ll get a good time out of it. That mob out there?” he gestured, “That’ll just get you a ticket to detention.”

 “Thanks for the advice,” Cooper said, stepping down to the street. “What do you think?” he asked Cantrell.

 “I think we need to find out what is going on out there.”

 They pushed forward into the crowd, making sure to stay close to each other, and tried to find someone in charge. The first two attempts Cooper made at conversation resulted in a mouthful of unintelligible gibberish, but the third was more successful.

 “What you want?” a short-haired girl asked.

 “Just to know what’s happening?”

 “You don’t know?”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “I’m from out of town.”

 “Hey, Miguel,” she yelled, “We’re a goddamn tourist attraction now!” Turning back to Cooper, she said, “Bastards have lowered the work quotas again. We’re not getting enough money now, look at this place! They’ve just dumped us here and left us to rot.”

 “The indentured…”

 “I’m not an indent!” she said. “My parents were, but I was born free. Not that it makes any difference. I was born out here in the Smoke, so no-one in the domes is going to give a damn about me, or lift a finger to help me.”

 There was a loud smash, and the sound of air escaping; Cooper and the girl turned to see one of the windows broken, part of the crowd cheering, others beginning to get out of the way. The girl’s eyes widened and she shook her head.

 “Damn. We’ve got to get the hell out of here, now!”

 “Why?”

 “You simple? Protests are one thing, but those morons just smashed up Company property.” She looked up, gesturing towards the horizon – a pair of helicopters were cutting through the air, heading towards them, “We’re going to be hip-deep in CorpSec any minute.”

 Cooper looked around, trying to spot Cantrell, “Did you see…”

 “All I can see is trouble. You want to get out of this, follow me.”

 She snaked away into the crowd, but Cooper turned, trying to spot his comrade in the gathering throng. They were down to the hard core now, maybe seventy or eighty, singing some sort of protest song in Spanish. He pushed in, trying to work his way through, hoping to spot Cantrell; part of him suspected she might have got away already, but he couldn’t take the chance.

 Then he spotted her, caught in the heart of the crowd, unable to get through. He turned, and saw the helicopters running down the street, then paused in shock for a second as the familiar rattle of machine guns sounded, tearing at the concrete, a pair of protesters caught in the fire thrown to the ground, blood splattering onto the street.

 The once-stalwart crowd broke into raw panic, dissolving to its constituent members as they raced for safety, for cover, to try and get as far from the aerial death as they could. Cooper was caught in the tide of chaos, desperately trying not to be jostled to the concrete, fighting his way towards Cantrell. Overhead, the helicopters span around for another pass, and another wave of shots ripped towards the street, killing or maiming everything in their path.

 At last, Cooper managed to grab Cantrell, pulling her away, saying, “This close enough?”

 “I think so. Let’s get out of here.”

 A low rumbling came from the road, and a pair of heavy, tracked ATVs rolled around a corner as the helicopters, their work done, resumed their patrol position. From the other side, another one came, pinning the survivors of the crowd between them.

 “Great, we’re cut off,” Cantrell said.

 Roaring from the lead vehicle, a voice boomed, “This is CorpSec. All workers are to remain where they are for processing. Move and you will be killed.”

 Cooper shook his head, “If they pick us up, the whole game is over.”

 “Only one thing to do, then,” Cantrell said. “Run!”

 She sprinted out of the dumbfounded crowd, zigzagging to avoid the expected hail of machine gun fire. Cursing under his breath, Cooper chased after her, running for the theoretical safety of the buildings. He thought for a second of heading in a different direction, but beyond the main highway, this place was a maze. The odds were that if they split up once, they would never find each other again.

 Bullets cracked through the air, and security guards wearing gray uniforms, respirators built into their helmets, began to chase after them, eager to take them down. They reached the alley and continued to sprint, desperately racing for safety, but here they couldn’t take any evasive action; as soon as the guards reached the end of the alley and aimed their guns, they were dead unless they could find another option.

 Passing dead-end after dead-end, they finally came to the end of the lane, finding the way blocked by a high wall, part of one of the few domes in this end of town. If they had been carrying explosives, they might have been able to rip through it, but their bare hands were not going to be suitable for the task. Unarmed, they turned, glanced at each other, then began to raise their hands.

 From underneath, Cooper heard a whispering voice, “In here. Quick, before they see you!”

 A hatch had opened in the ground, concealed underneath some bags of garbage, and a hand was beckoning them in. There was no time for thought, for anything other than instant action, and he dived head-first into the hole, Cantrell hard on his heels. The hatch slid shut just as the guards arrived, a hail of bullets raining on the cover.

 Sliding a bolt home, the girl from before said, “Quick. It won’t take them long to get that open.”

 Needing no further urging, Cooper raced down through the tunnels, all in a worse state of repair than the buildings above, a thin trickle of what seemed to be raw sewerage meandering along the ground. Shouts echoed behind them, but as they turned around one corner after another, they finally found themselves getting away from them, and the pursuing voices faded away into nothing.  Panting for breath, Cooper stopped, peering back into the gloom.

 “Thank you,” he said. “I can’t believe they just gave up.”

 The girl shrugged, and said, “Plenty of bodies upstairs they can pin this one on if they want. Someone will find out that their nearest and dearest was killed resisting arrest, rather than being killed at an illegal assembly. Doesn’t make any difference in the end. Dead is dead.”

 “Where are we?” Cantrell asked.

 “Old shelter system. Runs for miles underneath the town, used to connect all the domes. They abandoned it years ago, but lots of us use it. For all sorts of things.” Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “Now what are two outworlders doing at a rally?”

 “We were curious,” Cantrell began, only to be interrupted with a braying laugh from the girl.

 “Fine, you don’t want to tell me, you don’t want to tell me. None of my business anyway, I just risked my neck to save your sorry lives.”

 “For all we know, you work for CorpSec, and this was all a trick,” Cooper said.

 Shrugging, she said, “I might at that. Especially if the bounty is good enough. Keep that cynicism of yours; down here it’s a survival trait.”

 “How can we get out of here?”

 “Keep wandering for a while and you’ll get to a hatch. We’re going separate ways now, and you’re going to stand here and count to a hundred before you move, or I’ll be forced to...take action.”

 She waved her cloak, revealing a pair of pistols under her belt. Cooper and Cantrell glanced at each other, and he could tell that she was calculating the chances that she might be able to jump her. Forestalling that, Cooper took a step forward.

 “Look, there must be something we can do for you. How would you like to get off this rock?”

 Cantrell looked daggers at her, and the girl replied, “Who wouldn’t like to get out of here?”

 “What if I told you I could get you a job on a freighter?”

 She shook her head, and said, “Don’t have any papers.”

 “That makes it harder, but you have something we need.” He gestured at her belt, and said, “Those pistols. We’ve got a shuttle at the starport that will be going up to our ship. You can wait up there and sail when we do. Either we can put you off at the next port, Sinbad Outpost maybe, or you can sign on as part of the crew. Your call.”

 “You want my guns?”

 “Up in the black, you won’t need them.”

 “Uh-huh. And how am I supposed to trust this miracle of luck that has sent me hurtling from this world? How do I know you won’t just throw me out of an airlock?”

 “What would be the point?” Cantrell said, shaking her head. “Do you want out or not?”

 “You aren’t recruiting whores, or something, are you? I heard about one freighter…”

 “No we are not,” Cooper said. “I made you an offer. Fine, from your point of view it might be a gamble, but would you rather stay here?”

 “I’ll say this about you,” she replied, “You’ve got a talent for asking dumb questions. Fine, I accept. Hang back here for a minute while I scout ahead, we’re going to swing by my flop to get my stuff. You get my guns when I get on that shuttle. There’d better not be any problems…”

 “If there are, you can always turn us in.”

 “What’s your game, anyway? Why do you want my pistols?”

 Cooper glanced at Cantrell in mock hesitation, and said, “Someone on this rock stole some property that belonged to our boss. We’re here to get it back.”

 “Valuable stuff, huh.”

 “Couldn’t be more so.”

 “Well, I don’t want to be involved with anything that risky.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper said, “This goes wrong, our boss just writes us off.”

 “Smart guy,” she said. “Wait here. Back in sixty.”

 She walked down the corridor, and Cantrell turned to him, saying, “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

 “Improvising.”

 “We don’t know who she is, we don’t know who she works for, we don’t know a damn thing! You just sent someone who could be a Cabal agent up to our ship. And what was all that stuff about our property?”

 “The rest of my platoon. I just put it into the local dialect. Worst thing happens is that we toss her in a cell and carry her back to Hydra Station. She won’t be in a position to betray us.”

 “She’d damn well better not be.”

 “Besides, she saved our lives,” Cooper said, looking at her up the passage. “That’s a debt I don’t mind paying back.”

 “Fine,” she replied, “but you get to tell the Captain. I can’t wait to hear what he says about this one.”

Chapter 23

 The helicopter swooped over the hills, diving down towards the domes as though on a bombing run; Orlova looked at Nelyubov with a smile. This pilot was after her own heart, a showman. Not that most of the passengers appreciated it. The passenger compartment was full of spacers heading down on leave, a couple of officials wearing smarter suits, trying to shrink away from the others, and a guard sitting at the rear of the cabin, resting on a pistol, his eyes taking the measure of the room.

 She looked down over the city below; there were a pair of thin trails of smoke rising from one of the streets, and she could just make out some sort of disturbance, troops moving around. Looking up, she saw that, very quietly, the guard had walked up to her.

 “You’re new on this world?”

 “Yes, first time.”

 He nodded, then said, “Best not to pay too much attention to what happens out in the Smoke. You want my advice, you’ll stick to the Domes, have a good time, and get back up to your ship in one piece.”

 “Don’t worry,” she replied. “I’ve been out for months without any time off.” That much was true, at least. “All I want to do is try and relax.”

 “Good,” he said, clasping her on the shoulder. “We’re not the best leisure spot, but we’ve got a little something extra.”

 That phrase instantly triggered a recognition for Orlova, and she replied, “That’s what I’m looking for.”

 He nodded, then said, “I’d try Red Nakamura’s. Best sushi in the system.”

 “Thanks,” she replied. “I’ll look it up.”

 Nelyubov turned to her, frowning, and she nodded in reply. Not wanting to attract any more attention, she focused on the datapad in her lap, paging through the local network, scanning the advertisements and listings.

 A slice of the dome peeled away, and the helicopter clattered inside, the roof sealing up again as they descended into an airlock shaft that slowly pressurized, removing the local atmosphere and replacing it with an oxygen/nitrogen mix. This really was a luxury; normally they’d have had to land outside and been transferred by an airlock, but there was obviously enough money on this world that the locals could indulge themselves.

 The helicopter dropped to the ground with a barely perceptible thud, and the rotors slowed to a stop. A pair of attendants opened the door, placing a stepladder in front of it and gesturing for them to disembark; Orlova and Nelyubov made sure that they were neither the first or the last to leave, swinging out their holdalls and walking over to the street access.

 “So, what do we want to do first?” he said, turning to her. Quietly, he whispered, “Is that what I think it was?”

 “The recognition signal,” she replied in the same low tones. “We just got contacted.”  Raising her voice, she said, “Let’s find a hotel, I want to dump my bag.”

Hearing her, an attendant walked over to the pair, a plastic smile fixed on his face, “I could recommend the Imperial, ma’am. Excellent rates, fine rooms, good food.”

 “Sounds splendid.”

 He reached for her datapad and tapped a trio of instructions into the controls, and a route map of the dome popped up, a thin line tracing the way to the hotel.

 “All part of the service, ma’am. We’re always eager to get off-world visitors.”

 Nodding, Orlova pressed a note in his hand, and headed off into the street, following the thread. The directions meant that she could spend her time observing; evidently they were in what passed for the tourist quarter, souvenir shops, bars that promised much but by all appearances would deliver little, even a small museum. The people were well dressed, a clash of styles that looked garish to her, fluorescent colors and strange cuts, mixed with the utilitarian jumpsuits of the spacers.

 “Think we should get some new clothes?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Why, you like the style?”

 “No, I was thinking we might blend in a little better.”

 “This planet has a population of high five figures, and this dome has, what, twenty thousand? I’m going to guess that everyone knows everyone else.”

 Walking past a building that promised the wonders of natural hot springs, they found their hotel, a four-level tower that reached almost to the roof of the dome. The top two floors were wrapped in a garden balcony, probably to improve the view, but there were a lot of roof gardens scattered about the place.

 They pushed into the room through a wide double airlock, both doors locked open at present but ready to slam shut at a moment’s notice, and headed for the reception, where a bored-looking man wearing a black suit was standing.

 “Can I help you?”

 “We’d like a double room, please. Four nights.”

He nodded, and slid a form across to Nelyubov, who shook his head as he began to fill it in. Turning behind the counter, he reached into a box of keycards, plucking a pair out and passing them to Orlova.

 “Room 322,” he said. “One of our best. Dinner begins at 1900, breakfast at 0730, Zulu time of course. Would you like some help with your luggage?” He gestured to a corner, and a woman wearing a gray coverall, a tattoo ring around her arm, stepped forward. Orlova caught a brief glimpse of sadness on her face, mixed with a trace of defiance.

 “I think we can manage, somehow.” She turned to Nelyubov, and said, “I’m hungry, fancy some late lunch?”

 “Suits me,” he replied.

 Turning back to the manager, she asked, “Know a good sushi place?”

 He nodded, and said, “I can recommend Red Nakamura’s Restaurant. He breeds the fish himself, in the city water tanks.”

 “Is that safe?” Nelyubov said, frowning.

 “I assure you, all water used here in the dome is thoroughly treated before we use it, sir. It is simply an efficient way of utilizing it while it is in storage. Are you sure I can’t help you to your room?”

 “No, we can manage. How much?”

 “Two hundred credits now, six hundred at the end, not counting any extra charges for room service.”

 She slid some notes across the desk; neither of them acknowledged the additional twenty credit note she added to to the stack, and he handed her the room keys. The two of them made idle chatter as they stepped into the elevator, rising through the structure to their room. Any hotel was likely to be the focus of unwanted attention by the security services, and the elevator was almost certainly bugged.

 The room was painted in the same garish colors, red and green this time, enough to make Orlova’s teeth itch, but they had an excellent view of the garden outside, tangling vines and creepers to obscure the unappealing street scene, the smell of living vegetation seeping into the air. Nelyubov tossed his holdall onto a table and started to unload; neither of them had brought along anything they particularly cared about, just a few sets of clothes, toiletries, and a couple of spare datapads.

 Orlova tossed her bag under the bed, not bothering to unpack, and waited patiently for Nelyubov to finish. She glanced around, trying to see where any bugs might be hidden whilst trying to look as if she was just checking out the room. Likely any surveillance equipment would be too small to detect anyway without equipment, and breaking that out really would give the game away.

 “I’m ready,” he said. “Shall we go?”

 “Yes, I’m starving.”

 They descended to the lobby, walking out into the street under the gaze of the manager; as they left, another group of tourists came past them, providing some assurance that they weren’t the only ones who had been directed to that hotel. Tapping for the restaurant, the datapad provided another line, further on the way they had come, towards the perimeter of the dome.

 As they walked out of the main street, they found themselves in a residential area, and Orlova might have been back home on Mars. The houses looked the same, as did the carefully cultivated greenery – anything to help the life support systems work. They walked past a school, children playing some sort of ball game in the yard while teachers watched.

 “They’re the same, aren’t they,” Orlova said. “When it comes down to it.”

 “You too, huh,” Nelyubov replied. “The sooner I get back to Port Lovell, the happier I’ll be.”

 At the end of the street, they came to another cluster of shops, this time more usual – grocery stores, clothes shops, and a pair of restaurants, including their destination. Glancing at each other, they stepped in, walking over to the headwaiter.

 “Table for two, please,” Orlova said, then adding, “We’d like the special.”

 The headwaiter nodded, then said, “There will be a delay.”

 “We can wait.”

 He nodded again, and gestured them towards a table near the kitchen. The place was almost empty, a family over in the corner poking at the cuisine. No menu was provided, and after a few minutes, Orlova was beginning to worry that she had actually ordered lunch, but then a waiter walked over with a silver platter, two glasses on it.

 “Sake, madam,” he said. “Complements of the house. It is recommended that you drink it before the meal.”

 Nelyubov frowned, then said, “I thought…”

 “Sir, I strongly recommend you drink it, or the remainder of your dining experience could be significantly less pleasant.”

 With a shrug, Orlova drained the glass, replacing it on the tray, and Nelyubov reluctantly did the same. Almost at once, her vision started to blur, her eyes began to close, and she cursed herself for having fallen into such an obvious trap.

 After what seemed an eternity, her eyes flickered open, and she looked around; they were in some sort of cave, the walls sealed and pressurized, pipes and tanks everywhere. She tried and failed to move her hands, feeling handcuffs around her wrists.

 “Ah, you have awakened at last,” a voice said, and a slender man walked into the room, a cane tapping on the stone floor. “Your companion awoke an hour ago.”

 “What did you do to him?”

 “Nothing, yet. I simply asked him some questions. If I receive satisfactory answers, then you will be permitted to leave, potentially richer in knowledge than when you arrived. If I do not, then you will not leave this complex alive. Who are you? And begin with the truth.”

 “First, I must know something. Are you the resistance?”

 He chuckled, and said, “If it will loosen your tongue, yes. You are captured, my dear, and does my identity alter the fact of your interrogation?”

 “I’m here to make contact with the Underground. If I have succeeded, I will talk.”

 “You have. Now, answer my question.”

 “I am Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 “Your companion?”

 “Sub-Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov.”

 “In the same fleet?” His voice was a monotone.

 “Yes.”

 “Your mission?”

 “To rescue a dozen members of our ship’s company who were captured by the Cabal. We have reason to believe that they are held captive on this planet. Also to gather intelligence, and make contact with any resistance groups.”

 He nodded, then said, “And where did you get my identity from?”

 “Another member of your organization. I cannot tell you who.”

 “Why not?” he said, sharply.

 “You’ve caught me. If you aren’t in the resistance, then I’m not going to give up someone who is, and all I have right now is your word.”

 With a ghost of a chuckle, he said, “All I have is your word, also. Trust is expensive. Who is your commanding officer.”

 “Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall.”

 “And where is he?”

 “I can’t tell you that, either.”

 “Of course not. I still require proof. Of your loyalty, if nothing else.” He reached over to a wall and tapped a button. A door opened, and a pair of men dragged a woman into the room, writhing and trying to get out of her restraints, wearing the uniform of the Cabal Fleet.

 “This woman was caught trying to enter our facility. She must be dealt with.” One of the newcomers passed a pistol to him, and he reached down to unchain her, pulling the handcuffs away.  “I want you to eliminate her.” He passed her the pistol.

 “Kill her in cold blood?”

 “She is an enemy, of both of us.”

 “I’ll be avenged!” the woman screamed. “My people will come for me.”

 “No doubt,” the man said. “You, however, will not be here to witness it.” Turning to Orlova, he said, “Well, what are you waiting for? In battle you would kill without thinking.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “This isn’t a battle, it’s murder.” She dropped the pistol.

 “Hector,” the man said, and one of the others pulled a pistol out of his pocket, leveling it at her. “I would suggest you do as I say. What is the difference? If she was on the bridge of an enemy starship, would you not do your duty?”

 “Not in cold blood,” she said, waiting for the bullet.

 The man smiled, pulled out a knife, and walked over to the woman on the floor, slicing her bonds with two quick flicks. He helped her to her feet, and Orlova shook her head.

 “May I introduce you to the leader of our cell. You may call her Delphine; that is, naturally, not her name, but it will serve for the purposes of conversation.” Another door opened, and Nelyubov walked in. “Your comrade likewise passed the test.”

 “What if I had fired?”

 “The gun was loaded with blanks, and it would have been your final act in this world. Until we meet again.”

 The others walked out of the room, leaving the two of them alone with Delphine, who said, “I am glad to finally meet members of the Triplanetary Fleet. You have struck several serious blows against our common enemy.”

 “I hope so,” Orlova said. “How long were we out?”

 “Ninety minutes. No-one knows you were restrained, and our meeting will be short. You wish to rescue your people?”

 “That’s why we’re here.”

 “A laudable goal,” she said, “and you have my sympathies, but our actual ability to provide aid is limited. We are a small group, constantly hunted, with only limited resources, you understand, and the risk of the action you propose is grave.”

 “But you can help.”

 She nodded, saying, “We can provide some intelligence, perhaps some equipment.”

 “That’s all?”

 “It has taken years for us to build to our current state. We cannot take any risks until the day we are able to rise up and overthrow our oppressors. Tell me; will the Triplanetary Confederation invade the Cabal?”

 “I don’t know,” Orlova replied. “That isn’t my decision.”

 “Of course, but I thought, I hoped...but never mind. We do not even know if your friends are on this planet, but there is a high-security auction of penal work contracts. That much I do know. Perhaps the most useful thing we can provide you are these.” She pulled three old-style communicators out of her pocket, passing them to her. “These work with the internal communications network of the city itself, and will work within a ten-mile radius. Naturally, they are untraceable.” She smiled, then said, “And replaceable. They will cease to operate after five days, and you can tap a button to scramble them before that. Ensure they are not captured.”

 “We will,” she said. “Can you get us any plans of the auction rooms?”

 “They’ll be taking place in the City Hall; I think we can help you there.” She raised a hand, and said, “I want to make it clear. If you run into trouble, we will not aid you. Frankly, I would rather this mission did not take place at all.”

 “We came here to get our people back, and we're going to do it.”

 She sighed, then said, “You had better return to the surface now, before you are missed. We will contact you again in twenty-four hours.”

 “Thank you.” She paused, then said, “You didn’t ask if we can help you in return?”

 “This is not a barter, Lieutenant. We will help as much as we can, if you are set on this course.” She gestured to a door, then said, “That will take you back up to the restaurant. I understand the chef has packed your lunches for you.”

 Orlova turned to look at the door, and when she turned back, Delphine was gone. The two of them looked at other, and made for the exit.

Chapter 24

 City Hall was a tall, imposing structure, neo-classical columns made of polished stone reaching up dozens of feet, statues of presumably long-dead dignitaries presiding over the steps up to the entrance. Marshall walked through the threshold, followed by Caine, and almost laughed when he saw the inside; nothing but a collection of prefabricated buildings thrown together, with the facade laid on top of it. Either at some point the money had run out, or the bureaucracy simply refused to abandon their lair.

 A tall, hawk-faced man wearing a guard’s uniform walked crisply over to them, his boots snapping on the floor, obviously sizing them up. He had a gun mounted in a holster at his belt, and a slight bulge under his jacket, combined with one loose button, suggested that he had a back-up concealed weapon as well.

 “Can I help you?”

 “Yes,” Marshall said. “I hear there is an auction coming up. I was considering placing a bid, but I wondered if it would be possible to inspect the...merchandise.” He desperately tried to make his voice sound natural, but inside, he wanted to throw up. Nevertheless, apparently the guard’s assessment of his status had risen a few notches, and arrogance gave way to deference.

 “Of course. They’re in the basement level, under maximum security. You are aware that this is a penal auction, yes?”

 “So I understand.”

 Nodding, he said, “That could be good or bad, of course. I’d rather wait for a normal indent auction myself. The trouble with penal bids is that you are stuck with them forever.”

 “Perhaps I can make a better deal.”

 The guard waved to a figure standing in the corner, “Fontaine, would you help these people?”

 A slender woman walked over to them, gray hair curled around her head, wearing a suit that looked as if she was long-overdue for fitting.

 “Potential buyers?” she said with a menacing smile.

 “If the merchandise is worth it,” Caine replied.

 “Do you have a permit?”

 Marshall glanced at Caine, then back at her, “I can get a permit, but I’d rather not go to the trouble and expense unless I think it is going to be justified.”

 “Oh, naturally, but I fear that I must insist. We don’t want people simply walking in to gawk at the unfortunates.” She chuckled, then said, “They’re in enough trouble already.”

 Somehow resisting the urge to hit her, he patted his hand on his wallet, replying, “Surely there must be some alternative.”

 With a smile, she replied, “I suppose it will do no harm, this once. Don’t tell anyone you have been, though. I’m a jailer, not a tour guide. Come with me.”

 Leading them down a staircase, they stepped into a long, twisting corridor, carved out of the rock, following seams of minerals. The relics of long-ago mining were left on the floor, burn marks from clumsy blasting, a few memorial plaques in a variety of languages scattered around.

 “This dates back to the first settlers here. Before the domes, they lived underground. The City Fathers keep talking about turning this into a tourist trap, but it makes such a good cell, and budgets being what they are,” she said, shaking her head. She pointed at another plaque in the corridor, and continued, “That was my grandfather, fifty years ago. Astounding how things change.”

 “I’m sorry,” Marshall said.

 “Whenever you build a new world, there is a price to be paid. Still, there’s a lesson there. He was an indent, as was my grandmother, and they managed to build themselves up.”

 “And now you keep indents prisoner, run the auctions,” Caine said.

 “Ironic, isn’t it. This way,” she said, gesturing down a side passage. They walked for another few minutes along a twisting tunnel, before coming to a stop in a cavern. There was a glass partition running down one side of it, a door in the middle, and on the far side were twelve people, sitting in a trio of loose clumps.

 It took every ounce of self-control Marshall had not to react, not to immediately attempt to free them, for those were the missing Espatiers. Names on a screen, listed as missing, presumed dead, and all of them were there. Sergeant Forrest, Private Kelly, Private Knight, all of them. None of them looked any the worse for their ordeal.

 “Are they physically fit?” Caine said. “No permanent injuries?”

 “Of course not!” the woman replied. “We would not sell damaged merchandise. Not that a lot of them don’t have a few scars, of course.” She frowned, then said, “There is a restriction about taking them off-world. I should tell you that, to be fair. One of the oil ships will probably buy their contracts, I expect. Life expectancy out there is down to five years, now.”

 “Can they see us?”

 “One-way glass.”

 Marshall longed to speak to them, to tell them that hope was on the way, but he looked at Caine, who shook her head almost imperceptibly. Reason had to override passion today if he was going to get them out of there; all he could do was continue to bide his time.

 “Auction’s in four days, in the morning. Plenty of time for you to get a permit if you still  want one. Interested?”

 “Not now I know about the off-world restriction, damn it.”

 She shrugged, then said, “I know, pretty unusual. Not much choice with this bunch. I don’t know where they came from, and I don’t really care, but they must have done something pretty bad. Attempted to escape, perhaps, from an indent contract. There’ll be another auction coming up in about a month…”

 “We won’t be here then,” Caine said. “But thanks for the help.”

 With a smile, she said, “I don’t mind doing favors, especially if they are reciprocated.”

Marshall slipped a hand into his wallet, coming out with a hundred-credit note, and made to shake her hand. Afterward, the note was gone, and her smile had widened.

 “If you’ve finished, we can go back upstairs.”

 “Thank you,” Marshall said, with a last long look at his people in the cell. Now that he knew they were there, he was more determined to break them out, to get them home, than ever before. There had to be an answer, and he was lost in thought as they navigated their way back to the surface, walking out into the street without another word.

 He walked towards the heliport at a quick pace, Caine struggling to keep up with him as he weaved silently through the crowds. Right now, they were in the middle of town, with no obvious way out. It might be possible to get them out of their cell, but getting outside and back to their shuttle was going to be far more difficult.

 They were the only passengers on the transport helicopter this time, the solitary companion in the cabin a guard who spent most of his time looking out of the window. Marshall was glad of the distraction, and was bursting for a chance to talk, knowing that he didn’t dare say a word unless he was in a secure location, and the shuttle was the only such he knew of on this planet. The only place he could trust, in any case.

 Donning his respirator, he walked out to the tarmac, heading for the waiting shuttle, eating the distance away with long, loping strides, the oily puddles splashing up to his trousers. He slammed on the airlock button for entry, climbing into the passenger cabin with a triumphant smile on his face, reinforced when he saw Cooper and Cantrell sitting inside.

“Corporal, I’ve found them!” he said. “They’re in the detention area underneath City Hall, waiting to be auctioned off; we’re going to have to move quickly if we’re going to get them out. I want you and Cantrell back out there right now, scoping out the odds of breaking in tonight.”

“Captain,” Cooper began, but Marshall carried on talking.

“I’m going to let Race know the news, see if we can get some orbital coordination in on this. I want our eyes in the sky watching every move they make. Then we can get the hell out of here and back to Alamo.”

 “Where?” an unfamiliar voice said, walking into the cabin. He turned to see a scrappy young woman wearing battered clothes standing at the threshold, eying him warily. Marshall turned to Cooper, his smile vanishing in a heartbeat.

 “Cooper, you’d better have a damn good explanation.”

 “This is Jacqui, skipper. She helped us get away from the security forces, and in exchange, we offered her passage from this planet.”

 “You did.”

 “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

 “What the hell is going on?” Jacqui said, pulling a pistol out of a hidden pocket. “You didn’t think I only carried two, did you? Or that I’d go anywhere unarmed with people I didn't trust?”

 “We’re going to have words, Corporal,” Marshall said.

 “Right now, in fact,” Jacqui said. “Are you Fleet? Is this a loyalty test?”

 Turning to face her square on, Marshall decided to throw caution to the wind, and said, “I am Lieutenant-Captain Daniel Marshall, commander of the Battlecruiser Alamo. These are Corporal Cooper and Spaceman Cantrell, behind me is my Tactical Officer, Lieutenant Caine. We’re with the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 “You don’t look like pirates and murderers.”

 “Come on,” Cooper said, “You don’t actually believe the junk they’re saying, do you?”

 “I don’t believe anything that I don’t see with my own eyes.”

 “Cooper offered you passage from this world, and I will deliver on that. It will have to be to the Triplanetary Confederation, though.”

 “Where?”

 “Sol. Mars, most likely,” Caine said.

 Shaking her head, she said, “My great-great-grandfather came from Mars. One of the first colonists, left when it got too quiet.”

 “He should have stayed,” Cantrell said.

 “Damn right he should.” She looked around the room, “What are you doing here, then? Cooper said something about property.”

 “Twelve of my men have been captured. I intend to free them. That’s all.”

 “You came all this way to rescue twelve of your men? They important crewmen or something?”

 “All of them are. I’m going to get them home, or die in the attempt.” Cooper smiled at that, though Cantrell seemed to be somewhat less happy about the idea.”

 “I don’t buy it,” she said. “No-one here would do that.”

 “You came back for us,” Cooper said. “What’s the difference?”

 “That wasn’t the same thing at all.”

 “Yes, it was.”

 Marshall said, “Put the gun down. I can understand why you drew it, but you don’t need it.”

 “I don’t trust you,” she said.

 “Then you’d better get on and shoot me, and turn me over to the authorities. I’m sure they’ll reward you well.”

 “Damn Proctor would take all the credit anyway,” she said, holstering her gun. “I’ll keep this, if you don’t mind.”

 “If it makes you feel better.”

 “Getting off this rock would make me feel a lot better.” She turned to Cooper, “You’re going to try and break into City Hall?”

 “We’re going to try,” he said.

 “You’ll never do it. Security is far too tight.”

 “Danny, she’s right,” Caine said. “Even if we did manage it, we’d never get them through the city. I hate to suggest this, but couldn’t we just buy them? We’ve got enough Cabal currency on board.”

 “And if the Cabal find out, they’ll be raiding our stations for captives to auction back to us,” Marshall said. “I’d really rather not set that particular precedent.”

 “Then what are we going to do?”

 Jacqui said, “Why don’t you wait until the convoy is on the move, and hit them then.”

 “Or better still,” Caine said, “have the driver of their truck as one of us.” Turning to Jacqui, she said, “I like it.”

 “We haven’t got any passes or identification for that. Nor even uniforms,” Cantrell said. “No time to get them, and we haven’t got the forging equipment on Ouroboros.”

 With a sigh, Jacqui said, “This is where I get dragged in, isn’t it.”

 “You could just go back up to the ship,” Marshall said with a smile. “No-one here is going to force you to do anything.”

 “My Mom always said my conscience would kill me,” Jacqui replied. “Guess she was right. Ah, to hell with it. You get caught, the Proctor will figure I was working with you anyway. I might as well do something worth getting shot for.”

 “That’s the spirit,” Marshall said. There was a chirp from the airlock, and he peered through the hatch, “Looks like Orlova’s made it back as well. Let’s get this worked out.”

Orlova stepped into the shuttle, looking around with a frown at the new arrivals, “No-one told me we had guests.”

 “Maggie,” Marshall said, “how do you fancy being a truck driver?”

Chapter 25

 Barbara swung the hammer again, running a series of scratches down the side of the shuttle as she methodically continued to work. She couldn’t make a dent in the hull, but she could certainly make a mess of the paintwork. Behind her, Wilson was busily tearing pieces out of one of the starboard sensor clusters, and pieces of a dismantled thruster were on the deck behind him.

 Cooper walked in and did a double-take, looking at the carefully-crafted devastation before him. He drifted over to Barbara as she smashed the hammer into the hull, chips and fragments rebounding into the air behind her.

 “This looks a bit much, doesn’t it?”

 She turned, then said, “I’ve got to fly this beast, remember. There were two choices. Either we make it look as if I have had a crash landing, or I actually have a crash landing. Given that I don’t like my chances of being able to bring her up again, this is the best way to do it.”

 “Yes, but,” he replied, gesturing around, “Don’t you need any of this stuff?”

 “Most of it is just safety gear, nothing serious.”

 “Just safety gear?”

 She shrugged, and said, “These things are pretty over-engineered anyway. Ludicrously so, sometimes. All this stuff takes up processing power and adds extra weight. One of these days I want to build a really stripped-down shuttle, see what we can do if we throw out the rulebook.”

 “Go spiraling down to your doom,” Wilson said, tugging the last piece of the cluster free. “I think we’ve done about as much as we can without you actually crashing, so we’d better leave it there.”

 Glancing across at him, she nodded, “You might be right. I should be able to slam her down on the deck hard enough to shake some stuff up, anyway.” Turning to Cooper, she said, “Have we heard from the resistance yet?”

 “It took some cajoling, but we have indeed.” He tossed her a datapad, then said, “That’s what I came to tell you. They finally sent us up the data we were looking for.”

 “About damn time,” she replied. “Three days we’ve been waiting for this.”

 “Give them a break”, he said. “We couldn’t have done much until now, anyway.”

 “I still say this whole thing is a crazy idea. Pretending to crash land a shuttle…”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “You don’t think they’d give us permission to land somewhere other than the starport otherwise, do you? This way we get two shuttles down on the deck exactly where we want them.”

 As she read through the report, her eyes widened. “Gabe, have you read this?”

 “Good tactically. There’s a road running all the way to the site.”

 “To get down, I’ve got to fly over a pair of mountains, then duck around some swampy mess. If I don't smash into the peaks I’ll sink the damn shuttle into quicksand. Is this really the best they could come up with?”

 “Looks like there was a reason they abandoned it.” He reached over and flicked the page, “There’s a bonus, though. Old landing equipment is all there already. That should make it a lot easier to take off again.”

 “Fine,” she replied. “Stand back while I do the impossible yet again. Be sure to notify my next of kin that this wasn’t my stupid idea.”

 “You aren’t going alone,” he said.

 “Gabe…”

 “No. The only reason you are here is because of me, and if you’re going to take risks like this, I’m going with you.” He flashed a smile, then said, “Besides, I can help.”

 “How?”

 “My magnetic charm and winning personality aren’t enough for you?”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Fine, get on board. Just remember to do exactly what I tell you, no matter what that is, right?”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 The two of them climbed into their couches, tightly strapping themselves in. This was likely to be a rather abrupt landing, if nothing else, and neither of them was anxious to add head injuries to their list of problems. Barbara handled the pre-flight with rather more than usual care, punctuated with a series of alarms and warning sirens as the computer attempted to operate systems that she had sabotaged.

 “Apparently, I’m launching at my own risk,” she said. “You handle the communications, I’m not going to have time to be distracted. Better call Traffic Control.”

 “Right,” he said, flicking a switch and pulling a headset on. “This is Ouroboros Shuttle Three, requesting landing clearance for passenger pickup.”

 A bored-sounding voice replied, “You are clear, Shuttle. Make Runway Two, and I’ll send the surface data up to your computer.”

 “Thank you, Control,” he said, closing the channel with another switch. “You want the data?” he asked Barbara.

 “Dump it. It’ll be a different micro-climate, and you might as well give me today’s weather forecast for Titan. I’m going to have to do this on manual – and don’t distract me again until we’re down on the deck.”

 “Sorry.”

 She replied, “No, I am. I just don’t like the idea of intentionally crashing, that’s all.”

 “Can’t think why.”

 “Me either. Here we go.” She pulled down a lever, and the shuttle began to slide through the elevator airlock, drifting away from the ship. Punching a trio of buttons, she fired the main engines, and the planet began to slowly rise towards them, the shuttle drifting a little to the right as she struggled to compensate.

 “Report a thruster malfunction,” she said, her eyes fixed on her controls.

 “Ground Control, this is Shuttle Three, reporting thruster malfunction.”

The voice was suddenly more alert, “We read you. Are you aborting?”

 “Negative, just keeping you informed in case it gets worse.”

 “Shuttle, we recommend you abort. I’m looking at your trajectory…”

 “Not our call, Control. Captain’s in a hurry. Cross your fingers. Shuttle out.”
Flames began to tear around the nose of the shuttle as it bit into the atmosphere, leaping columns of red and orange flames dancing across the viewscreen. The ship shuddered, drifting to the right, and the fire burned white-hot until Barbara could get them back onto an even course. A trail of smoke followed them through the sky as they struggled to make their descent.

 Cooper glanced up at the status board, watching amber lights flick to red one after another. This was all beginning to look worryingly real – and they needed this shuttle in one piece if they were going to use it to rescue the prisoners on the surface. Barbara’s face was bathed in sweat, her eyes darting from one instrument to the next, her fingers racing across the controls as she struggled to bring the shuttle in.

 The wreath of flames was dispersing as they broke through the stratosphere, their wings hitting the denser air as they pierced the clouds, a thin film of oil momentarily blurring the camera pickup. Thousands of square miles of surface rolled beneath him, tattered clouds over mountain tops, and the endless black sea beyond. A pair of thin dots showed him the landing site, and they were already rather far away from it.

 “Shuttle, Shuttle, do you read!” the transmitted barked urgently.

 “This is Shuttle Three, we read you.” He glanced across at Barbara, still fixed on her controls, then said, “I am declaring an emergency. Repeat, I am declaring an emergency.”
 “Roger. Can you abort to orbit?”

 “Negative,” he replied. “I don’t think we’d be able to get back up again.”

 “Landing strip is cleared for you, Shuttle.”

 “Thanks for the effort, Control, but I don’t think we’re going to make the starport. Are you tracking us?”

 There was a brief pause, then the controller replied, “We concur. I’m looking at some long-range shots of you now, reentry really hit you hard. Do you think you can land? We’re looking at alternates.”

 “We’d like to give it a try, Control.”

 “Wait one, Shuttle.”

 Cooper looked at the course track, watching the shuttle curve down towards its target on the surface. The starport was hopeless, too far away, speed spilling with every second, but their real objective, the abandoned runway, was lining up nicely. So much so that Cooper was briefly worried that someone might guess that this had been intentional, not accidental, but looking at the status board, he was concerned enough about getting down at all that such worries faded away to nothing.

 “We’ve got an alternate for you, Shuttle. An abandoned runway just a few degrees to your starboard side, and about twelve miles on. I’m sending you the data now.”

 “Do you have any readings on ground conditions?”

 “No, we don’t. We’re getting the old landing lights turned on for you, but that’s the best we can do for the present. Rescue and medical unit is en route, should reach you about three minutes after touchdown.”

 “Thank you, Control,” Cooper said sincerely; this man was doing everything he could, and he was feeling a few pangs of guilt about setting this business up in the first place. He closed down the channel, and tried to sit back and enjoy the ride. The peaks up ahead seemed to be getting closer and closer, drawing in as Barbara struggled to maintain her altitude, trying to keep the nose high without losing too much speed. One of the engines suddenly flashed red, and she looked up with a start, her hands working more frantically than before.

 That hadn’t been part of the plan; her fear spread to Cooper. They soared over the peaks with only a few meters to spare, then dropped to fly down the face of the mountain, trusting that they could do it using their wings on a glide trajectory. As the shuttle swooped from side to side to duck around outcrops, Cooper gulped, unable to do anything other than sit back and wait for the madness to end.

 The ground was racing up underneath them as they curved over the ridge, Barbara nursing the shuttle home on the single remaining engine, trying to keep their trajectory even. With a loud click, the landing gear dropped home, and Cooper breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the lights of their target runway up ahead, beckoning them into their target.

 Barbara didn’t look so optimistic, glancing down at the detectors, trying to glide over the swampy areas of the runway. Over to one side, Cooper saw the charred remnants of another shuttle, someone who had evidently had rather less success with their landing at some other time. It was a sobering moment, and he braced himself for the landing.

 Initially, it seemed to be an anticlimax as the wheels touched down, but a second later they skidded back up again, the nose bouncing back up into the air, and he glanced down to see a huge crack in the runway that Barbara had only just managed to avoid, before the wheels touched down for a second time, breaks engaging as the shuttle slowed to a halt.

 “Shuttle, this is Control, do you read?”

 Gasping with relief, Cooper said, “We’re down safely, Control. You can call off the rescue team, we’re not going to need them.”

 Muted cheers in the background, the controller said, “Nice flying, Shuttle. Very nice flying. You want me to get some transport out to you?”

 “I think we’ve got some post-flight checks to do first, Control, but thank you very much. Sorry for throwing you a scare.”

 “Don’t be. I just won fifty credits. Control out.”

 Cooper looked across at Barbara, trembling in her seat, “Are you all right?”

 She turned to him, her face pale, then said, “We were seconds from crashing all the way down. Seconds. That last crack...why didn’t those morons in the resistance warn us about it. I’d have come down further up.”

 “Maybe they didn’t know.”

 “Damn right they knew,” she said. “When that engine went out, I thought we were dead.”

 Glancing up at the status board, he saw green lights over the ship telltales, and replied, “According to this, they are working,”

 “I was afraid you’d say that. Gabe, this wasn’t hardware, it was software. We’ve been hacked.”

 “Are you trying to tell me that…”

 “Someone tried to sabotage us. If we’d crashed, this mission would have failed. Even if we’d lived through it, we’d have had to abort.”

 Shaking his head, Cooper replied, “Who would want to do that? If the Cabal knew what we were doing, there would be security forces lined up here waiting for us.”

 “I know, I know,” she said. “It could be a coincidence, but it seems too much of a stretch.”

 “You’d better start post-flight,” Cooper said. “I’m going to call the Captain. I think he’s got a decision to make.”

Chapter 26

 “It isn’t too late to call this off, Danny,” Caine said, floating near the ceiling of his cramped quarters. “I had another look at the telemetry from the shuttle, and I honestly can’t tell either way.”
 “That engine failure could be a fluke,” he said, then shook his head. “No, I don’t buy it.”

 “There’s a spy in the resistance,” she replied.

 “I don’t think so,” Marshall said, “If that was the case, the Cabal would already have us. Cooper said as much in his report, and he’s quite right.”

 “Then what?”

 “Maggie said that they were paranoid about detection, that they weren’t willing to provide anything other than information, remember.”

 She sighed, then said, “They’ve decided that it would be safer for all concerned, especially themselves, if this mission didn't happen. That if we headed off into the deep space and back the way they came, there would be no risk of us getting caught…”

 “And perhaps giving away the location of the cell.”

 Frowning, Caine replied, “You think they’ll leave it at this?”

 “I don’t know what to think. What about the satellites?”

 “Maggie and I spent most of last night working on it. Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

 Closing his eyes, he sighed, then said, “Give me the worst of it.”

 “We’ll only have a thirty-one minute window to get away. From the time they realize that we have taken control of the truck until Ouroboros gets onto an escape trajectory. We can probably outrange the fighters if we don't give them too much of a lead.”

 Marshall ran down the time-line in his mind, and said, “That doesn’t sound too bad. We should be buttoned up on the shuttle fifteen minutes after the snatch, and it will only take seven minutes to reach orbit. We even have a margin of error.”

 “Not much of a one.”

 “That depends what they are able to put together on the ground, though, doesn’t it. I don’t think that the resistance will try anything once we’re actually on the move, but…”

Interrupting her, Marshall said, “That’s something we can sort out now.”

 “What are you going to do?”

 He tapped a button, and Weitzman’s voice answered, “Yes, sir?”

 “Cooper’s got one of those special communicators the resistance gave us, doesn’t he?”

 “Yes, sir.” 

 “Can you patch me through?”

 “I think so, sir, but to who?”

 “No-one, Weitzman. No-one.” He turned to Caine, then said, “I’d bet my next month’s pay that they are monitoring those calls.”

 “Why do you think that?”

 “That’s what I would have done.”

 Weitzman piped in, “I have your channel open, sir. Person to person to nowhere.”

 “You’re sure no-one can hear us?”

 “I don’t believe so, sir.”

 “Good.” He tapped a button, switching frequencies, then said, “This is Captain Marshall. I know that you were responsible for almost bringing down the shuttle, and I can only guess at your motivations, but I want to make something perfectly clear. If there are any other attempts to sabotage our rescue attempt, anything at all, then I shall make it my personal business to see that the Cabal are fully informed of your location and activities before I leave. I hope I am making myself perfectly clear.”

 A sharp voice replied, “Captain, we’re on your side!”

 “Not if you are trying to kill my crewmen.”

 “It has taken years for us to build up…”

 “And it was all for nothing if you don’t use it for anything. Take this opportunity and use it; if nothing else, it could be a publicity coup.”

 “One that will bring the Cabal down on us.”

 “You promised us help, and I can’t but suspect that it was simply to give you to chance to stop us. My threat – no, let’s call it a promise – stands. Marshall out.”

 With a faint chuckle, Caine said, “That’s really going to win their hearts and minds, Danny.”

Throwing her a severe stare, he replied, “I’m not interested in making friends with them, Deadeye. Just in getting this job done.”

 “We’re going to need them someday…”

 “Not if they try and sabotage us the first time we ask them to help. That’s not the sort of assistance we need, and I intend to make it clear in my report – my increasingly lengthy report…”

 “I’ll wait for the movie to come out.”

 “...that this resistance network cannot be trusted.”

 “That’s all we’ve got on this world.”

 “If we get a chance, I’ll say the same to the Brigadier, as well.”

 Sighing, she said, “I know how they must be feeling, though. Like the first resistance groups on Mars, before the War.”

 “The difference being that they were willing to seize the opportunities that came their way, rather than just sitting back and hoping for a miracle. I can understand how this group has stayed in power so long, if that’s the only opposition they are facing.”

 “One group, on one world…”

 He paused for a second, then replied, “I have a feeling that it is symptomatic. Look at Hydra Station. Price was waiting for something, for an opportunity that might never happen, just trying to stop things from getting any worse. If the resistance could get themselves together out here, then they might make some progress.”

 Nodding, Caine replied, “I agree, but how are you going to get them to see it that way? We might be looking at this the wrong way, Danny. They’re just beginning, slowly building up. If they are like Ragnarok, they might have thought they were the only remnant of humanity for a long time.”

 “How would…”

 “My guess is that the governments have used that as a weapon. That they have to survive, no matter what the cost, or the human race is finished.”

 “A pretty powerful persuader,” Marshall said. “Survival has to mean something, though.”

 “Freedom for the next generation. Besides, we’re looking at this from outside. By now they’re used to it down there.”

 “I doubt the indentured servants would agree with you.” He turned to look through his viewport at the planet below, and said, “Do you think I should abort?”

 “I’m not sure I’d have tried this in the first place.”

 “But…”
 “You’re the Captain. I’m not, and if I can help it, I never will be. You were quite right to give Maggie the second chair in this mission. I know how badly you want to get them back.”

He took a deep breath, and said, “It might have been different if I hadn’t seen them in that cell. They didn’t deserve that.”

 “I suppose I should at this point warn you that there is chance that we could all get killed. Them included. On the other hand, now that we know that they are there, we could try a diplomatic solution.”

 “The Cabal doesn’t strike me as the sort of group that accepts diplomatic solutions. They impose a decision, or avoid it.” He paused, then said, “Oh, we might be able to get them back, but what would the price be? Hydra Station, certainly. Maybe the Shrouded Stars – though without Hydra, that becomes a route we can’t use.”

 “They vowed to give their lives in the service of the Confederation.”

 “Deadeye,” he said, “this Fleet is just a bit over two years old. What we do now will affect how this fleet sees itself, how it builds and develops for decades to come. I don’t what to set this sort of precedent. Practical considerations aside, we’ve got to have pride in ourselves. Ten, twenty, fifty years from now, what we do today might help someone else.”

 “Assuming we still have a fleet in fifty years.”

 “True,” he said, smiling. “I think we will. We’ll find a way to crack the Cabal, and then the stars are opened to us, properly this time.”

 “Is that why you’re going to take the risk?”

 “We’ll have the minimum number of people on the surface. I’m pulling out Nelyubov; Maggie can do what is necessary on her own, Cooper and Cantrell as back-up on the street. Which just leaves one person to trigger everything at the auction.”

 “I’ll get ready,” she said, nodding, beginning to move, but then Marshall grabbed her by the arm.

 “You’ll be needed at Tactical to give us the maximum window of opportunity with those satellites.”

 “Danny…”

 “I’m going, Deadeye, because this is my job. They know me as the commander, I’ve been there before, and I’ll attract less attention. As soon as I trigger, I just have to get out onto the street and link up with Cooper for the pick-up. He won’t be far.”

“You are the commander of this ship, the commander of Alamo.”

“Which means what? That I’m too important to risk?”

“Yes. There are others who can do this. I should be doing this…”

Shaking his head, he said, “I’m not asking you, and I’m not letting you. I know that this might not be the right thing to do, but it is something I have to do. I can’t sit this dance out.”

“Then let me come with you.”

“I can’t do that, either. You need to be up here on the ship. We’re going to have trouble getting everyone up as it is; Jacqui will be going down with Cantrell on the next hop to help with the pick-up. Eighteen people is pushing that shuttle to – well, beyond – the limit. Even with the boosters we fitted, it’s going to be tight.”

 “Danny...,” she said, once again, but he shook his head, getting up.

 “Don’t worry, I’m coming back. I want to be on Alamo’s bridge when we get back to Mariner Station. Even if all that follows is a chewing-out by the Commodore.”

 “They’ll give you a medal at your court-martial.”

 “Probably,” he said, heading out into the corridor.

 “When we get home...,” Caine said, then stopped.

 “What?” Marshall said.

 “Nothing. Tell you when you get back.”

 Nodding, he pushed out into the corridor, making for the elevator, drifting past a couple of crewmen. This ship was as ready as it was ever going to be, prepared for the jump back to the unnamed brown dwarf – something they should really sort out at some point on their way home. He drifted through the doors, then glanced down at his datapad for one last time, running back over the mission profile.

 Caine had been right, of course. This wasn’t a mission he should be on, though strictly speaking, he should never have left Alamo in the first place. The Captain was supposed to command from afar, letting his subordinates take the risks, but increasingly, he couldn’t do that. Too many of his men had died, too many people killed following his orders. This time he was going to lead himself, and he couldn’t be happier.

 The doors opened, and he pushed out to the airlock. Nelyubov was having an argument with Orlova, cut short instantly as Marshall approached. Jacqui and Cantrell were waiting quietly, and their smiles suggested that they had been enjoying the officers’ display.

 “We’d better get going,” he said. “Don’t leave anything on the shuttle you want to keep, we’ll be leaving it behind when we go.”

 “I’ve already set-up the systems to scramble after we’ve left,” Orlova said. “Nothing here that the Cabal can use.”

 “Sir,” Nelyubov said, but Marshall shook his head, “My orders stand, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Aye, Captain,” he replied. “If that’s the way you want it.”

 Another figure, slighter than the others, pushed down the corridor, and Marshall turned to see Ixia standing there, watching them quietly as they drifted through the airlock, Orlova taking the pilot’s seat while the rest made for passenger seats.

 Just as Marshall was about to enter, Ixia said, “Come back, Captain. We need you, badly.”

 “No-one is irreplaceable,” he said.

 “You’re wrong, Captain. No-one is replaceable. That’s the sad truth of the universe.”

He drifted into the cabin, strapped himself down, and looked out of the viewport as the shuttle began its descent to the surface, Ixia’s last words echoing in his mind as he headed down to complete his mission. In two hours, either they would have successfully rescued his people or, more than likely, he wouldn’t be worrying about anything ever again.

Chapter 27

 Cooper looked anxiously at the alley, then at his watch. In less than an hour, the auction would be taking place, and they were still far out of position, stuck out in the Smoke. Cantrell was across from him, frustration flashing on her face.

 “Where the hell is she,” she hissed, wiping the sweat and oil from her forehead.

 “She’ll be here,” Cooper said. “There isn’t anything we can do until she is, anyway.”

 Almost on cue, Jacqui dropped down from the roof of a nearby building, rolling to absorb the impact, a bag in her hand. With a smile, she tossed it to Cooper, who peered inside; a trio of rather primitive-looking explosives.

 “Got them,” she said. “What are you going to do with them?”

 Cooper glanced at Cantrell, then said, “We figure that once the authorities work out that the prisoners are being taken the wrong way, the first thing they are going to do is close up the airlocks.” Hefting the bag, he continued, “This should prevent that from happening.”
 “You’ll kill everyone in the dome!” she said, trying to snatch at the bag.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Safety mechanisms will kick in thirty seconds after the bang. Long enough for the van to get away, not long enough for any significant contamination. They’ll be wrinkling their noses until the scrubbers can get rid of the smell, but that’s all.”
 “Might do them some good to get a taste of what we have to deal with out here,” Jacqui replied. “At the end of the alley is another hatch down into the tunnels. You should be able to get right to the airlock entrance that way, though there are always guards on duty there.” Passing them a crude datapad, heavy and bulky, she said, “I marked it on this so you can find your way.”

 “Thanks, Jacqui. We can deal with the guards.”

 “I guess you can,” she said. “This ticket is getting damn expensive. I’m getting back to the shuttle.”

 “Do me a favor,” he said as she turned to leave.

 “Another one?” she replied. “I reckon you are pretty heavily in debt to me at this point.”

 “This is a personal thing. If I don’t get back, then give this to Barbara.” He passed her another datapad. “Only if I don’t get back. Otherwise, just give it to me.”

 “Last letter,” she said, nodding. “I guess I can do that.” With one last look around, she said, “Good luck.”

 “You too.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “I wouldn’t give any away at the moment if I were you. You’re going to need it.”

 Without another word, she raced off into the shadows, and a moment later, the sound of an engine started; on its way in, their transport had carried five people, but only one was returning in it. The prisoner’s van was going to be taking all of them home.

 “Shall we go?” Cooper said to Cantrell, who nodded.

 “Let’s get this over with.”

 “Not eager to be here?”

 “Not with a man who thinks he’s not coming back.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “You don’t get it, do you? One thing I’ve learned lately is that it’s a lot easier to assume that you’re going to die when you go into action. That way you don’t hesitate, and you do what you have to do to complete the mission. Living through this is a nice bonus.”
 “I think I’d rather assume that I’m coming back.”

 “Want some advice?”

 “What?”

 “When we get back, get a desk job.”

 “What do you think I wanted when I hacked into the intelligence network? Crawling through sewers on a kamikaze mission wasn’t the top of my career objectives, Corporal.” Taking a deep breath, she started to walk towards the hatch, “Let’s just get this over with.”

 “I think I preferred the eager young recruit who was looking for death or glory,” Cooper said, following her.

 “Maybe I do, as well,” she said. “And maybe you should consider that a good intelligence officer never tells the truth.”

 With a smile, he pulled open the hatch, then said, “A gentleman never asks a lady how old she is. And in the further interests of chivalry, after you.”

 She slid down the ladder, a splash heralding her arrival at the bottom, and Cooper followed, closing the hatch above him. It clanged shut with a worrying finality, and sealed them up into darkness; he tapped a hidden button on his respirator to activate the night-vision filters. The world around him erupted in paroxysms of riotous color until it settled down, adjusting to the light levels. Holding up the datapad, he pointed down the tunnel and began to walk, grateful that the respirator was stopping the smell of the thin brown stream from reaching him.

 The tunnel twisted and turned, the conditions slowly improving as they ventured closer to more affluent areas, nearer the protected parts of the city. The occasional flickering light broke the gloom, shadows dancing around, and at one point he could have sworn he had seen something moving in the darkness, some sort of creature.

 “Something wrong?” Cantrell said, pausing.

 “Nothing. Shadows playing tricks, that’s all.” He glanced down at his datapad again, and said, “We’re almost there.”

 They slowed their progress to a crawl, taking care not to make any extraneous noise. Cooper pulled out his borrowed pistol, taking point as he made his way to the ladder. He scrambled to the top, then looked at the hatch, slowly pushing it up, just enough to peer through it. Above he saw a pair of boots, someone standing directly in front of it; there was no sound of activity, no noise at all.

He glanced at his watch. Their passage through the tunnel had taken more than half an hour; those charges need to be placed in plenty of time, but there was no need to risk raising an alarm yet, and he slid back down the ladder, slipping back into the shadows.

 “What are you waiting for?” Cantrell whispered.

 “Twenty-two minutes until the fun begins. I’m going to wait until two minutes to go. There’s a guard up there.”

 “So? We take him out, drop him down here, and…”

 “And then if someone turns up to relieve him, what do we do? It will be rather more than embarrassing. I can plant those bombs in less than a minute, and it won’t take any longer than that to hook up with the van.”

 “What if there is a hold-up?”

 “Then we will have to take a risk, but there’s no point taking an unnecessary one. Let’s head back down the tunnel a little.”

 “You think he saw you?”

 “There’s that ‘acceptable risk’ thing again. Now I know you’re not a field operative.”

 “For all you know, I’m still putting on an act.”

 “Hell,” he replied, “I’ve only got your word that you are an intelligence agent at all.”

 “That’s the spirit, Corporal,” she said. “Good healthy paranoia. I'll make a spy of you yet.”

 Cooper took the opportunity to take a proper look at the explosives he’d been carrying, checking over the detonator. From appearances, someone had taken conventional mining explosives and made some rather unorthodox modifications, trying to turn them into shaped charges. About the only thing he could guarantee was that they would make a real mess of the door, but all he could do was hope that it would do the job.

 The worst part of any operation was sitting and waiting for the action to begin, but this was worse than usual. He’d never known stakes this high before, and it was making him nervous. This mission was personal in a way no other had ever been; it was his idea, his plan, his project. For all he acknowledged that the Captain had a stake of his own, and that he admired him for taking the lead himself, he still felt as if he responsible for the operation.

 “Credit for your thoughts, Corporal,” Cantrell said.

 “I don’t like waiting,” he replied.

 “Then let’s get on with this.”

 “If you’ve managed to get hold of the guard schedules, you could have told me before.”

 “Just six minutes to go, and if there is some sort of problem, we need time to fix it.”

 “Right,” he said. “You said you were a hacker, time to prove it.”

 “Don’t worry. In thirty seconds, I’m going to be owning their security.” She pulled out a datapad and started to work, entering in commands and frowning at the results, then stepping nearer the corridor to get a cleaner signal. She hadn’t been totally honest with him; it actually took her thirty-four seconds to knock out the cameras.

 He looked at her, nodded, and scrambled back up the corridor, taking a couple of deep breaths before pushing the hatch open, leaping up, and diving for the guard. The man turned in fear as Cooper clubbed him over the head with his good hand, reaching for his respirator with the other one.

 It was only when he felt a kick on his side that he realized there had been two guards in the room, and he cursed himself for his stupidity. He turned, gasping for breath, only to see the guard collapse to his knees, Cantrell pointing some sort of tiny gun at him. Quickly, still leaning on his struggling foe, he turned the mix on the respirator down, enough to send him into a nice long sleep until someone came to rescue him.

 She turned to him with a grin, “Knew that would come in useful.”

 “Tranq gun? Wish you’d given me one.”

 “I didn’t have a spare. Shall we get on with it?”

 “Go make sure of the security, first. A lot can happen in five minutes.”

 While she moved over to the terminal, he examined his target. It was a standard vehicular airlock, a distant cousin to the elevator airlocks up on Alamo, and he’d have to make sure that both doors were knocked out. Fortunately, the outer door was open – a lax practice that was going to provide him with dividends now.

 “Better make this quick, Corporal,” she said. “I think someone’s on to me.”

 “They’ve spotted us?”

 “No,” she replied in between entering commands, “but someone’s worked out I’m in their system. I don’t think they know where yet, or what I’m doing, but that’s only a matter of time. How long left?”

 “Four and a half minutes.”

 “That’s a billion years in cyberspace. Move it, Corporal.”

 He walked into the airlock, looking up at the seal, and placed the first charge in the middle of the joint, pulling a cord out of the device and plugging it into his datapad. Entering some instructions, he carefully backed out into the tunnel, then reached up to the retracted door, placing the second charge at the right point to knock out the mechanism. This was going to be a nightmare to repair, but he decided he needed to make it worse.

 “What are you doing with that?” Cantrell said as he pulled out the third charge.

 “I’m impressed that you can hack and talk at the same time. I’m giving the Cabal something else to worry about.”

 He stepped over to the wall space in between the two airlock doors, looking for a flaw and not finding one – good engineering, evidently, and at least it showed that someone cared about doing a decent job. He might not be able to bring the tunnel down, but he could do enough damage to the wall to knock out any potential pursuit. This time he didn’t attach the cord, instead tapping a timing sequence to the detonator itself.

 “Done,” he said, stepping beside Cantrell. He looked down the passage, extending further to the south before emerging out in the Smoke. If anyone outside had noticed them, it seemed as if they didn’t care enough about the guards to do anything about it.

 “What do we do now?” Cantrell asked.

 “We wait until I get the go signal from Orlova. Then we give the Cabal a repair bill they’ll never forget.”

Chapter 28

 Clutching her forged identification, Orlova walked up to the waiting truck, looking over the vehicle as she approached. A standard armored personnel vehicle, an older model handed over for civilian service, its rear door secured to City Hall’s airlock. The pop turret was still in position on the roof, but the weapons had obviously been removed long ago. She couldn’t see anyone inside, and glanced down at her watch. Only a few minutes to go.

 A hand tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned with a start to see a tall, dark man wearing a security guard’s uniform, a scowl on his face and his hand resting on the butt of his pistol.

 “What are you doing here?” he barked.

 Looking up at him, she replied, “My boss is up there bidding on the prisoners. He wants to know how long it will take for you to ship them out.”

 “Arrogant bastard, your boss. Must be half a dozen bidders today.”

 She shrugged, and said, “I’m just doing my job. One answer and I can keep him quiet for a bit.”

 “Five minutes. They’ll come right down in the secured elevator, into the rear compartment without ever hitting the street.” He looked at her again, saying, “I’ve never seen you before. Who did you say you were working for?”

 Glancing around to make sure they were alone, and more importantly, out of sight of the lone security camera that was covering the parking lot, she replied with a furious kick to the solar plexus, knocking the wind from him. He reached down for his gun, but she was too quick, cutting it away with another blow, sending it rattling to the ground.

 A sensible man would have run for help at that point, but his ego had taken over, and he hurled himself towards Orlova, arms reaching out to grab her and pin her to the ground; she only just evaded in time, rolling on the ground and towards the pistol. Just before he reached her, she managed to turn and level the gun at him.

 “Party’s over, buddy,” she said. “The only question is whether it is permanent or not.”
 “You won’t get away with this.”

 “Funny, I rather think we will. Is the van ready to go?”

 He laughed, replying, “Why should I tell you anything?”

 “Because if I get bored with our conversation I might try a little target practice to keep things interesting.”

 The driver’s face paled, and he glanced up at the cab, “All ready to go. Where the hell are you going, though? There’s only one city on this planet and the starport’s under lockdown. There’s nowhere to run!”

 She glanced around for a second, looking at the street, waiting for Marshall to arrive. He should have slipped out of the building as soon as it was apparent there was a winner, as soon as their comrades had been sold. The driver saw her hesitation and advanced on her again, taking a cautious step forward.

 “Something’s going wrong, isn’t it. Boyfriend not turned up yet.”

 “You’re the only one having a bad day, buddy.”

 He smiled, then said, “You aren’t going to shoot.”

 “Care to bet your life on it?”

 “No, just yours.”

 He dropped to the ground, rolling and pulling a pistol from a hidden holster; Orlova kept her gun leveled on him, but he was right; she didn’t dare to fire. She’d kill the guard, but no-one could miss the gunshot, and someone was bound to investigate.

 “Game’s over, honey,” he said with a leering grin. “Course, if you want to do me a few favors, I might be willing to forget this ever happened.”

 He advanced towards her, and Orlova leveled her gun, preparing to fire despite what it was going to cost them, but the decision was made for her; Marshall ran out of the shadows, slamming into his back, felling him with a blow to the head, sending him crashing down to the street. Snatching the pistol from his grip, he rose to his feet, brushing off the dust.

 “Thanks for the assist, skipper,” she said.

 “We’re ready. They were on their way down to the elevator when I left that hell-hole.”

 The two of them climbed into the van, Orlova taking the driver’s seat, trying to remember what all the controls did, while Marshall dragged the unconscious figure out of sight, underneath the van, carefully positioning him so that they wouldn’t run him over.

 She settled back in the seat, peering at the rear compartment monitor. It seemed like an eternity before the doors finally opened, and the prisoners from Alamo were marched on board, their faces a combination of defiance and despair. She counted them all in, and as the last one walked through, the communicator crackled.

 “Jerry, they’re on board. Give me your ident code and we’ll let you go.”

 Orlova shrugged, and reached up to the console. They were already past the point of no return anyway, but the fun was about to begin. She tapped the emergency override, and the door slammed shut, then turned on the engine and hit the accelerator, sending the van jerking forward.

 “Jerry, what the hell are you doing? Jerry!” the communicator shouted. Evidently they saw their friend laid out on the road, and a few desperate shots raced after them as sirens began to sound, alerts of a prisoner escape. Marshall looked at her with a smile, then tapped a button.

 “Everyone all right back there?”

 The astonished voice of Sergeant Forrest replied, “Captain? Is that you?”

 “This taxi ride is courtesy of the Battlecruiser Alamo!” Orlova whooped.

 “I thought…,” Forrest said, while the rest of the troopers celebrated in the back.

 “If this goes wrong your buyer got fourteen for the price of twelve,” Marshall said. “Strap down and brace yourselves. This is going to get wild.”

 “Captain...thank you.”

 “Thank Cooper. This was all his crazy idea.”

 Orlova was concentrating on the road. The pavements were filled with people, bystanders watching as the van screamed down the street at its top speed. Glancing at the rear camera, someone was already pursuing them, but they were keeping their distance. The last thing the security forces would want was a crash in the heart of the dome.

 The communicator crackled again, and the voice said, “You can’t escape. All the airlocks are sealed. This is over. Surrender and you will be treated leniently, or we will have no choice but to use deadly force.”

 Orlova ignored him, and continued to speed down the streets. Up ahead, some CorpSec guards were trying to set up a roadblock, but she drove through them, one of them only just jumping out of the way in time. She turned down a side road, lining up on her target airlock, then pulled out her communicator. Up ahead, more guards were assembled, lining guns on the cab, standing in front of the sealed airlock, and she slowed to a crawl.

 “Cooper!” she yelled into the communicator, “Punch it!”

 A shattering blast shot through the doors, tearing the metal and sending it crashing open, the blast wave knocking the guards to the ground. Cooper and Cantrell, a few seconds later, raced through the ruined airlock, snatching guns from the bodies as they went; Orlova opened a side door to let them in, then stamped down on the accelerator again, the van rocking around as it traversed the debris.

 Behind them, just as they passed through, another explosion ripped at the wall, and the blast doors slid shut to isolate the dome from the outside atmosphere. Now they were racing through the Smoke, and this time, the people were cheering. Someone striking a blow against the Cabal seemed to be exactly what they wanted to see.

 “Good work, Cooper,” Marshall said; the troopers in the rear compartment were clapping him on the shoulder and beginning to sing, and he had to shout to make himself heard.

 “Thanks, skipper, but the fun hasn’t ended yet!”

 Turning to Orlova, he said, “Any sign of pursuit?”

 “Won’t be any from the dome, we’ve given ourselves enough of a head-start to get clear, but…,” she looked up, and frowned, “that still leaves their helicopters.”

 The van flew out of the city limits, tearing down the road towards the mountains. Seven miles for them to reach the shuttle, down a long, narrow track that would be ideal for target practice. There were two helicopters following them, gaining awfully quickly, missiles slung to their sides.

 “I’m running countermeasures,” Cantrell said. “Don’t worry about the missiles, worry about the machine guns!”

 “Spaceman, how the hell…”

 “It’s a long story, Captain,” Cooper said, as a staccato rattle raced down the road to one side of them. A missile fired, and immediately slammed into the ground; it seemed that Cantrell was keeping them clear of those, and the van ducked into the mountains, running along a canyon, the helicopters flying overhead.

 The van skidded on puddles of oil, black rivulets running down onto the road from the peaks, another burst of gunfire just ahead of them forcing Orlova to take quick evasive action, almost spinning out onto the road. She wasn’t sure how armor-plated these vehicles were, but she didn’t want to find that out the hard way.

 Another missile, but this one went even wilder, slamming into the top of one of the mountains. It took a few seconds for her to realize how disastrous that miss had been, as rocks began to roll down the slope, gathering speed; the side of the canyon was about to collapse. Frantically, on instinct alone, she slammed her foot down harder, sending the van careening wildly down the road, all her thoughts focused on nothing but raw speed as she desperately attempted to win ground on her natural enemy; the helicopters were moving away, heading out of the way, perhaps thinking that their work was done.

Rocks clattered off the side of the van, sending it whirling around on the road, almost toppling over as she desperately twisted around, trying to keep it level. Clouds of dust smothered the landscape, and she was driving blindly, hoping that she wasn’t about to send the van careening into the wall.

Finally, she was through, but waiting for her, hovering overhead, were the helicopters, their guns pointed at the only way she could go. Desperately, she zig-zagged around, trying to get past them, but then another missile fired, ranging directly towards them, only a few seconds from impact.

At the last heartbeat, it veered up, turning back towards the helicopter and slamming into it, the explosion enveloping the craft, showering debris around. The other helicopter, battered and damaged, dived to make another attack run, the machine gun rattling again, and this time it found a target, ripping into the tires, sending the van to a screeching halt.

 “Damn!” Orlova said, shaking her head. “End of the line, sir.”

 Turning back at the devastation behind them, the helicopter struggling to get over the hill, he replied, “I don’t think we’re going to have anyone chasing us any time soon.” He looked at his watch, then said, “We’ve got seventeen minutes left in our window. Nine of which we’ll need to make orbit.”

 “Less than a mile, sir. We’re just going to have to walk.” She tugged on her respirator and activated the side hatches, the squad climbing out behind her as she began to jog towards the landing strip. She could just see the lights ahead of her, just began to think they were going to make it, when she heard another whirling noise overhead, and looked up to see four helicopters, larger than the rest, dropping lines – and troops beginning to slide down it.

 As the gunfire started again, she yelled, “Take cover!”, and followed her own advice, sliding in behind a rock. Her pistol in her hand, she took a wild shot at a nearby trooper, but it went far to wide. An attempt to move only resulted in a pair of cracks ripping at the ground behind her.

 “We’re pinned down!” she yelled, and glanced over at the shuttle, then down at her watch. Eight minutes and counting.

Chapter 29

 Cooper climbed out of the ATV, the last man through the door, hefting his rifle. The clip was full, but there would be no replacement when it ran out, so he gave up any thought of trying automatic fire, setting it to single shot. Most of the group was well ahead of him, hiding behind cover; only Cantrell was still by his side, just ahead of him.

 It looked as if there were at least fifty troopers heading for them, and as far as he knew, only four of his group was armed. He smiled, realizing that even if he managed to get one trooper with each bullet, he’d run out with a dozen left. Making each shot tell was going to be vital for him today.

 He got a good start, knocking one down who was attempting to head around behind Orlova, exposed at the head of the column. A tall, gruff figure – a very familiar one – leapt back from cover to cover, taking fire and allowing him a chance to get another clear shot. He ran forward to duck behind Forrest’s position, a large, recently disturbed boulder.

 “I’m guessing this wasn’t part of the plan, Corporal.”

 “I’d say not, Sarge,” he replied, passing him his pistol. “Looks like they’re moving to surround us.”

 “Any chance of reinforcement?” Forrest asked as Cantrell fired another round, hitting one of the troopers in the shoulder.

 “None. This is all we got.”

 The helicopters moved away, their cargo delivered, and it occurred to Cooper that they still had one thing working in their favor – they evidently had not worked out where they were going, which meant that the shuttle was still clear. The troopers were moving into clumps, now, and were staying low into cover themselves; only the occasional shot was ringing out.

 “They’ve got all the advantages,” Forrest said. “All they need to do is wait for us to run out of ammo, and we’ve had it.”

 “Worse than that,” Cooper replied. “We’ve got seven minutes to get to the shuttle and away from this rock, or we’re staying here.” He raised his communicator to his head, “Cooper to Marshall.”

 “I’m here, Corporal.”

 “We’re stuck here, sir. I don’t see any way of getting away with this.”

 “Cooper, my communicator’s been damaged. I don’t think I can raise the shuttle.”

 He paused, then said, “You want me to order her back to Ouroboros.”

 Another crack flew overhead, the troopers doing their best to keep them all pinned down, and Cooper pressed further down into the ground, trying to hold on.

 “I don’t think there’s another option, Corporal. Do you agree?”

 Looking around at the faces of the people he had rescued, their faces masks of determination, he nodded, then said, “I do, sir. Suggest we surrender after the shuttle has reached Ouroboros. No point prolonging this further.”

 “Damn,” Forrest said. “It was so damn close. Thanks for trying, Cooper.”

 “I just wish it had been worth it,” he replied. “Cooper to Bradley. You read me?”

 “Loud and clear,” she said. “What’s the news.”

 “Abort. We’re aborting the mission. Get back to Ouroboros.”

 “Where are you? I saw the helicopters, and I’ve heard the shooting.”

 “We’re pinned down about three-quarters of a mile south-west of you, outnumbered and out-gunned. It’s only a matter of time before they work out you are part of this, so the Captain’s ordering you back to the freighter. Get out of here.”

 “There has to be another option,” she replied.

 A rattle of automatic fire flew overhead, and Cooper hugged down to the ground, peeking up with his rifle and taking a couple of shots to try and pin down the target; they looked to be setting up a machine gun, but another well-aimed shot sent them running.

 “You’re wasting time, Barbara! Launch!”

 “I’m not giving up this easily. I’ve got a satellite map of your area, I see a flat patch maybe fifty meters away. You’d have a chance of making that.”

 “You’ll never get down, they’ll have all the time in the world to shoot you out of the sky.” He could see some of the troopers carrying missiles on their backs, evidently just waiting for their expected pick-up to arrive, and he didn’t want to make Barbara their target.

 “That’s where you come in. I’ll be down on the deck in about two minutes. You’ve got to hold them up long enough for me to make my descent.”

 “Smoke and clouds everywhere…”

 “Then I’ll land blind, damn it! Just let me have my shot!”

 “Damn it, Barbara, I love you. Cooper out.”

 He closed the channel before she could reply, and glanced up at the smirking Forrest. Cantrell raced up to his side, firing a trio of shots to give herself covering fire. The enemy was now switching to just pinning them down, not actually attacking them.

 “I think they want us alive,” she said. “What’s the plan?”

 Pulling his communicator up so Marshall could hear, he said, “Shuttle’s coming in to pick us up. We’ve got to set up a detour to give her a chance to come in clean. Their missile troopers are over to the west, so that’s where we’re going.”

 “Give me your rifle, Cooper,” Forrest said.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Not a chance, Sarge.”

 “Cooper, you’ve done enough.”

 “That’s true when you get back on the deck of Alamo, Sarge, and not until then!”

 Forrest looked at Cantrell, then said, “Fine. Spaceman?”

 “I go where Cooper goes. Despite his professions of undying love to his girlfriend. On three, Gabe?”

 “Cooper,” Marshall’s voice said, “Watch yourself.”

 “You’ll be nearest to the shuttle, sir. She’ll need all the landing guidance you can give her.”

 “I'll do that, Corporal.”

 “Thanks, sir.”

 “Good luck.”

 He could hear the roar of the shuttle engines from the spaceport, make out its shape moving through the clouds of dust, and then looked over at the troopers readying their missiles. If they were going to pull this off, the time was now, and he turned to Cantrell.

 “Three, two, one, now!”

 Throwing caution to the wind, he jumped out of cover and started to sprint towards the cluster of troopers, firing as he went, scattering them around. Cantrell, just behind him, was more accurate than he, taking two of them down with well-placed shots. She skidded short, snatching up a dropped missile, and aimed it vaguely in the right direction before pulling the trigger.

 Cooper felt the heat on his back as the warhead flew over his shoulder, and rolled down to the right just in time to protect himself from the resultant explosion, a column of smoke rising from the emplacement, a group of tangled bodies spread around the landscape. A second explosion rocked him back to the ground, another of the warheads firing, and a brief cheer rose up as the enemy troopers began to fall back and regroup.

 Far too one side, the shuttle was landing, and Cooper realized that he was in the ideal position to provide them with covering fire as his people moved towards it, racing from cover to cover with more shots cracking all around them. A body near him yielded another clip, and he snatched it up, stuffing it into his pocket, before opening up on the troopers ahead of him.

 Cantrell was having the same idea, and she ran forward a few paces to get into cover, taking shots. Through all the haze and the smoke, it was impossible to see if they were hitting anything, but they were certainly attracting some attention, more bullets flying their way. The shuttle doors open, and the first figure – Riley, he thought, stumbled inside, hands grabbing her and snatching her in. He saw one of the fleeing troopers fall, Orlova hit in the arm; Marshall picked her up, half-carrying, half-dragging her to safety.

 “Time to get out of here, Cantrell,” Cooper said. “Get to the shuttle. I’ll cover you.”

 “Like hell,” she said. “If you get shot, we’re finished.”

 “Damn it, do was you are ordered!”

 “You’re forgetting, I outrank you.”

 Marshall was on board the shuttle now, and Orlova, and the rest of the Espatiers were close on their heels. More shots rang out, and Cooper stopped another attempt to get a machine gun nest set-up with a quick squeeze of the trigger on semi-automatic, pausing for a second to slam in a replacement clip.

 Another series of shots took down a pair of enemy troopers trying to flank the fleeing squad, and he spread his attentions far and wide, desperately trying to distract the enemy forces, give them something to think about other than taking down the Espatiers. First one, then three more climbed onto the shuttle, Forrest having to be dragged on board, turning to try and race back out to the battlefield.

 “Cooper, this is Marshall. We’re on board, now it’s your turn. Get to the shuttle, we’ve only got a couple of minutes!”

 He looked around, and saw the last of his friends, his comrades, getting through. Turning to Cantrell, he said, “Now, time to go. You go half-way, I’ll cover, then we’ll swap. Ready?”

 “As I’ll ever be,” she said, sprinting desperately for the shuttle as gunfire cracked all around her. She didn’t get twenty yards before having to take cover again, the weight of gunfire too much for her, and Cooper braced himself to take a run, only to see another machine gun over to the right, turning towards the shuttle.

 Instead of running towards safety, he ran to the machine gun, gambling that he could get to it before they could set it up; behind him, another trooper was getting a missile set up, and he had to stop it if they were going to have a chance. A voice echoed over his communicator, but he ignored it, filtering it out. Someone was trying to give him orders that, for all their sakes, he couldn’t afford to obey.

 His feet ate up the ground, and he got close enough to take a desperate pair of shots at the duo manning the gun, both of whom fell down to the ground, blood spilling from their chests. Ignoring them, he settled in behind the gun, just about ready to fire, and started to take shots, bursts of flame erupting from the barrel, bullets racing across the battlefield to rip the missile trooper to shreds.

 “Get out of there!” the communicator yelled. “We’ve got thirty seconds!”

 He felt sorriest for Cantrell. She was still pinned down in the middle of the battlefield, no way to reach the shuttle, and he wasn’t going to be able to get her out. He reached down for his communicator, pulling at the trigger with his hand, and held it calmly to his mouth.

 “Shuttle, launch. I can’t get to you without being full of holes, and neither can Cantrell. I think this is as far as we go.”

 “Cooper!” Marshall yelled. “I’ll wait. Get moving.”

 “You’re already close to missing the window,” he replied, “so get out of here.”

 “Damn it, Cooper. Good luck.”

 Pulling herself to her feet, Cantrell sprinted across to join Cooper, watching as the shuttle airlock slammed shut, and the vertical jets fired. He watched as the clouds of dust rose again, a thin smile on his face as his comrades began their long journey home. That he wouldn’t be joining them didn’t seem to matter.

 “We’ve got to get moving,” Cantrell said. “We need to clear the battlefield. As soon as they realize what happened, they’ll move in on us.”

 “I was planning to surrender,” Cooper replied.

 “You might have given up on getting home, but I haven’t! Never say die. Now let’s get moving.”

 “Where?”

 “We’ll worry about that later. Come on.”

 Firing another burst from the machine gun as a parting present, Cooper followed Cantrell as she sprinted up the slopes towards the mountain, heading for the ravines and outcrops. From somewhere, she’d found a grenade, and she tossed it behind them, sending another cloud of smoke into the air to add to the confusion. There was a loud bang from above, a sonic boom as the shuttle headed back for Ouroboros, and a smile crossed his face.

 Then he felt a stabbing pain in the back, the crack at the same time, and he staggered to the ground, trying for one last pace, Cantrell running towards him.

 “Cooper! Cooper!” she yelled, as everything faded to darkness.

Chapter 30

 Marshall had banished Barbara to the rear compartment, and was taking the shuttle up through the atmosphere himself, Orlova sitting in the co-pilot’s seat by his side with a bandage around her arm, shaking her head as she looked at the course plot. They flew through a cloud, well clear of the enemy to their rear, but coming up on the network of orbital defense satellites far too slowly for comfort.

 “It’s as bad as I thought,” Orlova said. “We were nine seconds late on the burn.”

 “I’m having trouble building up speed,” he replied. “Too much weight, and the boosters aren’t doing enough. I can’t get those seconds back.”

 “We’ve lost a few,” she said. “Those satellites are going to get a nice series of shots at Ouroboros as it breaks orbit.”

 With a deep sigh, he said, “What are our options?”

 “Not many. We could head back to the planet, land somewhere else, go to ground and wait for a rescue. They know where we’re heading now, though, so Ouroboros will be a target.”

 “And we don’t have enough fuel to catch up with her when she’s under acceleration.”

 “At this point we’ll have problems enough making contact at all.” She paused, then said, “We could accept the missile hits, try and mitigate them?”

 “Then we’re stuck stumbling through space on a ship in pieces. I did that before, and it wasn’t much fun. One bad hit and we stay here, and everyone buys the farm.” He glanced down at the readings, then smiled, “I think I’ve got something.”

 “What?”

 “Go aft and take a look at the engine manifolds. See if you can do anything to give me an additional boost.”

 “I don’t know what I can do back there.”

 He turned to her, and with a nod, said, “I trust you to do anything that you can, Maggie.”

 With a slightly puzzled nod, she unbuckled and made her way back to the rear compartment. Activating the autopilot for a moment, Marshall followed her, slamming his hand on the lock control and using his command codes to seal it shut. It would take too long for them to get through, long enough to do what he had to do.

 Tapping a series of controls on the navigation computer, he nodded at the results of his computations. As he thought. Only one satellite was going to be in position to get those critical shots, and the shuttle was going to get pretty close. He entered a new course, and the nose yawed to the side, pulling in a new direction as he changed the trajectory, throwing the shuttle into a new orbit. Now they would get within a couple of miles of the satellite, at a speed that was only twenty meters per second different. Just enough for his purposes.

 A winking light told him that someone was trying to get through to him from the rear compartment, Orlova wondering whether he had lost his mind, most likely. Then another signal from Ouroboros, Caine trying to call him. Ignoring them, he started to set up a new course, programming the autopilot to engage it at the right second – one that would get the shuttle back up to the freighter with a few ounces of fuel to spare. A hot pilot could dock with that, and there were a couple of good candidates on board.

 Standing up to let the autopilot do its job, he started to don his spacesuit, strapping the regrettably low-velocity pistol to the holster on its side, taking his time to check each of the telltales, watching the lights all flash green. The oxygen tank was only a quarter full, enough for maybe a couple of hours, but at this point, that wouldn’t matter. It only had to last for another nine minutes, then it would be enough.

 Standing in the airlock, he activated the communicator, contacting them both at once, “This is the Captain. I’m about to bail out.”

 “Why?” Caine asked, her voice ragged and desperate.

 “I’ve changed the shuttle’s trajectory to give me a window to get on board the satellite. I should be able to knock it out.”

 “Then what? You wouldn’t be able to get back.”

 “I know,” he said.

 “Captain,” Orlova said, “let me go.”

 “Your wrist is still bleeding. You need medical attention, not a battle.”

 “Any of the troopers…”

 “Who have been under detention for months, and aren’t at their best. I am. This is my job, Maggie. I’ll be leaving the ship in twenty seconds.”

 There was nothing they could do to stop him, not now, and she knew it. “We’ll do the fastest turnaround of a shuttle in history, Captain. We haven’t given up on you yet.”

 “Fine, Maggie. The door will unlock as soon as the outer hatch opens, so get Barbara up to fly the ship if you can’t handle it yourself.”

 “Will do.”

 “Don’t do this, Danny!” Caine said. “We’ll take the hits, there is another option!”

 “Not this time,” he said, pushing the button and stepping into the lock. The automatic systems cycled, and he flew out of the shuttle on the last traces of the atmosphere, using the thrust to get him properly on course. His suit navigation computer had picked up the course from the helm, and was twisting towards the satellite, spending its fuel in a reckless series of bursts.

 At least, so he presumed. He was too far away for the satellite to be anything other than a faint dot in the distance. The shuttle burned up, kicking into the orbit to take it to Ouroboros. There was a slim chance that the shuttle might get back to him in time, if he could knock out the satellite rapidly enough.

 Warning alerts were droning in his ear, and he flicked them off with a switch. The suit was fine, and he knew that he was using far too much fuel for his own good, that the oxygen in his suit was well below safety limits. None of that was important, not right now. He had a job to do, and the satellite was getting closer and closer, now resolving itself into a definite shape, a long cylinder bristling with solar arrays and missile tubes.

 Simply knocking out the panels wasn’t going to be enough; that might help in the long-term, but he needed to disable it in the short-term. He reached out his hands, then was briefly blinded as Denebola rose over the horizon, a flash of white light shimmering on his face plate before he could adjust, an afterimage burned into his eyes.

 A new series of warnings were sounding, this time collision warning alerts. He’d managed to change his speed almost enough, but it was still going to be a bit of a collision, and he braced himself for the impact, grabbing a safety line in his hand, ready to latch himself onto any available surface.

 He smashed into a solar array, the fragile cells snapping off in his hand as he tried to grab on, then hit the side of the satellite itself, frantically struggling to clip himself on, reaching for a secure handhold. One last burst of fuel gave him the second he needed to fasten himself to the station, and as the clip locked into position, he let go, spinning out into space, whirling around until the tether could arrest his movement.

 For a heart-rending second, he was sure that the line was about to snap, but it pulled him back when it reached its fullest extent, slowly recoiling back in towards the station. The heads-up display warned him that he only had four minutes left. Somewhere up above, the shuttle would be closing in for its terminal maneuver, locking onto the freighter.

 With a series of quick tugs, he drew himself back towards the satellite, hand over hand until he made contact with the hull. One of the first things he saw was an access port, and he slid it open, pulling out components and tossing them away. The harder it was to repair this, the better, and the satellite immediately began to tilt out of position, turning down towards the sun.

 Climbing towards another port, he tried to open it, but found it jammed. If this was anything like the ones the Triplanetary Confederation used – and there were enough similarities that he suspected espionage was involved – then this would be the missile control system. Knock this out, and they wouldn’t even be able to fire the missiles, let alone guide them.

Another alert sang in his helmet, and he looked down to see a large hatch opening; he realized a key difference. This satellite was manned. Normally, there was only a small space for a man to work in shirtsleeves if necessary, but either he’d been extremely unlucky, or the Cabal was stationing guards on their satellites.

 Leaving his work, he dived down towards the figure, the flash of a plasma burst buzzing through the space he had been floating in, burning a hole through one of the solar arrays. Marshall reached down to grapple with the figure, tearing at the controls on his opponent’s spacesuit as he struggled with him, trying to pry the pistol away.

 The figure was clamped onto him, and they span around each other as they futilely battered away, neither of them having any realistic chance of damaging the other’s suit. Marshall was at a disadvantage here as the guard bought time with his struggle, and he reached down for his pistol, knowing that while it couldn’t penetrate the suit, it could still give him a little edge. He placed the barrel next to the armored fabric and pulled the trigger, throwing himself clear with the recoil; he fired again to wrap himself around the satellite, and dived for the still open hatch.

 Another plasma burst, this one just over him, catching one of the satellite’s thruster tanks, sending it spinning out of control as the internal systems struggled to compensate. With a desperate effort, Marshall managed to scramble inside, hitting a control to close the door. Warning lights were flashing everywhere, but he focused on the missile computers, and he clumsily started to type commands to delete key files, purging the system of the programming it needed to operate.

 The station lurched, thrusters firing at random now, and the warnings grew louder by the second as he completed his task. Outside, his erstwhile opponent was desperately battering at the door, trying to get in, but short of melting his way through, he had no chance. Marshall checked his heads-up display again and smiled; he’d managed to disable the satellite with a minute and a half to spare, and for a second, he allowed himself a little hope that Orlova might be able to get the shuttle back to pick him up after all.

 His hope was dashed almost instantly as he looked up at the source of the warning alerts. He’d thought that the system was simply alerting him to the sabotage he was causing, but he was wrong. A combination of the thruster malfunctions and the systems failures had led to the satellite changing orbital path, slowing dramatically. In less than an orbit, the satellite was going to burn up. Far worse, long before that it would have drifted into the firing path of the satellite behind it, and anyone trying to come after him was going to be rewarded with nothing other than a missile on their tail.

 Trying to muster a smile, he leaned back in the control couch and cracked open his helmet, taking one last look at the clock. One minute to go, but he’d bought them the extra time they needed. He glanced down at the approaching planet, the gray clouds menacing and dark beneath him, and smiled.

 “You’re only getting me, you bastard.”

 Reaching across for a drink, he took a slurp, noting favorably that it was mildly alcoholic, then started to play with the controls. No way he was going to bring this craft down, or even do anything other than buy a little more time. He played with the thrusters anyway, firing them at maximum, spending what fuel remained, but it was no use. The trajectory extended a little, projecting a crash into one of the vast oceans of oil, but it wasn’t going to matter.

 By the time he got down that far, he’d be nothing but a fireball anyway.

Chapter 31

 Orlova unbuckled with an effort, wincing at the pain in her wrist before ducking through the hatch. Wilson was waiting on the other side as ordered, and a pair of technicians raced to connect up the fuel lines for the transfer. Their passengers hurriedly emerged, drifting into the corridor, their eyes showing their joy at being free, and their sorrow at the price that had already been paid.

 “How long, Chief?” she said.

 “About three minutes, ma’am.”

 “Bradley, stay here. Get ready to go when I give the signal.”

 “Cooper. What about Cooper,” she said, her eyes red.

 “Barbara, we saw him shot. In the back,” Forrest said, gently. “Save the living before we worry about the dead.”

 “He isn’t dead,” she said. “I’m going back down there.”

 Orlova glanced at Forrest, and he nodded, saying, “We’d all go with her if there was a chance, but...I’ll make sure nothing happens.”

 “Thank you, Sergeant,” she replied, dashing for the elevator. It took far too long to ride up to the bridge, and she glanced down at the bandage on her wrist, the blood now showing through it. It hurt like hell, but she didn’t have the time to do anything about it, not yet. When they got to hendecaspace, she’d have as long as she needed.

 The doors opened, and she drifted into the bridge. Caine was hovering over the communications console, trying to call the Captain, and Nelyubov was manning the helm, the escape course already plotted for the flight home. At least they should be able to manage that much.

 “Status report, someone.”

 Caine turned, then said, “Danny did it, but the satellite’s dropped into a lower trajectory. Less than thirty-five minutes until re-entry.”

 “Not a problem. The shuttle can be with him in ten.”

 “Lieutenant,” Nelyubov said, “That will put us in range of another satellite.”

 “Window?”

 “We’re already too late for the shuttle to return.”

 Closing her eyes, Orlova said, “Can you get the Captain?”

 “I’ve been trying, sir,” Weitzman said, looking up at Caine. “Ah. Got him.”
 “Put him on the speaker,” she said. “Captain, we’ve got a shuttle ready to go in one minute.”

 “Negative, Maggie,” he replied. “I’m going to veto that.”

 “Danny, we’re coming to get you!” Caine said.

 “I checked the figures myself. Even if you could risk Ouroboros, whoever you send will be in the firing line of another one of these flying fortresses for a good three minutes. Suicide.”
 “Bradley and Forrest are willing to try,” Orlova said.

 Weitzman looked up from his station, and said, “Fighters launched, ma'am. Intercept course.”

 “She’s a good pilot,” Marshall replied, “and I can’t let her throw her life away on a mission like this. I repeat, this is vetoed. No flight.”

 “You aren’t in command here,” Caine said. “Launch in thirty seconds, Maggie.”

 “Fighters will be on us in five minutes unless we move,” Nelyubov said.

 Orlova looked at the status boards, running a quick check of the trajectories, and confirming everything that Marshall had said. If she was in condition to fly, she’d have taken the shuttle out herself without a second thought, and she knew that if she gave the order, the pilot would take a crack at it.

 “Fifteen seconds,” Weitzman said.

 “What are we doing, Maggie?” Nelyubov said. “Those fighters are getting closer by the second.”

 She didn’t have the right to give the order. That was the only thing running through her mind. She’d go on the mission herself, but that was different. That was only putting her in jeopardy. This wasn’t like before, wasn’t like the decision she’d made on Hercules. This time, it was just rescuing one man, no matter who he might be.

 Marshall’s voice echoed through the room again, “Maggie, I put you in command because I trusted you to take the tough decisions. This one is easy. Get out of here!”

 “Maggie, get that shuttle up,” Caine said.

 She shook her head, and said, “Frank, fire main engines on schedule. Get us to the egress point.”

 “No!” Caine yelled. “That order is countermanded!”

 “I’m in command,” Orlova said, desperately trying to keep her voice from cracking. “Sub-Lieutenant Nelyubov, you will obey my order.”

 “Frank,” Caine said, “tell Bradley to…”

 “Belay that order,” Orlova said. “Lieutenant Caine, get below.”

 “Damn you, Maggie…”

 Turning to her, face flushed and red, she said, “Caine, get below! That’s an order! Weitzman, have the shuttle crew stand down.”

 The engines fired, and Ouroboros began to accelerate, heading to the system exit point. Caine stormed from the bridge, and Orlova looked after her for a few seconds, before turning back to face the viewscreen.

 “We’re on our way, Captain,” she said. “Estimated time of departure thirty-two minutes.”

 “Good. I’ll see you off before…”

 “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?”

 He took a deep breath, audible over the speaker, and said, “I won’t order you to get everyone home, because I know you will. Tell my father that...that I did my best, and that I want him to get Alamo back to Mars. And when you see Commodore Tramiel, tell him that I’m sorry I overstepped my orders so much.” He was actually chuckling, “But also tell him that I do not for one moment regret being placed in command of Alamo. Not for a second. Tell him that, will you.”

 “I’m your messenger now, am I?” she said, tears running into her smile. “I’ll do that for you, sir.”

 “Good.”

 Weitzman turned, his eyes as blurry as Orlova’s, and said, “We’re passing behind the horizon in a few seconds. No relay, we’ll lose contact.”

 “There are personal messages on file, they can be passed around. It has been an honor and a privilege to serve with each and every one….”

 The voice crackled away to nothing, and Weitzman said, “Signal lost, ma’am.”

 Leaning back on the command couch, now hers, she looked up at Nelyubov, “We on course?”

 “All green, and no sign of pursuit. Fighters turning back to the station. I think we showed them a clean pair of heels.”

 “Thanks to the Captain.”

 “We’re clear to the hendecaspace point, Maggie,” Frank said, “I can take her the rest of the way. You get that arm seen to.”

 She looked down at her wrist, the pain almost forgotten, moving to the back of her mind. Looking up at Nelyubov, she nodded, and made her way to the corridor, heading towards sickbay.

Weitzman looked up as she passed, and said, “It was worth it, ma’am.”

 “I know,” she said. “If Cooper had known he wasn’t coming back, he’d have gone anyway.”

 “So would the Captain,” he agreed.

 She pushed out of the room, but didn’t even get half-way to the elevator before swinging into an empty compartment, the door closing behind her, just before she broke down in tears. After what seemed like hours, the door swung open, Sergeant Forrest standing at the threshold, and she wiped at her face.

 “Sorry, Sergeant. I know officers shouldn’t cry in front of the men.”

 “I’m still too shocked, ma’am. And I didn’t see a thing.” He took a deep breath, and said, “A lot of people would have sent that shuttle back. I’d have gone, Lieutenant, but you did the right thing. We wouldn’t have had a chance.”

 “I couldn’t send you. I’d have gone myself.”

 “Not with that wrist. At best you’d have flown right back into captivity.” He shook his head, and said, “I just hope our freedom is worth the price you paid. The Captain, Cooper, Cantrell.” He chuckled for a second, then said, “I never even knew her. And she sacrificed her life – or at least her freedom – for us. Didn’t even think twice.”

 “Thinking is a bad habit. I’ve got to try and get out of it.”

 “I’ve seen friends die, ordered them to go, knowing that they probably wouldn’t be coming back. It’s never easy.”

 “Damn right.”

 “Sometimes it is necessary. We can’t bring them back, Lieutenant. All we can do is make sure that what they did has meaning, that it was worth it.”

 She looked up at him, and replied, “Thank you, Sergeant.”

 “I know, I know,” he said. “Just words, and words don’t mean a damn thing. Perhaps this will help. There are eleven people back in the crew quarters who are going to see their families again. They’re going to get a chance to go home, because of what you all did, because of what they sacrificed. What you sacrificed. That’s something.”

 Nodding, she said, “I’d better get back up to the bridge. We’ll be leaving the system in a minute.” Sliding past Forrest, she walked uncertain paces to the command deck, a stern-faced Caine standing at the door.

 “We can’t go back now, it’s too late,” Caine said. “I accept that you are in command, but Lieutenant, when we get back…”

 “You intend to do everything in your power to see that I am court-martialed.”
 “As long as we understand each other.”

 She walked back, unsteady in the acceleration, and looked at the viewscreen. The planet was visible as a sphere now, becoming a memory rather than a bitter reality. Nelyubov looked up, then back down to his work feeding the last of the hendecaspace calculations into the navigational computer. Just a couple of minutes to go.

 “Weitzman, try and call the Captain,” she said. “The satellite should be back in range by now.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, then frowned. “It’s gone.”

 “What, the satellite?”

 “Aye, Lieutenant. I’m just reading a cloud of debris.”

 “They must have had some sort of self-destruct,” Nelyubov said. “If we’d sent a shuttle…”

 “Then even if it had made it, we’d have just added more bodies to the death count. Sub-Lieutenant, you have the call.”

 “Aye, ma’am. Standing by.”

 Quietly, too softly for anyone to hear, Orlova whispered, “Goodbye, Captain,” as the bright flash whisked them to the safety of hendecaspace.

Epilogue

 Death was a lot noisier than he’d been expecting. The constant drip from the ceiling, either poor maintenance or deliberate malice. At this point, he wouldn’t bet on which. His back ached, stiff from lying on the floor for too long, and he tried to look around the room, in the thin trace of light that seeped through a crack in the door.

 Footsteps, growing louder, growing closer. He tried to rise to his feet, but his legs were bound, and all he could manage was to shuffle around. Instead, he at least managed to face the door as it burst open, white light almost blinding him, a familiar figure standing at the threshold.

 “Captain Marshall,” the voice said. “I think it is long past time that we talked.”

Thank you for reading 'Stars in the Sand'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.

The writer's blog is available at http://tinyurl.com/pjl96dj

Look out for Battlecruiser Alamo: The First Duty, and Spitfire Station: Ghost Ship, available soon on Amazon.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28
Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue