TAKE AND HOLD

Battlecruiser Alamo: Book 11

Richard Tongue

Battlecruiser Alamo #11: Take and Hold

Copyright © 2015 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

First Kindle Edition: March 2015

Cover By Keith Draws

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

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With Thanks To: Ellen Clarke and Peter Long

Admirals all, they said their say

(The echoes are ringing still),

Admirals all, they went their way

To the haven under the hill.

But they left us a kingdom none can take, The realm of the circling sea,

To be ruled by the rightful sons of Blake And the Rodneys yet to be.

Admirals all, for England's sake,

Honour be yours and fame!

And honour, as long as waves shall break, To Nelson's peerless name!

Henry Newbolt, 1892

Chapter 1

 The concourse was crowded with people, moving around with purpose as they shopped for knick-knacks, headed to one of the bars to meet old friends, worked their way down their duty checklist or reported to their workstation. Logan Winter, latterly commander of Spitfire Station, was the only one just drifting aimlessly through the corridors. As he had expected, he had returned from Haven to find that he had been replaced, an ambitious Senior Lieutenant whose name he hadn’t bothered to learn, who thought this place would do wonders for his career. He’d learn soon enough.

 Logan hadn’t expected not to have any orders waiting for him when he got back. There were plenty of fires he should be putting out, the UN Colonies still dancing around insurrection, the Cabal waiting out in the dark, who knows what else beyond. He smiled, pondering for the moment if this wasn’t his boss gently telling him that he could return to civilian life, but while he had initially longed for it, after a year back in uniform he found it strange to imagine being out of it.

 Commanding a station wasn’t his forte, not really, but there were so many other things he could be doing. A polite inquiry about heading out with the task force had been abruptly rebuffed by Counter-Admiral Tramiel, though he was about on the verge of just sneaking on board one of the ships and facing the music later.

 “Captain Winter!” a voice yelled from the far end of the corridor, and Logan raised a hand, waving the noisy man over. Another one of the new intake, some junior enlisted type pressed into duty as a runner. “Message for you, sir.”

 “Last time I checked, there were such things as communicators,” he replied.

 Looking down at the deck, the panting spaceman replied, “I’m sorry, sir, I was ordered to hand this to you personally by…”

 “Relax, kid. You’ve got a stupid boss, but that isn’t your fault.” He took the datapad, and started to read, his eyes widening as he did so. He looked back up to the young crewman, and said,  “Is this some sort of joke?”

 “No, sir. I mean, I don’t know what the datapad says, but the transmission came through half an hour ago on the Scoutship Viking. I’ve delivered three more of these this morning.” He frowned, then said, “You were the hardest to find, sir.”

 “Who else?”

 “Lieutenant Ryder, Senior Spaceman Harper, and Sub-Lieutenant Chambers.”

 Logan grabbed the young man’s shoulders and said, “Melissa’s on board the station? Since when?”

 “I gave her the orders twenty minutes ago, sir. She was in her quarters.”

 He cursed under his breath in three languages, then said, “Fine, kid. You’ve delivered your message, now run along and tell whoever gave it to you that you couldn’t find me.”

 “What, sir?”

 Logan pushed the datapad into the young man’s hands, and said, “You couldn’t find me, and I don’t know about this yet. I’m sure there’s some sort of reason buried in the regulations about handing these orders to me, and I’m equally sure that they’ll give up and just send the orders directly to me, but I need a little time. Get moving.”

 “Yes, sir,” he replied with a confused look on his face, heading off into the crowd. Logan looked after him for a second, his eyes checking for anyone who might be watching him, then reached into his pocket for his communicator, tapping a hidden button to make sure that no-one could overhear him.

 “Ryder, Harper, Chambers, report to Sub-Level Nine-Alpha, right now.”

 He reached up to an overhead hatch, twisted it open, and dived inside, quickly shutting it up behind him. Looking up and down the maintenance tunnel, he kicked off towards his destination, pushing off from one surface to another to speed his path, swinging around a bulkhead with a convenient handhold and ducking underneath a cloud of debris left over from the last occupant.

 The location he had picked hadn’t been used in years, which made it such an ideal meeting point for covert activities that he’d been forced to install security equipment to protect it, but it was a space where he could work without anyone overhearing him. His office would have been another obvious choice, but it had a new occupant now, one blissfully ignorant of the extra features that Logan had built in.

 Diving past a bored-looking maintenance technician surrounded by a halo of components, he ducked into the side passage he was looking for; up ahead, he could see the green-haired Harper waiting for him, a smile on his face.

 “I figured you’d want to see me as soon as you got the word,” she said. “I’ve been waiting here for a quarter of an hour.” With a smile, she said, “Let me guess; that poor rookie couldn’t find you.”

 “Maybe I didn’t want to be found.”

 “What’s going on?” another voice said from down the corridor; Logan turned to see Ryder heading towards them. “I’ve got some celebrating to do.”

 “Let me guess,” Logan said, “You’ve just been transferred back to the Alamo.”

 She nodded, and said, “Operations Officer, effective immediately.” Shaking her head, she replied, “Should I be thanking you? Look, I know we’ve had our problems, but serving under you has been an experience I won’t forget.”

 “I bet. What about you, Kristin?”

 Waving a datapad in the air, she said, “Apparently I’m a Technical Officer now, and assigned as the Captain’s Administrative Assistant. If this is someone’s idea of a joke, it’s a bad one. I’m not a damn secretary.”

 With a growing smile, Logan said, “If this is a joke, it’s got a lot of levels to it. I got a set of orders myself a few minutes ago. Apparently I’m the new commanding officer of the Battlecruiser Alamo.”

 Harper broke out in near-manic laughter, and Ryder said, “What the hell is this?” Her face darkened, and she said, “With all due respect, you wouldn’t know the first thing about commanding a battlecruiser.”

 “Don’t you think I know that?” he replied. “I’m as baffled about this as you.”

 “They calling you in?” Harper asked. “Cover for a transfer back home?”

 “I thought about that, but the orders didn’t have any of the usual codewords. Besides, there are plenty of nice quiet ways for me to sneak home, we don’t need to resort to this. There’s something else going on here.”

 “It could just be a mistake,” Harper said. “They do happen. You are a Lieutenant-Captain not assigned, and some bureaucrat might have decided to give you the job without looking too deep into the details.”

 “Harper, assigning a commanding officer to a capital ship is not handled by a minor bureaucrat,” Ryder said with growing exasperation. “To the best of my knowledge, Commodore – sorry, Counter-Admiral Tramiel handles it himself.”

 “Unless he gets countermanded by someone higher up,” Logan replied.

 “Ultimately, Captain,” Ryder said, “You have a job to do.” She shook her head, and said, “Damn it, I was…”

 “Looking forward to leaving me behind and getting on with your career?” he said with a smile. “Am I really that bad to work for?”

 Harper and Ryder looked at each other, and the latter replied, “Yes. I don’t mind people not being by the book, but you flushed it out of the airlock the day you took over here.”

 “Where’s Melissa?” Harper said. “I didn’t even know she was back.”

 “Neither did I,” Logan replied. “Frankly, that surprised the hell out of me; I figured she’d still be back at Callisto, or on her way to something better. I expected her to contact me at the very least.” He pulled out his communicator, playing with the controls again, and said, “Logan to Chambers. Reply at once.” He paused for a moment, then with more urgency, said, “Reply at once.”

 Looking up at Ryder, he said, “I’m going to look for her.” 

 “Yes, we are,” Harper replied, reaching into what he had thought was a secret compartment and pulling out a pair of pistols. She snapped one onto her belt with worrying familiarity, and tossed the other over to Logan. “Yours, I think.”

 “How many of these caches have you got stashed around?” Ryder said.

 “Enough. After what happened here on my first day, I thought it seemed like a sensible precaution to take.”

 “I can’t begin to tell you how many regulations you are breaking,” she replied. “Have you got more of them?”

 “I think there’s another one in there somewhere,” he said with a smile. “We’d better stick together. Right down the main access shaft is most likely. We’re down near the bottom, so it seems like a good place to start.”

 “Shouldn’t we call security?” Ryder asked, strapping on her gun.

 “Too dangerous. I don’t trust this new crowd, I haven’t had a chance to get to know their profiles. Most of our people have been shanghaied onto the task force. Come on.”

 He pushed off out of the nook they had been roosting in, out into the shaft, and kicked off back the way he had come. Trying to visualize a mental map of the station, he twisted around a corner and then started to dive vaguely in the direction of Operations, a good eighth of a mile away.  Quietly, he tapped a control on his communicator, opening the frequency and transmitting everything it could hear to the station databanks; if he was reported dead, a lot of people – many of them randomly chosen – would get to hear his last words. Hopefully the screamed name of his murderer.

 Harper and Ryder followed close on him, the former with her pistol drawn and in her hand; she’d obviously managed to get some practice in of late, without telling anyone. Briefly, he wondered if he’d done the right thing in recruiting her, but he reasoned he hadn’t had much of a choice. She’d have recruited herself into Intelligence sooner or later; that was inevitable when she put on the uniform. He just sped the process by a couple of years.

 Something caught him on the cheek as he flew down the corridor, and he reached his hand up to wipe it from his face; his fingers came back red. Blood. He turned down the nearest side shaft and saw Chambers, a gag in her mouth and terror in her eyes, a knife stabbed into her chest.

 “Ryder, look after her!” He yelled, trying to give her a reassuring look as he pushed past, his eyes catching a glimpse of a figure at the far end of the corridor trying to get away. “Get a medical team, right now!”

 As he moved to catch the would-be assassin, he heard Ryder yelling into a communicator, demanding urgent action; Harper was right behind him, as he knew she would be, lining up to be ready for a shot.

 “Tell me you aren’t just looking impressive with that thing?” he said as they raced to the turning.

 “I’ve had more practice in the ranges than you have for the last year,” she replied. “Something told me that this was a skill I needed.”

 They turned the corner, and Logan saw the figure pause for a brief second, giving the two of them the window of opportunity they needed. Logic suggested that he should try and take him alive, but he was far enough away that they would only have one chance to get him, and if he was honest, the well-being of the person who had tried to kill his friend wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

 The two guns cracked at the same second, only one of them striking home, catching the man in the neck, sending him spinning to the wall with blood tumbling out of him in bubbles that filled the air. Logan swooped down towards him, looking at the man to try and find a trace of familiarity, hoping to hear his dying confession, but he was dead before he could get to him.

 “Damn,” he said, looking down at the body. “Harper, search him, and run any identification you can get through the computers. Do it quietly, and make sure no-one knows about it.”

 “Will do,” she replied, while he turned back up the corridor. He could hear coughing and choking from around the corner, and turned to see the gag floating in the air, drifting away, and Ryder doing her best to strap a bandage around the chest wound, the contents of a first aid kit all around her. He moved forward, gently holding Chambers still, stopping her from struggling. She looked up and locked eyes with him, and he tried to smile.

 “You’re going to be fine,” he said. “We got the bastard.” Shaking his head, he replied, “I’m sorry for getting you into this mess.”

 Ryder finished her work, rubbing her bloody hands down her uniform trousers, and said, “Medical team will be here in a minute. We’re close to an access point. I think she’s going to live, but it’s a damn bad wound. Who the hell uses a knife?”

 “Someone who doesn’t want to make a noise and doesn’t care about making a mess,” Logan replied. He could hear the sound of a group of people drifting towards them, and yelled, “Over here! Get a move on!” He kept his hand near his pistol, but relaxed as he saw the white uniforms of the medical team.

 “Get this woman to Alamo’s medical bay as fast as you can.”

 The doctor in charge replied, “Sir, our facilities here on the station are a lot better than anything you'll find on the battlecruiser.”

 “Can they treat her there?” he asked.

 “Yes, but…”

 “Then get her stabilized and get her over there on the double. That’s an order.” He looked up at Ryder, and said, “You go with her, every step of the way. Unless anyone senior to you is on board, take command of Alamo for me. I’ll be along as soon as I can. I want maximum security for her, people you trust. Understand?”

 “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll look after her.”

 “Good. Get moving.”

 He watched the group move out, his eyes lingering on Chambers as her limp form was carefully dragged down the passage. The doctors were looking over the Ryder’s work, shaking their heads, but her fate was in their hands now.

 “It’s my fault,” he said.

 “Don’t be stupid, Logan,” Harper replied, coming around the corridor. “We all know the risks we run wearing the uniform. You couldn’t have known that there was someone wanting to kill her.”

 “No,” he replied. “But I’m the one who sent her back home. That might have made her a target. I should have taken the risks myself.”

 “Then we’d miss out on all the fun.” She paused, then said, “Want to know who tried to kill her? I managed to run a trace.”

 “That was quick.”

 “It didn’t take much work. Floating back there,” she gestured around the corner, “is the late Junior Petty Officer Raul Fernandez. Attached to the staff of Vice-Admiral Remek, and I couldn’t begin to guess what he was doing out here, though his records show him on a three-month furlough.”

 “Three months leave?”

 “Something about attending a civilian technical course. I’ve got all the details, and I think it’s a diploma mill. Phobos Technical Academy ring any bells to you?”

 “Not one of ours.” He shook his head, and said, “I’m guess murder isn’t listed as his specialty.”

 “Life support maintenance. His record looks legitimate enough, though what someone like that would be doing attached to Remek’s staff in the first place…”

 “Maybe she needs someone to adjust the thermostat in her office,” he replied. “Long-term cover, but I’ve no idea who for. That’s something we’re going to need to find out as soon as we get home.” He looked down at the datapad again, and said, “Someone’s arranged for me to get tied down when we get back, and you and the others as well. That’s a message as sure as the knife that almost killed Melissa.”

 “A message?”

 “Someone’s decided that I need to have a battlecruiser at my disposal. My name wasn’t drawn out of a hat, and I don’t believe for one second that this is any sort of administrative mistake. It isn’t just me; someone’s decided to give me you, Ryder and Melissa.” He looked down the passage again, and said, “Hopefully she’ll have a chance to tell me what happened as soon as I get home. You still linked in?”

 “Yes.”

 “Who’s listed as Alamo’s Exec right now?”

 She glanced down at her datapad, and said, “Senior Lieutenant Thomas Watson. Formerly Operations Officer on the Thermopylae, one combat star.” Looking up, she continued, “On paper, he seems like a good choice.”

 “He’s going to have to prove to me I can trust him.” Cracking a smile, he said, “That’s my usual policy, of course. I need you to do me a favor, and you aren’t going to like it.”

 Replying with a grin, she said, “Want me to make a comprehensive mess of his transfer papers? He’s right here on the station. I always love a challenge.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I’ve been assigned him, and for the moment, I’m stuck with him. With any luck, I’ll get more out of him than he will out of me, though doubtless he’s been briefed on my background. No, what I want you to do is to stay off his radar.”

 “What do you mean?” she replied with a growing frown.

 “You have a tendency to be something of an agent of chaos, and while I’ve always found that valuable and will doubtless continue to do so, I need you to keep your head down for a while. Don’t do anything to attract attention to yourself. He’ll be focusing on me and Ryder, at a guess. You might slip out of sight, especially as I’m going to be grabbing a few others for Alamo.”

 With a sigh, she said, “Keep a low profile, and have no fun.”

 “I need you to be my ace in the hole, Kristin. When everything starts to go to hell, as I am quite sure it will, you’ve got to be in position to do whatever needs to be done.”

 After a pause, she said, “I’ll agree on one condition.”

 “Which is?” 

 She gestured down the corridor and said, “It occurs to me that you might be doing this because of what just happened to Melissa. I want your word that you will not keep me out of the game because you think that you might be putting me in risk.”

 “Kristin…”

 “Damn it, Logan, I want your promise, or I swear that man will see my name spelled out in bright lights on all of his monitors whenever he’s trying to sleep.”

 “Fine,” he replied. “If that’s the way you want it.” She nodded, and started to push off down the corridor. “And thank you.”

 “Any time,” she said. “Now, what the hell are we going to do about this mess?”

Chapter 2

 Marshall raised his glass, shouting to cut through the crowd, and said, “To the bride and groom!” The response was an instant cacophony of cheers, the sound of plastic cracking against plastic, and a few half-drunken responses he couldn’t make out in the crowd. Cooper and Bradley were at the top table, looking down on the crowd below as if they could hardly believe the turn-out; Logan had managed to arrange for them to occupy Lilith’s, Spitfire’s popular bar, for the night, and somehow had got Cooper’s uncle out here with Bradley’s parents in time for the ceremony.

 He looked around the room, happiness tinged with sadness as he realized he might never see some of these faces again. Caine at least was staying with him, promoted to Senior Lieutenant and assigned at his insistence as his aide; Tramiel, who was benignly sitting in a far corner nursing an exotic-looking cocktail hadn’t needed much convincing. Quinn was at the bar, talking shop with some of the Spitfire engineers he didn’t recognize, and Steele was over in the corner, holding court with the other watch officers.

 “Centicred for your thoughts?” Cunningham said, drifting over to him with two glasses in his hand. “I thought you might want a top-up.”

 “That’s the sort of thinking I admire in an Exec,” Marshall replied. “Are you taking Alamo home?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Haven’t you heard? I’m going out with you, back on Wyvern again. Just as I thought I’d managed to get off those floating tin-cans.”

 “Wait a minute. I thought that was just temporary for the shakedown cruise. You aren’t telling me that one of those little things is a Lieutenant-Captain’s posting now?”

 “No, but three of them are. I’m commanding one of the scoutship squadrons on this little expedition of ours. They’ve rushed Griffon out of the shipyard, haven’t even finished its shakedown cruise yet.” He shook his head again, and said, “Have you looked around some of this ships in this fleet? Wright was half-way through quadrennial refit when they brought her out.”

 “I guess the Commodore – I mean, the Admiral, was serious about getting everything he could get out here for the party. I don’t mind having superior firepower for once, though, do you? Besides, I don’t really think that the Cabal is going to give us any real trouble.”

 “I just hope you are right,” he replied, looking down at his watch. “We ought to be getting on our way soon. Where are you hanging your hat?”

 “I’m on Gilgamesh,” he replied. “What do you mean, soon?”

 “You don’t know? Tramiel ordered our departure time moved up. We’re heading out at 0200 Zulu. The astrogators are in conference right now.”

 Marshall looked up at the couple, still celebrating their wedding, “Does Cooper know yet?”

 “I saw someone with braid go up there half-an-hour ago, and there was a short argument afterwards. I still don’t know why the hell he volunteered to go.”

 “The same reason that the rest of Alamo’s Espatier contingent did. And they didn’t volunteer, demand was closer to the mark. They’ve got unfinished business out there. I don’t think Brownworth asked twice; the more experienced people they’ve got in the strike force the better.”

 “Still, taking him away on the day of his wedding…”

 “That’s what wearing the uniform means, sometimes. The Fleet will make it up to them when this mission’s over. We’re only going to be out for a couple of months.”

 Orlova drifted in through the door, looking around and spotting Marshall; he waved to her and she moved over to the two of them, Cunningham passing her his drink.

 “Where did you go after the ceremony?” Cunningham asked. “I was looking out for you.”

 “I’m shipping out in half an hour; I had to make sure that everything I needed was off Alamo. Kibaki’s going to see to the rest of it for me, I’m out of time.”

 “I thought you were going back on Alamo?” Marshall said.

 She smiled, and said, “Apparently Staff College can’t wait. I’m going back on a civilian transport, first class, believe it or not.” She gestured up at the top table, and said, “Cooper’s uncle’s arranged it with a friend of his. That’s why I’m here…”

 “Maggie, you don’t have to say a word. I’m doing this for the good of the service. If you’re going to have a ship of your own someday, it’s an important step up.”

 Her smile widening, she said, “I still want to thank you, Captain. For everything over these last three years. If it hadn't been for you I’d probably still be smuggling gray market rubbish from Mars to Mariner, assuming someone hadn’t caught me and thrown me in jail. I never dreamed that anything like this was possible.”

 “It’s been a hell of a tour, Maggie,” Marshall replied. “It’s been an absolute privilege to have you on my ship. We wouldn’t have made it home without you.”

 Cunningham said, “Do you remember what we talked about, back at Desdemona? That you said you wanted to be in the service because there would be a time when you would make a difference.” He smiled, then said, “I think Hercules was what you were talking about. That was a hell of a battle.”

 Her face dropped, and she said, “I lost my ship.”

 “But by God, she died well.” Raising his glass, he said, “To the ships we’ve loved and lost.” The three of them touched glasses, and each took a small sip.

 Looking at the door, Orlova said, “I’d better get going. I don’t want to miss my ship. I just wanted to drop in and…well…”

 “Me too, Maggie. I’ll see you when I get back to Mars.”

 “It’s a date, sir.” Glancing up, she said, “I’d better go up and speak to the happy couple.”

 Marshall looked up at her, then turned back to Cunningham and said, “It really was a damn good crew, John. I still don’t understand why you aren’t being given the command.”

 Frowning, he replied, “Neither do I. Tramiel had told me it was in the pipe, but last night I got the word that I was getting a squadron command instead.” He shook his head, and said, “I’ve never commanded more than one ship before in combat. Unless you count fighters, but I don’t think that’s the same thing at all.”

 “Maybe someone’s grooming you for higher things. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you are coming with us, but I still think it’s crazy not to give you Alamo. You’d be an obvious choice.”

 “Technically, I suppose Logan has seniority of rank, but unless I’ve missed something, he’s never commanded a starship in his life. I don’t think he’s even bridge-certified.” He shook his head, and said, “I know it’s an easy ride home, but I still think it’s a bit of a risk to give it to him. And what if it turns out to be permanent?”

 “It won’t be,” Marshall replied.”

 “You know something I don’t?”

 “My guess is that this is a creative way of getting him back to Mars for debriefing. He sits in as commander of Alamo until they get to dry dock, one easy jump, and then the real commander sits in. Or one of the senior officers on board…”

 “Are there any left?”

 “Don’t tell him, but I’ve put Quinn in for a promotion to Senior Lieutenant.”

 “Quinn commanding Alamo?”

 “He’s probably the best qualified to see her through a refit.” He tapped a datapad, and said, “Alamo’s destined for six months in dry dock. No urgent need to pick a commander.”

 “Still, they’ve got to get home yet.”

 “Relax. Rank notwithstanding, there are half a dozen people on that ship who could get her home. Quinn, Ryder, Race, Kibaki, Steele...I wouldn’t necessarily throw any of them into the firing line, but it’s one jump between two safe ports.”

 “At least it won’t be Zebrova,” Cunningham replied. “I still think it was a bit cruel to send her off on the Buchanan. We’re going out again, and she’ll be spending the next six months going from one sub-committee to the next.”

 “Someone has to do it, and Executive Officers are there to do the boring stuff, aren’t they?”

 The two of them laughed, and were caught by surprise when Marshall was tapped on the shoulder by a gray-haired, stocky man wearing Counter-Admiral insignia on his flight jacket. They turned and snapped a salute, which he waved away with a laugh.

 “I hope the two of you are harder to surprise in battle,” he said with a smile. “I thought I might as well introduce myself here rather than more formally, later; Bill Pierce.” He looked at Cunningham, and said, “We’ve met, anyway.” 

 Cunningham looked back with disbelief, and said, “I thought you’d retired? Last I heard you were running a civilian training school.”

 “Stayed in the reserves, though, and I’ve been nagging Jack Tramiel about getting something to do for months. This sounds like a party worth going to, and I guess the two of you agree.” He looked at Marshall, and said, “Youngest wing commander in the war, and the youngest capital ship commander since then. Are you that good?”

 “I have my moments.”

 Clapping him on the shoulder, he said, “I’ve read your mission logs. Can’t wait for the movie to come out. Of course, we still have to put together the last act first. We won’t have time for a staff briefing until we hit Discovery, so I thought I’d grab the two of you for a chat before we head out. Besides, this is a damn sight more comfortable than a briefing room, and the refreshments are better.”

 “Have you ever run into Lieutenant-Captain Winter? I think the two of you would get on.”

 “Logan? Where do you think I’ve been the last couple of hours. He’s got a surprisingly impressive collection of liquor for an officer of his rank. I thought about making some inquiries about it, but decided it made more sense to drink the evidence instead.”

 Marshall chuckled, and said, “What’s the drill then, sir?”

 “Well, I don’t need a deputy commander for the task force, not someone who’s going to hang over my shoulder waiting for me to die of a heart attack, anyway, so I thought I’d find something useful to do. I’m breaking our formation into three parts. The carrier will be taking the Espatiers into battle, so I might as well take that one.” He smiled, and said, “It’ll be good to be back on a flight deck again, anyway. I haven’t stood on a command deck since the war.”

 “I guess that’s why you flagged me for the scouts, then,” Cunningham said.

 “I’ll be honest, John, I don’t have a damn clue how I’m going to use them in the line of battle, so I want them out on picket. They’ll jump a day ahead of the rest of the fleet and see what’s going on out there. I don’t like exposing them like that, but I don’t know what else I can do with them. At least this way we should get some decent tactical information, and it might throw them off. You get any better ideas, let me know. Odds are I’ll take them.”

 “What about me, then, sir?” Marshall asked.

 “We’ve got two battlecruisers, and again, that’s something I haven’t got any experience with. I flew fighters and carriers during the war, so I’m sticking with what I know. Gilgamesh and Thermopylae are yours; you get our battlecruiser contingent. Nothing so interesting for you, though, I want you to hang in to protect the capital ships in the event we run into any heavy stuff.”

 “Two battlecruisers isn’t much to defend us if the Cabal attack in force,” Cunningham said.

 Looking at Marshall, Pierce replied, “That’s why I’m bringing this boy with me. Last time he commanded two capital ships, he tore an enemy fleet to pieces and spat out the remains. I’ll be quite satisfied with a repeat of that performance.”

 “We lost a ship that day, Admiral,” Marshall said, a frown beginning to spread across his face.

 “Can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs, Captain. Though if you can bring both of the ships I’m giving you back in one piece, I’ll be happy.”

 “Am I getting any fighters?”

 “Yes and no,” Pierce replied. “One flight on each battlecruiser, but the fleet CAG will be commanding the lot. Makes a damn sight more sense to preserve tactical co-ordination, and I’ve got two squadrons on the Trident. ” Raising a hand, he said, “Though if you need them for something, all you have to do is ask, and I will unleash the fires of hell for you. You’ll have to give a couple of Espatier platoons a ride, as well; I’m stuffing as many of them as I can fit into our fleet.” He smiled, looking at the two of them, and said, “Relax. This is going to be fun. I’m going over to see Jack. Catch you in the black.”

 Marshall looked at the Admiral as he drifted off through the crowd, and said, “Is he like that in battle?”

 “He was my wing commander when I first signed up, right at the start of the war,” Cunningham replied. “Second man to make Ace on our side, and by God was he annoyed about that when the news came through.”

 “So you served under him?”

 “Not for long, they bumped him up to group not long after, then over to his carrier. Where he stayed for the duration. I vaguely remember some sort of epic-scale argument taking place just after the ceasefire, and he found himself in civilian clothes, though I don’t recall the details.”

 “It might be an idea to look them up. What do you think of his strategy?”

 “I think that if we run into any Cabal ships, we’re going to get killed. At least the fleet’s jumping together for the first hop.” He shook his head, and said, “I think I’d better come up with some sort of backup strategy.”

 “I don’t like having fighters and troops on my ships that I can’t control.” He pulled out a datapad, and said, “I think I’m going to be making a quick transfer when we get under way.”

 “Can you do that?”

 “She's an old Alamo hand, and I’ll tell the Admiral…”

 “Ace.”

 Marshall looked up in disbelief, and said, “What?”

 “He likes to be called Ace. Yes, I know, and yes, we all used to laugh about it whenever he wasn’t around, but he takes all that seriously. You realize that’s the real reason that he got us both pegged for critical commands.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “You have got to be kidding. I shot down those five fighters before I hit twenty-three; that’s no qualification for fleet command.”

 “There aren’t that many of us left around these days. He probably thinks that he’s protecting the brotherhood or something like that; understand, he’s a fighter pilot at heart. I hope he’s got a good fleet captain on the Trident.”

 “Who is it?”

 “Laura Hayes. Never heard of her, and she’s had a mostly admin-based background.”

 “Which could just mean that Tramiel’s been smart and put someone with Ace,” Marshall sighed as he said the nickname, “who knows how to keep the paperwork nice and tidy, so he can concentrate on command.”

 “Or someone pulled a few strings to get their favorite staff officer an important job,” Cunningham replied. “We’ll have to find out which the hard way. Notice that he didn’t mention the auxiliaries once.”

 Marshall nodded, and said, “I’d better have a word with whomever's commanding Hadfield and Popovich. Make sure that they at least know where we’re going.”

 “Don’t you know who’s in command?”

 “I’ve had this job for about twenty-four hours, and I’ve spent most of that dealing with the change of command.” He shook his head, “I just don’t like the idea of Alamo going off without me.”

 “Don’t worry about her. We both know she’s in good hands,” Cunningham said. “We’ve got bigger problems coming up.” He gestured at Pierce, currently making huge gestures with his hands in front of a laughing Tramiel. “We’ve got a fleet commander who specializes in death or glory and leaves the problems of how to make the magic happen to his subordinates.”

 “Which means that I’d better start thinking about how to do just that.” He shook his head, and said, “With just, what, four hours before we’re supposed to head out? I’ve barely had time to move my stuff over.”

 “Relax, Danny,” Cunningham said. “It isn’t as bad as all that. We’re only going out into hostile space to launch the largest combined Espatier assault since the war, with a task force that is barely sufficient to do the job under the command of an officer who struggles to think larger than a squadron, and hasn’t worn the uniform for eight years. How hard can it be?”

 “There’s got to be some reason I keep you around. Right now, I admit, I can’t think what it is. Certainly you aren’t very good at raising my morale.”

 “Hell, I’ve got to plan out Operation Kamikaze. You think you’ve got problems.”

 “We’ll work something out between us,” Marshall said with a sigh.

 Caine drifted over, a tray of drinks clutched in her hands, and looked between the two of them, saying, “Come on, come on, this is supposed to be a party. You two look as if you’re planning your funeral.”

 “It’s funny you should say that,” Marshall replied, “Because I rather have the impression that we are. One last drink, then we’d better make our way over to the Gilgamesh, damn it.”

 “That bad?” Caine said.

 “No, Deadeye, it isn’t that bad at all,” Cunningham replied. “I think it’s probably a damn sight worse.”

 A cheer went up from the far side of the room, and a voice yelled, “They’re cutting the cake! Better hurry up if you want to get some!”

 “You two go,” Marshall said. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

 He watched them drift over, pushing their way through the happy crowd, and looked around once again at the assembled officers. This party wasn’t just for a wedding; it was more a simple celebration that they had survived the worst that the universe could throw at them and triumphed. He smiled, and unnoticed by anyone else in the room raised his glass.

 “Until we serve together again,” he quietly said, taking a deep sip of the exotic concoction, draining the glass down to the bottom. Without another word, he turned and left the room.

Chapter 3

 The junior officers’ quarters on Trident were a lot more comfortable than the facilities on Alamo; even on his last stint as an Ensign, Cooper had opted to remain in the barracks with his men, but it had become apparent right at the start that this wasn’t going to be an option here. So far, the only glimpse he’d managed to get of the men he would be leading into battle had been a quick flash through their personnel records.

 Unpacking could wait until later; he slid his holdall under the bed and walked out of his room, heading down the officer’s berths to the elevator at the end. As he stepped into the elevator, he was aware of eyes watching him, and turned to see a woman with Ensign’s insignia staring at him, as if trying to measure him up; she shook her head as the doors closed, and he made his way down to the barracks deck.

 The Trident was actually a little shorter than Alamo, but a lot bulkier. Five hangar bays that could house enough shuttles to send a company off into battle, and pack in a pair of fighter squadrons to boot. So far he hadn’t seen even a hundredth of the ship, but that was going to have to change in the near future.

 He stepped out as the doors opened, and saw a young trooper jogging down the corridors, who stopped and snapped a salute as he approached.

 “You Second Platoon?” Cooper asked.

 “No, sir. Third. Second’s down at the far end, sir.”

 “Thanks, Private. Carry on.”

 The trooper paused, and said, “Sir, are you the one who’s been out here already?”

 “I am indeed, Private.”

 “Was it as bad as they said? All those people lost?”

 “We went in with thirty and came out with eleven. I’d damn well hope to do better next time. Now we have a lot better idea of what we are facing.”

 Shaking his head, the trooper said, “I don’t, sir. We haven’t been briefed yet.” With a smile, he continued, “We’ll give them hell, sir. That I do know.”

 “That’s the spirit,” Cooper replied. “Carry on.”

 He frowned as he walked the length of the barracks deck, looking around and failing to see any sign of activity. Trident had jumped an hour ago; by now someone should be organizing drills, marches, exercises. Even lectures on what they would be facing, on the new weapons and tactics of their enemies; he’d certainly provided enough notes, though a part of him wondered what a real officer would have written.

 Pausing in front of the door, he collected himself for a moment. Behind was his platoon, and a new one. Still Second Platoon, but Seventh Company – a unit that didn’t exist when he left Mariner more than a year ago. One thing he did know. These would not be the battle-hardened veterans he was used to serving among. They couldn’t be.

 Opening the door, he stepped inside, and looked around, shaking his head. Most of the platoon was stretched out on their bunks, and a card game was in progress in the far corner of the room. Their equipment had been unceremoniously dumped in a corner and abandoned, the weapon racks empty. More, no-one seemed to have noticed his presence; he looked around for any rank insignia, but couldn’t find the platoon sergeant.

 “Where’s Sergeant Beresford?” he asked, quietly. Getting no response, he summoned the loudest voice he’d ever heard Sergeant Forrest use, and at the top of his lungs, yelled, “Sergeant Beresford, front and center!”

 One of the card players looked up, and panic spread across his face. He pushed one of the other players so hard that he fell on the floor, and the platoon hurriedly scrambled to fall in, racing to their ranks and coming to attention. Most of them were only in a state of semi-dress, and he could easily have failed all of them on uniform infringements.

 “Second Platoon, sir,” Beresford said. “Ready for inspection.”

 “You have got to be joking, Sergeant,” Cooper replied. “If I seriously inspected this outfit, you’d all be going right to the brig. What the hell is going on here?” He gestured at the kit on the floor, and said, “Why has your equipment not been stowed?”

 “We’ve only been on board for a few hours, sir,” one of the troopers said.

 “Name!”

 “Fuller, sir. Laura H. Corporal.”

 She looked young for her rank; Cooper frowned, and asked, “Time in service, Corporal?”

 “Nine months, sir.”

 Cooper stood stunned for a moment. His promotion to Lance-Corporal, back at the start of Alamo’s cruise, had been an unexpected shock, something he wouldn’t have expected for a couple of years. This woman had jumped to the next rank, and by the looks of it, done it in basic training.

 “Beresford, how about you? Time in service?”

 “Eighteen months, sir.”

 “I’m guessing everyone else here will sing the same song if I asked.”

 “Yes, sir,” Beresford said. “I passed out top of my course, so they sent me back to help train the next intake. I volunteered for combat duty, sir. We all did.”

 “I suppose that’s something,” Cooper said, “But by God, it is not enough. It is not anything like enough. You don’t get to go to war simply because you want to, not in this outfit. It’s a dark and scary universe out there, and the Cabal will eat you all for breakfast.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Look at yourselves. This isn’t a luxury cruise.”

 “Hell no. The food’s lousy.”

 Cooper pivoted on his heels and snapped, “Name!”

 “Mason, Private Sandra D.”

 “Well, Mason, what makes you think you can just lounge around like this?”

 “No-one gave us any orders, sir,” she said, staring him in the eyes. This was one trooper that wasn’t going to be intimidated.

 Glaring at Beresford, Cooper said, “Well, that’s going to change, and it is going to change right this minute!” He looked down at his watch, and said, “You have five minutes to get that equipment stowed and put this room back into some sort of order.” The platoon looked at him, and he continued, “Four minutes, fifty-seven seconds. You don’t want to find out what happens if you screw this up. Move!”

 Cooper carefully watched the ensuing pandemonium, not taking any part in it as he watched the NCOs work. Beresford seemed very good at ordering others to do work, but didn’t seem to want to get his hands dirty; Fuller was better, wading right into the task at hand, slamming plasma rifles into their positions. A squad ran from bed to bed, hastily making them, but with a look at his watch, Cooper saw that they were never going to make it in time.

 Racing forward, he picked up a crate of plasma pistols and started to lock them into position, using all of the short-cuts he’d learned, watching the charging lights flash up one after another. Fuller paused for a second and looked at him, obviously trying to pick up the technique. The five minutes were long over by the time they had finished; eight minutes and ten seconds.

 Wiping his greasy hand across his forehead, Cooper moved back to the front of the platoon as they fell in again, moving rather more fluidly this time. They seemed good at their drill, which began to worry Cooper; he was beginning to fear that it was all they knew.

 “Not bad, troopers, but not good either. No leave at the next two stops for any member of the platoon.” He looked at Mason, and added, “That, naturally, includes myself. At least this place looks presentable now.” Running his eyes down the ranks, he said, “We have a little under thirty days before this platoon hits the decks at Hades. In that time, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to get this outfit ready to go to war.”

 “We’ve been trained, sir,” Beresford said. “We’re ready.”

 “How many combat stars?”

 “Sir?”

 “How many battles have you fought, Sergeant?”

 His face locking into a grimace, he replied, “None, sir.”

 “Then how the hell would you know what to expect? Last time a platoon I was in fought on Hades, only four of us got out. We had to get the rest back later. Thirty men in my old platoon. Eleven of which came back, most of whom are on board.”

 Fuller looked at him more closely, and asked, “You’re the one who went into Cabal space?”

 With a sigh, he nodded, and said, “Yes I did. Because we look after our own. You can be sure that no-one else will. I know exactly what it is like to be where you are standing, and from what I can tell, our outfit had a damn sight more training than you have. And only one in three made it home.”

 The platoon looked at each other, as if trying to work out which of them would die, and he continued, “I hope that’s sinking in good and hard. If you think you are ready for this, you aren’t. I’m going to do everything I can do to get you ready over the course of the next month. You will pay attention, you will work harder than you ever have in your life, or I guarantee that you will be floating home. Do I make myself clear?”

 “Yes, sir,” they chorused.

 “I damn well hope so. We can start with four miles around the ship.”

 “Four miles?” Mason said. “We’ve never…”

 “We’re doing a lot of things we never had to do before, like operate for long periods in gravity. Some of you might end up serving on planets where there are wars going on. Endurance is key. Four miles around the decks, and anyone who fails to complete the run in less than forty-four minutes will damn well do six! Get into your tracksuits. You have ten minutes.”

 The door opened, and another figure walked in, a woman with close-cropped dark hair, Lieutenant-Major’s insignia on her shoulders, and a row of combat decorations across the swell of her breast. The platoon snapped to attention and saluted, and Cooper followed suit.

 “Second platoon, ready for inspection, ma’am,” he said, hoping this time that they might withstand such an examination.

 “At ease, second platoon.” She looked at Cooper, and said, “They’ve got fifteen minutes. I need to have a word with you, Ensign. Unless you want to send them off now.”

 “I go where they go, ma’am,” he replied, turning back to the platoon. “Fifteen minutes, gang. Get yourselves ready. You might want to get yourselves warmed up.”

 The two of them stepped out into the corridor, and the woman said as the doors closed, “Lieutenant-Major Brownworth. When it’s just the two of us, you can call me Val.” She smiled, and said, “We’re the only officers with any combat experience, so you are the only one who gets that privilege.”

 “Ensign Cooper, ma’am. Gabe to my friends.”

 Gesturing at the door, she said, “I figured if any of the junior officers passed the test, it would be you. There’s a reason I made myself available and didn’t give any orders. I wanted to see who would have any initiative.”

 “I’m not good at sitting around and waiting, ma’am. A failing.”

 “The other officers are either in their quarters or in the lounge.” She shook her head, and said, “In a few moments, I’m going to be having some serious words with them, but you are excused. Do I need to give you any orders about what to do next?”

 “No, ma’am. Today I work out where they are right now, and then I spend the next four weeks getting them where they need to be if any of them are going to live through this.”

 “I’ve read your personnel records,” she said. “It’s like an adventure novel. I understand that you were scheduled for OCS, but your commanding officer jumped the gun.”

 “Yes, ma’am. I saw action as an officer at Haven, but nothing serious. Most of my experience has been as an NCO.”

 She frowned for a second, and said, “Are you confident handling the platoon in combat?”

 “I am, ma’am. Or I would have told you already.”

 “Good.” She shook her head, and said, “We won’t have the services of the Company XO much longer, I think; Captain Marshall is trying to grab her for Gilgamesh, something about wanting someone to help coordinate the two platoons on the battlecruisers. That means I’ll be leaning on you rather heavily. Good experience for you.”

 “I won’t let you down, ma’am. Can I ask a question?”

 “Go ahead.”

 “Who the hell decided that Second Platoon was ready for combat duty, and who thought that twenty-two-year-old Sergeants were a good idea?”

 “How old are you again?”

 “About forty. Every battle aged me five years or so.”

 She laughed, and said, “You’ll do, Cooper. I think you get the idea. To answer your question, we are looking at the effects of a rapid mobilization. We’ve got fighting in Jefferson, a garrison at Ragnarok, and forces spread all across local space now. Seventh’s been put up in the line ten months early, and we couldn’t get any experienced NCOs. They’ll have to learn on the job.”

 “Sergeant Forrest…”

 “I grabbed him as Company Sergeant with a promotion. I’ll arrange for him to have a talk with the rest of the NCOs, probably tonight. Try and teach them a few of the facts of life. What we have is an outfit right out of basic training – and one which would not have passed basic training a few months ago.”

 “That bad?”

 “All the requirements have been dropped, Gabe. The troopers you brought back all got promoted, and scattered all across the task force. Most of them ended up in Ninth Company, which incidentally makes our outfit look like paragons of virtue and experience.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “I thought we were meant to be an elite strike force.”

 “We are, at least we should be. I think that we will be again a few days after we hit Hades, but I don’t want to suffer casualties on the scale of your last visit.” She paused, then said, “How did it happen?”

 Cooper took a deep breath, and said, “We were outnumbered, maybe five to one, and the enemy knew every inch of their territory better than we did. More of us could have survived, but we had to hold the line, hang on as long as we could for the refueling shuttles to get back to Alamo.” His mind drifted back, and he continued, “I’d been on a recon mission. When I reached our lines, the attack had begun, and we were losing. Badly. The corridors were a killing zone, and we were stuck in it.”

 “I read your report.”

 “If we’d had more men, carried on pushing, it might have been different, but we had no reinforcements. They overwhelmed us. It ended at the shuttle dock, just eight of us left, and four died just in that little dash. Only one of us got into the shuttle without being wounded, and that was a lucky escape.” He looked up, and said, “Major, we’d better be damn sure of what we are doing before we go in again.”

 “I’m not losing my company the way you lost your platoon.” Shaking her head, she said, “If I was in charge, you’d be working on the assault plan right now, but that’s up to the Admiral and the Major. A fighter pilot and a desk jockey. We’d better be damn good when we hit the rock, Gabe, because we’re going to be improvising all the way.”

 “Espatiers are good at that, ma’am.”

 “I damn well hope so.” She paused, then said, “Day after tomorrow, we’re going to be doing simulated exercises. I want your platoon to be the bad guys. That suit?”

 “One against two?”

 “You’re the experienced combat commander, and I’ll be letting the senior of the other two platoon leaders command the attack force. I’ll run it – the engineers are working on something fun for us down in the cargo deck right now.”

 “Looking forward to it, ma’am.”

 “Just make sure that your gang is ready. Is there anything you want from me at the moment?”

 He thought for a second, then said, “Yes, ma’am. I’d like to borrow Sergeant Forrest and a few other troopers for half an hour.”

 “What for?”

 “I want them to arm themselves with tranq darts and position themselves along our little training run. Somewhere in the middle of the final mile, it would be interesting to liven up proceedings with a little ambush drill.”

 Brownworth chuckled, and said, “Ensign, you have a wicked and evil mind, and I thoroughly approve. I’ll get it organized for you, and make sure the area is clear. Mind if a Major commands the attack force?”

 “That, ma’am, is entirely your prerogative.”

 Rubbing her hands together, she said, “We might manage to get some fun out of all of this chaos yet. I’ll see you in about half an hour, then.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, saluting. She returned the salute and hustled off to the elevator, still chuckling as he headed off to yell at the rest of the company’s officers. Cooper paused for a moment, making a mental note to take a look at her service record as soon as he had a chance. She reminded him a lot of Barbara, and for a second he smiled, before sighing. He should be enjoying his honeymoon now, not babysitting a bunch of doomed troopers.

 Shaking his head, he tapped the door and walked in; this time the platoon snapped to attention more quickly. All of them had changed into their tracksuits, and by some miracle, their uniforms had been neatly folded and placed on their bunks.

 “Getting better, Second Platoon,” he said. “Now, who’s up for a nice, relaxing jog? Sergeant Brownworth, you can lead. I’ll take the rear.”

 “Yes, sir,” he replied. 

 “Right. Second Platoon, move out!”

Chapter 4

 Orlova rushed into the auditorium, struggling with her tie, finding a place among the crowd of students as near to the back as she could manage. She looked around the room, and already felt out of place; she was the youngest person there by at least five years, and a few Senior Lieutenants were sprinkled around the room. Twelve people in all, but a couple of empty chairs that suggested that she might not be the last to arrive.

 As she settled into her seat, a few of the others glanced at her, their expressions obviously making them wonder why she was sitting here amongst them. She tried not to return their glances, instead focusing on the podium at the other end of the room. After less than a minute, a tall, bald figure wearing an immaculate uniform strode in, a pair of aides trailing behind him, and took his place at the front of the room.

 Just before he was about to speak, another man raced into the room, sliding in to sit beside Orlova; she turned to see Frank Nelyubov looking up, red-faced, tugging at his uniform to pull it into position. By the looks of things, he’d got dressed in even more of a hurry than she had.

 “Lieutenant Nelyubov,” the man at the front said. “Stand to attention!”

 He looked around, sheepishly, then rose, snapping to and saluting.

 “Are you usually this punctual, Lieutenant?” he asked.

 “No excuse, sir.”

 Looking up at him, Orlova stood, snapped to attention, and said, “I’ll give him one, sir. He was stationed on the same ship as me, and must have caught a later transport. I barely made it in time myself, sir, and given that he hadn’t received his orders when I left, he made it here as quickly as he could.”

 “Name?”

 “Orlova, Lieutenant Margaret, sir.”

 Some of the same people in the crowd looked back at her, surprise on their faces, and the man at the front replied, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you are looking out for one of your former subordinates, Lieutenant, but I believe he is capable of speaking for himself. Furthermore, regardless of your former postings, you are all equal here.” He glared around the room, picking out a few of the officers with a look, and continued, “Is that understood?”

 “Yes, sir,” the room chorused.

 “Good.” He walked around the podium to stand in front of it, and looked around at the room. “I am Fleet Captain Matthew Tarrant, Senior Lecturer of this College. Here we’re going to teach you what you don’t learn in the Academy, for those of you who attended that august institution.” He looked at Orlova this time, and continued, “There you are trained to be a junior officer. Here we train you to be a senior officer. It’s a damn tough course, but if you pass – and based on our usual statistics, less than half of you will – then you will have the training and ability to command ships, stations or fleets.”

 He paused, then said, “All of this is classroom based. We don’t cost the Triplanetary Fleet much. There are twelve of you and three of us, and hopefully by the time this is over, that distinction will no longer exist. We’re not going to teach you, but you are going to learn.” He looked around, and asked, “Any questions?”

 “Sir,” one of the older officers, one of only two wearing Senior Lieutenant’s stripes, said. “Is this course going to be covering the Cabal? I think it a likely opponent in the near future.”

 “Indeed it will, Mr. Olson. In addition to our usual studies on the United Nations and the Lunar Republic.”

 Orlova glanced at Nelyubov, who managed a smile. She looked back and saw that Tarrant was looking at her, but he didn’t comment at her inattention.

 “Classes begin right now,” Tarrant said. “I hope you all have datapads with you, because you are going to need them. Incidentally, we have now given you a list of required reading, that you will complete over the course of the next twelve weeks in addition to your course-load.”

 “Sir?” another asked, “Why not give us that in advance so we can be prepared?”

 With a smile, Tarrant replied, “Anyone want to answer that question for me? How about you, Lieutenant Orlova, you seem to have all the answers today.”

 Standing up, she looked at the officer and said, “Life doesn’t always give you a warning.”

 “Good answer. Perhaps a little short, but a good answer. Now, I have a theoretical question for all of you. In a crisis situation, who takes command of a starship in the middle of a battle if the Captain is killed.”

 Olson replied, “The next-senior officer on the ship.”

 “Perfect, and by the book, and there is a good chance that doing that will get you killed. Mr. Nelyubov, you try.”

 “The next senior officer on the bridge.”

 “Correct. According to the manual, Mr. Olson, you are quite correct, but field situations often mean that you have to throw at least part of that manual away. There is no time for an officer who might be out of position to assume command.”

 “Then why have the rule in the manual?”

 “The rulebooks, Mr. Olson, are for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men. We’re going to teach you to be wise men. I hope. The rule is in the manual because most of the time, it is the correct thing to do. Under normal circumstances, there is time for an Executive Officer who might have been asleep to wake up, be briefed, and assume command. For the Operations Officer to make his way up from Auxiliary Control. Sometimes, though, in the middle of a battle, split second decisions count.”

 He smiled, then said, “Here’s another one. Last question before I’ll let you go to your rooms and get settled, the real courses start this afternoon. You are the commander of a battlecruiser on a deep space patrol. You sent down a shuttle with two crewmen on it, and it has crashed in circumstances that make it only fifty/fifty that another could go down and rescue them. Raise your hands if you would make the attempt.”

 More than half the room did so, including Orlova and Nelyubov; Olsen was one of the ones who didn’t, instead locking eyes with Tarrant as his expression rapidly soured. The Captain counted hands, looking at how each of the students had voted.

 “Interesting. I’m not going to ask you to justify that decision, and I don’t think there is a right and a wrong choice. Think for a bit why someone might have voted the other way. Class dismissed, and I believe the mess opens in fifteen minutes. See you there.” The students rose, and he pointed at Orlova, saying, “Lieutenant, please remain. I need to discuss your status in this class.”

 Olson looked at her with a smirk on his face as he walked out of the room, a couple of the others likewise; Nelyubov paused for a moment as if wondering whether he should stay, but she gestured with her eyes for him to go, and he reluctantly obeyed. In less than a moment, she was alone in the room with Tarrant.

 “Well, Lieutenant, you are probably the youngest student to come into this course since the War. Do you know why you are here?”

 “Captain Marshall told me that he recommended me for this course, sir.”

 Shaking his head, Tarrant replied, “That just made sure that you’d crept onto my radar. I’ve looked over your record, Lieutenant, and independent command of a capital ship as a Sub-Lieutenant is not something that happens every day, especially not for more than a month under circumstances that essentially amounted to war.”

 She looked up at him, and replied, “I wasn’t ready, sir. People died.”

 “People die in wars, Lieutenant. That’s why they are hateful things, but sometimes they are necessary. Though I do agree with you. You weren’t ready. That, however, is something we might be about to fix. You are here because I selected you.” Glancing around the empty room, he said, “I choose who comes here. Those were the conditions under which I agreed to take this damn job instead of a ship command. Are you familiar with my service record?”

 “I’m afraid not, sir.”

 With a smile, he said, “I see my fame has ebbed. When I was a Captain – Lieutenant, in this new fleet of ours -  I commanded the Battlecruiser Theseus for three months. The Colonel got himself killed leading a boarding party, the damn fool, and the Major had headed off to command a prize ship. I had to bring that ship home, back through the lines.” Walking over to her, he said, “I know what you’ve been through. I’ve been there. And I know what comes next.”

 “Sir?”

 “You think it was rough before, it’s going to get a damn sight worse now. You’ll have commanders who think that you are there to steal their job, and will give you every lousy assignment they can find in an attempt to keep you down, and you’ll have others who think you are the reincarnation of Admiral Nelson and hope that you’ll run their ship for them. We aren’t saints, Lieutenant, and people are people. That’s why you are here.”

 Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I and a lot of others think that we’re going to be at war with the Cabal within the next few months. It’s going to mean a mobilization that we haven’t seen since the last war, and maybe a bigger one than we mustered then. Lots of young officers are going to find themselves in command positions earlier than they should be.”

 “And you think I’ll be one of them?”

 “Think? I know. You’ll get a battlefield promotion, and either end up commanding one of those new scouts or riding as someone’s second-in-command on a capital ship. We can’t afford to waste talent in war, and they bred ship drivers young last time.” With a smile, he said, “The average age of a battlecruiser commander jumped by eight years within one year of the treaty.”

 “Eight years?”

 “Lots of people saying that we needed a real fleet. The point I’m trying to make is that big things are going to be expected of you, and we need to know whether you are up to them. This is a make or break for you. Succeed here, and you’re on the fast track to a command. Fail, and either you leave the fleet or you’ll be buried on some god-forsaken outpost in the middle of nowhere. For everyone’s safety, including your own.”

 “The others…”

 “The others can have a career after failure. We daren’t risk it with you. Too many Admirals know your name, know your record, and might think that you failed here because of a fluke.” Smiling, he said, “The Admirals think that they run the fleet, but really, it’s the Captains and Commodores that make sure everything keeps ticking over. Another little lesson for you to learn.”

 “May I speak freely, sir?” Orlova asked.

 “While you are here, Lieutenant, you can assume the answer to that question will always be yes.”

 “I was planning to work as hard as I could before, sir. You didn’t need to give me this little lecture about duty. I know my shortcomings, and I know that my education before I became an officer was patchy, and I’m going to do everything I can to catch up.”

 “You barely scraped through Tactical School.”

 “And I still worked as hard as I could. Maybe that just isn’t good enough.”

 Tarrant laughed, and said, “You should have seen Captain Malinsky’s face when he saw the Hercules logs. After what he put you through up at Phobos, for the graduate he’d written off to pull off some of the stuff you did.” Walking around the podium towards her, he said, “You struggled at Tactical because they treat that course as an extension of Academy training. Not a good idea in my opinion, but who listens to me. Here, you start from scratch.”

 “That’s all I ask, sir.”

 “I know there is a question you are burning to ask; I saw you and Nelyubov sharing a little smirk when I mentioned a certain element of the training program.”

 “The Cabal, sir. Who have you got to teach that class? All the people I can think of are…”

 “Off fighting the Cabal?” he continued. “That’s easy, Lieutenant. You will be teaching that class. That’s another reason you are here.”

 “I, sir?”

 “Yes, you, sir. Can you think of anyone more qualified than someone who has commanded a ship in battle against them? First class is in a week from now, so you’ve got time to prepare your notes. If you need some advice, you can come around to my office at any time for tips; after all, this isn’t meant to be a teacher training school.”

 “Thank you, sir,” she said, frowning. “I expect I will be a frequent visitor.”

 “My door’s always open for any of my students, Lieutenant. That applies even after the course is complete; I like to keep tabs on the people I’ve taught. As to your grade, naturally I can’t examine you based on something you are teaching, so you will receive an average of the marks provided to the rest of the class. I’ve always thought that a fair test. Oddly enough, this has come up before.”

 “When, sir?”

 “I seem to remember one First Lieutenant Marshall taking the course in starfighter tactics a few years ago. One of us will be watching the classes to provide the grades, you won’t have to mark them. Not that I suspect you would do anything dishonorable, but because we’ve got the experience, and at present, you don’t. Though we will bring you in on the marking discussions for the class, naturally. You can have some input.”

 “How do the grades work, sir?”

 “We keep it dead simple here, Lieutenant. Pass or fail, that’s all we do. And if you fail any of the classes, you fail the entire course. We can’t afford to push through graduates who are deficient in any area.”

 Her face dropped, and she said, “Sir, what if my course isn’t good enough?”

 “When you are commanding a ship, what happens if you aren’t good enough? I’ve been saying for years that we ought to make teaching one of the courses a mandatory part of the training. You get to be my guinea pig. Not that it matters; this is my last year here anyway.” He looked down at his watch, and said, “You’ve got about an hour before the first class. Historical Naval Warfare, very interesting stuff. I’d go and get something to eat first.”

 “Yes, sir,” she said, saluting. 

 “Dismissed.”

 She turned on her heels and walked out of the room, slowly making her way down the corridor, trying to think. After a second, she paused, and realized that Tarrant was using her in the way he had warned her that some senior officers would; that had to be intentional, some sort of object lesson, and she smiled at the thought.

 By the time she reached the mess, most of the class were already eating their lunch; she was surprised to see real food on the menu, not the usual ship-based concentrates, and she eagerly filled a plate with what looked like actual chicken and non-fabricated vegetables. Tasting a carrot, the crunch confirmed that the school was spending some real money on their students.

 She walked over to the far side of the room to sit next to Nelyubov, and Olson looked across at her; he seemed to be holding court with a small group of students on a table nearest the room’s only window.

 “I’m surprised you’re still here,” he said. “Are you sure you came to the right place?”

 Turning with a smile, she replied, “I thought so until I saw you sitting there. For a moment I thought I’d ended up at Clown College.”

 Several of the others laughed, but he replied, “I’ve looked at your record. All gung-ho and glory. That’s not what this fleet is really like. You’d better pay close attention during the courses, by damn. Even when you fail, you might get to see how it is really done.”

 “I hope you’ll be paying attention as well, Olson. Especially in the class I’m teaching this year.”

 Ignoring his wide-eyed glare, she moved over to sit next to Nelyubov, putting her plate carefully down on the table, making sure not to smell the gravy. Pulling a fork out of the dispenser, she stabbed down into the meat while he looked at her.

 “The Cabal?”

 “That’s right,” she said.

 “God help us all,” he said with a smile. “I can’t wait for that class to start.”

 “I can’t wait for it to be over,” she replied. Turning to look at him, she asked, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the hell are you doing here? I mean, you’ve earned it, and I’m glad to see you, but…”

 “I’m as surprised as you are. So was Captain Winter when the orders came through.”

 She briefly smiled, then frowned, “What’s it got to do with him?”

 “Haven’t you heard? He’s replaced Captain Marshall as commander of Alamo.”

 “You’re joking.”

 “I’m not, but maybe the Universe is.” He pointed at her plate, and said, “I’d eat that before it gets cold.”

Chapter 5

 Logan stepped into sickbay, walking right up to the only occupant, Melissa Chambers. He looked down at her lying on the bed, then glanced up to look at her vital signs, running over the readings. Behind him, Alamo’s medical officer, Doctor Duquesne, walked out of her office and over to her side.

 “If you are a qualified doctor, can I have a few days off?”

 He looked across at her, and said, “How is she?”

 “No one ever comes in here just to see me.” Gesturing down at the unconscious form, she replied, “Stable, but it’s going to be a while before she is coherent. That was a nasty attack.” Shaking her head, she continued, “Somehow I thought when we got home that I wouldn’t have quite so much business any more. Don’t you dare bring me any more.”

 “I’ll do my best, Doctor,” Logan replied.

 She gestured at the man standing outside, and asked, “Is that really necessary?”

 “Someone tried to kill her. Speaking purely personally, I feel a lot better knowing that there is someone keeping an eye on her. That guard is there to protect you as well, you know. Any assassin might not worry about collateral damage if he tried to take her out.”

 “An assassin in my sickbay, now. I’ll tell you, Captain…”

 “Logan,” he snapped. “Logan is my name.”

 She shook her head, then said, “Fine, Logan. You’ve brought some new levels of insanity onto this ship. I thought Captain Marshall was bad enough, but you were in command for moments before putting me into surgery. You are very fortunate that I am a genius.”

 “Take care of her, doctor.”

 “I wondered what I was supposed to be doing down here.”

 “And more to the point, when she regains consciousness and starts to talk, I want to be there – and no-one else. I don’t want anyone else to hear anything she says. Is that clear.”

 “Do you have something to hide?”

 “No, but she obviously does, and it’s important enough to kill for. I don’t see the need of putting anyone else onto the firing line, do you?”

 She frowned, then replied, “Maybe you might work out alright after all. Maybe.”

 “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

 A supercilious voice shouted over the intercom, “Emergence from hendecaspace in five minutes. All hands to standby stations. Captain Winter to the bridge.”

 With a last nod at the doctor, he walked out of the room, heading for the nearest elevator, idly wondering what Lieutenant Watson thought he would do on the bridge when he got there. Technically, the only person needed to bring the ship back into its home dimension was the helmsman; everyone else was just an audience.

 The corridors seemed empty, quiet. Some of the crew had already been transferred to other ships to get home more quickly, the Hercules survivors and those with families. All that was left was a corporal’s guard, a contingent just sufficient to get the ship into spacedock. He stepped into the elevator, pressing for the bridge.

 Things had been bad enough on Spitfire Station, and that was essentially just administration. He was getting a little tired of signing off on reports without having any real idea what they meant, and his new Executive Officer didn’t seem to be much help. He couldn’t yet work out whether he was a spy or just an over-ambitious officer hungering for command. If the latter, then he might just get his wish, if Logan decided that he was up to it.

 This wasn’t his ship. He might be in command, but for him it was a very temporary situation. The least he could do was make sure that it was kept in good order for its next real commander, and to try and make sure that the ship had a real Captain before it went out again. Whatever some headquarters idiot might have decided, that wasn’t him.

 The doors slid open, and he stepped out onto the bridge, looking around. Only half the bridge stations were manned; there were vacant seats at Tactical and at the Watch Officer’s station, and Flight Engineering seemed to have been put on automatic. An over-eager midshipman, recently transferred, sat at the helm, who turned back and beamed a smile as Logan walked in.

 “Mind your station,” the tall man hovering near Communications said. “All systems are clear for emergence to normal space, Captain.”

 “Thank you, Mr. Watson,” he replied, having long since given up trying to educate him into using his real name rather than his rank. He stepped over to the Captain’s chair and sat down, trying to look as if he belonged in it, and said, “Midshipman, you have the call.”

 Logan felt as if he was on the set of a movie, all the others reading lines from a script no-one had given him as they ran through their checklists. The countdown clock ticked away the last few seconds, and with a blinding blue flash, Alamo returned to Sol. He smiled as the familiar orange swirl of Jupiter appeared on the screen, dead-center, and tapped a control on his panel.

 “Bridge to all stations. We made it. Alamo is home.”

 “No welcoming party?” the helmsman asked.

 “We already had that at Spitfire,” Logan replied. “Contact the dockmaster and arrange a berth, then the crew can head off to the reception.”

 The technician looked up at him, and said, “Sir, we are clear for Framework Two, but there’s no reception planned.”

 With a frown, Logan said, “That’s damn strange. I’ve never heard the Callistans to pass up an excuse for a party before. Are you sure?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Better anyway,” Watson said. “We should get to work on the refit as soon as possible. Mr. Quinn has prepared a list of requirements, and I’ve been adding to it for the last week. Mr. Weitzman,” he turned to the communications technician, “check that we have an appointment with the station engineering team.”

 After a moment, the technician looked back, and said, “In nine days, sir.”

 “Nine days?” Watson replied. “Are you sure?”

 With a sigh, Logan stood from his chair, and said, “Try and convince them that it is a matter of some urgency that Alamo is ready, and arrange an earlier appointment. Mr. Watson, the bridge is yours. I’ll be below if you need me.”

 “I'd like to have a word with you first, sir. Perhaps in your office?” Logan frowned, then nodded, making sure to lead the way into the room. One of the new midshipmen moved to follow, but Watson stopped him with a look – the four new officers seemed to be hovering around him all the time, acting more like a personal guard than officers under training.

 The office was bare, stripped of all personal items by Marshall before he left, and Logan hadn't seen any point in decorating it himself; he didn't expect to be here long enough to justify it. He crashed down in a chair, and gestured at Watson to stand in front of him.

 “What's on your mind, Lieutenant?”

 “Our current command situation, sir.”

 “I didn't think there was anything controversial about it. I'm in command, you are my deputy. That seems simple enough to me.”

 “There's more to it, sir. I took the liberty of looking over your personnel record...”

 “That must have been very boring for you,” Logan interrupted.

 “It's a blank. There are some huge gaps in your service history.”

 “Quite right. You don't have the security clearance to know what they mean.”

 Watson leaned forward, and said, “If this is some sort of secret mission, then I'm happy to handle things for you.”

 “Handle things?” Logan replied, an eyebrow raised.

 “Well, sir, you've never commanded a starship of this type.”

 “And you have?”

 “I've been senior officer on three battlecruisers, sir, and have sat in command on more than one occasion. I consider myself fully qualified for the job.”

 “I'm very pleased to hear it, Mr. Watson. You don't think I'm up to it, is that it?”

 Looking to his right, the young man replied, “This is some sort of secret mission, sir, and this is your cover. That wasn't easy to work out. I can make all of this a lot easier for you, effectively take command.”

 “Are you finished?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Good.” Logan stood up, summoned his fiercest gaze, and said, “If you ever talk to me that way again, you'll be saluting Recruit Spacemen! I'm the commanding officer of this ship, and as far as I know, your position doesn't entitle you to consultation rights on my appointment. You will do what I say, when I say, and that is all you will do. Any attempt to undermine my command will result in your immediate arrest. Is that clear?”

 “Yes, sir. Perfectly clear,” he said, his face stony. “Is that all, sir?”

 “Get out of my sight.”

 He waited for Watson to leave, composing himself, getting out of character and back to his usual calm manner.  Pausing for a moment, he tapped a control, and said, “Lieutenant Quinn, report to the hangar deck on the double.”

 Leaving his office, he walked across the bridge, glanced at Watson who had commandeered his command chair, then stepped into the elevator, still pondering the lack of response from anyone.

 This was getting stranger by the moment. The celebrations back at Spitfire had been riotous enough, the whole fleet cheering Alamo off, but he’d expected more from Carter Station. Under normal circumstances, every flag officer for light-years would have wanted to be around to welcome them home, if only for the press attention. He glanced down at his datapad, and shook his head.

 Not one request for an interview appearing on his queue. He couldn’t believe that the press wouldn’t be all over this; there should have been communications traffic the moment they left hendecaspace. That and being diverted to Carter Station instead of Alamo’s usual home-port, Mariner, told him quite clearly that the ship was being buried under the carpet. Someone was going to extraordinary lengths to keep things quiet.

 Tapping a wall communicator, he said, “Lieutenant Ryder, get to the hangar deck.”

 The doors opened, and he stepped out onto what for once was a crowded deck, technicians preparing the shuttles within for immediate launch, ready to shuttle home those of the crew who were on their way for a long-earned rest leave, the rest preparing to start work on the overhaul of the ship. Quinn was holding court with one of his senior technicians over in a corner, looking up at a monitor.

 “What have you got there?” Logan asked.

 “Look, they’re further along than we thought,” Quinn replied, pointing at the screen. Logan looked up to see a long, cylindrical shape with two spokes rising from it, a laser reflector twice the size of Alamo’s unfurling as the ship moved off for a testing flight. He recognized it from blueprints, the Ares-class Battleship that was the great hope of the fleet for a line-of-battle capital ship.

 “That isn’t even the Ares,” Quinn said. “That’s the Cronus, heading out to combat tests in the outer moons. Three week shakedown cruise.”

 “I don’t understand why they are going all the way out there,” the other man said. “Most of the Fleet’s testing takes place at Wolf 359, nicely out of they reach of prying eyes.”

 “Maybe they wanted them close to home, Chief,” Quinn replied.

 “Or perhaps they want people to see what the ship is capable of. If she’s up to specs, she ought to be able to go toe-to-toe with a United Nations Dreadnought. Something like that shouldn’t be kept secret, or the deterrent value is lost.”

 “The last thing we need is to get into a dreadnought-building race,” Quinn said. “You want my opinion, we need scouts and battlecruisers, and something new for interstellar escort duty. Not something that we’d never dare risk in battle. Do you know what one of those babies costs?”

 “Two and three-quarter billion credits each,” Logan replied. “Half, more, of the annual shipbuilding allowance in one big, glorious shot, even with the buildup. Impressive as hell, but I’m with you, Jack. I’ve never liked putting all our eggs in one basket.”

 Ryder bounded over, looking past them at the screen, “Is that what I think it is?”

 “Ah, I’m glad you’re here,” Logan said. “How’s the shore leave roster looking?”

 “Not bad. I’ve got a lot of the local crew scheduled to go off first. Watson approved it this morning.” She looked at him, sighed, and said, “I’ve got work to do, haven’t I?”

 “Quinn, your engineering teams. Have they been as badly denuded as the rest of the crew?”

 “No, actually. I hung on to almost everyone I could for the refit.”

 “Then you are at full strength.”

 “Yes.”

 “Good. Ryder, I want you to draw up a list of crew, loyal hands who’ve served on Alamo for a long time, since the first cruise under Captain Marshall. Key personnel, enough that we could run the ship if needed. I’d guess that’s about twenty-five people.”

 “Are we talking just getting from place to place, or actual combat?”

 “Let’s assume worst-case. How many would you need to operate this ship?”

 “Forty-one. Two bridge shift, weapons crew, minimal medical team, damage control parties.” She glanced at Quinn, who nodded, and said, “I think that should do it. I can come up with the list for you in an hour.” Shaking her head, she replied, “There are going to be some pretty disappointed people.”

 “Yes, but not them. It’s their lucky day. All of them have three-week passes, starting right now. I want them on their way to home and hearth by the end of the watch. Jack?”

 “I have a horrible feeling that I know what’s coming. The book says six months, damn it, and I was hoping to be able to do a proper job this time. If we keep neglecting the old girl, one day she’ll break somewhere when we need her.”

 “We both know that you’d never let that happen. How long?”

 “Four weeks.”

 “Alamo hands only.”

 “Just our own personnel?” He gestured at the hangar door, and said, “There are five hundred engineers sitting on their butts out there, Logan. We might as well put them to work. And quite a few of my best people…” 

 “Will be back and refreshed by the time you need them at their best. How long, Jack?”

 “Six weeks. Maybe. What’s the rush?”

 “I don’t know. I do know that we can’t count on any cooperation from the local authorities; they’re going to hold off on Alamo’s refit for as long as they can, and I want this ship back to full operation as soon as possible.”

 “One thing we’re going to need is parts,” Ryder said, crossing her arms. “Alamo can’t produce everything it needs, and if we start sending work crews down to strip-mine Callisto for raw materials, I think someone might notice what we are doing.”

 “I agree,” Logan replied. “That won’t work. You’ll have to scavenge parts from Carter Station. I’m sure you know a few people in the quartermaster department, Jack, and I can provide you with some names that will open doors for you as well.”

 Shaking her head, Ryder said, “So, instead of waiting for the refit to take place properly and according to the book, you want us to start a rush job and steal the materials we need.”

 “That’s a pretty good summation of what I want, yes.”

 “No.”

 Arching an eyebrow, he asked, “What was that?”

 “Logan, I worked damned hard to salvage my career after the last capricious senior officer decided that his pet project was worth throwing me on the scrap-heap. Getting assigned to Alamo was meant to be my big opportunity, and you’ve already set me back again by sticking me on that damned junk-pile of a space station.”

 “Simone…,” Quinn said, looking at her.

 “I haven’t finished. I’m here to do a job, Logan,” she spat out his name like a curse, “not to play along with your whims. You don’t even know why you want the ship ready so quickly, and you want me to put myself on the block for a dishonorable discharge.”

 “Lieutenant Ryder,” Logan snapped, “I do not recall giving you permission to speak freely.”

 “I don’t recall asking for it. Sir.”

 “Why are you in the Fleet, Ryder? Did you join up to have a good career, to see yourself rise through the ranks to build up your pension? Was that what it was all about?” He shook his head, and said, “Maybe I don’t know that much about this glorious fleet, but I do know that we are not here to help officers have a good time and reach their full career potential. There are sixty million people out there dependent on what we do next, and I will not let them down because it might adversely affect your career prospects!”

 “She didn’t mean it that way, sir,” Quinn said, as Ryder looked away.

 “Damn it, Ryder, you’ve known me for long enough that I can ask you this. Have you ever known me to do anything that is not in the best interests of the Triplanetary Confederation?”

 “No, sir,” she replied.

 “I might work in mysterious ways, but sometimes that is necessary. I am here, in command of this ship, and someone seems to have decided to sideline us. If war breaks out, this ship will be valuable and I would like to turn it over to a real commander in battle-ready condition. If something else happens, I need this ship and crew to be ready for whatever comes.”

 “Yes, sir,” she said. “I’m…”

 “Don’t you dare apologize for saying what you think. Don’t ever do that.” He looked at them, and said, “I’m operating on a trust-based policy right now. I trust you, Ryder, and a lot of people whose opinions I respect have told me to trust you, Jack.” Gesturing up, he said, “That stuffed-shirt on the bridge, him I don’t trust. He’s given me no reason to. Both of you are to operate according to my orders, and I want him out of the loop.”

 “I thought we were all one fleet,” Quinn said.

 “In theory. In practice, it often works out rather different. I want all of this ready to go when I get back.”

 “Where are you going?”

 “Over to the station, I have an urgent need for some soup.”

 Shaking her head, Ryder replied, “I’m never going to understand anything you do, am I. I suppose you want that green-haired sidekick of yours along for the ride.”

 “Not this time. I’m going alone; if anyone asks, then tell them to mind their own business. If they keep pushing, then I’m trying to expedite the refit.” He reached into a pocket, and pulled out two small boxes. “I’ve got some presents for you before I go. Jack,” he said, tossing the first box to him, “This is from Captain Marshall, with complements. Ryder, yours is from me.”

 They opened their boxes and looked up, Ryder saying, “What the hell is this for?”

 “You were a pretty old Sub-Lieutenant, about normal for a Lieutenant, and now pretty young for a Senior Lieutenant. Your title justifies the rank. As for you, Jack, I understand something about going above and beyond the call of duty in keeping this ship in one piece.”

 “I don’t want promotion, sir,” Quinn replied. “They might start wanting me to command something. That’s the last thing I need.”

 Logan looked at Ryder and said, “Going to say that being promoted twice by the same person isn’t going to help your career?”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “You might find this hard to believe, but I was paying attention during that last speech of yours. I’ve got this because you need me to have this, though I won’t pretend to know why. Jack and I will get to work.”

 “Good,” he replied. His datapad started to bleep urgently, and he snatched it out of his pocket, scrolling through the text, his face dropping as he read. After a moment, he looked up at the two of them, a scowl on his face, “Looks like I’ll be here to help you after all.”

 “What happened?”

 “There was some sort of accident at Miguel’s. Early this morning, before they were opening. Pressure systems failure. Everyone was died before the rescue teams could get in.”

 “Miguel’s?”

 “It’s a long story.” He pulled out his communicator, and said, “This is the Captain. All decks to standby alert. I repeat, standby alert. That is all.”

 “In dry dock?” Ryder asked.

 Quinn looked at her, and said, “I’m beginning to think we were safer out with the Cabal.”

Chapter 6

 It was depressingly obvious that the fleet command room on Gilgamesh had been something of an afterthought; the veteran old battlecruiser was the only ship of its class to have one installed at all, but it had the feel of a museum, and one where quite a lot of the key exhibits had been borrowed by others, while the remains were left to decay; Marshall had been forced to beg, steal and borrow the equipment he needed to make the room operational, in a few paces from people who didn't know he'd done it yet.

 At least it was all working now, after a fashion. A couple of bored-looking technicians manned the control consoles while he and Caine looked at the strategic holodisplay, showing the fleet in the order it was in when it entered hendecaspace five days ago. In a matter of moments, they would be returning to normal space orbiting the planet they had christened Discovery, the place he had found his father on his first visit here.

 He tried to push the bitter memories to the back of his mind, concentrating on his work, such as it was. Caine looked across at him, a smile on her face.

 “We could go up to the bridge, you know.”

 “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “That wouldn’t be fair on Gorski. I know how I would have felt with a senior officer standing behind my chair, watching everything I was doing.”

 “This isn’t about what Gorski likes, Danny. You’re in charge of the battlecruiser contingent of this task force, and what you say goes.”

 “In theory. A theory that the people involved don’t really subscribe to, and frankly I can’t blame them. Battlecruisers aren’t designed to hunt in packs like this, they’re meant to be lone wolves, scouring the cosmos.”

 “Very poetic,” she replied. “What does that mean?”

 “It means that aside from special occasions, we shouldn’t be operating like this. Gilgamesh ought to have jumped first, ahead of the rest of the fleet, give the scouting enough teeth to do some real good if they find something.”

 “Gilgamesh, not Thermopylae? Would that have anything to do with the ship you’re flying your flag on?” She chuckled, and said, “Do you actually have a flag? I forgot to ask.”

 “A broad pennant, you mean? I’m not sure how effective it would be fluttering behind the ship. Perhaps I could get Frank Rogers to paint his laser reflectors. That might work.” He looked up at the status board again, and said, “At least we’ve got the scouts with us this time.”

 “Not next time. Next time they jump a day early, heading out into god only knows what.”

 Looking up, he said, quietly, “It’s a stupid idea. We could easily lose everyone on board all three ships and never even know what happened to them.”

 “Then you’ve got to make sure it doesn’t happen that way.”

 He looked across at her, and said, “Deadeye, I’m the deputy fleet commander, with special responsibility for ships that don’t really need supervising. I don’t have to tell Rogers and Gorski to work together; their tactical officers can handle that properly.” Gesturing at the strategic display, he replied, “I’m playing Fantasy Fleet Commander here, and that about all.”

 “I guess we’d better hope that we don’t run into any opposition, then,” she replied. “There’s a chance of that, I think. We did a hell of a lot of damage on our way out of their territory.”

 “That’s what worries me. Two reasons. First, everyone in this fleet is assuming that any battle we fight will be a walkover. Second, if I was commanding Cabal forces, I’d have rushed any available reserves into this region in the event of an attack. We couldn’t have picked a more obvious path in.”

 “You’re beginning to sound like a fleet commander, Danny.”

 Marshall walked over to the technicians, Thompson and Hitchcock, working their respective stations, the former running sensors, the latter communications. Both of them were moonlighting from bridge duty, working a somewhat resentful double shift; Gorski had only reluctantly released them at all, and he couldn’t blame him for that. Under other circumstances, he’d have been just as hesitant about making his people do extra duty.

 “Two minutes to emergence, sir,” Thompson said. “We are at alert stations.”

 Tapping a control, Marshall said, “Captain Gorski, I recommend battle stations be called.”

 “Recommend, or order, Captain Marshall?”

 Looking across at Caine, he said, “Let’s go ahead and make it an order.”

 “Very well.” A series of warning lights flashed on as the ship prepared for battle, Marshall shaking his head as he watched the status monitors switch over.

 “Too slow. Tactical’s taking too long to get ready, and there’s no movement at all from the hangar deck.” Glancing at Caine, he said, “I’ll have to speak to Gorski about this. They’ve got to get to battle stations in ninety seconds.”

 “Sir,” Hitchcock said, “We’ve been told that three minutes is a good target.”

 “Whoever told you that hasn’t fought in a battle lately. You don’t always have the luxury of time to prepare. Sometimes you have to be ready in an instant.”

 “The Admiral didn’t give any orders about battle stations, Danny,” Caine noted.

 “I wouldn’t have needed one.”

 “Thirty seconds to emergence, Captain,” Thompson said, looking up at his monitor. “Sensor systems are on battle alert.”

 Glancing up at a panel, Caine said, “Missile systems all show ready as well. At least we can put up some sort of a fight if we must.” Shaking her head, she said, “I damn well hope you’re being paranoid.”

 “Me too.”

 It felt so strange to not be on the bridge during emergence, not to see the characteristic flash and watch the stars appear. About from a brief sensation, the only difference was the strategic display updating with a view of the planet Discovery, and other ships beginning to appear all around them. Two of them looked worryingly familiar.

 “Threat warning!” Thompson said. “Cabal battlecruisers, two of them, in system.”

 “Damn,” Marshall replied. Gorski was already piling on the acceleration, heading in towards the target, but Thermopylae was slower, and he stabbed at a button, “Frank, get that ship of yours moving right now.”

 “We’re not at battle stations, Danny.”

 “Why the…,” Marshall snapped, then turned to Thompson, “Time to intercept?”

 “Less than six minutes to firing range, sir. One of the enemy ships is turning away.”

 “Tripwire,” Caine said. “They’re not here to fight us, they’re here to wait for us. That one’s going to be able to get to the far hendecaspace point and jump clear of the system before we can get to it.”

 “Gorski, Rogers, concentrate on the far battlecruiser. We’ve got to catch it at all costs.” He looked across at Caine, and asked, “We still don’t have that damn CAG, do we?”

 “She’s coming on board here. They held her on the carrier for the first jump, something to do with training.” The ship rocked, and she asked, “What the hell was that?”

 “Fighter flight launching, sir,” Hitchcock said. “I just picked up the orders.”

 “Picked them up? Why the hell wasn’t I informed.”

 “Captain Gorski, sir,” the technician said. “Wanting to know who gave the order to launch fighters.”

 “Tell him that I don’t bloody well know, then get me Admiral Pierce. Where are those fighters going, Thompson?”

 “The nearest battlecruiser, sir. Trident has launched the rest of its fighters towards the same target, moving into a concentrated formation for attack.”

 “That’s the wrong one,” he said. “Those fighters should be going for the one we can’t pick off at our leisure. He’s playing into the hands of the enemy commander. Auxiliaries, scouts?”

 Answering his question, Hitchcock said, “I have Captain Cunningham for you, sir.”

 “John,” Marshall said, snatching a handset, “What are you up to?”

 “Not a thing,” he replied. “I think we’re the unwanted guests at the banquet. Got any orders for me? I’m inclined to have a go at the far battlecruiser.”

 “Danny,” Caine said, urgently, “both enemy ships are launching fighters, and I think they’re heading for the auxiliaries. Our fighters aren’t changing course to match them.”

 “That’s your job, John. Hold back and protect those auxiliaries. If we lose the tanker, the game is over.” Turning to the communications technician, he said, “I need Admiral Pierce, now.”

 “I can’t get him, sir,” he said, red-faced with frustration. “No-one on the carrier will put me through. Or to the Fleet CAG, or to Fleet Captain Haynes. I can’t even get the fighters.”

 Marshall turned to look at the battle, quickly collapsing into chaos. The nearest enemy ship was launching a salvo targeted at the Trident, obviously trying for the high-value target, and the projected intercept time for the other enemy ship was moving further and further into the future, despite the efforts of Gorski and Rogers.

 “I don’t like the odds of three scoutships against twelve fighters, Danny,” Caine said. “Those ships don’t have the armament or the countermeasures for the job. If we could get them some fighter support, it might be a different story.”

 “Hitchcock, our fighters will have a dedicated frequency, right?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Get me the flight leader.”

 The technician paled, and replied, “Breaking into a command frequency…”

 “I’ll accept the responsibility. Just get me the damn channel, Spaceman!” 

 Caine moved over to his side, and said, “You realize that you are almost begging to be relieved of your position for this, don’t you?”

 “I didn’t want this damn job in the first place,” he snapped, briefly turning to her before looking back at Hitchcock. “How about it, Spaceman?”

 “I’ve got him, sir.”

 “Captain,” Thompson said, “If our flight vectors around within sixty seconds, they’ll be able to intercept the incoming fighters in time to coordinate a strike with the scout ships.”

 “Good,” he said, taking up the headset again. “Lieutenant Dragomirov, this is Captain Marshall. On my authority, I order you and your flight to change course to intercept incoming fighter attack.”

 “I’m operating under orders from the carrier, sir.”

 “Lieutenant, your four birds won’t make a damn bit of difference in the overkill that’s about to hit the battlecruiser, but you might stop those auxiliaries from being shot down. This is my order; all you are doing is complying with it.” He paused, and added, “In order to prevent interference by enemy communications, switch your frequency discriminators to zero-one-nine.”

 There was the ghost of a chuckle over the channel, and the pilot replied, “Enemy action, sir? We’re changing course now, and discriminators are locked in.”

 Hitchcock looked up, still pale, and said, “I don’t think the Fleet CAG’s going to approve of this, Captain.” Looking at his board, he said, “I have Captain Gorski for you, sir.”

 “Put him on.”

 The rich voice burred over the speakers, “May I ask what is happening to my fighters, Captain Marshall? Is this some sort of game I am unfamiliar with?”

 “We need to protect the auxiliaries, Captain.”

 “I do not recall an order putting you in command of the fleet.”

 “I don’t recall us getting any orders about anything,” Marshall replied. “What are you going to do about it?”

 The voice softened a little, and said, “Stand next to you during the inevitable angry summons to the Admiral’s office, I suppose. You are the officer in command of the battlecruisers, and I will defer to your judgment in this matter. Bridge out.”

 “I’m confused,” Marshall said. “Was he backing me or not?”

 “I think he was trying to do both at the same time,” Caine replied. “We’re committed now, though. John’s matched his intercept course to hit within two seconds of the fighters getting into firing range.”

 “The big question being whether the Cabal fighters will break off the attack or not.”

 “Sir,” Hitchcock said, “I have Admiral Pierce for you.”

 “That didn’t take long,” Caine said.

 “Put him on the monitor,” Marshall said, turning to face the screen as the image of the admiral flashed on it. He was obviously on the bridge of the Trident, officers shouting orders behind him; he was looking off-screen as the channel flashed open.

 “I hear you’ve been playing games with the fighter attack,” Pierce said. “Get those fighters back on their original course. All fighter direction is staying with the Fleet CAG.”

 Looking back at the monitor, he realized that there were only a very few seconds left to give such an order, before the fighters would be unable to obey given fuel limitations. Doubtless someone on the bridge of the Trident was already attempting and failing to turn them around.

 “Sir, I ordered the change on my authority as commander of the battlecruiser squadron, in order to protect the auxiliaries from an attack.”

 “The scoutships can handle that, damn it.”

 “Not without casualties, sir,” he replied. Five seconds left to stall.

 “This is war, in all but name. People die in war. I don’t need to tell you that.”

 “We’re right at the start of the mission, Admiral. Can we afford such losses now? The fighters that are left can easily deal with their target.”

 Glancing across, Pierce nodded and said, “It’s all rather academic now in any case, isn’t it. I want to see you, Caine, Cunningham and Gorski in my office as soon as this is over, Captain. We are going to need to have words about this. For the moment, I need you to pull back. You’re running ahead of the squadron.”

 “Sir, we’re going to have problems dealing with the far battlecruiser now.”

 “We’re at the start of the mission, Captain,” he repeated in a condescending tone. “The last thing I need is to waste all my battlecruisers. We’ll get that other ship later. Trident out.”

 “Damn it!” Marshall said to the empty screen. “He’s handling this fleet like he would a fighter wing. We need to deal with more than one target at a time.”

 “Danny,” Caine said, quietly, “We’ve received a direct order on this one.”

 With one last look at the strategic display, he nodded, and said, “Hitchcock, pass the word. Gilgamesh and Thermopylae are to concentrate their attack on the closest battlecruiser. We’re going to pound the poor bastard to pieces.”

 “Yes, sir,” the technician replied. Marshall walked over to the strategic display, looking at the enemy that was now impossible to catch before it reached a hendecaspace point and left the system.

 “It’s going to have all the time it needs to take a look at us, a look at what passes for our tactics, and our destination,” he said. “We need to nail that ship before it gets away.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Not that it matters now, of course. We’re shedding speed to turn back to that other ship, the one that has now successfully decoyed this fleet.”

 “Contact with the fighter wave in sixty seconds, sir,” Thompson said.

 “One ray of sunshine in all of this. Let’s take a look. Deadeye, see about getting a search and rescue shuttle into the air, in case we get any prisoners. It’ll be a big reach from this heading, but I don’t think the scouts are equipped to handle it.”

 “I’ll have a word with the Operations Officer.”

 Marshall smiled, and said, “I’m still forgetting, aren’t I.” Turning to the display, he watched as the four fighters swooped in, releasing their first missiles and pulling away in a beautifully executed evasive pattern while the larger scoutships swept in from the far side, catching the enemy forces in a pincer movement.

 Whoever the enemy commander was, he wasn’t inclined to waste his men; nine of them raced away in wildly divergent courses, spinning around to reach for the distant battlecruiser burning out of the system, presumably reliant on yet-to-be-launched tankers to get them back, while three hung back to duel with the missiles, giving the others a chance to escape.

 “Brave bastards,” Hitchcock said, watching the action.

 “No-one ever said the Triplanetary Fleet had a monopoly on courage, Spaceman,” Marshall replied. “I hope they bail out in time. I’d like to shake that flight commander’s hand.”

 A series of flashes danced across the display as the missiles started to do their work, some of them racing away in divergent tracks that left a scramble of course plots; it quickly smoothed out to reveal a single fighter, now burning towards the auxiliaries at what had to be maximum acceleration.

 “Kamikaze,” Marshall said. “Hitchcock, Griffon is closest. Tell its commander to stop that fighter. I think it’s heading for the Hadfield.”

 “Not the tanker?” Caine said, frowning. “Interesting.”

 Turning to her, Marshall replied, “We can discuss grand strategy later.”

 “Griffon is vectoring in, sir.”

 Looking at the display, Caine added, “I think Demon Three might be in a position to intercept if it burns its tanks dry.”

 “Pass it on, Spaceman,” Marshall said, moving over to stand back at the communications console, “And get a tanker shuttle organized right away.”

 He turned back to the display, watching his orders being carried out, four ships now seemingly converging on the same crowded bit of space. A second contact appeared next to the fighter on a rapidly diverging course, the pilot ejecting from his doomed fighter with just enough time to send him on a trajectory that would take him safely away from the planned collision.

 “Not much chance of a pickup on that vector,” Caine murmured.

 “How long until contact?”

 “Twenty-one seconds.” She paused, then said, “There go Demon Three’s missiles.”

 The warheads raced towards the fighter as the lumbering auxiliary struggled to change its course, a battle that it couldn’t win. Griffon was closing, but its salvo raced away just too late to have any impact on what was to come; all their course change had provided them was a front-row seat.

 He almost couldn’t watch the predictable aftermath. The missiles did their job, as best they could, reducing the fighter to rubble, but the remains still slammed into the tender, ripping holes in its hull, outgassing from a dozen places sending it spiraling out of control.

 “That,” Marshall said, “should never have been allowed to happen.”

 “Are you going to try and tell the Admiral that?”

 Looking at her with a smile, he said, “Damn right. Hitchcock, I want our shuttles out with medical/rescue teams right now. Let’s clean up this mess.” Turning back to the display, he said, “I don’t think I need to watch us reduce that battlecruiser to its component atoms.”

Chapter 7

 Orlova looked around the room at the assembled students, most of whom were paying full attention, and clicked off the last image from the holodisplay, the room’s lights automatically coming back on.

 “That runs through everything we know about Cabal territory, at least in broad detail.” There was a brief commotion at the back of the room, and a pair of figures walked in; Captain Tarrant, who she had expected to see, and another figure she didn’t recognize, wearing a formal suit as though it was a uniform.

 Briefly nodding at the instructor, she continued, “Essentially, the Cabal is a large, dispersed grouping, with essentially the same industrial capacity as the Confederation but far more area to protect. This is both an advantage and a disadvantage. They have a lot of territory to defend, but they have a lot of room to maneuver in the event of war.”

 “Russia during the Great Wars of the Twentieth Century,” one of the students, a tactical specialist called Anderson, suggested. “They could fall back, luring a fleet deep into their territory, and then cut it off from its resupply.”

 “Precisely,” she replied. “That’s exactly the tactic they used with Alamo; they pulled us in deep, and then tried to cut us off.”

 Shaking his head, Olsen said, “Only an idiot would fall for that, surely. Following normal doctrine, a ship would simply pull back to the Confederation, rather than allowing itself to be caught without fuel and supplies.”

 Tarrant was watching her closely as she replied, “Basically, Mr. Olsen, if you had been in command of Alamo, you wouldn’t have attempted the operation to capture Hercules.”

 “Of course not. It was far too big a risk.”

 “Then, Mr. Olsen, I would not be standing here talking to you, and all we would know about the Cabal was that it was,” she gestured up, “out there somewhere.” There were a few chuckles from around the room, and she waited them to ebb before continuing, “Combat doesn’t follow any field regulations, and the enemy certainly doesn’t.”

 “That’s precisely why we need to follow them. To preserve our forces we must take limited risks, and therefore guarantee victory.”

 Nelyubov, from the rear of the room, said, “I’m glad to know that all we need to do is follow the rulebook. Why are we all sitting around here when we should be back in our quarters reading it?”

 “How would you take on the Cabal, then, Mr. Olson?” Orlova asked, snapping on the holodisplay to a projection of Cabal space. “Come on up and show me.”

 He stepped over to the podium with four quick strides, and gestured at Jefferson and Ragnarok. “We begin with established bases, and slowly advance forward, two systems at a time, securing key strategic strongpoints and building operational bases. Over time, we will hack into their territory like scythes, reducing their strength as ours increases.”

 “While we are launching the biggest base construction program in galactic history, what are the enemy doing?”

 “Limiting our advance…”

 “Leaves us open to attack. There are more than a dozen hendecaspace points in each of the systems you mentioned. Would you garrison them all? Even if you count scoutships, we couldn’t cover them.”

 “Some of them are less important than others. We need only protect six in Sol system, for example.”

 “Permitting an enemy fleet to come in through the Neptune Trojans.” Shaking her head, she replied, “That isn’t the way to win the war, not the sole way, in any case. We have a fleet of fast raiders, and as I said, the Cabal are a dispersed collection of worlds.”

 “U-Boats,” Anderson volunteered. “Commerce raiding, like the battlecruisers did in the last war, but on a bigger scale. Hunting packs of scoutships as well, perhaps.”

 “Precisely. Our advantage is that our resource areas and industrial worlds are concentrated, and can be protected by mobile striking forces. There are natural bottlenecks that we should fortify, but any war with the Cabal is not going to be determined by massed fleets assembling, not until we have cut them down to size economically.” She gestured at the screen, and said, “Operating fast raiders, we can divide their fleet and cripple their production.”

 “That isn’t the doctrine that won us the last war,” Olson objected.

 “This isn’t the last war. This is a new enemy, one that is determined to be the sole power in all of known space. They won’t simply be put off or delayed.” She glanced up at the clock, and said, “Today was an introduction; next time we’re going to get into specifics. Over the next five weeks, we’re going to fight a war with the Cabal, so next time we’re going to talk about opening moves and fleet positioning. For the present, I think it’s about time for lunch, so dismissed.”

 The students rose, Olsen talking quietly to a few of the others as they shuffled out of the room. Anderson walked over to her, glancing back for a second before looking at the display.

 “You’ve done this for real,” he replied. “Commanded a tactical formation against the Cabal.”

 “Scary as hell.”

 “If you’d had the overall command of that operation, what would you have done differently?”

 “I wouldn’t, Lieutenant,” she said after a second. Tarrant stepped up behind him.

 “Better head off, Paul. I need to have words with your teacher.”

 “Yes, sir,” he replied, bustling out of the room.

 Turning to Orlova, Tarrant said, “You weren’t telling the truth.”

 “Captain Marshall…”

 “Loyalty is a wonderful thing, Lieutenant, but even the best of us make mistakes, and you cannot be blind to them.” He gestured over at the other man, and said, “I’d like to introduce you to Vice-President Ackerman.”

 Her head snapped across to him, and she hastily saluted, inwardly cursing herself for not having recognized him at once. A smile spread across his face as he returned the salute.

 “Don’t worry, Lieutenant, I’m quite used to not being recognized. The President generally prefers that I keep a low profile, stick to the behind the scenes stuff. Captain Tarrant has offered to let me sit in on your lectures.”

 She glanced up at him, and Tarrant said, “That wasn’t a bad start, though I think you lingered on what the students should already have known a bit too much. I’d suggest you pay attention in Strategic Concepts tomorrow if your plan is to take them through a simulated war.”

 “I thought it was the best way to get through the material, sir. Treat it as a practical exercise. That way I might be able to learn something out of this as well.”

 He nodded, and said, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good idea. Just don’t get caught too deep in the details, stick to broad strategic concepts and case studies.”

 “Hell, I enjoyed it,” Ackerman said. “I ought to drag a few of the idiots from Extrasolar Relations down here to watch, might introduce them to some of the facts of life.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Might not be a bad idea at that.”

 “I’d be happy to brief you, sir, whenever you wanted.”

 “I don’t want a formal briefing. I’ve had those; your Senior Lieutenant Zebrova spent six hours boring us yesterday. I want to know what a serving officer, someone who has been out there and faced this enemy, thinks. What she would do about all of this.”

 She glanced up at Tarrant, who nodded, and said, “Essentially, we need more battlecruisers. With orbital defense networks at Jefferson, Ragnarok, Spitfire and Hydra, it would take a full-sized fleet to knock them down, as well as far too much time.” Pointing at the map, she said, “I’d split the fleet into three components. A rapid response force right here at Mariner could get anywhere needed inside a month, with the second component a network of scoutships to act as tripwires, giving us early warning of attack.”

 “And the third component would be your commerce raiders. The battlecruisers.”

 “As well as some of the scoutships, yes. Working independently to take down targets of opportunity on long-duration cruises. We could set up covert supply dumps on some of the brown dwarf stars for them to resupply. While they are hitting transports, they can coordinate with the resistance. We know that there are forces working against the Cabal, and we can encourage them.”

 “Start revolts among their subject peoples with agent provocateurs, that sort of thing.” He nodded, and said, “The Combined Chiefs would hate this plan, Lieutenant. They’re still worshiping Alfred Mahan, want to draw the enemy fleet into one big action, preferably close to our supply lines. What do you think of that plan?”

 “Sir, I think our massed fleet would sit at Mariner Station while the enemy nibbled away at the fringes and isolated us from the rest of the galaxy. They’re not far from enveloping us now, and politically they’re better able to fight a long, slow war.”

 “You have a problem with democracy, Lieutenant?” Tarrant asked.

 “No, sir, but I don’t think it would last for the sort of long, dragged-out war we’re talking about. Either we’d end up with some sort of peace treaty in their favor, or we’d be sitting around waiting for years for a great battle that will never come. We need to attack, to push into their territory, to take the initiative.”

 Nodding, Tarrant said, “If I was planning the war, that’s what I would do. Her instincts are spot on. Alamo and Hercules demonstrated how much damage battlecruisers can do operating independently quite well, I think. Yes, we’ll lose ships, but we’ll unleash chaos all across the Cabal.”

 “Next question, Lieutenant,” Ackerman asked. “Should we go to war?”

 “That’s not for me to decide, sir. I go where I’m told, and fight when ordered.”

 “Textbook. Say you were the President. Do we fight?” he pressed.

 “At some point, we’re going to have a war, sir. I’d stall negotiations until the next tranche of ships are ready, knowing that our shipbuilding capability is better for the present, and get ships positioned in strategic locations, and then,” she paused, then said, “Yes, sir. I’d go to war. I’d rather do it at a time and place of our choosing.”

 “You think it inevitable.”

 “They are holding whole races enslaved, alien races and the Neander, not to mention millions of humans. They plan to become the sole government of human space, and have the potential to pull it off. For moral and practical reasons, we should go to war.”

 Ackerman gestured at her, and said to Tarrant, “Why isn’t this young lady the President of the Confederation? She’s talking a lot more sense than most of the politicians I’ve been talking too lately.” Turning back to Orlova, he said, “If it is any consolation, I agree with you, but I have a feeling that most of this is just going to remain a theory until it is too late.”

 “What about the task force heading to Hydra Station?”

 “We’re maneuvering for peace, not war,” he replied. “Showing our teeth to the opposition with a full-scale assault to reinforce our position. And potentially buying bargaining chips to trade off at the negotiations. That peace envoy has been lodged with the President for a week, and I think he’s going to use his last few months in office to do something we’re all going to regret later.”

 “He’s the President, Silas. If he wants to be a jackass, that’s his prerogative.”

 “We’re going to be paying for it. Hell, those damn battleships…,” he turned to Orlova, and said with a thin smile, “I shouldn’t burden you with our problems, Lieutenant. I’ll probably be sitting in your next lecture. I’ll try and do the homework.”

 “I’m honored, sir.”

 “No, you aren’t,” he replied. “I’m an old man who is turning into a damned nuisance and wants to play at being Major Ackerman again. But I’m the Vice-President, so I get to behave like a jackass as well, and at least my personal peccadilloes won’t get anyone killed. Good day, Lieutenant.”

 “Mr. Vice-President,” she said, nodding. Tarrant turned to follow him, and paused for a moment.

 “Oh, I thought I’d let you know that your leave request is granted. A bit unusual, but given the circumstances I don’t mind you spending an evening out with your father. I know you haven’t had any opportunities to have much time with him since you got back.”

 “No, sir,” she said, shaking her head. “Thank you.”

 “Just this once, mind, and make sure it doesn’t affect your coursework. This is supposed to be an intensive training course, remember.” He paused, and said, “Between you and me, I think it highly likely that you will have to head for your next duty posting as soon as you’ve finished up here. Not much chance of any leave afterward.”

 “I’ll be ready for whatever comes, sir. I know what wearing the uniform means.”

 “Yes, well, I think we abuse that trust sometimes, but I personally think that war is coming, and soon. That simulated war with the Cabal could turn out to be all too real.” He glanced at the clock, and said, “You’d better go and get something to eat if you are going to. Only thirty-five minutes left. And don’t forget; I expect you in before twenty-three hundred on Sunday. No late nights, tempting as it might be.”

 “No, sir. Thank you again, sir.”

 “Any time.”

 He walked off, and after a moment, she followed him, a confused look on her face. Nelyubov had been loitering around outside, and walked over to her as she stepped out into the corridor. 

 “A personal interview with the Vice-President? Looks as if you are going up in the world. Any chance of a letter of introduction?”

 “Frank, Captain Tarrant just approved my leave request to have dinner with my father this weekend. Sunday night.”

 Frowning, he replied, “I thought we weren’t supposed…”

 “We aren’t,” she interrupted. “That was made very clear. He’s making an exception because he thinks I’m going to be assigned as soon as the course is over.”

 “That’s nice of him. Have a good time.”

 “Frank, I didn’t apply for any leave. I didn’t even know he was on Mars, I thought he was out at Callisto working on the battleship project.”

 He smiled, and said, “I bet that he found a way to get over here, knew that you wouldn’t ask for leave, and arranged it for you. Be honest, would you have asked?”

 “Yes, probably. We’re only talking about a few hours off, and I haven’t seen him in more than a year – and before that, we only had a couple of weeks together after he was rescued from Jefferson. I was hoping to go out to see him when this was over; I’ve got about a month and a half of leave time saved up.”

 “Perhaps…”

 “There’s something not right here, Frank, and I don’t know what it is.”

 “I think you’re worrying too much. You get to have a night off, spend some time with your father, get out of all of this for a spell. Captain Tarrant seemed fine with it, didn’t he?”

 “He seemed happy enough.”

 “Then what’s the problem? Tell him hello from me, will you? I wouldn’t mind seeing the old dog again myself some time soon.” He looked at Orlova, and said, “Of course, I’m sure you could skip it if it really is bothering you.”

 “It’s probably nothing.”

 “You’ve been on alert for a long time. It’s got to have an impact. Try and relax.” He glanced down at his datapad, and said, “Not that I think we’re going to find History of Interplanetary Logistics particularly relaxing. Come on, let’s go and get something to eat before the others finish it all.”

 “Yeah, coming,” she replied, pausing for a moment, before following him down the corridor.

Chapter 8

 It had been a long, silent shuttle ride as Marshall, Gorski and Caine flew across to the flagship. He’d spent the trip looking out of the viewport, trying with limited success to collect his thoughts; much of what he wanted to say to the Admiral would likely get him court-martialed. As they moved into final approach, he looked down at his datapad, hoping that he would have received an updated report.

 Twelve dead on the Hadfield. Her commander had managed to avoid her being totally crippled, but she had no countermeasure capability at the moment, and her engineering crews were busily attempting to put the ship back into some sort of order. Maneuvering was compromised, acceleration cut in half. He looked up to see another point of light, just ahead; Cunningham on his way over, to take his part in the briefing.

 Trident’s main hangar deck seemed to go on forever compared to Alamo’s cramped space; an eighth of a mile long with twenty-four elevator airlocks, technicians racing in to begin servicing the shuttle as it locked into position. Taking the privilege – or the curse – of rank, Marshall stepped out first. Waiting for him was a nervous sub-lieutenant, the braid of an admiral’s aide at her shoulder.

 “Sir? Admiral Pierce is expecting you in his wardroom.”

 “All of us?”

 “Just you first, sir, I understand.”

 Glancing back at his party, he said, “I thought we were all summoned here. Should I send the rest back, or ought they to waste time hanging around here instead.”

 “Come on, Danny, it’s not the kid’s fault,” Caine said.

 “I believe the rest are to be included in a general planning meeting scheduled for half an hour from now, sir.”

 “Very well, show the way, Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Yes, sir,” he replied, gesturing towards the elevator. As they stepped inside, it immediately began to take them to their destination, obviously pre-programmed.

 “Captain Marshall?” the sub-lieutenant asked. “Do you think there is any chance of getting a transfer over to one of the battlecruisers?”

 “I think I’m already in hot water enough with the Admiral without stealing his assistant.”

 “Second assistant, sir. Senior Lieutenant Page handles most of the Admiral’s affairs.”

 “They sent you down instead, then.”

 “I got the impression that a hostile response was expected.”

 “I see. Put your name down, Sub-Lieutenant…”

 “Clara Smith, sir.”

 “Put in an application, and if you can talk the Admiral into signing it, I’ll see what I can do. There are usually sub-lieutenant berths going begging. Why don’t you want to stay with the Admiral, though? I’d have thought that was a great start for a career.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “I went into the fleet to fight, sir, to protect my country. If I wanted to make coffee and type memos for a living, I’d have taken my mother’s offer of a job in her office instead.”

 “They also serve, Sub-Lieutenant,” he said as the doors opened.

 “I’ll try to remember that, Captain. First door on your right as you go in.”

 “Thank you,” he said, walking out of the elevator. He paused in front of the door for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts, and then sounded for entry. Stepping in, he saw the Admiral sitting behind his desk, looking up at him; he gestured him down to take a seat.

 “Captain, I don’t appreciate my orders being countermanded by junior officers.”

 “Twelve.”

 “What are you talking about?”

 “Twelve dead men don’t care what you appreciate, Admiral. They died because no-one on this ship seemed to give a damn about the auxiliary forces. We’re very fortunate they didn’t go for the tanker, or this whole expedition would have been over right from the start.”

 “Who do you think you are talking to?”

 “Someone in obvious need of tactical and strategic advice.”

 His face growing redder, Pierce replied, “And you think you are the man to give it to me, is that it? There are channels for this sort of thing!”

 “Not when you refused to accept any communications from the Gilgamesh during the battle. Not when your Deputy Commander is ignored, and has to break regulations to get a fighter screen established.”

 His frown deepened, and he said, “You never tried to contact me.”

 “Check the logs. My commtech spent three minutes trying to reach you.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “There may have been communications errors on our end; I’ll have the systems checked. None of that is relevant, though. There can only be one fleet commander, not two.”

 “May I speak freely, sir?”

 “I think you have already established that you don’t care how thin the ice is before you go for a walk.”

 “I agree. There can only be one fleet commander. Who the hell is it? Trident went flying off by itself, launched its fighters – and those of the battlecruisers, without telling anyone what they were doing – and left everyone else standing. Talk to Captain Cunningham; he didn’t get any orders until I gave them to him.”

 “I don’t know what we can do with those things anyway. I was thinking about sending them back.”

 “Right now, sir, we need them to provide a screen for the auxiliaries. Have you seen the damage control reports from the Hadfield? She’s a sitting duck for attacks.”

 “At least our fighters did their job,” he replied. “That battlecruiser…”

 “Was sent in to distract us, and it looks very much as if it worked.”

 “That wasn’t the plan,” he said. “I wanted the other ship to get away; we can catch them at the next system, almost certainly, at the bottleneck. This way we were fighting one ship instead of two.”

 “Then, sir, why the hell didn’t you brief me in advance?”

 Standing up, he said, “All you need to do is obey orders, Captain.” Tapping his head, he said, “Everything we need for the battle is right here, and if you do as I order when I order, we’ll come out ahead. I agree that we need to take special care of the auxiliaries, and I’ll assign you to that duty.”

 “What about the battlecruisers?”

 “They can operate forward, with the carrier. You can transfer your flag over to the Wyvern, if you wish, or perhaps to the Hadfield itself.” 

 “Without fighter protection, sir, they’ll be vulnerable to another, similar attack.”

 “I’ll have to rely on your tactical instincts to defend them.” Shaking his head, he continued, “It was Tramiel who talked me into separating the battlecruisers out from the rest of the fleet. A mistake. I ought to keep the striking power close, under my direct command, and split the auxiliaries into their own force. That’s your new assignment, Captain. Keep them protected, and then you can help mop up afterward.”

 Marshall fought to hold his temper, and said, “Might I suggest, then that we move the Espatier platoons from the battlecruiser and disperse them among the scouts and the auxiliaries?”

 “What the hell for?”

 “To give us a force that we can deploy if we need to on separate operations. I can then handle boarding actions on surrendered enemy vessels, leaving your staff to concentrate on the main objective.”

 “I’d need them ready for reinforcement if needed,” Pierce said, “but that isn’t a bad idea. You wanted Lieutenant Esposito, didn’t you? I’ll attach her to your staff, effective immediately. I’ll leave you to organize moving the personnel around.”

 “Thank you, sir. I’ll get to work as soon as the staff meeting is concluded.”

 “Actually, Captain, I’m not sure there’s any need for you to attend. I’ll be discussing the tactics to be used by the fighting portion of the formation; I’ll make sure that my aide sends along a transcript of the discussion.”

 For a second, Marshall considered resisting, but decided there was no point. Based on this meeting, none of his input would be accepted in any case; this Admiral had decided that there was only one way of proceeding, and that aside from minor details, no deviation from his plan was permitted. Whatever that plan turned out to be.

 “In that case, sir, I’ll get together with Captain Cunningham, my aide, and the commanders of the auxiliaries immediately. Can I borrow a conference room?”

 “Three doors down.” He looked up at the clock, and said, “I’m running behind schedule. Dismissed, Captain.”

 “Sir.” He saluted, turned, and left the room, walking down the corridor past a pair of curious Senior Lieutenants, no doubt wondering if the meeting he’d just had provided opportunities for promotion. On the corridor speakers, he heard some anonymous officer calling Cunningham and Caine to the conference room; he stepped inside and immediately walked to the head of the table before pausing, shaking his head, and perching on the desk.

 A few seconds later, the door opened, and Lieutenant Esposito, his former Espatier officer on Alamo, walked in. Her face beamed into a smile and she saluted.

 “It’s good to see you again, sir,” she replied.

 “Likewise, Lieutenant. Welcome to the leper colony.”

 Cunningham walked in, and asked, “Leper colony?” 

 “I hope you’ve got plenty of room on that ship of yours, John, because I’m moving in. The Admiral, in his wisdom, has decided that the auxiliaries – and that includes the scoutships for some reason only known to himself – should be a separate command, and that I am the obvious choice for the job.” Looking at Esposito, he said, “We’re getting two platoons of Espatiers for any mopping up operations, and you’re going to be in charge.”

 “Two platoons?” Cunningham asked. “Where the hell are we going to put them?”

 Caine walked in, clasped Esposito on the shoulder, and asked, “What did I miss?”

 “We’ve been benched,” Cunningham replied.

 “Get me the commanders of Hadfield and Popovich, Deadeye. Scrambler. We might as well use all the security we can.”

 “Which two platoons?” Esposito asked. Shaking her head, she said, “Let me guess. The two worst.”

 “You’d better liaise with the Major,” Marshall replied. “Try and raid anyone good if you can grab them. Any chance we could get Cooper’s platoon?”

 “None at all”, she replied. “Right now he’s getting some good news.”

 “I’m not going to ask,” he replied. On the wall behind him, two faces appeared, a gray-haired, stocky man with a non-regulation beard and a thin, aristocratic woman who seemed to be looking down her nose at everyone in the room. Lieutenant-Captains Pilsudski and Franklin, commanders of the auxiliaries.

 “I think this is everyone,” Marshall said.”

 “Captain,” Pilsudski replied. “I’d like to thank you for preventing the destruction of my ship. If that old bastard had been paying attention to the fleet formation, none of my men needed to have died.”

 “That’s...actually it wasn’t my job at the time, which was just made painfully clear to me, but it’s quite alright, Captain.”

 Almost shouting, he replied, “That moron called you on the carpet for saving my ship! I’ve got half a mind to come over there myself.” He stopped, then chuckled, and said, “I think his precious Trident just collapsed to the bottom of the priorities list.”

“What’s this about?” Franklin asked. “I’ve got a lot to do getting the fleet refueled.”

 “Really?” Cunningham said. “Our illustrious Admiral doesn’t seem to think that’s important enough to bother protecting you. His fleet evidently runs on optimism instead of Helium-3.”

 “John, he’s still our commanding officer,” Marshall said. “And we’re on his ship.” Turning to the displays, he replied, “Here’s how it works. I’ve been moved from commanding the battlecruisers to commanding the auxiliaries section and the scouts…”

 “Brilliant,” Pilsudski interrupted. “He’s put the one officer in this fleet with recent experience of deep-space warfare in charge of some mechanics and fuel attendants. Inspired.”

 Pressing on, Marshall said, “Which means that we’re going to have to work out some sort of strategy. That means exercises and battle drills, starting this afternoon, ship time. I want a formation that uses the scouts to protect the auxiliaries from any conceivable attack. We need to be able to operate as an independent unit…”

 “Because we won’t be able to count on support from the rest of the fleet,” Pilsudski said. “I feel an inexplicable urge to conduct evacuation drills.”

 “Might not be a bad idea at that,” Cunningham said. “What’s the plan?”

 “Dragon and Griffon will each take a ship, and Wyvern will be in a position to reinforce whichever of them needs it most. I want all five tactical officers to get together to work out how best to mesh their countermeasure screens; that’s going to be critical. If we can get our timing right, we can manage salvo fire from all the scouts, as well. A battlecruiser-level broadside.”

 “That’s going to be tough in combat,” Cunningham said. “I think we can manage it, though. I’ve got some good people.” 

 “Now for the next good news,” Marshall continued. “We have an Espatier force, commanded by Lieutenant Esposito, here. Captain Pilsudski, can you take a platoon?”

 “We’ll have to cram them in like sardines, but I think so.”

 “And one squad each for the scouts. I don’t think you’ll have room on the Popovich, Captain Franklin?”

 “Any time they make bigger tankers, they just stuff in more fuel, Captain.”

 “That’s the first job, then. Get those troopers stowed and dispersed.”

 “What are they for, sir?”

 “Officially, their job is to conduct boarding actions on incidental targets. That’s what it says on the revised mission plan. Frankly, I just think that we shouldn’t be putting all our eggs in a basket with a big bulls’ eye on it.” He looked around, and said, “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Over the next couple of days I’ll be visiting each ship in the fleet.”

 “I’ll have the boys fabricate a red carpet,” Pilsudski said. “I need to get back to damage control.”

 “I won’t keep any of you from your work any longer. Trident out.” Sitting down in a chair, he said to Esposito, “Don’t think I don’t like your company…”

 “But I have some troops to steal. I’ll put my company headquarters on the Dragon, I think. Spread the happiness around.”

 “Good idea,” Cunningham said. “This is going to get cramped.” She saluted, and left the room, and once she was gone, he continued, “This is wrong, Danny. Someone’s old friend who has been on the beach for years is commanding an attack fleet, and the most experienced combat commander against the Cabal is stuck at the back?”

 With a smile, Marshall said, “Pierce thinks that he’s punishing me. In fact, I think he’s doing me a favor. Think about it; commanding the battlecruisers, I didn’t get to do a thing. Out at the back, he’s not going to be paying any attention, so there is a fighting chance that I might actually get to command something.”

 “There’s something to that, as well,” Caine said. “I agree, though. It’s unfair.”

 “As long as we complete the mission. I just hope the Espatier force knows what it’s doing.” Looking around, he said, “Let’s go and get our stuff moved, Deadeye. I don’t want to linger where I’m not wanted.”

Chapter 9

 Cooper looked around the room, trying to gauge the other officers at the briefing. The Ensigns were all his age, though none of them wore any decorations on their uniform; each fresh out of training, without any battle experience. Both of the company commanders were veterans, and it had showed in the practice drills; Brownworth, his superior, seeming to have a slight edge over the commander of Ninth Company, but not by much.

 Then there was Major Burke, a figure who had made himself somewhat enigmatic. He’d spent most of his time thus far with the Admiral, barely appearing at any of the practice sessions; he seemed perfectly willing to delegate the dull work to his subordinates, rather than wading in himself.

 “Well, I think we’re all here now,” he began. “Ensign Cooper, you’ve been where we’re going, so why don’t you tell us about it?”

 He paused for a moment, and replied, “Yes, sir,” standing up and moving to the front of the room, using the time to try and assemble his thoughts. Some warning that he was going to be talking to the others would have been useful, but he’d been giving similar lectures to the platoons.

 “First of all, don’t imagine that we have anything useful like a map or layout to give you. The nature of this asteroid precludes that. There’s some sort of paint they use that blocks radar signals; which means that mapping this place is going to have to be a top priority.”

 “Stick to the layout, Ensign,” Burke said. “I’ll decide the priorities.”

 One of the other platoon commanders sniggered as Cooper continued, “Yes, sir. What you have are twenty-nine estimated miles of twisted tunnels, shafts and chambers, on at least fourteen levels. To make it worse, these tunnels were carved out by an alien race…”

 “Do we need the ancient history, Ensign?” Burke said, interrupting again.

 Turning to the Major, he replied, “Sir, we can’t expect any of our training in ship engineering to be of benefit in these tunnels. While form follows function to a degree, the designs are so different that you can’t expect anything down there. Essentially, we have a long, hard slog ahead of us, against an enemy that does know the tunnels intimately and has comparable manpower and firepower.”

 “I don’t like pessimistic attitudes like that, Ensign.”

 Cooper cared enough about his rank to restrain his anger, but couldn’t keep his voice from rising as he replied, “Sir, my platoon went in with twenty-eight and came out with four.”

 “Then I hope that we are better prepared than you were. Thank you, Ensign.” He looked around the room, and said, “You all need to read the after-action reports of Alamo’s failure at this facility. Learn from their mistakes. Now, the battle plan. The Admiral and I have been working on this since we left Spitfire, and I can now tell you what we have decided.”

 Brownworth glanced at Cooper, and he saw resignation in her eyes. Admiral Pierce was a fighter pilot; getting him involved in the tactics of this assault was unlikely to provide any special insight. The other officers looked forward with rapt attention as he turned on a hologram of Hades, the airlocks highlighted.

 “We’re going to attack in two waves, gentlemen. Seventh Company has the honor of being the first to hit the asteroid, all three platoons at once, as well as one from the Ninth.” He tapped a button and four airlocks illuminated, making Cooper’s eyes light up. Doctrine called for an attack on airlocks as close together as possible, allowing the company to link up and sweep ahead. This plan was the reverse of that; the airlocks were evenly spread out across the asteroid.

 “Each platoon has been assigned to one of these airlocks. Their goal is to move into the asteroid and secure key positions – life support, command, power. Once we control those systems, the battle will be over. We attack in four places to divide their manpower, enabling us to sweep in from multiple angles.”

 He looked over at some of the disappointed platoon commanders, and said, “Don’t worry, the rest of you will have a chance for action. We have eight platoons, counting those on the auxiliaries; these will be sent in to reinforce successful offensives. I want to preserve flexibility, so you might end up being moved to support any of these beachheads. Questions?”

 Cooper nodded, and said, “Sir, we know where command and control is located…”

 “Thanks to your excellent covert assault, yes.”

 “But not the other facilities.”

 “We will work that out by studying the layout when we move in.”

 His eyes widened, and he replied, “Sir, as I said before…”

 “I’ve been doing this for a long time, Ensign. Give me a few minutes to look at the pattern, and I’ll be able to work out where the key facilities are. There’s always a logic to any human installation, even if the design philosophies are different.”

 Seventh’s spare officer, Ensign Krueger, said, “Major, I think Ensign Cooper’s point was that these were designed by aliens, not humans.”

 “Occupied now by humans, though. If they can work it out, so can we.”

 “The assault, sir,” Brownworth said. “Isn’t there a serious danger that they could attack our pockets one at a time?” Cooper realized with growing concern that the company commanders were learning of the assault plan at the same time as the rest of the officers.

 “They might concentrate their forces, yes, but if they do, that will only work in our favor. While they are attacking one, the rest can advance.”

 “What about the platoon under attack?”

 “We all know the risks when we sign the oath, Lieutenant-Major. That any of us might be called upon to sacrifice their lives at any point for the sake of the Confederation.”

 “Not to throw them away, sir.”

 “Lieutenant-Major, if you would rather the Ninth take the brunt of the assault, I will be happy to reverse the assignments. Or Lieutenant Minh of Ninth can take your place as commander of the Seventh, if you wish.”

 “No, sir. I go with my men, no matter what.”

 “Then I will consider this settled. We have images of the interior of the asteroid; study them, and see that your men examine them was well. Any other comments?”

 Cooper replied, “Yes, sir. We should ensure the men have plenty of opportunities to practice combat in zero-gravity.”

 “I’ll put that to the Admiral, but taking the spin from the ship is seriously disruptive to ship operations. A nice idea, but probably impractical in the circumstances. Is that all?” 

 Everyone in the room seemed to have come to the conclusion that there was no point bringing anything else to the Major, so they remained silent. After a few seconds he rose, saluted, and wordlessly walked out of the room.

 “Meeting over, I guess,” Krueger replied.

 Brownworth looked up at the hologram, shook her head, and said, “We’re just going to have to make this work. I’m sure the Major knows what he’s doing.” She wasn’t a good liar.

 “Where are you going to be, ma’am?” Ensign Featherstone asked.

 “With you; I’ll attach to First Platoon. Krueger, you’re with Second.”

 “Don’t trust the mustang?” Featherstone said.

 She locked onto him, her eyes an icy glare, and said, “I’m going with the platoon I think most requires my personal presence, Ensign. Take that as you will. Krueger is going with Second Platoon because I think they’re going to need the support. Cooper, let’s try and make some order out of this chaos. I want you to try and grab command and control. Where do you want to go in?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “It doesn’t matter to me, ma’am. They don’t have any airlocks close to their key facilities. Wherever we go, we’ve got a long march.” He looked up, and said, “What I need is another platoon to reinforce me.”

 “I’ll see if I can get your reserves moved in immediately on the attack. No doubt the Major will protest that it will limit tactical flexibility, but I think you are right.”

 “Something else,” Cooper said. “We can’t afford to secure territory as we advance with this plan. We don’t have the concentrated manpower. We’re going to have to operate like a raiding party until we find the critical areas we are looking for.”

 Nodding, Brownworth said, “That’s my judgment as well. The shuttles will detach as soon as the platoons are unloaded, so you won’t have those to worry about. I’ll leave the details of your attack to each of you – though I’ll make the call for First Platoon, Featherstone – but you will keep together and move through the asteroid to your targets.”

 “What do we do when we take them?” the hitherto silent Ensign Campbell asked.

 “Secure a defensive perimeter and call out.”

 “Communications are somewhat unreliable that deep into the asteroid,” Cooper said.

 Krueger shook his head, and said, “This attack just looks better and better.”

 “Then send a runner. Once you’ve done that, we’ll call for a second platoon to move in, and try and open up a connection between your unit and the nearest airlock. Hopefully, they’ll attack us.”

 “Hopefully?” Featherstone asked, frowning.

 “We’re going to have to win a war of attrition. They don’t have unlimited manpower any more than we do; every one of them you kill takes us closer to securing this asteroid.”

 Campbell nodded, and replied, “Wouldn’t a better approach be analogous to that used by Alamo’s platoon on the first assault? Take a defensive perimeter supported by multiple airlocks, and try and hold onto it? When they attack, we can wipe them out.”

 “Not a bad idea, but that’s not the battle plan. The Major has given us clear instructions about how he wants us to proceed.”

 “He’s wrong, ma’am,” Campbell replied, bluntly.

 Sighing, she replied, “He is the commander of this attack force, Ensign. Higher authority has given him the task of making this work.”

 “Is he coming ashore as well?” Krueger asked.

 “Not to my knowledge, no,” she replied. She looked around, and said, “Push into that asteroid and don’t look back. Move quickly, watch for ambushes, and think aggressively. We haven’t got the people or the battle plan to adopt a defensive posture. Make sure that your Sergeants are fully briefed.”

 “There is another possibility,” Cooper said. “Once we get deep into the asteroid, we could link up inside. Plenty of places where we could make a strong stand lower down.”

 Nodding, Brownworth replied, “I like the idea, but if communications are that difficult, we might find it difficult to implement.”

 “Besides, doesn’t that violate the spirit of our orders?” Featherstone said.

 “The Major told us how to launch our initial assault,” Cooper replied. “He hasn’t given us any detailed directions for what happens next.” He pointed at the display, and said, “We could head for the fourth level. Lots of rooms and passages there, and we’re only a few hundred meters from an airlock.”

 “That’s a long way for most of us,” Krueger said. “I guess it’ll confuse the hell out of the enemy, though. It certainly confuses me.”

 “Here’s how it works, then,” Brownworth said. “Move in from your assault as discussed, and unleash as much hell as you can. If you find a key facility, hold it, and get word back here to the Trident. If you don’t, make your way up to the rendezvous point, and we’ll proceed from there based on what we’ve found.” She looked around, and said, “We’ll meet up again this time tomorrow to discuss assignments. Dismissed.” Pausing, she continued, “Cooper, please wait a moment.”

 As the others left the room, he replied, “Yes, ma’am?”

 “You know this ground better than any of us. I wanted to apologize for what the Major said.”

 “We lost. That means we failed. I don’t know what we could have done differently, but perhaps there was something. I guess we’ll find out if we’re doing it better this time when we get there.”

 “I’m going to say something I don’t normally say to platoon leaders moving into combat. Take care of yourself, and don’t let yourself get killed. If it looks like you haven’t got a chance, get the hell out of there and back to the Trident.”

 “Ma’am, I’m…”

 “The only officer with your battle experience against the Cabal.” She looked at the map, and said, “If we go to war, you will be needed, and badly. The rest of us are expendable. Haven’t you worked it out yet?” 

 “No, ma’am.”

 She looked back at the holodisplay and said, “This whole operation. Doesn’t it feel to you as if it’s been thrown together on a shoestring? I understand that we’re here to secure our flank, but look at the troops we’ve been given.”

 “I assumed that the standards had slipped,” he replied.

 “That doesn’t mean that more experienced people aren’t available.” She shook her head, then continued, “I think our job is to die gloriously, Ensign. To give the politicians back home some heroes for the media mill.”

 “You can’t think that…”

 “Are we gods, Ensign, that our motives are so pure? Don’t think of it so starkly; think of it as a noble sacrifice for the good of the Confederation. We pledged to die if needed; perhaps they consider that this is needed.” With a sigh, she said, “I don’t. This operation has disaster written all over it. What I’m trying to tell you is that if it comes to it, I’m counting on you to try and save something from this mess.”

 “You’ll be with the assault, ma’am,” he replied.

 “And we both know that there is a better than even chance that I’m not coming back. Officer casualty rates tend to be the highest. If I could keep you out of this operation, I would.” She looked at the monitor again, and said, “Make sure your platoon is as ready as you can possibly make it, Ensign. Once we’re in those tunnels, I very much fear that it is every man for himself.”

 “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do my part.”

 “Dismissed, then,” she said, turning away from him to look at the displays as he walked out of the room, sighing. The commander of the operation had planned a suicide run, and his direct commander had given up any hope of living through it. He paused in the corridor, then picked up his communicator.

 “Sergeant Beresford? Get the men together for a briefing in ten minutes.”

 “We’re on sleep period, sir.”

 “Then they shouldn’t be hard to find, should they?”

 “No, sir. They’ll be ready.”

 Taking a deep breath, he changed the frequency, flicking on the scrambler. They’d be jumping back into hendecaspace in a couple of hours; he didn’t have time to waste. “Ensign Cooper to Wyvern. I want to speak to Captain Marshall. Priority and private.”

 He looked around. There had to be an empty briefing room somewhere; this ship was littered with them. Walking into a darkened office, he checked the door was locked behind him as Marshall’s voice rang through the room.

 “Ensign, what’s going on? What’s the security for?”

 “I think we’ve got a problem.”

Chapter 10

 Carter Station had always had a reputation among spacefarers; there was a reason that Mariner had become the major jumping-off point for interstellar expeditions, and it didn’t have anything to do with macroeconomics. During the oppressive past of Callisto, the station had been used as a dumping ground for malcontents of all sorts, and while a veneer of respectability had been laid on it since the War, even turning over control to the Triplanetary Fleet had done little to change the nature of the place.

 Logan walked down a small side corridor, well away from the main thoroughfares of commerce, constantly checking to see who was watching him. Half a dozen criminal gangs would be keeping an eye on him, that much was accepted; he was more interested in watching for people who didn’t seem to fit the place.

 Examining the ruins of Diego’s had been a singularly pointless waste of a hundred-credit bribe; the local security force had done a surprisingly thorough job and come up with nothing, which told him two things. The first was that someone had seen to it that the explosion had received greater than usual attention, and the second that the arsonist had been an expert. It wasn’t one of the local syndicates – plenty of detectives would be happy to follow leads like that in order to make their name and get out of this place, no matter the risk from the syndicates.

 The list of suspects dropped sharply the more he thought of it. The Republic had never shown much interest in Jupiter over the years, and while it would be tempting to blame the Cabal, as far as he knew the place had never been used against them. Besides, the soup bar had only ever been a dropping-off point, not important enough to merit special attention that might attract unwanted interest.

 Long and bitter experience suggested that the United Nations was always a possibility, but all of their best people were out on their colony worlds, doing a dance with the growing rebellion. While Triplanetary Intelligence were very quietly providing some assistance to the rebels, great care had been taken to keep everything out of Sol System; he’d done some work through Spitfire during his time as its commander. Diego’s just didn’t fit the picture.

 That left one real possibility, and he didn’t like it at all. Someone in the Confederation had decided to take it out. If Intelligence had been trying to cover its tracks for some reason, they might have torched the place, but they wouldn’t have left loyal operatives inside to die. There was something bigger going on, and while the pistol hidden in his pocket provided a certain measure of reassurance, information would provide a lot more.

 Without giving any cues, he abruptly turned to right, passing through a door that slid open for less than a second to admit him, into a darkened store front, long abandoned by the look of the place, dust and debris everywhere, and a low squeak from the shadows that suggested that he was not alone.

 “What is the magic word?” an obviously-synthesized voice asked.

 “Money, as ever. Cut out this crap, Lester, and get out here where I can see you.”

 A short, pale figure stepped out of the shadows, looking up at him with nervous eyes, his fingers twitching as he walked towards him.

 “Usually I prefer more notice before one of your visits.”

 “This is a rush job. One question, and I suspect you already know the answer.”

 He shook his head, and replied, “I don’t think that you would be willing to pay the price such a question would warrant. I know that I am not willing to pay the price of answering it.”

 “That isn’t like you. Normally you are willing to be extremely helpful.”

 “You think you are the first one to come around here asking questions, Logan? I cannot answer you, and I will not answer you. Not this time.”

 “You’ve been paid off.”

 He laughed, and said, “Loyalty is a very transient thing, Logan, and money a poor way of procuring it. Were I to admit that was the case, no doubt an ugly bidding war would ensure, one which would likely result in my corpse floating out there among the stars. Death is not something I am willing to seek so hastily.” Glancing at Logan’s side, he said, “Is this where you pull out your pistol and say some heroic words?”

 “No,” Logan replied. “That gun is for your protection as much as mine. I have information for you, however.”

 “Your account in that score is very much in credit, old friend.”

 He smiled, and said, “You still do most of your work with the shipping companies, I know that much. How else could you keep track of who moves where so well. What if I was to provide you with something of incalculable value for them, enough that you could retire with enough money to keep you safe forever.”

 Shaking his head, Lester said, “What use is money to the dead? And don’t appeal to my patriotism, Logan, the last person to come in here tried that line with me, and it didn’t work then. I accept Triplanetary Credits or information, and only in the latter case if I consider it immediately useful.” He sighed, and said, “I can offer you some other news, if you wish. There will soon be a scandal involving the President, a big one. The man is on the verge of resignation, though he does not know it yet.”

 “How do you know about it?”

 “I have my sources, Logan. Consider that a partial payment for the debt I owe you, given that I cannot help you out in any other ways.” He paused, then said, “I am surprised, I must confess, that the rest of your contacts have been unable to assist you. Usually there are some who are willing to risk their life for a strengthened credit account.”

 “What was it you were saying about the value of information purchased with money?”

 “Trust is a rare commodity in my profession, it is true.” He gestured towards the door, and said, “I hope you have a safe and swift journey back to your ship. A very impressive ship, I must say. Something of a career change for you.”

 “It’s always interesting to try new things.”

 “Nevertheless I suggest that there is value in returning to old habits. All the best, Logan, until we meet again.”

 Logan walked from the room, glancing quickly from side to side and heading off in a random direction, instead of heading directly back to the shuttle terminal. His stalkers were undoubtedly still following him, and Lester had given him a fairly broad hint that he could expect trouble. He followed the crowds, quickly returning to populated areas, gambling that his pursuers wouldn’t want to expose themselves unnecessarily, though that was simply delaying the inevitable. They’d knocked out a restaurant on one of the main station thoroughfares; killing him and making it look like a botched mugging was of the same sort of scale.

 Behind him, he could almost sense that he was about to be attacked; the crowd was beginning to move away from him, as if preparing to scatter. His visible pursuers had vanished, evidently not wanting any part in what was to come. Glancing ahead, he saw what he had been looking for. An emergency airlock.

 Breaking into a sprint, he raced for the hatch and typed in the ten-digit override code, slamming the door closed behind him. Through the window, he could see three frustrated figures standing outside. He pulled an intrusion card from his pocket, sliding it into the nearest dataport and setting it for defense; that brought him enough time to pull on the spacesuit hanging in the reserve locker, and by the time they were close to opening the inner door, he was opening the outer door; there was no time for him to run through all the suit checks, not until he was on the move.

 The pressure in the airlock gave him a quick boost away from the station, and within seconds he was drifting in free space. Everything seemed to be working, and he ran through the checklists. Thrusters fine, and he tried a couple of quick maneuvers to test them, sending himself spiraling around. Then he reached down for the navigation computer, and was rewarded only with a blank screen.

 He hung limp, cursing under his breath. Without those systems, he didn’t even know where Alamo was in relation to his current position, still less could he attempt to plot a course home. At some point, someone from the station would notice that he was in trouble, but there was no way of telling which side his rescuer would be on.

 “Logan to Harper,” he said, switching frequencies. “Logan to Harper. I’m in trouble, floating free outside Carter Station. I left Airlock One-Nine-Bravo. Repeat, One-Nine-Bravo. In free trajectory.” He set the message to repeat, then sent the same message to Ryder and Quinn, hoping that one of them would pick it up. He continued running down the checklist, and saw that the speakers in his helmet were also out. If any of them replied, he’d have no way of knowing.

 At least the view was spectacular. Jupiter was just rising over Callisto, swirls of orange and red that seemed almost to envelop the moon completely; he could see faint shadows, some of the inner moons still inaccessible to mankind closer in. The radiation counter clicked; it was not wise to spend too long in a spacesuit anywhere in Jupiter-space, but that wasn’t what he was worried about. Not that there was anything he could now do to boost his chances. Someone would come and get him, and he would either live or die. Toss of a coin.

 He turned around, pivoting on his thrusters, and looked at the station, increasingly distant. It wouldn’t be hard to get back there as a last resort; that close a jump he could eye-ball, and scramble his way on the hull until he found an airlock. Of course, there would be someone unpleasant on the other side of the airlock waiting for him, so he dismissed that possibility. The odds were a lot better where he was.

 Tapping a series of controls, he set an alarm to sound in an hour, and did the only sensible thing in the circumstances; he sat back to enjoy the view. He queued some soft music to play, and settled back to relax.

 When the alarm buzzed, he jerked his eyes open and realized he’d managed to doze off. The station was far enough away that he seemed to almost be alone in the sky; he had to throw on an image intensifier to see the slowly rotating disc tumbling in its orbit around the cold, icy moon. There was another point of light, gently moving in his direction, and looking closely at it revealed the lines of a shuttlecraft, standard Triplanetary design.

 That, of course, meant nothing. He couldn’t make out the markings on the side and had no way of knowing who it belonged to. Not that there was anything he could do about it if it proved to be hostile; even using every ounce of fuel he had, he couldn’t buy himself more than a few moments grace. Better to simply watch and wait, and remember the revolver he had hidden in a pocket. If nothing else, he could probably manage suicide by firefight.

 The shuttle grew closer and closer, looming towards him. In the far distance, he could make out a second point of light, and he started to smile; there seemed to be a competition for the pleasure of his company. It was clear who was going to win, and he opted to reward the nearest shuttle for its speed, hanging still, waiting for it to approach.

 Whoever was flying it knew what they were doing; the shuttle rested by him, matching his course and speed, its airlock turned to face him. He played his thrusters across and moved towards the airlock, glancing across at a blank space where the identification insignia should have been. No reassuring image of the battlecruiser to greet him; he looked across at the other shuttle, but it was too far away to reach, too far away to influence what would happen. Instead, resigned, he tapped the control and stepped in through the outer door, waiting for the hatch to deflate.

 As a series of green lights flashed on, he cracked open his helmet seal and stepped into the cabin, his hand reaching down for his pistol; if the worst happened, he still might be able to bluff his way out of it.

 “Logan, we need to move,” Harper said, turning from the pilot’s seat. “You probably ought to be sitting here, as well; Ryder’s been flying her from the deck officer’s console.”

 Nodding, he slid into the proffered pilot’s seat, shrugging out of his suit trousers, and started to program the course back to Alamo. The other shuttle was still on an intercept course, tracking in towards them.

 “They launched from the station just after us. We got a little creative with the safety overrides; I think they’re going to suspend my pilot’s license.”

 He glanced across at her and asked, “When the hell did you get a license?”

 “Half an hour ago, when I needed clearance to launch. They’re surprisingly easy to forge.”

 “I think the idea is that you can forge the ID, but not the skill. Why didn’t Ryder come herself?”

 “Watson’s got the crew on some sort of drill. Started soon after you left. Action stations or something like that. I had to sneak out. What did you learn?”

 Logan tapped a button, and sent the shuttle racing towards Alamo fast enough to push him back into his chair, then replied, “Lester’s been got at, but he knows who he wants to work with. He told me what I wanted to know.”

 “And that was?”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Someone in the Government. Not Intelligence; he wouldn’t have got away with what he did tell me if it was. He said something about patriotism, which suggests an amateur. Lester’s got pride, and he doesn’t need tricks like that to get him to do something. It’s big, as well. Very big.” He looked across at her again, and said, “None of my contacts are talking. Someone’s sent the whole network down into hiding, and I don’t know why. Is anything happening back there?”

 “News broke an hour ago; apparently the Senate’s going to be asked to vote on a peace treaty with the Cabal.”

 “A peace treaty?” he said, raising his eyebrow. “What about the attack on Hades Station?”

 “No-one seems to be mentioning it. I thought it was secret.”

 “It is, but I don’t see how the hell the President can reconcile it with coming to terms. Reinforcing Hydra is one thing, but we’re talking about an actual attack.” Shaking his head again, he said, “Lester told me that something big was about to break, but I don’t know if this was what he was talking about.”

 “Logan, the Senate’s in full session over this, and all the pundits are going mad – on both sides. Isn’t this big enough?”

 “Yes, but...Lester said it involved the President. Personally.”

 “And this doesn’t?”

 “Maybe. There’s more going on, though, and we need to know what.”

 “Is this where you ask me to volunteer to risk my life again?”

 “Well…”

 She smiled, and said, “I already had a word with some of my old friends. None of them have been sent undercover. There’s something big going on, but they’ve got some new spooks on the network.”

 “Better than you?”

 “No, but we’re in a hurry. Face-to-face is a lot harder to hack. I’m going over to the station in a few hours to meet with some people.”

 Sighing, he said, “I’m not going to tell you not to go, and I’m not going to tell you to take anyone with you, but I am going to tell you to be careful. I mean it – you need to watch your back on this one. Someone just tried to kill me…”

 “Logan, you’ve got the resources of a battlecruiser at your disposal.”

 “That doesn’t help you if someone sticks a knife in your back.”

 She nodded, and said, “I know. I’m still going.” Gesturing up, she said, “Shouldn’t we be getting to work on the docking sequence?”

Chapter 11

 Marshall sat quietly in his cabin, skimming over the latest set of reports from the Hadfield, stunned at the efficiency of their engineers; they were racing to get their ship ready for action. Dropping it to the bed, he looked out of the cramped viewport at the dull red star beyond. Two weeks, and they’d be going into battle, and despite all of the planning and preparations, all he could do was sit back and watch.

 It was bad enough normally, sitting in the command chair, knowing that all of the decisions had already been made and he could only wait to see how they played out, but this was going to be a new kind of hell – he wasn’t even going to get to make those decisions. He was simply a passenger this time, an observer. And he hated it, every minute.

 The door slid open, and he looked up to see Cunningham walk into the cramped cabin, tossing a rumpled jacket on the chair behind his desk as he sat down.

 “Normally when I share my cabin, she’s a cute brunette with as few morals as possible,” he said. “This is a first.”

 “Sorry,” Marshall replied. “I’ve got plenty of morals. Though I am rather cute.”

 “No offense, Danny, but you really aren’t my type.” He glanced down at the datapad and said, “I guess you’ve seen the Admiral’s plan.”

 “Operation Charge of the Light Brigade?” he replied. “It’ll work, in a crude sledgehammer sort of way, assuming that we aren’t facing much in the way of opposition. Frankly, it looks like the work of Lord Nelson in comparison with the Espatier plan.”

 Shaking his head, Cunningham said, “A lot of people are going to die in a fortnight, aren’t they. Damn it, why the hell won’t Pierce see reason?”

 “He’s spent the last ten years running a shipping company, for God’s sake – while sending in the obligatory articles to the service journals second-guessing all the decisions we’ve been making out here. Now he has a chance to show us how it should be done.”

 “That wouldn’t be so bad if he had any ideas worth a damn. What was Tramiel thinking, giving him this task force? Even if there had been political pressure, relieving Hydra Station…”

 “Is realistically the more important job,” Marshall finished. “That has people on board that we are obligated to protect, whereas this is finishing off a strategic backwater. We’re putting on a show, and that’s all – something for the cameras. That and proving to the taxpayers that it will take more than one ship to deal with the Cabal.”

 “You think this is the carrier mafia?”

 “I think they’re trying to show that battlecruisers need to be kept to a supporting role. Stupid. Someone’s using us to play political games with the budget, and they don’t give a damn about the people’s lives they are using.”

 “I’m not so sure,” Cunningham said, shaking his head. “That isn’t like Tramiel, and I don’t see the rest of the Combined Chiefs going along with that. They’re getting their battleships, in any case. What more do they want?”

 “Meaning?”

 “Meaning that there is something more going on here than we know about, something bigger. Not that I have any idea as to what, of course, but…” He looked down at Marshall, and said, “I really wanted to talk about you.”

 “Let me guess, you and Deadeye have been talking about me behind my back.”

 “Someone has to. You realize that this is your career from now on, I hope.”

 “Stuck in dead-end assignments and desk jobs?”

 “Even being somewhere in administration would give you some sort of influence in how things went. My guess is that you are being set up to be the hero of the fleet, a figure to be trotted out to schools, to complete a patrol of the talk shows, before quietly being put out to pasture.”

 With a smile, Marshall replied, “They don’t trust me. I suppose I can’t blame them.”

 “The question is what you are going to do about it?”

 “They try and put me into a PR role, I’ll resign from the fleet that afternoon. I’ve done the time in service, and I still come under the Wartime Retirement Act. I can quit at the end of any tour of duty with no loss to reserve rank or pension.”

 “Unless we go to war again, in which case they’ll keep you.”

 “We go to war, I’ll get to the front. Even if I have to stow away on a battlecruiser to do it.”

 “Time was you’d have talked about stowing away on a carrier, planned to ride fire on a fighter again.”

 He shrugged, and replied, “Things change. I can’t complain, John. I had a hell of a good run on Alamo, and I’m sure I can think of something to do in the civilian sector.”

 “Run for office.”

 “Don’t be stupid.”

 “I’m quite serious. The Progressives would have you in the Senate at the next by-election, and we both know it. If you want to carry on making a difference, perhaps you need to change arenas. Deadeye’s willing if you are.”

 “For what?”

 “Ten years as a journalist should make her a pretty good campaign manager. As for me, well, there’s still an outside chance I might be able to get one of the battlecruisers.”

 “You should have got Alamo.”

 He looked up at him and replied, “I’d have liked her. Don’t get me wrong, after a while I wanted to command that ship.” With a shrug, he continued, “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.”

 “Logan’s only commanding her for a few months. You wait; he’ll get out of it.”

 “Unless he decides he likes it.”

 “I don’t think that’s his style. God only knows what’s he’s getting up to back at Callisto.”

 Cunningham smiled, then said, “What about the battle?”

 “What would I do? Jump in with the battlecruisers first, move in and take a look at what was going on, with the carrier to follow fifteen minutes later and the auxiliaries an hour later. Scouts with the battlecruisers to act in support. Check out the situation and then attack if it warrants it; I’d have the option of using the carrier or not, depending on the circumstances.”

 “You’ve thought this through.”

 “Someone has to. All of us jumping in at the same time like this is crazy.”

 “Agreed. Given that, though, what are you going to do?”

 “Well, the auxiliaries are both ready. How’s our salvo fire practice coming?”

 “Deadeye’s up on the bridge putting them through their paces again. We’re making progress, but these are new ships. Hell, Griffon’s on her shakedown cruise, a rookie crew. That doesn’t make for optimum combat efficiency.”

 “That’s what we’ve got, though. We’ll just have to make it work, one way or another. I want to hold that in reserve; we’ll stick with the auxiliaries and hope that the sledgehammer smashes the enemy. If something gets through, then we need to be prepared to deal with that as well. Another fighter attack is a distinct possibility.”

 “There’s still the big question left, of course. Are they waiting for us?”

 “Your guess is as good as mine. I’d be working on the assumption that they were, because if we assume not and get it wrong, I don’t think the results would be very pleasant.”

 “Agreed,” Cunningham replied. “I had a word with some of the fighter pilots, over on the Trident, and they’ve got them running full wing attack formations. They aren’t doing much squadron work, and damn little individual flights.”

 “Not that Perfect Formation crap again,” Marshall said. “I don’t care what the computers say, that’s no way to fight a battle. You might be able to get into the optimum attack pattern, but you can bet your life that the enemy won’t just sit back and let you get away with it.”

 “Peace, Danny. That’s one thing about fighter tactics I always agreed with you about. Pierce, on the other hand, quite literally wrote the book on the subject, and I understand that all the pilots are being drip-fed it at the moment.”

 Marshall struggled to suppress a chuckle, and replied, “I’d love to be sitting in one of the rec-rooms right now while he sends the pilots back to school. I’m guessing the Fleet CAG…”

 “Another old friend, a wingman from the war.”

 “And not willing to question his buddy’s orders. They really had plenty of time to get all of this assembled, didn’t they.”

 “We know we’re facing a battlecruiser, at least. One that took another way to Hades.”

 “Obvious enough. I’d have picked another route myself, covered more ground, though I can understand the logic of following a known flight path, at least.” Gesturing around, he said, “That’s something we could be using the scouts for, though. Watching our flanks, warning us if there are any enemy ships about to jump out at us.”

 “Maybe we’re missing something,” Cunningham suggested. “Back in the day, our Admiral did get five combat stars.”

 “All of them running fighter squadrons and wings. He never sat in the hot seat of a carrier during a battle. This will be a first for him.”

 “You’ve never commanded a fleet either,” he said with a smile.

 “No, but I at least am willing to acknowledge my ignorance. He still thinks he’s fighting the United Nations. Everything’s changed so much in the last few years.” Shaking his head, Marshall said, “I’m not sure that it’s worth it. Cooper thinks – well, his company commander thinks – that this is all a publicity stunt. Something to rally the troops back home.”

 “Then war…”

 “Hell, John, for all we know we’re already at war. We’ve got to work on that assumption.”

 “Then whatever we think about this, we’ve got to go ahead with it.”

 Nodding, Marshall replied, “We could easily be fighting in the opening moves of the Cabal War right now. New fleets assembling back home, ready for battle.” He looked across at the viewscreen and said, “We’re just not ready. Not yet. We ought to be buying time if we’re going to to this, time to get those big brutes into the fight, time to start converting some auxiliary battlecruisers.”

 “They’ve already scraped the Mothball Fleet pretty clean,” Cunningham said. “And last I heard, they were trying to convert some of the late-model frigates to hendecaspace drive. I think pocket cruiser was the expression they used.”

 “What for? They wouldn’t have the fuel capacity…”

 “One jump, as I understand it.”

 “That’s one fleet that would be protecting its tanker at all costs,” Marshall said, and the two of them laughed. “They really are stretching it, aren’t they. I’m beginning to think this was all part of the plan.”

 “Standard readiness…”

 “Is not usually something that the Senate is willing to pay for. Not in peacetime. I know we’re waking up to the Cabal and our new deep space commitments, but this is an order of magnitude more than that.”

 “What, then?”

 Frowning, Marshall replied, “I don’t know. We’ve got a job to do, I know that much…”

 “But we don’t yet know what that job actually is.”

 “Something like that.” He looked out of the viewscreen again, then up at the ubiquitous countdown clock, ticking away the seconds until the ship jumped out of the system. Reaching over for a communicator, he flicked it open, and said, “Marshall to Esposito.”

 After a brief pause, she replied, “Esposito here. What’s up?”

 “How fast could you deploy your whole force, if needed?”

 “From here? From this tangle? Fifteen minutes, Captain. To get them into the shuttles, never mind where they were going.”

 “I need you to find a way to do it in three.”

 “Three minutes!”

 “One more thing. Just out of idle interest, how many Alamo hands did you manage to bring with you over here?”

 “Everyone but Cooper. Lieutenant-Major Brownworth was surprisingly co-operative.” She paused, then said, “We’ll try to cut the deployment time down, but that’s about the sort of scale we’d be working with on a carrier.”

 “Assume you’ll have warning to get to stand-by alert.”

 “That might help.” She sighed, and said, “I’ll get my platoon commanders and sergeants woken up. They’re going to love you for this, sir. Esposito out.”

 Cunningham looked at him, and said, “How the hell do you expect her to pull that off?”

 “I don’t. But she’ll cut the time down somehow. Seven minutes is a lot better than fifteen.” He shook his head, and said, “I don’t know what the hell we have waiting for us at Hades, John, but I don’t want to go in there unprepared. Not this part of the fleet, anyway.”

 Standing up, he replied, “On that note, sir, I think I might call a surprise battle stations drill. Keep everyone busy. Want to come and watch?”

 “I don’t have any other plans for this evening,” he replied with a smile, as the two of them left the cabin, heading up for the bridge.

Chapter 12

 Tugging on the bottom of her battered flight jacket, Orlova walked along the back streets of Port Lowell, cautiously looking around. This wasn’t the sort of neighborhood where she would have felt comfortable wearing a uniform, or anything that might imply she had money on her credicard. This was the sort of street she had grown up on, no matter that her father had gone to war; she knew how to behave, how to act.

 She’d been given an address on the far side of town, a mile away from the transit terminal, and when she finally arrived, it didn’t look to have been worth the walk. The smell of frying meat of unknown origin filled the air, and a man was lying on the sidewalk, snoring away a hangover, his wallet long since departed from his pocket.

 Inside, the bar was no better than it looked from outside. Low lighting and old music playing quietly in the background, a couple of dozen patrons slowly drinking their nights away while poking at plates of passable food in front of them. Her father was sitting at the far end of the bar, alone in a cubicle, and nodded as she approached.

 “It’s good to see you, Maggie,” he said with a beaming smile. “I took the liberty of ordering for you; the linguine is excellent.”

 “I suppose I should ask to see the wine list,” she replied. “If I’d known it was such a classy place I’d have worn my dress uniform. What are you doing here, anyway? Last I heard you were out at Callisto. And why did you forge my leave application?”

 “I did it because it was the safest way to proceed. As for what I’m doing here, well, I’m not here. I’m at Callisto. That’s what the records say, at least for the moment, though I suspect that will change in the very near future.”

 “You’re AWOL?”

 “In a manner of speaking, yes. Listen, and quickly, because I don’t think we’ve got much time. I picked this place because I know the owner, and he is a discreet man, but many of the patrons do not share that sentiment. Likely you were followed here.”

 “I don’t think so.”

 “That only means you were followed by talented men. I was working on the Battleship project, you know that, as case officer. A scandal will break tomorrow, a big one.”

 “Sabotage?”

 “No,” he said, shaking his head and taking a drink of the foaming beer on the table in front of him. “The President has been sleeping with the Chairman of Astradyne, the principal contractor.”

 Her eyes widened, and she said, “That’s...are you saying that the President of the Confederation threw the biggest shipbuilding contract in the history of our nation to his lover’s company?” She shook her head, “Are they out to get you? I know some people who might be able to help.”

 “I hope so, my dear, because I fear that I have gone as far as I can down this road. My race is almost run, and I am likely to be arrested in the near future.” He looked around, and said, “Once we have finished our talk, I will attempt to go into hiding. I don’t have the contacts in the Fleet to do any more, but you do.”

 “Come with me,” she said. “Back to Staff College. I know that Fleet Captain Tarrant will listen, and I have other friends in the system. We can get a meeting with Senator Harper…”

 “The affair began after the contract was signed,” he said. “That isn’t the problem, though it will be the lever the President’s enemies use to dislodge him. I have something here that will explain it far more than I can. Here are the orders that were given to Counter-Admiral Tramiel when he left for Spitfire Station.”

 He passed over a datapad, and she started to read, before looking up and saying, “Secure Hydra Station? That’s all?”

 “There is an appendix allowing scouting operations in nearby systems.”

 She shook her head, and said, “Tramiel’s using that to launch an attack on Hades Station? A scouting operation?”

 “The Battleship Ares is ready.”

 “What? She’s not supposed to launch for a year.”

 “She launched three months ago, top secret, and completed her shakedown drills at Wolf 359. Cronus as well, she's in the middle of her flight preparation right now. Everything’s been rushed beyond belief, unlimited overtime budgets, materials priorities. I was questioning it, and that’s how I started down this road.”

 “Papa, what is it you are trying to tell me?”

 He leaned forward, taking her hands in his, and said, “Little one, someone is trying to start a war between the Confederation and the Cabal. Someone has decided that peace is not the way to succeed, and that they are going to launch an attack and commit us to a fight. It is, I fear, as simple as that.”

 She shook her head again, and said, “I can’t believe that.”

 “You’ve been out in deep space, Maggie. Things here are changing. Paranoia has spread throughout the worlds. The people are scared, scared of what is out there waiting for them, and fear is making them want to strike out. A war would be popular right now – and I believe that the Progressives will certainly start one at the next election.”

 “Then why not wait?”

 “Because of the peace treaty. The current Senate is near the end of its term, but it could still bind us to a non-aggression pact that would not be easy to break. The President knows this, and that there are forces working against him.”

 “How do you know what the President thinks?”

 He smiled, and said, “I was case officer on the largest shipbuilding contract in Triplanetary history, Maggie. Do you not think I would meet him? We go way back; I served under him for a time during the War. That’s why he gave me the job, he wanted someone whose discretion he could trust.”

 “What will happen?”

 “They will try to impeach him, and declare war. The Vice-President…”

 She nodded, and said, “I’ve met him. I think I can see what you are suggesting.”

 “It will not be a military coup, but a constitutional one, but the end result will be the same. A group of military officers – a cabal, if you like – will have decided who should run our Confederation. The election will effectively be irrelevant.”

 “Do you have any actual proof of this?”

 “I know about the affair, and that it will break tomorrow. I also know that these orders are genuine; the President gave them to me himself. Aside from the two attempts on my life…”

 “What happened?” 

 “Attempted shuttle sabotage and a chance to test my martial arts skills. Worry not. Aside from that, I have no direct evidence, just speculation. But all the pieces are falling in place, Maggie. Cronus is on her shakedown cruise right now, in this system.”

 She looked around, and said, “I’ll investigate, as best I can. I know someone I can contact who will be able to help. I trust them.”

 “Be careful, Maggie. I don’t know who I can trust any more.” He shook his head, and said, “The man who tried to kill me, I had known for fifteen years. Do what you must.” Standing up, he said, “I hope to see you again, soon. I’m sorry to pass on this burden, but there is nothing more I can do.”

 She looked up, and said, “Take care of yourself.”

 “Once this is done I’m going home to Jefferson, conflict or no. There will always be a place for you there, and I would recommend considering it.”

 “I might take you up on that.”

 “Good luck, Maggie.” He rose, and walked out of the room, heading through a door behind the bar as the bartender nodded. She waited for ten minutes, time which seemed to drag like an eternity, then drained the remainder of the drink and walked out of the bar, not looking back.

 She stepped out into the street, and was somewhat unsurprised to find a car waiting for her, the passenger seat open. Waiting for her inside, also wearing civilian clothes was Tarrant, who beckoned her to come in.

 “You tracked me,” she said, stepping into the car. 

 “It was an obvious thing to do, and you know it.”

 “I was going out for a drink with my father,” she replied.

 He smiled, and said, “We both know that there is more to it than that, though I am willing to accept that you might not have known what he intended to tell you. The important thing is what you are going to do about it?”

 “Or what you will permit me to do about it.”

 He passed over a datapad, and said, “Congratulations, Lieutenant, you just graduated Staff College. We’ll expect you to complete the rest of the course, but…”

 She looked at the certificate, then up at him, and said, “This…”

 “We’ve done it before on occasion. Maggie, we need you. Badly. You and the rest of Alamo’s crew are our most experienced hands, the people we want to be leading the fight against the Cabal. You and I both know that war is inevitable…”

 “Isn’t that for the Senate to decide?”

 “This Senate was elected before the people knew the Cabal existed! The universe has changed, and if you look at the poll numbers, there is a majority favoring war. Right now the first battles are being fought. In eleven days a fleet will attack Hades Station.”

 “Against orders.”

 He paused, then looked out of the window as the car left the dome, sliding through the vehicular airlock, and said, “This is my last tour running the Staff College, Maggie. After this I’m going to take over Fleet Operations with a promotion to Commodore. I want you to be my assistant.” He smiled, then said, “I know that you won’t want to put up with it for long, so I’ll promise you that if the war is still going a year in, I'll see that you get a ship of your own. Maybe even a battlecruiser.”

 “I don’t respond well to bribes.”

 “Dammit, I’m asking you to do your duty! We both swore an oath, Maggie, an oath to protect the people of the Confederation from enemies internal and external. I take that very seriously, but do you think the lame-duck Senate is? They’re more concerned about the next election than the next war.” He shook his head, and said, “Say we sign this treaty. What happens next?”

 With a sigh, she replied, “The Cabal will rearm and position themselves, and will likely launch a surprise attack at a time and place of their choosing.” She looked at him, and said, “We can and will work to stop that ever happening.”

 “If they have no interest in keeping to a treaty, why should we sign one with them in the first place? To buy time? Time for what?”

 “You are talking about…”

 “About a corrupt President issuing billions of credits of contracts to his lover. Is that, or is that not, an impeachable offense.”

 “Yes.”

 “Then what are we arguing about? I want to follow the democratic path, and if it takes me where I think we should be going, then for once it operates in my favor. In all our favor.” He looked at her, and said, “Let it happen, Maggie. Don’t try and stop it. Everything’s in motion now, and I don’t think it could be stopped even if you wanted it to.”

 “People tried to kill my father.”

 “A mistake, and a bad one, I admit,” he replied. “I’ll give you my word that he will not be harmed; he will be arrested, but once the war begins, offered a choice of returning to service or retiring from the Fleet.”

 “And what about me?”

 He sighed, and said, “You understand that I cannot allow you to leave the Staff College again, not for the moment. Things can ostensibly continue as they have been; when the declaration of war comes – which we expect within the month – then you will be transferred with me to your next assignment, and all of this can be resolved.”

 “I am under house arrest, then.”

 Looking at her, he said, “Think of what is to come, Maggie, and tell me that it isn’t worth a little inconvenience. We have a chance to free a subject people, a slave race, dammit, to spread out across light-years of space, and make the Confederation safe for a generation.”

 She nodded, and said, “I’ll need time to think about it.”

 “In combat, quick decisions…”

 Snapping back, she said, “I’ve commanded in combat a lot more than you have, Captain, and I know how the game works. We’re not in combat right now, and I have the luxury to consider my actions.” 

 He laughed, and said, “By damn, Maggie, you ought to be sitting center-seat on a battlecruiser with an attitude like that. You are excused from classes tomorrow, and can think it over in your quarters. You can be of great help to us at the moment, getting our forces positioned for the war. Refuse to take a part, and you will be transferred to the Scoutship Viking as Executive Officer. I need you in the war, Maggie, but i have a choice about where to put you.”

 “Then you are offering me a bribe.”

 “I need to trust my subordinates.” He glanced ahead, and said, “We’re almost there. I met you in town and gave you a lift home, if anyone asks.”

 “Right.”

 They drove into the low dome of the College, through the airlock, and stepped out, each going their separate ways back to their quarters. As soon as she reached the sanctuary of her room, she sat down on her bed, cross-legged, and ran through what to do in her mind. She was under close observation, that much was certain, and in the morning she was going to be asked to make a choice.

 There was something to what Tarrant had said. The President had certainly committed an impeachable offense, and on one level, it all seemed simple enough. War, though, was another question entirely. A war that they might not win. She longed for someone to talk to, to talk things through with, but the decision was hers, and hers alone.

 Not that it mattered on one level. One junior officer more or less wasn’t going to affect the war, unless she could find a way of preventing it from happening. She looked over at her terminal, aware that any messages she would send would be monitored – if, indeed, they were transmitted at all, which she thought unlikely.

 In her head, it came down to one thing, and one thing only. Whatever their motivation, those behind the coup were starting the war, and had tried to kill her father. Launched an attack without Presidential order. The rest was all talk, and nothing more. She pulled a slender datarod out of a hidden pocket, slid it into her terminal, and smiled as her old hacking software began to work. Quickly, she started to type.

 “For the attention of Lieutenant-Captain Logan Winter, private and confidential…”

Chapter 13

 Harper burst into Logan’s office brandishing a datapad, and said, “She’s been arrested. I just got the word from the underground.”

 He looked up, sighed, and said, “Are we that far gone already? We’re talking about an underground?”

 “The hacker community.” She slid the datapad across his desk, and replied, “Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, currently being held on the base pending transfer to maximum security detention up on Deimos. Logan, we’ve got to do something about it.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “We daren’t. What about the rest of it?”

 She sat down opposite him and said, “I can’t get confirmation of the orders. The file she sent looks right, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing. The President sleeping with the Chairman of…”

 “It’s all over the news right now,” he said. “And already the calls to resign are growing. You should have heard the Progressive Leader on the subject. It’s getting bad.” He tapped a button on the desk, and said, “Ryder and Quinn should be here in a minute.”

 “What about your network.”

 “What network? It’s as if Intelligence never existed, and damn it all, I can guess why.”

 “They’ve got to do something, damn it.”

 He looked up at her with sad eyes, and said, “Their job is to defend the Confederation, and they’ve buried themselves deep in order to do just that. never mind that it means ostracizing me for a while. I’m involved in all this – and my guess is that my boss has decided that the time has come to look to the walls.”

 “What about leaking the whole story to the press.”

 “Try it and I’ll shoot you.”

 “Logan?” she said, shocked. “They’re using the press…”

 “To depose a President who – let us not forget – has committed an act that probably should see him impeached. Don’t get the idea that the side we’re on is clean.” Sighing, he said, “If we leaked the story to the press, what happens next?”

 “Massive outcry, peace riots, everyone involved has to resign.”

 Nodding, he said, “We don’t know who that is, Kristin. And no matter what we do here today, we could easily be fighting the Cabal tomorrow.” Pointing at the screen, he said, “That fleet has sailed, and is days away from its target, impossible to recall. They knew that, damn it. Do you really want a civil war on top of that?”

 “It might not come to that.”

 With a mocking laugh, he said, “Don’t bet against human stupidity, Kristin. You’ll lose every damn time. Besides, if this goes where I think it does, we could lose most of our flotilla commanders in one shot, and if we’re at war, we’re going to need them.”

 “Whose side are you on?”

 “The people of the Triplanetary Confederation. Someone has to be.”

 The door slid open, and Ryder walked in, followed by Quinn. She looked around, and said, “Watson saw us leave the bridge. He’s getting very interested in what we’re doing.”

 “Could be honest curiosity,” he mused, “but I don’t think that I want to bet the farm on that. Did you make any progress on those fleet movements?”

 She nodded, and replied, “Lots of transfers over the last two months in the mid-ranks, mostly Senior Lieutenants, Lieutenant-Captains, that sort of thing. People being moved into key positions in the orbital defense networks and the capital ships. All but two of the battlecruisers have had new Executive Officers, all three carriers have new commanding officers.” She shook her head, and continued, “It’s one hell of a list.”

 “Then we have some suspects,” Quinn said.

 “Not necessarily, Jack. In fact I doubt it. Someone’s positioning their pieces to get ready for a war, but that doesn’t mean the pawns they’re moving know what’s going on. All most of them know is that there is a chance war will break out soon, and that we need to be ready for it.”

 “Fleet supply inventories are at a two-year high, and leave has been curtailed in key installations,” Ryder said. “Someone knows something is up. I think we can assume that Personnel is in on it.”

 “Who’s the number two over there at the moment?”

 She looked down at a datapad, poked the controls for a moment, and said, “Captain Walter Grainger.”

 “Any relation to Fleet Captain Tarrant, or either of the two Counter-Admirals?”

 “Worked in Tramiel’s office for three years, before the absorption into the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 “I’m willing to add him to the list.” He turned to Quinn, and said, “Now comes the big question. You’ve had three weeks to get Alamo ready. How goes the refit?”

 “We’re about halfway through, maybe a little less. We’re not getting any help from Carter Station to speak of, and we’re having to fabricate almost everything ourselves. Raw materials we’re not short of, though.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I think three to four weeks is a reasonable estimate.”

 “Ryder, those key personnel. How many of them are on leave?”

 “Maybe half. Due to be back by this time next week, then the non-essentials go off.”

 “Jack,” he began, before the engineer interrupted him.

 “No.”

 With a smile, he said, “No to what?”

 “I can’t have Alamo ready in a week. Every damn time I’ve been promised an opportunity to put this beautiful girl back together again, I’ve had to rush it. This time I’m going to finish.”

 “You want Alamo to go down without even a fight?”

 With a deep sigh, he replied, “Do they fight dirty in Intelligence?”

 “As a rule. I need Alamo ready to move as soon as the crew are on board. Everything’s about to come to a head, and we’ve got to be prepared for it. For war if it comes, or to prevent it if we can.”

 “Ten days,” Quinn said. “I can have all the pieces put back together again in ten days. Will that be enough?”

 “It’ll have to do,” Logan replied. 

 Shaking his head, he said, “I’ll go tell my wife that dinner is canceled. Again.”

 “She’s a fighter pilot, isn’t she?”

 “Commanding the training squadron here at the moment, pending transfer to the Curtiss when she finishes her overhaul. Which is pretty damn soon, I think.” He looked up at Logan, and said, “Oh, no.”

 “I think you need to spend more quality time with her,” he replied with a smile. “I see no reason at all why you shouldn’t be co-habiting at the moment. She can move into your quarters if you want.” With a shrug, he said, “She must have some leave due…”

 “And so must some of her pilots,” Ryder said, catching on.

 “Damn it, Logan, I’m not going to do that,” he said. With a growing smile, he continued, “I could suggest, though, that this might be a good opportunity for some of her better pilots to get a taste of life on board a battlecruiser, run a few readiness drills. I’ll get it arranged right away.”

 “Catch you later,” Logan replied.

 “I thought it was dismissed?” Harper said.

 “You must be confusing me for a real Captain. I get that a lot.”

 Ryder looked at him, and said, “You realize that most of this…”

 “Is enough to get me cashiered if anyone notices? Hell, half the fleet’s doing exactly this right now. No-one’s going to notice, and if they do, they’ll assume that I’m just in on the plot.” His communicator buzzed, and he cracked it open, saying, “Logan here.”

 “Duquesne here. Your friend has woken up. Better get here fast, though; Watson will know in a minute. One of his new middies was wandering around down here.”

 He glanced at Ryder for a second, then burst into a sprint towards the corridor, racing past a pair of confused technicians in his rush to reach the elevator. The others chased after him, but only Ryder narrowly made it in before the doors closed, Harper left standing frustrated in the corridor. The car seemed to take hours to reach its destination, before finally releasing them opposite sickbay.

 Running inside, he barely gave Ryder a second to follow him before locking the door behind them, sealing it with his personal access code, then sparing himself a moment for a sigh of relief.

 “I’m not going to fault you for not getting sufficient exercise,” Duquesne said, shaking her head. “Was there really that much urgency, though?”

 “I want to speak to her first, Doctor.”

 “Which is why I put her in medical quarantine, a seal that only I can breach,” she replied.

 Logan glanced at Ryder, then said, “You’re in the wrong business, Doc. Let me in, Ryder too, and then don’t let anyone after us.”

 “All this cloak-and-dagger crap…”

 “Is what has kept me alive for a lot of years, and I have no intention of ceasing to exercise such an eminently sensible policy. Let’s get this over with.”

 The two of them stepped through the door to the private room, and saw Chambers sitting up on a bed, a datapad in her lap, frowning at its contents. She looked up as they arrived, and relief spread across her face.

 “Thank God. I didn’t believe it when I heard you were on board.”

 “What’s the news, Melissa? We might not have long.”

 “We don’t,” she replied. “I managed to speak to the President, your boss passed me onto him, and he told me about what was going to happen. They wanted me to get in touch with you as soon as I got back to Spitfire Station; Captain Paine arranged a covert passage for me.”

 “Not covert enough, evidently,” Logan replied.

 “We were to stop the fleet from sailing,” she said, shaking her head. “I failed.”

 “A would-be assassin stopped you, Melissa, and I can personally assure you that the bastard is roasting nicely right now. What else?”

 “They’re going to overthrow him, Logan.”

 “This must have been in the works before we sent back the peace envoy,” Ryder said. “What’s behind it?”

 Logan looked at her, and said, “The brass are terrified that the Technocrats are going to win the election, cut the fleet and leave us open to an attack. By sparking a war, they think that everyone will vote Progressive instead, and…,”

 “Then the war becomes a certainty,” Ryder finished.

 “You’ve got to get to the President, Logan,” Chambers said. “He needs to know that someone’s on his side.”

 “Is anyone backing him?”

 Shaking her head, she said, “The Freedom Party will push any peace proposal, but impeachment proceedings have priority. They win either way. Either the impeachment takes long enough that it pushes the peace talks until after the election, or the new President stops it all dead in its tracks. Ackerman’s been promised the Progressive nomination.”

 “They’re dumping Norman? I’ll be damned,” Ryder said.

 With a thin smile, Chambers replied, “They’ve got a chance of winning. She’ll settle for the second slot, figuring to ease Ackerman out later. I know the senior dogs in the Freedom Party are barking with the President, but the party as a whole isn’t.”

 “And everyone else is staying out of it,” Logan said.

 “I still find all of this hard to believe,” Ryder said. “A military coup in the Confederation.”

 “It isn’t a military coup,” Chambers said. “It’s a constitutional coup, and very cleverly organized.” She looked up at Logan, and said, “I know this is hard to believe, but…”

 “I believe it. Orlova got herself arrested telling me some other parts of the story.” Folding his arms, he said, “None of this leaves the room. Is that understood? We cannot let this get into the public domain.”

 “Then what do we do? Sit back and watch it happen?” Ryder asked.

 “First of all, I’m going to go and see the President. He might have some ideas we don’t. Right now we don’t have a lot of options left on the table, and they are getting fewer all the time.”

 “The Combined Chiefs?”

 “Might not even know any of this is happening.” He glanced around at their surprise, and said, “Typically, revolutions come from the middle ranks in a military, not at the top. The more stars on the shoulder, the more they have to lose. As for Intelligence, I don’t know what they are up to, but we need to operate as if we’re the only pieces left on the table.”

 The door slid open, and Watson stood at the other side of it, his hand on the keypad, a protesting Duquesne standing by his side. Logan’s hand drifted down towards his hidden revolver.

 “What is this, Lieutenant?”

 “I need to see you, Captain, and it is quite urgent.” He looked at Chambers, and said, “I see our guest has woken up. Did you know that there is a warrant out for her arrest?”

 “She can’t be moved,” Duquesne said. “Not until I give the word. I don’t think she’s going to get very far tied to a support machine.”

 He looked across at her, and said, “Actually, that’s not a problem. We’re only a short shuttle ride to the station, and they have excellent medical facilities there.”

 “That would require my authorization, Lieutenant,” Logan said, “and I have no intention of overriding the opinion of my medical officer in this matter. She’s the expert, not you.”

 “Captain, I must protest.” He handed over a datapad, and said, “She is wanted on several counts of espionage. These are serious charges.” He looked across at Ryder, and said, “Lieutenant, I think this exchange does not require your presence.”

 “I disagree,” Logan replied.

 “Have the authorities even been informed of her presence?”

 “Not being aware that there were any charges against her, no.”

 He looked between the two of them, and said, “I will, in that case, head to the bridge and correct that error immediately. No doubt new orders will be coming shortly.” Turning on his heels, he walked out of the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

 “Doctor,” Logan said, “Tell me that you were making up what you said about not being able to move her.”

 “Only up to a point,” she replied.

 “Let me put this another way. Can I get her to safety?”

 She looked at Chambers, and said, “If I go along for the ride, yes.”

 “That’ll leave Alamo without a doctor,” Ryder said.

 “Pass the word to all hands not to get sick until I get back.”

 “Get Harper down to the shuttle bay,” Logan said, “And have Shuttle One ready for launch. I’m taking her to Callisto.”

 “That’s two days each way, Logan,” Ryder replied. “By the time you get back, Watson will have convinced somebody to turn command over to him.”

 “He’ll find that harder than he thinks.” He looked at Ryder, then said, “I think I’m about to finally end your career, Lieutenant. While I am off the ship, I’m leaving you in command.”

 “Watson has seniority of rank and position…”

 “But I’m the one who makes the call. Hell, I can leave the ship’s cook in command if I want to. Regulations, for once, give me some leeway on this.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “My command of this ship will last only until he gets through to someone in headquarters to relieve me, and we both know it.”

 With a smile, he reached to a nearby datapad and entered a sequence of numbers, and a pair of red lights began to flash on. “He might, but they’ll have to be hand-delivered. All new orders are coming to my terminal, and only to my terminal, and Lieutenant, my terminal is off-limits.”

 “Damn it, Logan…”

 “Look,” he said, “If you don’t want to do this, if you don’t think it’s worth it, then I’ll turn over command to someone else. Quinn maybe. I need you to get this ship ready for action, get a picked crew on board, and prepare her for launch.” Gesturing at the viewport, he said, “My job’s down on Callisto. I need to speak to the President in any case, and there’s scant hope of doing that through normal channels right now. I’ve got an old friend who might be able to help.”

 “I hope so,” Ryder said. “I’ll mind the store for you. Just get back as fast as you can. And what about Maggie?”

 “I’ve got an idea on that. Don’t worry about it.”

 “I’ve heard that before,” she replied, shaking her head.

 “Relax,” Logan replied. “I know what I’m doing.”

 “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Chapter 14

 They hadn’t even bothered to move her out of her quarters after they worked out that she had sent the message. Ten minutes after transmission, a guard had appeared outside her door and very politely informed her that in the morning she would be taken to a secure facility, charged with espionage. She didn’t have any expectation that she would ever see a courtroom; at some point in the near future, once everything was cast in stone, she would be released back into civilian life, or exiled to some remote outpost to spend the rest of her career filing paperwork into dustbins. Once it was too late.

 She had the solace of knowing the message had been released, at least, though no doubt fifteen minutes later another would have followed it explaining that she was wrong. If it had been Marshall sitting there on Alamo, she’d have confidence in what would happen next, but so many of her old comrades were light-years away, or scattered across the Solar System by now. All she could do was trust that she had done her part.

 Rising to her feet, she started to pace around the room, looking for some means of escape. She couldn’t just sit back and wait, not if there was the slightest chance that she might be able to take an active role in the fight. There was nothing in her quarters that could help her; all network access had been cut off, and there wasn’t anything obvious she could use as a weapon, certainly nothing that would trump the pistol in the holster of the guard standing outside.

 In her head, she mapped out her route out of the base. It was a good five kilometers to the nearest city, but if she could get there, she’d have at least a fighting chance of getting off-world and back to Alamo, if nothing else. Or failing that, dive back into the underworld for a while and see if there was anything she could do from that angle. Transport was going to be essential, one of the base cars – if she tried to walk out, they’d catch her easily unless she could manage to evade detection. Too risky. Better to take the risk right at the start of the escape.

 Of course, this was all academic if she couldn’t get out of the room. Walking over to her bed, she pulled off the top sheet and gathered it in her hands, holding it high as she moved over to the door. Likely she was under surveillance, so this had to be quick, before anyone could respond. Someone was moving around outside, the guard perhaps getting restless – and careless, and she tapped for exit.

 The door slid open, and she started to throw the blanket high, when she realized that the guard was on the floor, and Nelyubov was standing in front of her, a taser in his hand, looking down the corridor.

 “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to get moving.”

 “Frank…”

 “Details later, once we’ve got the hell out of here. Now.”

 The two of them sprinted down the corridor, knowing that silent alarms must already have sounded, bringing the base personnel onto alert. Speed was their only hope of success; they turned down a corridor to see Olsen standing in it, arms crossed, obviously recently roused from his sleep to arrest her.

 “Get out of the way,” Nelyubov said, brandishing his weapon.

 Shaking his head, he replied, “Takes me a while to get up. Maybe as much as a minute. Get moving.” He closed his eyes, and said, “One, Mississippi. Two, Mississippi.”

 “Bless you, Olsen,” Orlova said as they ran past him, heading towards one of the maintenance shafts. Ripping the cover off, she slid down the ladder to the lower level, landing with a thud at the bottom. Rubbing her hands together, she raced through a door into a near-empty storage section, Nelyubov just after her. At the end was a cargo loader, positioned just in front of a vehicular airlock; she headed for the controls while Nelyubov made for the vehicle.

 “Damn,” she said. “Jammed. I need a minute to release it.”

 “Hurry, Maggie,” he replied, stepping into the vehicle. “I don’t think we’ve got much time.”

 Her fingers worked the controls as she slid her spare intrusion key into the slot, urging it to break the access quickly. Security cameras were covering their every move, guards heading for them from every direction. Still the progress bar stubbornly held its position, only grudgingly yielding at all.

 “Why, Frank, by the way?”

 “I told you we could discuss it later.”

 “We’ve got a moment.”

 He looked back at her, and said, “You’re no traitor. If something’s going on, I want to help, and I trust you more than I trust that bastard Tarrant. Tried to bribe me off when I complained.”

 “Let me guess, you graduated.”

 “You too? Congratulations. Now pass lockpicking school.”

 “Almost there,” she said, as a green light winked on. Snatching out the rod, she said, “Punch it!”

 She raced for the cab, scrambling in as Nelyubov gunned the motor, sending the truck whirring into the airlock. The inner door closed, and it seemed to take an eternity for the other to open, finally revealing a crack of faint daylight as the surface appeared. Not waiting for the doors to completely cycle, he threw the engine into full speed and they started to bounce over the landscape, heading for the triple-domed city on the horizon.

 “Pick the downtown airlock,” she said. “We’ll dump the van outside, go in, and get lost. I know a few people who might be able to help us get off-world.”

 “Then what?” he asked.

 “Don’t you have a plan?”

 “Only up to getting the two of us out of the dome.”

 “We get back to Alamo. Right now that’s as far as my thinking takes me. At least then we have a battlecruiser to look out for us.”

 “Callisto,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s a long trip.”

 “Journey of a million miles begins with a single truck ride.”

 “I don’t think that’s what Mao said.”

 “Gets the spirit right, though.” She turned around, and said, “Damn. I should have figured they’d be quick on the move.”

 Two cars were following them, one on each side, moving up to block their passage. She could just make out four figures in each, no doubt armed, though the vehicles themselves were just normal transports – no armaments.

 “What do you want to do?”

 “How much range has this thing got?”

 “About a hundred miles on the battery,” he said, looking up at the gauges. “Just enough to get us to Zubrin City, if that helps.”

 “No bigger than here,” she replied, pointing ahead. “Someone’s coming out to meet us, as well. Take us as close to the airlock as you can, then we run for it. I don’t think they’ll shoot on sight.”

 “Maggie, they’ll have people waiting on the other side of the airlock by now.”

 “You have any better suggestions? I’m not giving up without a fight. We get into that dome, we might be able to make enough of a fuss to attract some attention, and that’s the last thing they want right now.”

 “That’s not much of a chance.”

 “It’s the only chance we’ve got.”

 The two of them pushed on across the landscape as the pursuing cars closed on them, moving to the right to avoid the approaching vehicle. Orlova had picked the lumbering van as being the easiest to steal, hoping to get across the open space before anyone could pursue, but as one of the cars moved to her right, Tarrant looking at her out of the viewport, she realized that Nelyubov was right; the odds of them getting out of this were remote.

 “Frank?” she said.

 “What is it?”

 “Sorry.”

 “I knew what I was doing,” he replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

 He pulled the van to a stop, and they quickly struggled into their light ground-suits, sliding the hands down into the tough, rubberized gloves, and hastily checking the support monitors to make sure all was well. Doubtless the men in the cars would have that advantage, as well – they were already out on the surface, heading in their direction.

 The airlock cracked open, and Orlova leapt out, racing across the ground towards the dome in the half-run, half-lope of movement in the Martian gravity, Nelyubov just behind her. On either side, they were surrounded; she saw a brief explosion of dust in front of her, and looked back to see one of them with a pistol. 

 “They won’t do it,” she said, as much to reassure herself as Nelyubov, who did not seem convinced.

 “We will if we must,” Tarrant’s voice said, crackling through her helmet. “It was a nice try, but it ends here. Two spies trying to escape will be a big story for the evening news, but it isn’t going to save you today.”

 The two of them stood in the dust, looking at the approaching men, as the other car skidded to a halt in front of them, a strange insignia on its side, the markings of the Southern Cross. As Tarrant gestured them to head into the car, the doors on the newcomer popped open, and three more men stepped out, all of them armed and wearing body armor.

 “What are you doing with our citizens?” the leader asked with a strong accent; Orlova instantly recognized it as that of Ragnarok.

 “These people are wanted for charges of espionage,” Tarrant replied. “Kindly go about your business.”

 “Lieutenant Margaret Orlova, is that Frank Nelyubov with you?”

 “It is,” she replied with a growing smile.

 “These people are citizens of the Commonwealth of Ragnarok, and members of the embassy staff. As such they have diplomatic immunity.”

 Tarrant turned to Orlova, and said, “If you think this crap is going to work.”

 The man stepped forward, gently raising his weapon, and said, “Look, mate, we’re going to take our people back to the embassy right now, or the sand around here’s going to get a lot redder. We’ve got better guns than you and are armored enough that you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

 One of Tarrant’s men raised his pistol to cover Nelyubov and Orlova, and said, “Eight against three isn’t good odds.”

 “You want to add to your troubles with an extremely public diplomatic incident?”

 Tarrant turned to Orlova, and said, “Do this, and I hope Ragnarok has a good space fleet, because you’ll never get back into the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 She turned to him, and said, “If you are the sort of person in the Fleet these days, I’m better off out of it. Come on, Frank.”

 The guards covered them as they stepped into the car, the hatch slamming shut and locking, leaving Tarrant and the others watching them as they sped away. Before they dropped out of sight, she saw them heading back into the car, and it became obvious that they were following, albeit at a discreet distance.

 “Where are we going? The Embassy?”

 “That’s right,” he replied. “Lieutenant Geoffrey Talbot, by the way. Military attache, which up till now has meant lots of tours of small arms manufacturers and gawking at spaceships. Glad to be having a bit of fun at last.”

 “Is all of this genuine?” Nelyubov asked.

 “On the nose, cobber. We did a rush job on the paperwork, but we couldn’t leave the lady in the lurch after what she did for us a few years back. The guy who contacted us said that you’d probably be with her, so we filled out papers for you both. Ambassador’s got the authority to sign you up.” 

 She looked at Nelyubov, and said, “You realize that they’ll try everything other than armed assault to get us back.”

 “It’d take one hell of an assault to do it. We’ve got a light infantry company at our disposal.”

 “What? Where the hell did you get that from?” she asked.

 He grinned, and replied, “Volunteers, training for Espatier duty once the militaries merge next year. One hundred and ten men in total; we wanted to form an outfit for training and defense back home. Just happens that none of them reported for training this morning, and they’ve got every right to visit the Embassy if they want.”

 “They could deport them,” Nelyubov said.

 “Sure, but that would mean access to a ship and some shuttles, and it’d cause a hell of a diplomatic stink. Things are getting bad enough already. I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about except a few journalists hanging around outside.”

 “What are they saying?”

 He passed her a datapad, and said. “Our Press Officer put a summary together for you. Boils down that you tried to sell information about the battleship project to an unspecified foreign power.”

 “That’s a load of crap.”

 “They aren’t offering any evidence, just one leak after another. Worst case we’ll give you a job in the RRAF. We can always use some more pilots.”

 Nelyubov frowned as the car lurched across the desert, and said, “I’m guessing Logan Winter tipped you off about us. What did he say?”

 “Not much. Just that you were being framed and needed some help. You want to keep your secrets, you go right ahead, but I’m damn sure the Ambassador’s going to what to know why he’s threatening the Vice-President with secession.”

 “The Vice-President?” Orlova asked. “Not the President?”

 “You hadn’t heard? The first impeachment vote passed the Senate this morning; the full investigation has begun. Which means that Ackerman’s running the show until the President clears himself, or quits.”

Chapter 15

 Marshall stood on the bridge, looking over Cunningham’s shoulder at the viewscreen, waiting for the flash that would announce their return to normal space and their arrival at Hades Station. The now-dead Espatier who had christened it had known better than he realized; the place felt cursed, and Marshall could not help but feel that they were stepping into a trap.

 “Emergence, sir,” the officer at the helm, a Sub-Lieutenant named Kelso, replied. Caine had commandeered the tactical station, running through a sequence of checks; the ship had been at battle stations for the last seven minutes, making the last-minute adjustments that could make the difference between life or death.

 “Full sensor sweep, Ronay,” Cunningham said to the duty sensor technician. “Tell us the news.”

 “Threat warning,” he replied within seconds, though with a surprisingly calm voice. “Picking up two ships, unknown classification, on intercept course with the flagship. Some shuttle traffic moving between the station and the planet.”

 “We never did get to the planet,” Marshall said, frowning. “No sign of any change from the Alamo records, Spaceman?”

 “No, sir,” he said. “Aside from ship traffic, everything is just as you left it. I’m even picking up some debris fields close to the hendecaspace point.”

 “The aftermath of our last battle in this system.”

 Cunningham looked back to the communications station, and asked, “Anything from the flagship?”

 “Nothing, sir,” she replied.

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Have the auxiliary squadron proceed according to Plan Alpha, at least for the moment. Keep the formation as tight as possible and hang back from the action. No point throwing ourselves into the middle of a war, not today, anyway.”

 “Sending now, Captain.”

 “Anything on those unidentified ships?” Cunningham asked.

 “I’ve gone through the warbook, sir, and I have a partial match with some civilian transports. These definitely have modifications, though, sir.”

 “Fleet auxiliaries,” Marshall replied. “We must have hurt them harder than I thought. They’re having to convert civilian ships to combat roles.”

 “Then we’re winning,” Kelso said.

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Don’t assume anything, Sub. This could easily just be a local commander displaying greater-than-usual initiative and making use of what he has.”

 “Trident is moving towards the incoming craft, Captain,” Ronay said. “So are the battlecruisers, at full tactical acceleration.”

 “What’s the damn hurry?” Caine asked. “They’re doing all the work, and we’ll still have a nice speed reserve. All he’s doing is reducing the combat window.”

 “Enemy vessels are still closing on the Trident, sir. Direct course, as if they are trying to ram her.”

 “Not at that range,” Marshall said. “Too obvious. They wouldn’t have bothered modifying their ships if that was all they were planning to do with them. Any sign of signal traffic?”

 “Everything cut off within thirty seconds of us entering the system,” the communications technician replied. “Just like someone threw a switch.”

 Her eyes widening, Caine said, “They’re expecting us, aren’t they.”

 “Walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” Marshall replied.

 “Didn’t you say that the last time we came out here?”

 “I have a horrible feeling that it will prove to be just as true this time.”

 “Trident has launched fighters, sir,” Ronay reported, looking up at his monitor. “My God, they’ve launched the whole wing. Gilgamesh and Thermopylae are also launching.”

 “What the hell do they think they are doing? No tactical reserve?” Marshall said, walking over to the display, shaking his head.

 “Unless they’ve got some extra fighters hidden away somewhere, it looks like Pierce has decided to show off a little,” Caine replied. “Maybe he’s trying to convince them to surrender with a show of strength.”

 “Any communications traffic from those ships?”

 “Trident tried to hail them twice, but no response.”

 “John, you’d better get the scouts into salvo formation, just in case.”

 Nodding, he turned to the communications technician, and said, “Execute Plan Theta.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 Marshall looked across at the tactical display and watched the three scouts seem to glide together, thrusters burning to bring them to within shouting distance of each other, close enough that the three tactical officers could coordinate their actions in real time, without even a millisecond of delay.

 “A whole week of practice looks to have paid off,” Caine said. “I’m linked up with Dragon and Griffon, all missiles ready to fire when you give the word.”

 “Auxiliaries slowing, sir,” Ronay said. “Pulling back out of the formation.”

 “Good,” Marshall replied, looking again at the tactical plot. Those two ships were still heading directly for the Trident, even as thirty-six fighters raced towards them, ready to launch their attack runs in five minutes. On the surface, everything looked to be going according to plan, but abruptly, the display seemed to erupt in a wave of course projections, racing everywhere.

 “What the hell happened?” Cunningham said.

 “Energy spike! Change to target aspect!” the sensor technician yelled. “Those ships just launched eight missiles and twelve fighters between them. Missiles heading for the fighter formation, and the fighters are heading for us, sir.”

 “Trojan bloody Horse, and Pierce just walks out and takes it,” Caine said.

 “Intercept window for our fighters has closed, sir. They’ll have a one-second opportunity for a firing window.”

 “Not enough to do anything but swear at them on the way past,” Marshall said. “How long before they reach us?”

 “Seven minutes, sir.”

 “Get me the flagship, now,” he said, ice entering his voice.

 After a second, Pierce’s face appeared on the screen, and he said, “What’s up, Marshall? I’m busy fighting a battle.”

 Marshall’s eyes widened, and he replied, “Sir, I have twelve fighters in-bound.”

 “We’ll be launching our assault shuttles in minutes, after which the battlecruisers will turn to assist you at full speed.”

 Caine looked up and said, “If they wait, all they’ll be able to do is launch search-and-rescue shuttles to pick up our escape pods. Gilgamesh can get here in time if it moves now.”

 “Sir, I need Gilgamesh, unless you want the auxiliaries to be destroyed. There’s nothing else in the system at the moment; you can spare her.”

 Pierce looked off-screen, and said, “I think you have the resources to deal with the problem, but if you feel you are incapable of handling it, I will order Gilgamesh to move in support, but she will remain under my tactical command. Trident out.”

 “Gilgamesh is already turning, sir,” Ronay said. “Should get into firing range of the fighters about the same time as we do.” He looked up at a monitor, and said, “Salvo impacts, sir. We just lost five of the fighters. The rest are continuing their attack run.”

 “I suppose they might as well,” Marshall replied. “The way they’ve been deployed, there’s not much else they can do to influence the battle.” He walked over to Caine, looking over her shoulder at the tactical display, and said, “You’ve been trying to get this salvo formation working since we came up with the idea.”

 “You’re asking me if it’ll work?”

 “Something like that.”

 “We managed a thirty-one percent success rate overall, but I think we’ve got the bad parts out of it.” She looked up with a smile, and said, “Relax, Danny. I’ve got this.”

 Nodding, he walked over to Cunningham, and asked, “Time to intercept now?” 

 “Five minutes, thirty seconds.”

 “Long enough to get a cup of coffee,” he replied, looking around at the nervous crewmen, realizing that for most of them, it was their first battle. “Relax, everyone. Time enough for panic when the missiles start flying.”

 “Trident launching assault shuttles, sir,” Ronay said. “Twelve on the way.”

 Shaking his head, Cunningham said, “Launching an Espatier assault while there are still enemy warships active in the system?”

 “That’s the first thing he’s done that I actually agree with,” Marshall replied. “He’s trying to get them in before the enemy can prepare for them, cut down their response time. Every minute that the defenders have to get ready increases the casualties our troops will take when they hit the rock.”

 “Let’s just hope that there aren’t any more surprises,” Caine replied. “A fighter squadron has broken off to take them in, but they’re going to be burning fumes by the time they’ve finished.” She looked up, and said, “Hasn’t Pierce ever heard of the concept of a reserve?”

 “Evidently not,” Marshall replied. “Unless he thinks it is us.”

 Glancing back at her station, she said, “Electronic defenses are synced, Danny. That gives us a little more punch than a battlecruiser. Missiles also ready for firing, all tubes loaded and a second salvo on stand-by.” Looking back, she said, “I miss my laser cannon, though.”

 “I think we’re all missing that,” Cunningham said.

 “Four minutes to attack range,” Ronay said. “They’re spreading out their formation, turning to the auxiliaries.”

 “Course compensated to match their approach,” Kelso said. “I’ve sent the new projections to the other ships, and they’re following.”

 “Keep our distance constant,” Cunningham said. “We’ve got to stay in the formation. Have we got a proper analysis of the fighters yet?”

 “Missile carriers, two warheads per bird,” Caine said. “Best guess is they’ll throw one at us and save one for the auxiliaries.” She shook her head, and said, “I’m not logged into the battlecruiser tactical net.”

 “Brilliant,” Marshall said. “Just great. We can assume they’ll launch a salvo when they are in range, so follow suit. Go for the fighters first, not the missiles. We might not have time for more than two shots at them, so make them count.”

 “And let’s hope that our countermeasures do their job,” Cunningham added.

 Quietly, Marshall moved to the rear of the room, letting the bridge crew work without worrying about him looking over their shoulder. Not that there was much space on the cramped scoutship bridge, not even a position for a reserve crew-member to stand. He focused on the tactical display, watching the swirl of course plots steady down into a single trajectory, one that was going to get uncomfortably close to them.

 Twice now the Cabal forces had gone right for the auxiliaries, ignoring the heavy combat units. This time, if anything, they were aiming for the tanker, and his face began to drop as realization hit home.

 “Get me the Admiral right now, priority one.”

 “Sir?”

 “I don’t give a damn how, just get me that secure line.”

 The technician tossed him a headset, and said, “You’ve got it, sir.”

 “Captain, I’ve already given you what you wanted. What is it now?”

 “Recommend that all ships immediately move into defensive formation.”

 “In God’s name, why? We’re winning, Captain, in case you haven’t noticed, and our troopers will be hitting the deck in moments.”

 “We’re about to be attacked.”

 “What by? Ghosts?”

 “An enemy force will be jumping into this system in minutes. Admiral, they tried to knock out our tender last time, our tanker this time. If they’d wanted to stop us getting here, they’d have gone for the tanker back at Discovery. We didn’t run into the battlecruiser we lost there en route, which means they went by an alternate path, which means that they know we are coming.”

 “Speculation and guesswork, Captain, nothing more. I know it is natural to feel nerves before a battle, but…”

 Finally, something inside him snapped, “Don’t patronize me, you incompetent son of a bitch! I’ve fought more ship-to-ship combat actions in the last year than you have in your entire career. We came here by the fastest route, and they’d have known it! Damn it all, we couldn’t have made our plan more obvious if we’d warned them in advance!”

 “Captain,” Ronay said, “Firing range in ninety seconds.”

 The other side of the channel was silent; Marshall looked at the communications technician, who said, “He hung up on you, Captain.”

 “I think I’m about to be relieved,” Marshall replied. “Tell the auxiliary commanders to get as far clear as they possibly can. We’re going to need them to have all the space we can get.”

 “Sir,” the communications technician said, “We’re being jammed. From the asteroid.”

 A sinking feeling opened up in his stomach, and Marshall said to Cunningham, “Any second now, John.”

 “They couldn’t have timed it that precisely.”

 “We moved through space like a metronome, and they’ll have Pierce’s psychological profile. They’d have known what he would do better than he did.”

 Nodding, Ronay said in a resigned tone, “Dimensional instability, sir. Near hendecaspace point.”

 “Twice in the same system,” Marshall said. “This is getting silly.”

 “Fighters coming in, Captain!” Caine reminded him. “We need to focus.”

 Looking at the screen, Cunningham said, “Get those damn things out of my sky, if you please.”

 The ship rocked back as the first salvo raced away, all six missiles running in tandem; Gilgamesh had fired at the same time, and their warheads raced towards the fighters from all directions. The display lit up again as the fighters unleashed all twenty-four of their missiles at once, their courses leaping back to line up on Gilgamesh.

 “Damn,” Marshall said. “Throw everything you’ve got at those missiles. We need to protect the battlecruiser at all costs.”

 “On it,” Caine replied.

 Looking down at a datapad, Cunningham said, “Want the bad news?”

 “What have we got?”

 “Looks like four battlecruisers inbound. All heading directly for the carrier. Trident is putting on as much acceleration as she can.”

 “She’s running?” Kelso said. “Away from her escorts?” 

 A series of flashes lit up the tactical display as missiles slammed into missiles, only ten tracks remaining once the view cleared, all of them heading directly for the battlecruiser. Marshall stepped forward to look at the image of the ship on the screen as it tried to maneuver.

 “Push forward. We’ve got to get our countermeasures into play,” Cunningham said.

 “Any word from the flagship?”

 “Nothing, sir.”

 “Concentrating on their own problems right now,” Caine said. “Should I launch another salvo?”

 “Only if you can get into decent range with those missiles,” Marshall replied, looking up at the tactical plot. “Can we intercept those battlecruisers?”

 There was silence on the bridge, and Kelso said, “That’d be suicide, sir.”

 “Nevertheless. We need a coordinated strike.”

 “First impact on Gilgamesh, sir,” Ronay said. “I think they got their main antenna. Five more, running true.”

 “I don’t think so, Danny,” Cunningham said. “Not in enough time to do any difference. As best I can see it, in ninety-eight minutes those battlecruisers are going to slam into the carrier, and there isn’t a damn thing we can do to stop it.”

Chapter 16

 Cooper was the first one out of the airlock, pushing off down the corridor with his rifle in his hands, taking a couple of wild shots on general principles, hoping to pin down anyone who might be waiting for them. He didn’t – couldn’t – wait to see if the rest of the platoon was following them, diving down the long corridor to the cover at the far end. Two more shots cracked past him, slamming into the wall; he saw a figure moving away, but it definitely wasn’t hanging around to wait for their attack.

 “Move, Second Platoon! Move!” he yelled, as the shuttle emptied behind him. He reached the end of the corridor and peered left and right, astonished by the near-silence; further down the passage, he could hear two other cracks, signs that the other squads had successfully made their way into the asteroid from their adjacent access points, but there was no sign of enemy activity.

 “Corporal,” he yelled to Fuller, just behind him, “Take three men and go down to the end, try and secure the shaft up to the next level if you don’t face any opposition. Don’t go any further until I catch up with you.”

 She nodded, and he pushed down in the opposite direction, looking for the rest of his platoon. A couple of shapes moved at the far end, wearing unfamiliar uniforms, and he fired two quick shots, his stabilizers absorbing most of the recoil as the jets of compressed nitrogen pushed him forward.

 “All here, sir,” Sergeant Beresford said as he drifted past him. “Shuttle’s about to unlock. What do you want us to do next?”

 Cooper was momentarily stunned by the question; this was, supposedly, an experienced NCO who was taking a break during a boarding operation to wait for orders.

 “Send your squad up towards Fuller, you hang back and make sure that everyone is moving in the right direction. If you see any side points, send two down each to take a look, but make sure that it is just a look – we’ve got one avenue of advance today, and we can’t afford to break up the platoon.”

 “Got it, Ensign,” he said, moving to comply. Cooper pushed on, heading down to the furthest of the corridors to look for the third squad; as he swung around the corner, he heard a series of shots ringing out, and saw a trooper floating motionless in the corridor, four Cabal soldiers moving in.

 A pair of shots sent them diving behind makeshift cover, and Cooper pushed the body back down the corridor, yelling, “Medic!”, and glancing to see the rest of the squad in the entrance corridor, shock on their faces, Ensign Krueger at the back with his eyes wide.

 “Someone got shot, probably killed, and yes, this happens, people! It’s called war, and that means some of you are going to die. A hell of a lot more of you are going to die if you don’t get moving. Come on, with me!”

 He turned around, a couple of the braver troopers following him, Krueger in their wake, and swam down the corridor towards the enemy as shots rang out around him. This wasn’t exactly sensible, but he had to demonstrate to the rookies that it was possible to get through suppressing fire without dying. Firing a couple of shots, he saw one of the soldiers fall, blood spilling out of a wound, and glanced to see Krueger with a look of satisfaction on his face.

 The rest of the enemies pushed off down the corridor, and he turned to look at Krueger, saying, “Hold here at this cover for five minutes, knock out anything that moves, then follow the platoon. Call me if you run into trouble. Got it?”

 “We’ll do our part. Masterson, move in behind me,” he yelled, as Cooper pushed off back down the corridor. He raced away, moving as fast as he could to catch up with the leading echelons of his platoon, and snatched at the communicator at his belt as he drifted past a few stragglers from Second Squad being urged forward by Beresford.

 “Two Red to the Six, over,” he said. “Two Red to the Six.”

 Nothing but static replied, and he glanced down to see the signal strength dropped down to nothing, a jamming field in full operation. Moving to the fore, he saw Fuller in the lead, cracking off a shot at an enemy up ahead before turning to him.

 “Nothing on my communicator either, sir,” she said. “We got held up just before the shaft, a half-squad moved out. I lost Dexter and Hall, but we’ve got a good defensive position here.”

 “This battle isn’t going to be won by taking defensive positions in corridors,” he replied. “We’re two levels down from the communications station. The only way I know to knock out their jammers is to use explosives, and those we have aplenty.”

 “I like the way you think, sir,” she replied with a smile. She waved at a couple of approaching troopers and said, “You two with me to fill out my fire team. We’re leading off to cover the boss.”

 “I’ll take the lead, Corporal.”

 “No, sir. You’re the only one here who might have some idea where we’re going.”

 Shooting a glance at her, he said, “Talking back to an officer, Corporal? Are you sure that you’ve never been in combat before?”

 “Natural talent, sir,” she said.

 “Lead on, Macduff,” he replied, turning back, “Sergeant, take four men and help Ensign Krueger, tell him that I want them moving up right now. We can’t afford to get separated. Squad leaders, keep in dispersed formation but for God’s sake don’t get lost.”

 “What if we do anyway, sir?” a voice yelled from the rear.

 “Start shooting at bad guys and pray that they run out of men before you run out of bullets. Get moving.”

 Following his own order, he charged down the corridor after Fuller, seeing one of the men behind her already dropping back, blood spilling from a wound on his leg. He waved for one of the platoon medics to look after him, hoping that she could get him back to the shuttle before it separated. Hard as it was to imagine, they’d only been on the asteroid for two hundred and ten seconds.

 With troops on his flanks protecting him, he had a second to glance down at his communicator again, shaking his head. Still no signal; the electronic warfare gang back on the Trident were really letting them down today. Speed was all that might get them out of this mess. He gestured to the right, and the platoon swung around, one of the other Corporals hanging back for a moment to provide covering fire for the maneuver. At least that was going well enough.

 He had to keep the platoon moving, get them to work on their instincts without giving them a chance to think. If they paused for even a moment, they’d be running back to the shuttle. There’d been a time when he would be going right along with them.

 A figure moved up to his side, Krueger, a plaster slapped on his cheek with blood already running through it. He pointed at Cooper’s communicator.

 “Any news from the other assaults?”

 “I don’t even know if the other landings took place,” he replied. “You all right?”

 “Bit of shrapnel, nothing more. Lost another of my men, wounded.”

 “One minute,” Cooper said. “Here’s the shaft, Corporal. Head right down two levels, leave a couple of guards at the half-way mark until we reach the bottom.” Turning back to Krueger, he said, “Beresford with you?”

 “No, why would he be?”

 Cooper’s face instantly reddened, and he yelled, “Sergeant, get up here now!” At the far end of the corridor, past the shaft, another group of Cabal soldiers was moving up, a fire team throwing fire back at them to try and drive them away.

 “Yes, sir?” Beresford asked.

 “I gave you an order to relieve Krueger.”

 “I never heard it, sir.”

 “We should all have such selective hearing, Sergeant. Listen good and loud. Take command of that fire team back there, and hold off against any attack until the rest of the platoon is down the shaft. If you aren’t the last man through, I’ll have your stripes. Understand?”

 “Yes, sir,” he said, growing pale. He moved over to the fire team, Cooper holding back for a moment watching the rest of his men move up. They were moving with a fluidity that belied their inexperience, but not cautiously enough; they were too ready to expose themselves to potential attack, and that worried the hell out of him.

 As Second Squad moved past, he pushed off, heading to the front of the formation, pushing himself down the shaft; he could hear the sounds of battle at the bottom, and swung out into the corridor with his rifle ready, taking a couple of wild shots into the distance, past Corporal Fuller’s pinned-down fire team. Half a dozen Cabal soldiers were waiting for him, all lining their weapons onto him as he raced towards them, but that was the opportunity his people had been waiting for, and they rapidly took full advantage of it, sending their tumbling bodies spinning around the corridor.

 Fuller pushed up to him, and said, “I thought you were staying at the back, sir.”

 “What, and miss all the fun?” he replied with a smile. “We’re going left, but scouts down in both directions, please. And quickly.”

 As she raced to comply, he pulled his communicator out again, still frustratingly out of contact. They weren’t that deep inside the asteroid, not deep enough that they should be having any problems like this. He looked up as he heard shooting from the top of the shaft, echoing down, and his quick count of the platoon revealed three missing, including the Sergeant. At least he had died well.

 Shaking his head, he pushed over to Fuller, returning from her patrol, and said, “You’re Sergeant now. Mason?” he asked, looking around for the private that had caught his eye earlier. “You’re taking Fuller’s spot as Corporal. Take the flanking point and drive on down the corridor. With a little luck, we’ll have that communications station in minutes.”

 Krueger pushed up to him, and said, “The shuttles will have kicked off by now.”

 “Doesn’t matter. We’re cut off from the airlocks anyway until our second wave gets here.”

 He looked around, and said, “We’ve been on board for ten minutes, and we’ve had five dead and three wounded. We can’t keep this up.”

 “We get to the commo base, and we’ll have a strong defensible position and a way of getting the tactical net back on-line. We’ll salvage something from this mess yet, but I’m still going to have strong words with the Major when we get back.”

 “You and me both.”

 Fuller yelled, “Ready to move, sir! Third Squad’s rear guard to hold the shaft.”

 “Good, Sergeant,” he said. “Move out! All speed!”

 The platoon raced down the corridor, an arrow leaping from the bow towards their destination. The forward fire team had their weapons out, and anything that was unfortunate enough to cross their path paid for it with their life before they had a chance to fire. For once, he had overwhelming force on his side, but he was conscious of the fact that enemy forces would already be closing on him from all directions.

 Up ahead, the communications complex was held by only a pair of guards; one of them managed to get off a desperate shot before being overwhelmed by the advance, and Mason was the first one into the room, Cooper just behind her.

 Inside were a trio of terrified technicians, two of them Neander, scrambling for cover behind some chairs, their pistols floating in the air. When Mason saw the humanoids, her eyes widened, and for a second he thought she was going to pull the trigger.

 “Stand down, Corporal,” he said, then turned to the technicians, and said, “Any of you speak English?”

 “I do,” one of the Neander said in a shaky voice. “Are you from the Alamo?”

 “Indirectly, yes,” he replied. “Turn off the jamming field, and do it right now.”

 Troops were beginning to stream into the room, and Krueger said, “You trust it?”

 “I trust him,” Cooper replied, “and it will be a damn sight faster than trying to do this ourselves.”

 The Neander threw switches, and his communicator instantly burst into life.

 “Cooper to any station, any station,” he said, forgetting military protocol.

 “General evacuation,” he heard, a voice cutting through the static. “Got to get out right now! The Admiral’s order!”

 “We can’t!” one of the troopers yelled. “The bastards have abandoned us here!”

 “Stow it, Private,” Fuller said, her eyes uncertain.

 “Ensign,” one of the others said. “Look at the screen. That’s the carrier!” 

 The Neander looked across, and said, “We were monitoring the battle.”

 “Battle? What battle?”

 Cooper turned to the screen, and his eyes widened; the carrier was gouged and torn, hulls ripped through the hull armor, the superstructure exposed to space. There was a faint halo of debris surrounding her, and she was obviously struggling to maneuver. Almost too quickly to see, a dozen missiles raced in, catching her from all angles, and with one brief explosion, it was all over, tumbling wreckage where once a starship was.

 “My God,” Fuller said. “What the hell do we do now, sir?”

 “Form up into defensive positions, Sergeant, and prepare for a siege.”

Chapter 17

 Marshall stared with horrified fascination at the disaster unfolding in front of him on the tactical display, escape pods from the Trident scattering in all directions as the wreckage tumbled, the little remaining atmosphere leaking out into space, sending the ruined ship twisting and turning around.

 “The battlecruisers are on a wide course, sir,” Ronay reported from the sensor station. “They won’t be back here for four days.”

 “Four days?” Cunningham said. “Are you sure of that?” 

 “Not without significant fuel expenditure, Captain. There are tankers on the way to pick up their fighters.”

 “Are any of our forces in position to get them, Deadeye?”

 “None,” she replied, frowning. “We’re scattered all over the system.”

 “Why wait four days?” Kelso asked from the helm. “Fuel expenditure or no, if they turned back towards us they could wipe us out in minutes.”

 “Not without loss,” Marshall said. “My guess is that they are giving us a chance to pull out our forces and leave the system. If they can drive us out without a battle, then all the better.”

 Caine looked up, and said, “There might be some justification for that. Gilgamesh is reporting serious damage to its communications and tactical systems, and Thermopylae isn’t much better. They took some pretty big hits trying to shield the carrier.”

 “If they have operational shuttle bays, get them to pick up the escape pods. I want the tender moving in to work on Gilgamesh right now.” Looking around, he said, “I guess this means that I’m in command of the fleet.”

 “What’s left of it,” Cunningham replied. He gestured at one of the panel’s at Caine’s station, and said, “Fifteen fighters left, and we’ve only got berths for eight.”

 “Get me the Popovich,” Marshall said to the communications technician. After a moment, the severe features of Captain Franklin appeared on the screen.

 “Are we pulling out of the system? I have our facilities ready to top up everyone’s tanks, and my medical bay is ready to accept casualties.”

 “Good,” he replied, “I’ll see that you get your share. We’re not leaving this system, though, not until we are good and ready to go. I want Popovich to move in and pick up the fighters that can’t find a home in the battlecruisers.”

 “That’s eleven, sir,” Caine reported. “Thermopylae just reported that her landing systems have been damaged.”

 “That means taking us out ahead of the fleet,” Franklin said, shaking her head. “I won’t do it.”

 “I gave you an order.”

 “If Admiral Pierce is still alive…”

 “I don’t give a damn if he is alive or not. I am in command of the auxiliary forces, and if you will not obey my commands, I will by damn put an officer on board that ship who will!” Turning to Caine, he said, “Senior Lieutenant Caine, you will…”

 “Wait,” Franklin replied. “I’ll do it. Under protest. We can’t do anything with the fighters when they get on board, though. We can’t even get the pilots inside.”

 “We can worry about that later. For now I just want them refueled, and liaise with whoever the hell the Fleet CAG is now about getting them rearmed as well. Think of them as your own personal fighter escort.”

 “That hasn’t done much good to the fleet up till now. Popovich out.”

 Caine looked up, and said, “You were bluffing, right?”

 “Think I could run this fleet without a half-decent tactical officer?” he replied. “I’d have probably given it to Kelso instead.” The helmsman turned as though he was about to speak, then thought better of it and returned to his station.

 “What exactly are we going to do?” Cunningham asked.

 “First of all, I want you to get to work on a damage assessment of the enemy vessels. That engagement wasn’t entirely one-sided, and Thermopylae certainly got at least one good salvo in. While you do that, I’m going to see what’s going on over at the asteroid.” Turning to the communications technician, he said, “Any messages?”

 “The only good signal I’m getting is from Ensign Cooper, sir, requesting orders and reinforcement. All the rest is scattered and garbled.”

 “Why the hell didn’t you tell me he was calling, Spaceman?” Shaking his head, he said before she could reply, “Patch him through at once.”

 “Cooper to any station, any station, come in please.”

 “Cooper, this is Captain Marshall, acting fleet commander. What’s your situation?”

 “Acting...are things that bad, sir?”

 “You let me worry about our minor troubles out here, Ensign. What’s going on over there?”

 “Second Platoon has secured the communications facility, sir, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry about jamming for a while. We have no connection with the airlock – and I take it that our second wave never launched from the carrier.”

 Shaking her head, Roney said, “The shuttles didn’t even have time to get to the Trident before she went up, sir. Most of them were knocked out by the fighters.”

 “That’s a negative, Ensign. Can you hold your current position?”

 “We’re set up defensively for a while, sir, but ammunition’s going to be a problem in fairly short order unless we can get some resupply. I got a snatch of message from First Platoon, and they report that they are pinned in close to their airlocks, but I haven’t heard anything coherent from Third, or from the Fourth of the Ninth. Have you heard anything?”

 The technician shook her head, and said, “Nothing coherent, sir. There’s someone transmitting, but I can’t determine who, nor can I pin their location down in the asteroid.”

 Lieutenant Esposito walked onto the bridge, her face a mask, and said, “Can I speak to the Ensign, sir?”

 “By all means.”

 “This is Lieutenant Esposito,” she said. “Ensign, I know your record, and I want an honest answer to my question. Can you hold out in your current location for more than twenty-four hours?”

 There was a brief pause, punctuated by the crack of a weapon discharging, and he replied, “I think we can, ma’am, but that won’t leave us with anything much left for an offensive.”

 “Your judgment?”

 “If there is no prospect of resupply, ma’am, then I recommend that we be withdrawn. Right now the enemy attack is fairly light, and I think our odds of breaking through to one of the airlocks are excellent.”

 “Same as out here,” Caine said. “They’re giving us a chance to bow out gracefully.”

 “Hold until relieved, Cooper,” Marshall said. “Get scouts out to keep an eye on what the enemy are doing, and report everything you can.” He paused, then said, “If after twelve hours the situation hasn’t changed, then I will pull your force out, Ensign. You read me?”

 “I read you, sir. Give the order, and we’ll hold out until doomsday. Cooper out.”

 Marshall smiled, then looked up at Esposito, and said, “Your opinion?”

 “That depends on what happens out here, sir.”

 “Can we secure that asteroid with the two platoons we have on the auxiliaries, backing up the forces that have already been deployed?”

 She frowned, then said, “Fifty-fifty. The enemy haven’t attacked in strength yet, and I think it is a fair bet that they will do everything they can to repel any reinforcement.”

 “Good money after bad, Danny,” Cunningham said. “My guess is that a ceasefire while we pulled out could be ours for the asking.”

 “No,” Marshall replied. “We’ve paid for this rock, and by damn, we’re going to collect.”

 “Without any information about what is going on with the other platoons, we can’t put together any sort of a coherent battle plan.”

 “Spaceman,” Marshall said to the communications technician, “We might not be able to hear them, but can they hear us?”

 “Certainly, sir. We’ve got a million times the transmission power those hand-held things do. Say the word and I’ll blast their ears off.”

 “And First Platoon is holding close to the airlocks,” Marshall mused.

 “Not by choice. From what we’re getting, the Lieutenant-Major and her unit are pinned. Nor do we know what casualties they have suffered,” Esposito said.

 “How would you take that rock?” he asked.

 With a smile, she replied, “Not the way Major Burke tried it. One big push, right down the middle. Secure a safe zone and push through a section at a time, alternating platoons on the offensive. I might try a couple of diversionary probes to throw off the enemy if I had the manpower to pull it off.”

 “Isn’t that almost the situation we’re in right now?”

 Nodding, she said, “We could commit our two platoons to an attack that could link up with Second, while the others launched their own assaults to distract the enemy. It’d cost.”

 “It’s already cost,” he replied. “Let’s throw in a bonus – pull First out and hurl them in as well.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “That’s a hell of an operation to pull off, boss.”

 “Can you do it?”

 Looking at the asteroid again, she replied, “We’re the Triplanetary Espatiers. We can do anything.”

 With a smile, he said, “Get it moving, assume the operation starts in eight hours.”

 She turned to leave the bridge, paused, then said, “This won’t be the end of the fighting, Captain. We could be pinned down in there for weeks clearing it out, especially with the loss of all that manpower.”

 “Some of them might have made it to the escape pods,” Caine suggested.

 “And you’d throw people who just made it off an exploding starship into battle?” Cunningham replied.

 “Bet you your next month’s pay that they’d volunteer.”

 “Is it fair to ask?”

 Walking across the bridge, Marshall looked at the tactical display, and said, “Take a look out there and tell me that. We don’t have a choice.”

 Cunningham glanced at it, and then said, “Can we talk? Privately?”

 Nodding, Marshall walked across to the cramped office behind the bridge, and waited for Cunningham to follow him, perching on the edge of the desk.

 “I know what you are about to ask. We’ve already covered this.”

 “They’re offering us a chance to cut and run, Danny. Looks like we’ve already lost four, five hundred people on this fool’s errand. If you push this attack, we could lose the entire task force, and everyone on the asteroid.”

 “I’m aware of the odds.”

 “Then why take the risk? If we’re at war, then we need these ships and these people.” He glanced out of the viewscreen in the wall and said, “Let me contact the Cabal commander. See what terms we can get. If they don’t want a battle, they’d almost certainly let us evacuate.”

 “No,” Marshall replied. “We’re not going to ask for terms, and we’re not going to pull out of the system.”

 “This isn’t that important, Danny. Not important enough to throw two more capital ships into the fire for it.”

 “Maybe it became important when the first man died for it.” He looked up, and said, “Or maybe it’s important because of what is at stake here. Look at the bigger picture, John. The peace talks currently under way.”

 “Do you really think a battle will help them?”

 “I know that running away from a fight will hurt. If they don’t think we’re willing to take the big risks, then they’ll push for more than we can afford to give, and we’ll be in a formal state of war.”

 Shaking his head, Cunningham said, “I don’t know what the hell this is we’re fighting now if it isn’t a war. People are dying fast enough. Probably right now while we’re talking about this.”

 “The two biggest dogs in the yard are barking at each other, John, waiting to see who backs down first. Whatever happens, it can’t be us. This isn’t a question of pride, but one of politics and diplomacy.”

 “Two dirty words.”

 “I can’t argue with that. If it was up to me, this mission wouldn’t even be taking place. But it isn’t up to me. There are people back home counting on us, and I don’t intend to let them down. Our comrades up at Hydra Station. What happens if that force is free to go back there and slam into them?”

 “I’d hope they’d do a damn sight better than we did.”

 “You want to bet a few thousand lives on that?” Shaking his head, Marshall continued, “This is our job, John, and we’d better get it right. You can, of course, enter your objections officially into the log if you wish.”

 “What would be the point of that?” With a sigh, he said, “I’ll stand with you on this one. You know that much. I just wanted to know that you were aware what the cost might be.”

 “I’ve paid it too damn often to not know that, John. Maybe if we do this one last dance, we might not have to come to the party again.”

 “I hope so,” he said, moving to the door. “I’d better get on that tactical report.”

 “Right,” Marshall replied. “Thanks.”

 “I’ll argue with you any time, Danny,” he said with a smile as he left the room. Marshall looked out at the stars, the wreckage of the Trident just visible in the distance. Usually the view comforted him, but today it chilled him. He might be able to inspire confidence in others, but inspiring confidence in himself was a whole different problem.

Chapter 18

 As the door opened, Logan raised his pistol to cover the entrance, the figure at the threshold stopping dead as she saw the weapon pointed at her chest. He smiled as he saw the new arrival also carrying a weapon in her hand, also in perfect position to cover him. The only noise in the room was Duquesne’s steady snoring as she slept by her patient.

 “Shall we end this mutual stalemate, Meirong, or do you not have anything better to do today?”

 “What are you doing here?” she asked.

 “Not impressed that I was able to find you in this flophouse?”

 Looking around, she said, “I left enough clues for you.” Stepping into the room, she sat down on one of the chairs, still keeping her gun trained on him. “I figured you’d show up down here sooner or later.”

 “To answer your question, I need your help.” His words were punctuated by snoring come from the other room, and he continued, “And to borrow your bed. Anyone else know you are here?”

 “No,” she replied. “My superiors in the Republic ordered me to follow you, but they were somewhat vague on details. Of course, you knew that I would be the one assigned…”

 “Which means there is someone else on my tail as well.”

 “Don’t you have your own network to rely on, rather than borrowing mine?”

 With a sigh, he said, “Apparently I’m untouchable at the moment for some reason. Increasingly I can guess what it is, but naturally, I can’t tell you.”

 “Obviously. So I am just meant to help you without question, in the interests of interstellar amity and the relationship between our two nations?”

 “That’s a lot better than what I’d come up with.”

 Meirong stood up and walked across the room to look at the bed; Chambers was sleeping restlessly, tightly tucked in under the sheets to keep her relatively still, medical monitors strapped to her wrist.

 “What happened?”

 “So, you did leave before me. Interesting.” Gesturing at her, he said, “One of our people tried to kill her. Someone’s gone rogue, and I need to bring them down.” It was close enough to the truth in any case.

 “And they think you are involved, and that’s why you are untouchable? The only way to redeem yourself is to catch the real traitor?”

 “Something like that.”

 “Sounds like the plot of a ten-credit holonovel.”

 “If you don’t want to help, then say so, and...well, I’ll basically have to keep trying to convince you, because there isn’t much else I can do at the moment.” Turning to look at Chambers, he said, “She can’t be moved without difficulty; I had to get her off Alamo for her own safety, but she’s limiting my options a bit at the moment. Nor can I afford to leave her alone without a guard. The doctor doesn’t count for that, I’m afraid.”

 Nodding, Meirong said, “There is going to be a price, Logan. And a big one.”

 “If I told you that what I am doing is in the best interests of both our governments, would that make a difference?”

 She sighed, and said, “I’d be willing to accept that this isn’t some sort of operation to expose our organization, because it is so damned obvious. Besides, I’m only a few steps away from untouchable myself these days. My resources are limited.”

 “But you have got a relationship with the Embassy. You must do.”

 “Obviously.”

 “Then there are two things that I need. I need you to get her onto a Republic-flagged ship, preferably military if you’ve got something appropriate around, and transport her to Mars orbit – where she can be transferred quietly into the jurisdiction of the Republic of Ragnarok. The Doctor you can leave here; I’m going to need her on Alamo.”

 With a laugh, she replied, “You want me to smuggle her to Mars for you? I suppose it’s not giving any secrets away to tell you that we have that capability, and a woman who can’t move under her own power isn’t going to learn very much. That I can do for you.”

 Smiling, Logan continued, “I also need a secure communications link to the President of the Triplanetary Confederation.”

 Her eyes widened, and she sat down, placing her pistol in her hidden holster, and said, “Logan, what the hell is going on here?”

 “I need…”

 “The price for help is going to have to be information now. I’m quite serious about this. You aren’t just an ordinary agent, you’re a personal friend in long-standing with the head of Triplanetary Intelligence.” 

 “We’ve had a few drinks together.”

 “I’ve done a lot of digging since we first met. United Nations Intelligence has you working with him back during the war on some very interesting deep-cover operations. You’ve got the contacts – at least, you should have – to arrange all of this yourself. So, why aren’t you?” 

 He looked up, and said, “Because I can’t trust anyone working for Fleet Intelligence at the moment, even if I could get in touch with them. Nor can I risk using the regular channels, not with the current political situation.”

 Light seemed to dawn on her face as she replied, “Someone’s trying to topple the President. Connected to the battleship program.” With a chuckle, she said, “This is not something I am inexperienced with, Logan. Such things happen back home all the time on the Central Committee.”

 “They aren’t supposed to happen here, damn it. You must have access to the political projections your government has made. What happens next if President Newton gets thrown out of office?”

 “Depending on the circumstances, the election swings to one extreme or another.”

 “With the Cabal on the doorstep, do you really think the Technocrats are going to win? If the Progressives grab the Senate and the Presidency, they’ll topple everything over.”

 With a thin smile, she replied, “I thought your government was based on the will of the people. Surely if they vote for the Progressives, they are simply expressing their desire for war.”

 He laughed, and said, “Perhaps you are right about that. Perhaps I am tilting at windmills again, but I don’t like it when someone rigs the game. That’s what’s happening here – if the Freedom Party is discredited, we’re in for a very bad time. And so are you. Do you think our nations will stay allies with someone like Norman running the Confederacy?”

 “The internal affairs of the Triplanetary Confederation…”

 “Are every bit as important to you as they are to us, right now.”

 “Maybe,” she replied, shaking her head. “Why do you trust me?”

 “I don’t have a lot of choice right now. Besides, I don’t trust you, I trust your sense of political self-interest. The more favors we owe you, the better.” He smiled, and said, “Right now I don’t think I’ve got a hell of a lot to lose. The odds are that I’ll be charged with espionage in the next few hours. I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”

 With a sigh, she said, “I’ll arrange for Chambers to be taken to Mars as you wish; she’ll be on her way by the time you get back. I presume you want her delivered to Lieutenant Orlova.”

 “Good guess.”

 Shrugging, she replied, “I follow the news. It doesn’t take much intelligence to work out that part. We’ve going to have to make a bit of a trip.”

 He stood up, and looked across at Chambers, saying, “You’d damn well better make sure she gets there in one piece.”

 “Threats are unnecessary. As you have said, this operation would appear to be in both of our government’s best interests. This isn’t the first time that we have attempted to influence your political system.” She smiled, and said, “There are about half a dozen politicians that we could discredit with a very swift press release, if we ever perceived the need.”

 “If you’d been successful, I’d have known about it,” Logan said, frowning.

 “That depends on your definition of success. We have managed to distract you from other, more important matters on occasion. Come on. I have a flyer waiting downstairs; we’ve got a long ride ahead.”

 “I want to signal to Mars, not go there myself.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “And leave your weapon. It will be here when we return, but I will be the only one going who is armed.” He pulled his pistol out of his holster and placed it carefully on the table, and she gestured at his jacket. “Both of them, please.”

 “Smart,” he said, pulling out the hidden weapon.

 “Note that I will still be acting on the assumption that you have other concealed armament somewhere on your person.”

 “You can trust me.”

 “Would I be so foolish as to take your word on that, Logan?”

 “No, probably not.” He walked over to Duquesne, pulled a hypodermic out of his pocket, and injected her with a sedative strong enough to keep her out for a few hours, long enough for him to get safely away. With one last look at Chambers lying on the bed, he walked out of the room ahead of Meirong, waiting as she engaged the hidden security seals, including three he hadn’t had to deactivate to get into the room the first time around.

 “You really were expecting me,” he said.

 “Let’s just say that I was open to the possibility of a surprise visit. Come on.”

 She led the way into a nearby elevator, which rocked slightly as they stepped in. A strange smell filled the air, the odor of long-abused machinery, and there were several worrying sticky patches on the floor, the carpet’s original color a distant memory.

 “Great hotel you picked, by the way.”

 “It has its uses.”

 They stepped out onto the ground floor, walking through the bar; tourists who didn’t know any better were being jostled by local drunks out for a good, or at least a tolerable evening, indecipherable music blazing from speakers across the room while lurid images popped up on the monitor. Logan thought he spotted a local notable with his arm wrapped around a girl young enough to be his daughter, a look on her face suggesting that she wasn’t being paid sufficiently for the night’s work. Filing away the information for later reference, he followed Meirong out into the foyer, where a battered old flyer waited by the vehicular airlock.

 “Nothing but the best,” he said, stepping into the passenger seat.

 She smiled, and replied, “You’d better strap yourself in. It could be a bumpy ride.”

 He secured his straps, and as the airlock mechanism engaged, felt a pinprick on his arm. He looked across at her as his vision began to swim, and replied.

 “All you had to do was ask, you know.”

 The next thing he knew, he was being jostled in the ribs, and he struggled to consciousness, blinking in a vain attempt to focus. The display was dark, the vehicle being driven on instruments only.

 “There’s some water by your right hand.”

 “Our knock-out pills are pleasanter to wake up from,” he replied, taking a sip from the plastic bottle.

 “I must ask you for the recipe. We’ll be landing in a few moments. Naturally, I couldn’t allow you to know where we are going.” She gestured down at a monitor, and said, “Sub-Lieutenant Chambers was collected half an hour ago, and her ship will be breaking orbit in a matter of minutes. In ten days from now, she’ll be at her destination.”

 “Thanks,” he replied.

 “One day I will collect on the debt you have accrued. That wasn’t something I did as a representative of my government; that was personal.”

 He nodded, and said, “I always pay back my debts.”

 “So your intelligence file indicates, in any case.” She flicked a switch, and the flyer descended to the ground, bumping a couple of times as it settled. “We wait here for a moment. A transfer vehicle will be along presently.”

 Concern flashed across his face, and he said, “If you are about to tell me that you have a base down here…”

 “Don’t be ridiculous. Some places are more amenable to our presence than others, however. I called ahead, and we are expected.” Looking across at him, she continued, “Nor was our absence noted. We have successfully evaded the famed Callistan Security Police.”

 “The Caspers never could see their hand in front of their face.” The flyer rocked, and a loud clang came from the side airlock, the hatch hissing open. Meirong unbuckled her restraints and clambered back to the door with as much grace as she could muster, Logan following suit.

 Two silent figures were waiting for them in the transfer truck, both holding the latest model of the Triplanetary service rifle. He smiled at the demonstration and settled down into one of the passenger seats, noting the eyes constantly locked on him. This was an opportunity that any agent would have killed for, but he was passing it as quietly as he could, simply collecting his thoughts.

 The truck skidded and bounced across the landscape to a low, green dome, and reversed to dock with one of the side airlocks. Standing up again, Logan made his way to the door, the guards following him, Meirong standing by his side. As the hatch opened, a scented smell greeted him as he walked inside.

 All was green, lush growth wherever he looked, people wearing facemasks and white clothes walking on carefully prepared paths tending the garden. Most of the ground was planted with herbs and luxury crops, but a variety of flowers were sprinkled around to provide flashes of color in the bleak landscape outside; he looked across with a smile on his face.

 “Our secret installations tend to be back-rooms and basements. You’ve got real style.”

 She smiled, and said, “It’s all real. One of several dozen scattered around. With the blockade on luxury foods from Earth, you’d be astounded at the profit margin.”

 Shaking his head, he said, “You’ve managed to find a way to make your intelligence network pay for itself. I presume that there are enough of these around that you aren’t worried about this specific one.”

 “The company involved is Triplanetary-owned, and has paid its taxes promptly, complying with all regulations. You could spend years trying to work out which one that we’re using…”

 “And all the equipment is moved around frequently enough that such an effort would be an exercise in futility, of course.”

 “Naturally. I’m glad you understand the efficiency of our operation.”

 “Our safe-houses work in a similar manner.” Looking around, he said, “I’d love to have a wander around the garden, but I suppose we have work to do.”

 “If your plans go wrong, I suspect that we could arrange for you to spend some time in one of the domes we operate on Luna.”

 “Are you offering me amnesty? You realize…”

 “That you would never tell us anything about Triplanetary security? Of course not. On the other hand, you might be more willing to assist us in operations against the Cabal, and my government are as worried about them as you are.”

 “Now I begin to see what you are going to be asking in exchange for this.”

 “No need. We already have a copy. Consider this payment for services rendered.”

 He turned to look at her, and said, “How in the name of…” Pausing, he said, “Paine.”

 “I believe he considered that we had a pressing need for the information, and that if it was left to go through channels, we would never get a copy. I will be happy to pass along our assessments of the information; that was part of the deal.”

 “We’d better get to that transmitter before you scare me again.”

 Nodding, she walked around the perimeter of the dome to a small blockhouse at the far side; the guards drifted away, but Logan knew that they would be standing by to assist if they were needed. He looked around the dome, not out of a desire to gather information, but out of sheer curiosity. Building all of this up must have taken years, a little portion of Earth out among the stars. Bubbling pools lay in the middle of the facility, little channels of water gurgling around in spokes.

 Stepping into the blockhouse was something of a blow; most of the room was filled with chemicals and plants being bathed under UV light, but in one corner was an old communications set up, an audio/visual booth that looked like it belonged in a museum.

 “Relax,” Meirong said. “Appearances, as usual, can be deceptive. Almost all of the interior components have long been replaced, but it serves its purpose well.” She glanced down at a watch, and said, “It will take some time for our transmitter to be aligned. I presume the President will pick up when you call?”

 “After all of this, I damn well hope so.”

 “That will be in about twenty-five minutes.” She smiled, then said, “If you wish, I believe you likely have time to take that walk in the garden after all. Care to join me?”

Chapter 19

 After what seemed like years, Orlova and Nelyubov were ushered out of the waiting room into the Ambassador’s office; the gray-haired man inside walked around the desk, a beaming smile on his face and his hand outstretched. Orlova took it eagerly, instantly recognizing him.

 “General Haynes,” she said. “I haven’t seen you since…”

 “Since the Battle of the Crater.” He gestured around his office and said, “Hard to believe, isn’t it. If you’d told me a few years ago that I’d be sitting here as Ambassador to Mars, I would have called you crazy.” He looked across, and said, “This must be Lieutenant Nelyubov.”

 “Yes, sir,” he replied. “You two know each other?”

 “We met when Alamo visited Ragnarok. I placed her under arrest, I’m afraid, and shortly afterward she and Alamo’s Espatiers put an end to our little civil war in a rather violent way.” He sighed, then said, “It all turned out for the best in the end, I suppose, but I wish it could have been less bloody. Too many good people died that day, on all three sides.” Waving at a seat, he said, “Please, relax. We’ve got a few minutes before your call with the President.”

 “The President?” Nelyubov said.

 “On a three way with you and Captain Winter. He’s going to have fun with a twenty-minute time-lag, so I guess you’ll be the one asking most of the questions. Naturally, this call never happened, and you can borrow my office while you are making it.”

 “Thanks for getting us out of there,” Orlova said. “I thought we’d had it that time.”

 “You offered me sanctuary once, if you remember. I was just returning the favor. Besides, I think the President would have approved; I know she thinks very highly of you.”

 “What are your facilities here?” Nelyubov asked.

 “Limited. I’ve got the troops camping out in the lobby at the moment, and my supply officer got in enough food to last us for a few weeks if needed. Right now we’re only surrounded by journalists, but if there is any serious attack, I think we’ve had it.”

 “I wouldn’t want to have to fight Triplanetary troops.”

 “Agreed. I’d evacuate the embassy first. One of our transports is in orbit, and I’ve had them prepare to take the whole lot of us back home if needed.”

 Shaking his head, Nelyubov said, “That would just about end relations between the Confederation and Ragnarok, I suspect. I don’t think either of us would want to be the cause of that.”

 “You wouldn’t be, not indirectly. If this is the sort of thing we can expect, we’re better off out of it, and so are you. They’ve spent the last twenty-four hours trying to destroy your reputation on the news, and that of pretty much everyone you know.”

 “Bastards.”

 “No argument there.” He reached down for a datapad, and said, “My press guy prepared a precis of it for you, but I’d have a vomit bag on hand before you read it.” Looking at the two of them, he said, “What do you plan to do next?”

 “That depends on the President,” Orlova replied.

 He smiled, and said, “Never mind the whims of a politician on the way out. What do you plan to do next?”

 With a sigh, she said, “I don’t know what to do. If we can’t stop what is going on, I guess we’ll move to Ragnarok. Assuming the bastards don’t precipitate a civil war. I don’t like running, though, damn it. It doesn’t sit right with me.”

 “We’d have work for both of you putting together a space fleet. Not to mention the little matter of the garrison orbiting the planet, but we’ll deal with that if we have to. Hopefully we won’t.”

 A light flashed on the desk, and Haynes pulled himself to his feet, making for the door. He paused at the threshold.

 “The room is soundproofed, and we’ve taken steps to prevent bugging. You have my word that no-one will listen or interfere with you. If you need to talk afterward, then I am quite capable of keeping a secret, especially when this much is at stake – and all the facilities of this embassy are at your disposal.”

 “Thanks, General,” she said.

 “Any time.”

 She waited a moment for him to leave the room, then flicked the switch to activate the screen. A monitor flickered from an image of Ragnarok from space to an office in a private home, the President sitting at a desk facing the camera with a grim-faced man standing to his right. 

 “Mr. President,” the voice of Logan said. “I’d better give my report first; if I’ve timed this right, you should be getting it just as Lieutenant Orlova sits down to talk to you. Alamo is ready for space, at least minimally, and potentially for a battle if needed, though I and the crew would be reluctant to say the least. I presume I don’t need to tell you what is going on; that’s what I want to know. I am in a secure facility here, but it’s probably best that you don’t ask for any details on that. I think that’s about all.”

 “Lieutenant,” President Newton said, “I take it you are also in a secured location?”

 “Lieutenant Nelyubov and I are standing by in the Ambassador’s office, sir. We have been assured that all is private.”

 “It doesn’t matter anyway,” the man behind the President grumbled. “At this rate half the Fleet will know what’s going on before long.”

 Looking up, Newton said, “Not yet. We still have positive control, at least after a fashion.” Turning back to the monitor, he continued, “Allow me to introduce the Minister of State, Theodore Russell.”

 Glancing across at Nelyubov, Orlova said, “We probably need to get this out of the way, sir, but…”

 Interrupting, he said, “I was having the affair they claim, but I did not – I give you my word – I did not allow that to affect my decision on the tendering process. Both of us are unmarried; she divorced, I a widower. Our private life should not have anything to do with what is going on.”

 Orlova didn’t believe him for a second. He was a little too insistent, too eager to disclaim responsibility, and the look from the man standing behind him convinced her, a brief glimpse of contempt for the man he was serving.

 Frowning, he continued, “Nevertheless, I had already decided that I was not planning to seek re-election. I was to make that announcement yesterday; Senator Harper was to take my place.”

 “You haven’t announced that.”

 “What would be the point? All I could do would be to taint a good man with this mess. The bigger issue is the peace treaty. Now that my impeachment has begun, it has priority over any other business in the Senate, and I know damn well that the hawks are going to take this chance to start a war that we’re not going to be able to get out of.”

 “Are you aware of the expedition to Hades Station?”

 “I am, and I didn’t authorize it.” Shaking his head, he said, “I have now done so, though.”

 “In God’s name, why?” Nelyubov asked. “You could announce that to the media and end this today.”

 “And disgrace a lot of good officers who deserve better and have done nothing wrong? How can I do that?”

 “Besides,” Russell said, “We cannot afford to show any weakness in front of the Cabal. Such an action would suggest that we no longer have control over the Fleet, and if they perceive us as divided, we could easily end up with the war that we are all trying to avoid after all.”

 Nodding, Newton said, “I forbid any of you from using any public arena to stop this. We cannot take any risk of word getting out. I’d sooner be impeached than bring the good name of the Confederation into disrepute.” Sighing, he said, “And I know that there is a certain irony to that. You’re probably thinking that if I’d kept my flies zipped, none of this would have happened.”

 “The thought had crossed my mind,” Orlova said. “Sir.”

 He smiled, and said, “I don’t want you to save me, Lieutenant, Captain. Throw me to the god-damned wolves, but we have to have the peace treaty. I don’t need to tell either of you that we aren’t ready for another major war. We need time to get our fleets ready, time to get into position. Perhaps we can even stop the war completely.” Picking up a datapad, he said, “Captain Winter, I am transferring to you my agreement to the terms offered by their envoy.”

 “Wait a minute,” Nelyubov said. “Mr. President, you don’t have any authority to do that. Not without Senate ratification.”

 “You and I know that, but they don’t. Hell, I know that this is only a temporary measure, but it might keep the wolf from the door for a while, especially if there has already been fighting. I’m hoping that we can write this one off as a show of strength, but I don’t know for certain.”

 “I’ll speak for him,” Orlova said, “but what exactly do you want Captain Winter to do with this information?”

 “Captain Winter, I’m ordering you to proceed to Hades Station and hand this over to any senior Cabal official you can find. Stop this damned war before it can start; that’s your primary mission right now. I’m throwing in a blank check to relieve anyone you suspect of being in league with the conspirators. Counter-Admiral Pierce, almost certainly, likely others on his staff.”

 “We can trust Captain Marshall and Lieutenant-Captain Cunningham, sir,” Orlova insisted.

 “I hope so, Lieutenant, but I want Winter to make his own call on that. He’s about the only intelligence asset I have left.” Shaking his head, he said, “Most everyone’s gone to ground, getting ready for the war. They’ve all given up hope that we can stop it. What do you think, Lieutenant?”

 “I’ve done enough fighting to last a lifetime, Mr. President. I think we might still have a chance to stop it happening again, and I’ll do anything I can to prevent it from happening.” 

 Frowning, Nelyubov said, “You realize, sir, that the orders you have given Captain Winter are completely meaningless? Constitutionally, once the impeachment proceedings began, you lost all authority to issue such orders.”

 Newton glared at him, and said, “To hell with that. We’re trying to stop a war, Lieutenant, and some trumped-up charges can’t be allowed to stop us. Nothing must stop us.”

 Russell nodded, and said, “I’ve seen the projections from the Combined Chiefs, Lieutenant. Best guess is that we could expect hundreds of thousands of casualties over the war, with likely raids into Sol System itself. Victory would be far from certain.” Looking down at Newton, he said, “I don’t like this any more than you, Lieutenant, but I am convinced that it is necessary if our way of life is to survive.”

 “What do you want us to do, sir?” Orlova asked.

 “I’ve got damn few assets on the ground now,” Newton replied. “Either they ran off at the first sign of trouble or I took steps to get them out of the firing line.” With a smile, he continued, “You, on the other hand, are already well and truly on the firing line, so I have no compunction about using you. I need you to find out just how far this goes. Right now, I know only that the Senior Senator of the damned Progressives is involved, as well as Counter-Admiral Tramiel.” He paused, then said, “And Fleet Captain Tarrant, obviously.”

 “We’re wanted fugitives, Mr. President,” Orlova replied. “Surely we’re going to be limited as hell in what we can do.”

 “Possibly, but you are all I’ve got. Besides, Maggie – do you mind if I call you Maggie?”

 “You’re the President. I guess you can call me whatever the hell you want.”

 “I know that you have a, shall we say, shady past. You’ll have contacts and connections you can exploit. Use them, use them all, and use them well. There isn’t any choice.” He paused, then said, “If you can get me some leverage on these bastards, we can postpone the impeachment bill long enough to get that treaty passed. Until the Senate stands down for the election, we’ve just got the votes for it. Afterward,” he shook his head. “It looks like I might be the last Freedom President for a while.”

 Looking at Nelyubov, Orlova nodded, and said, “We’ll do our part, Mr. President. As best we can. I’m going to need something from you, though.”

 “What?”

 “I need a scandal, a big one. Something that will distract the press for a while. Having my face all over the news isn’t going to make this any easier.”

 “I see,” Newton said. “I’m not sure…”

 With a smile, Russell interrupted, “The President will make a statement tonight that ought to throw attention away from you for a while. I’m not sure how much we’ll admit to, but certainly we can provide those vultures with enough carrion to hold them for a while.”

 “That should help.”

 “In that case, I’ll let you get started. Contact me when you can. Newton out.”

 As the screen faded, Nelyubov said, “I feel like I want to take a shower.”

 “Slimy bastard,” she replied. “He wants to get out of the mess he got himself into, and the worst part is that we have to help him do it.” With a sigh, she said, “He’s right. We’ve got to stop this from escalating, and we’ve got to find a way to get that peace treaty passed. Even if the price of that is getting him off the hook.”

 “We don’t have long to do it,” Nelyubov said. “Eight weeks before the Senate rests.”

 “They’ll stall the impeachment proceedings as long as they can,” Orlova replied. “With a little luck, we’ll have all of that time to play with, and I think I know where we can start.” She sighed.

 “Problem?”

 Gesturing at the screen, she said, “Why does shit sometimes rise to the top? Senator Norman’s no better, but at least she was once in the Callistan Orbital Patrol, fought in the war. She’s wrong, but she’s still a damn sight better than that worm.”

 “He got the Fleet built up.”

 “Only to give his girlfriend some lucrative contracts.”

 Shrugging, Nelyubov replied, “Does it matter in the long run? We’re going to have those ships when they are needed the most, and they’re going to save a lot of lives. So one person gets rich instead of another; it’s all well above my pay grade anyway.”

 “Maybe,” she said. “I still don’t like it.”

 “What’s the alternative? There are only two players at the table, and we’ve got to choose one or the other. It comes down to whether we want to go to war or not, and I’m with you. I’ve had enough of fighting.”

 “I don’t know. There has to be a better way, and I’m going to find it.” With a smile, she said, “For the moment, that means following Newton’s orders, and I never thought the day would come when following the orders of the President would be a matter for debate.”

 “We live in strange and uncertain times, Maggie,” Nelyubov said. “I’ll stick with you, though.”

 “Thanks, Frank,” she replied. “Now, let’s get to work.”

Chapter 20

 Cooper left his half-eaten ration tin spinning in the air as he raced to the front, pulling his rifle from the rack on the wall and checking the ammunition as he went. Another pair of troopers followed him, also responding to the shouts from ahead, but he was well in the lead, swinging gracefully from the recently installed hand-holds to get into position.

 He passed over three levels of improvised cover, boxes and crates that would give no real protection other than concealment, and glanced back at Fuller, holding the line at the far end of the corridor. They controlled less than three hundred yards of passageway and a few storage rooms, as well as the communications suite they had made their headquarters.

 When he reached the nervous Lance-Corporal manning the barricade, he peered up the corridor, not seeing any sign of the enemy, then gestured for the troopers following him to pull back to other defensive positions.

 “What is it, Rashid?” he asked.

 “I heard something up ahead,” he replied. “Something moving, something heavy.”

 Cooper glanced up again, ducked down, and replied, “Doesn’t seem to be anything here now. I’ll wait for a moment before I go back.”

 “I’m not hearing things, sir. There is something up here.”

 “No shame if you had, Corporal. I’d rather interrupt my lunch to check out a false alarm than die with a full stomach.” He heard something, a grinding noise, and gestured for quiet. It was obviously mechanical, and heading their way; he nestled down into firing position, cautiously looking to see what might be waiting for them in the dark.

 He glanced down at his watch; in less than twenty minutes, they were supposed to be launching their diversionary attack to cover the advance of the reinforcements. A little voice in his head was warning him that the enemy probably knew exactly what they were planning, were preparing themselves to launch an attack, but he shook it off, trying to dismiss it. No point giving into fear at this stage.

 “What’s that?” Rashid asked, “I can see something, a shadow moving.”

 “You must have eyes like a cat. I can’t…”, but then, Cooper saw what the trooper had seen, a round, metal shield that almost perfectly fitted the walls of the corridor, a whine of air jets moving it under its own volition. Instantly, gunfire rattled from it, small holes from which rifles protruded, manned by crewmen who he couldn’t reach. Instinctively, Cooper fired three shots from his rifle, but there was no way he could penetrate the armor.

 “Hold the fort,” he told Rashid, pushing off back to the communications console. More gunfire followed, and a yelp that meant that one of his men had been hit – the chances of a lucky shot seemed too remote to take seriously. Three more of his troops began to move past him, eagerly heading for the firing, and he looked after them for a moment before swinging back into their temporary headquarters.

 “Masterson, get together, we’re moving out. Go tell Fuller that she’s in charge here, and that she needs to move back to the inner barricades as soon as we get on the move.”

 “Right, sir,” he said, racing to obey his orders. Krueger, his second-in-command, laconically took a last scoop of his meal before pushing the can away into a corner.

 “We’re not supposed to start for eighteen minutes plus, Gabe.”

 Cooper pulled an ominous looking rectangular black box from behind the stores and opened it with a thumb-print, replying, “I’m not supposed to be using one of these either. I’m just disobeying one order after another today.”

 Krueger placed his hand on Cooper’s wrist and said, “What the hell are you doing?”

 Shrugging him off, he strapped the power pack to his back and hefted the weight of the plasma rifle, quickly running through the familiar charging sequence. It had been far too long since he’d had a chance to use one of these toys, but long sessions of drill instruction came racing back to him.

 “These are meant to be used outdoors. In space, preferably,” Krueger said.

 A pair of cracks from outside forced Cooper to raise his voice, saying, “That thing out there is impenetrable to our small-arms fire. We’ve got to use the heavy artillery if we’re going to have any sort of a chance.”

  “Damn it, if you miss, you’ll take out the wall! We’ll all die!”

 “If I don’t fire, we’ve had it. We’ve got two chances to die and one to live. Right now I’m willing to take those odds.” Tightening the straps on the power pack, he said, “Stick with me, and remember that we’ve got to get this attack home. Whatever it takes.”

 “Just another old-fashioned suicide mission,” he replied. “Great.”

 The two of them pushed out into the corridor, diving past troops ducking into cover, gunfire all around them. A couple of troopers were retreating, pulling back as the enemy’s shield advanced; Cooper felt something brush past his arm, and looked down to see a gouge in his tough armored jacket, a thin line of blood where the bullet had glanced off him.

 Up ahead, he saw the shield moving closer, almost at the first barricade, a trio of bodies sprawled in the air before it; inside, he prayed that they were only wounded, not dead, but they lay terribly still as he watched. Another fusillade of shots rang out from behind him, a few of his men giving him some covering fire, and he pressed down behind what little cover remained, lining his shot onto the target as best he could.

 The aim had to be perfect. No overspill, no flashback, just a shot of exactly the right amount of power and range to get the target. Sweat pooled up on his forehead, droplets floating away as he raised the rifle, adjusting the settings, trying to blot everything else out of his mind while he focused on the task at hand.

 He peered through the scope, steadying his breathing, switching back in his mind to the firing ranges back on Phobos, picturing it as just another static target to destroy before he could go back to the barracks. Almost without realizing it, he pulled the trigger, and a burst of green fire leapt from the barrel of the weapon, flashing towards the heart of the shield and enveloping it. While the weapon was noiseless, the screams from the dying men behind it echoed through the corridor, and the air filters began to whir as smoke began to pour forth.

 The gunfire stopped as everyone paused, waiting to see what would happen. On the far side of the ruined shield, flaming shrapnel had completed the job that the plasma burst had begun, and the smell of roasted meat filled the air. Nothing had survived for a hundred meters behind, all the way to the junction. Fortunately.

 Looking back, he yelled, “Come on Second Platoon! Let’s get them while we can!” He unclipped the power pack, tossing the whole kit back to a waiting trooper, then turned to lead off with the first section, Mason flashing him a cheeky grin as they drifted above the dead. A burst of shots waited for them at the far end of the corridor, but they dismissed them with a few wild bursts from their rifles; at least here, the enemy didn’t seem to have the stomach for any fighting.

 Cooper’s communicator chirped, and he heard Brownworth yelling through the static. No way to boost the signal, so he turned the volume up as high as it could go, no matter that it would likely draw all sorts of death down on him.

 “Repeat, Major, I can’t hear you,” he shouted into the pickup, presuming that she was having the same difficulty as he.

 “Under heavy attack,” she crackled. “Two waves coming in, multiple directions. Yours?”

 “Repulsed attack and pushing for the objective,” he said.

 “Roger,” she replied, then a burst of static drowned her out. “Hold until relieved. Understand? Hold until relieved.”

 “Will do. Out.”

 He glanced at Krueger, then waved on, “First Squad, with me. Third, hang with Krueger. Form up in pairs to grab key positions. The Ensign picks ‘em. Get moving!”

 Swimming through the air, he took a shot at a retreating Cabal soldier then ducked up to the shaft, diving up it without any ceremony or warning, firing the last three shots of his clip blind to buy him time to switch cartridges. Behind him, eight troopers followed, all racing up to the top; he was going to have to push out at speed or face being pushed out by his over-eager comrades.

 Surprise was the best weapon he had anyway, and he leapt from the shaft into the corridor, his memory directing him towards the nearest cover, which he found he was sharing with a surprised Cabal soldier. A quick chop to the neck dealt with him, and he took a shot into the darkness to pin down anyone who might be on the other side of the shaft, while the squad came boiling out in various stages of readiness. 

 Leaving Krueger to post a guard behind him, he waved at the squad and pushed off down the long corridor to the airlocks, leading with his rifle extended, his eyes hunting for targets up ahead. From what he could see, they’d stripped their defenses up here clear to make their attacks, but as he pushed past empty barricades, his face fell.

 “Take cover! Right now!” he yelled, pushing down; up ahead, a series of charges detonated, sending shrapnel flying through the air, delayed revenge for the death of their comrades behind the shield. One of the troopers had been too slow to move, and the burst caught him in the chest, his armor gouged and pitted as he cried for his mother, a hand reaching up and dragging him down too late to save his life. Cooper looked back, then turned up the corridor, peering to see what might be at the far end.

 “Ambush,” he said to the nearby Mason. “I should have guessed they’d have trapped the corridors.”

 “Could there be more?”

 “Anything is possible,” he replied, “but at the end of the day, there’s only one way to find out.” Taking a deep breath, he pushed off down the passage, the rest of his men pausing, waiting to see what would happen to him. Cold shrapnel, now robbed of the speed that made it lethal, brushed against his armor as he drifted down towards the airlock, before turning back.

 “Come on!” he yelled. “Do you want to live forever?”

 Belatedly, they started to move after him, leaving their dead friend behind as they cautiously moved through the passageway in a silent floating crocodile, their faces tensed. There was something different about them, as if all of them were a lot older than they had been the day before. Now they were veterans, had seen combat and known what it was truly like, and none of them would ever be the same again.

 “Let’s move,” Cooper said. “We’re almost there.”

 As he pushed down the corridor, allowing Mason to take the point, he started to shake his head. Krueger drifted up alongside him as they reached the first airlock passage, dormant and unguarded, and shook his head.

 “What is it? We’ve done it.”

 “It’s too easy.”

 “Five dead and three injured?”

 Looking sharply across at his deputy, Cooper said, “Trust me, it was too damn easy. We could easily have lost the entire platoon.”

 “Can’t we relax?”

 The two of them heard a loud whine, and Cooper raced down towards the airlock, peering through the small window at its heart; outside, he could see points of light racing away, dancing in the darkness, far too fast to he shuttles. With a heavy heart, he contacted Wyvern.

 “Cooper here. You’ve got fighters inbound.”

 “Now what?” Krueger asked.

 “You heard the Major. We hold as long as we can.” Glancing down at his watch, he said, “I expect a renewed assault any moment now. If our reinforcements get shot down, it’s all over anyway.”

Chapter 21

 Marshall stood on Hadfield’s flight deck, watching the last of the shuttles detach and begin its trip to the asteroid, shaking his head. He knew all too well what a gamble he was taking, and the memory of the last time he sent troops over there was fresh in his mind. It was all too possible that this was the prelude to a massacre, but the attempt had to be made. If only to provide some meaning to the lives that had already been lost.

 Standing next to him, Caine looked across, frowning, and said, “You didn’t have to come over here, you know. Your place is in a command center, not here on a flight deck.”

 “They need to know that I give a damn,” he replied. “Or perhaps I only need to know that myself. I can’t just sit back and wave them to their deaths.” With a sigh, he continued, “You and I both know that not all of them are coming back.”

 “If you feel that strongly about this, then you shouldn’t have sent them out there in the first fleet. It isn’t too late to abort the mission.”

 With a thin smile, he said, “Yes it is. Ensign Cooper has taken the decision out of my hands, and I either have to support him or let the casualties mount up for nothing.”

 Their conversation was interrupted by sirens echoing through the room, and Caine pulled out her datapad as updated tactical information began to stream onto it, her face darkening as the data poured in.

 “Fighters launched from the asteroid, twelve of them. On a direct course for the shuttles.” She looked up at him, and said, “You’ve got to get those shuttles back in, now.”

 “We can’t do that, not without losing everything we’ve gained on the asteroid.” He pulled out his communicator, and said, “Marshall to all ships. Scout squadron to intercept incoming fighters at earliest opportunity, all fighters immediate launch. Fleet to battle stations.”

 “Damn it, Danny, we weren’t expecting a fight for days. Our pilots are scattered all over the place.”

 Before she had finished talking, Marshall was running across the room to one of the improvized airlocks, a grin on his face as he said, “I know, and I know that the Hadfield is three short. Or to put it another way, two short.”

 “One,” she replied, chasing after him.

 The hatch seemed to take forever to open, and Marshall pulled himself in, settling down in the cockpit. The fighter designs had changed little over the decade since he’d joined the service as a fighter pilot, and his fingers remembered the launch sequences, running over the check programs. With a lurch, the small spaceship disconnected, floating free by the side of the monolithic tender.

 “This is Marshall to Cunningham, do you read?” he asked into the communicator.

 “Cunningham here. Are you being as dumb as I think you are?”

 “Probably. I want best-speed intercept courses for the fighters yesterday. Take command of the fleet in my absence.”

 “Fine. Get back on board and turn that fighter over to someone else.”

 “There isn’t anyone else!” he yelled. “We’ve been caught on the hop.”

 “Deadeye here,” Caine’s voice said. “I’m floating free and waiting for course plot.”

 “Both of you,” Cunningham said with a sigh. “Course computation is ready to go.” There was a brief pause, and he continued, “Looks like we’re going to have fifteen up.”

 “Good,” Marshall replied, feeding the incoming course into the fighter’s navigation computer. “Get the scouts in to support us as fast as you can. No point using the battlecruisers at the moment; they wouldn’t get there in time anyway, and it would overplay our hand for the big battle. Marshall out.”

 The acceleration pushed him back in his chair as the computer implemented the course, sending him racing towards the incoming targets. The shuttles were up ahead, and still heading for the asteroid despite the threats that awaited them.

 “Marshall…,” he started, then said, “Fighter Leader to all fighters. We haven’t got time for any finesse today. Get in there and take down those big bad enemy birds as fast as you can. I want a nice clear sky for the shuttles to fly through.”

 “Roger,” the voice of Lieutenant Dragomirov replied. “Forming up into pairs for the assault.”

 “Negative,” Marshall replied. “We’re not going to have time for two passes on this one. Proceed singly and tag a target; last three fighters up will hold back and cover any gaps.” He looked up at the squadron inventory telltales and shook his head, before continuing, “Most of you aren’t fully loaded, so you can’t waste your shots at long-range. Go for a single, close-in kill, and make it count.”

 “What if they get us first?” another, younger voice asked.

 “That’s why we gave you countermeasures to play with. Remember your training, and it’ll all work out fine. Don’t forget we’ve got the scoutships as backup, but let’s try not to need them. If something happens to me, Caine takes over the squadron, then Dragomirov.”

 “Roger,” Caine said.

 “Stay loose and get yourselves ready,” Marshall continued. “First intercept won’t be for another twelve minutes. Marshall out.” He looked ahead at the shuttles, and flicked across the frequencies. “Marshall to Esposito.”

 “Esposito here. We’re all looking out of the window, sir, and it’s getting a little crowded out here for my liking.”

 “We’ll try and clear the traffic jam for you, Lieutenant. Maintain your course, move in behind us, and watch out for any fighters that get through. I’ve got a small reserve to cover any gaps. Get your countermeasures working, as well; we might need the backup.”

 “Already in the works, sir. Good hunting.”

 “And to you,” he replied. “Marshall out.”

 He took a deep breath, and settled back in the comfortable flight couch, smiling at the abruptness of the situation. Less than ninety seconds ago, he was standing on a flight deck, beginning to think about heading to the mess for dinner, and now he was heading out on his first dogfight for more than a year. Not since Kumar, he pondered, and that was very different.

 His mind raced back to the War as he looked around at the surrounding squadron, a group of ships that he was leading into battle. He’d done this a hundred times, flying escort for an assault wing, moving out to intercept approaching craft before they could take a crack at his carrier. Even the enemy fighters didn’t look that different to the United Nations craft, a bit of technology transfer that he might look into later.

 The countdown clock on the heads-up display ticked over to eight minutes, and he tried to relax, flicking a control to set the walls to transparent, making it look as if he was floating in space, the asteroid slowly growing as he raced towards it, surrounded by a constellation of lights, the rest of the flight wing.

 Tapping a button, he called up the sensor display, projected in front of him, and he looked at the formation, smiling. Any instructor back at the Academy would have screamed blue murder at the sight of the loose, shambling clump, individuals already beginning to peel off in different directions as they homed in on their target of choice. They were drawing level with the shuttles now, passing through the attack wave in a flash, leaving them in their wake.

 Eight minutes to go. The computer had already locked on to the best target, Wyvern’s tactical systems selecting the optimum attack pattern for the group, compromising between maximum coverage and the ability of the fighters. He rested his hands on the controls, checking his firing window. Just thirty-one seconds in range, and he’d be waiting for almost half of that to elapse before sending his two missiles flying towards their target.

 The blink of an eye, and the worst part of fighter combat. Seconds of activity preceded by moments – or sometimes hours – of tedium, forcing yourself to remain sharp and aware so that you would be ready for the critical moment of decision. Not everyone could do it. Even those who lived through the combat wouldn’t necessarily live through what followed, could hold it together during that long wait before battle. It was different on a larger ship, where there were other people around. In a fighter battle, it was simply one man fighting another, ship against ship; the realities of space combat allowed for nothing else.

 Back home, the engineers were working on making all of this obsolete, replacing it with drones piloted at long-range. There was a logic, there, of course. Fighters had only ever been a stop-gap measure, a means for the Confederation to put up combat vessels while they built the rest of their fleet; the original designs were no more than orbital transfer vehicles with missile racks bolted on. Still, it would be a sad day when the last fighter squadron stood down.

 Five minutes to go, and Marshall tried to focus himself on his goal once again. The enemy fighters were trying to move into position to sweep past them, cutting the firing window down to a minimum in order to focus on their goal. Not that he trusted them to take the obvious course; so far, the enemy commander had employed a masterful level of trickery in his tactics. Still, if he didn’t knock down the reinforcement shuttles, the battle on the asteroid would be over. Perhaps this time he would opt for the more obvious course of action. 

 The scouts were slowly moving up behind them, their countermeasures already working to shield the fighters from incoming missiles. Idly, Marshall started to type out a new interception vector, and his face dropped. The scouts were moving into the perfect position for the enemy fighters to launch an attack run, and if they were knocked out, a large part of his fleet’s combat potential would be knocked out.

 He looked up at the systems again, checking his fighter’s course. He had twenty seconds to decide whether to leave the course as it was, or to swing around the squadron in a bid to counter what he increasingly thought was coming. It all depended on which the enemy commander thought was most important – the ground battle on the asteroid, or the battle that was to come in space. He made his decision with fifteen seconds to spare.

 “Fighter Leader to all fighters. I’m sending updated course projections to your systems now. Implement them immediately. No time for discussion.” At the expected chorus of complaints, he said, “Do it! That’s an order, damn it!”

 As the fighters began to swing around, Caine said, “What are you doing, Danny! Those shuttles don’t have a chance.”

 “They aren’t after the shuttles, they’re after the scouts, and they almost pulled us right into the trap.” He looked at the sensor display for a second, worried that they might have decided to change course at the last moment, then breathed a sigh of relief as the enemy formation moved on the new course, almost exactly as he had calculated.

 “How the hell did you know, Danny?” Caine asked.

 “I didn’t. Not until the last second. Everything this bastard has done has been to lure us into a trap. He never takes the obvious move. Normally that’s one hell of a strength, unless you start to expect it.”

 “And if he’d been pulling a double bluff?”

 “Let’s all just be very happy that isn’t happening.”

 Cunningham’s voice broke into the conversation, “Thanks for the assist, Danny. We’ve got a salvo ready to fire, and the battlecruisers are moving into position to cover the auxiliaries in case the fighters are on a suicide run.”

 “Estimate one minute to firing, now,” Marshall said. “Make each shot tell.”

 He brought the walls back into existence with a flick of his hand, concentrating his attention on his instruments. The outside universe didn’t matter any more; all that remained was him and his target, and his sensors as they started to hunt for missile lock. His opponent might not be changing his course, but he was certainly interested enough in him, and their two computers started to fight a war of their own, one seeking target lock, the other attempting to evade with all the means at his disposal.

 Marshall tapped a series of controls, sending his fighter ducking and weaving as if dodging invisible punches. He didn’t expect to be fired upon today, but anything might help should a warhead come his way. An amber light flashed on, and he smiled. His computer was winning the battle, and firing range was imminent. He’d have to fire as soon as his ship pulled into range, no time now for caution. Nine seconds to go, and twelve seconds later, the enemy would be able to take a shot at the Wyvern. If, of course, he was still alive to take it.

 The fighter ahead was moving itself now, twisting around, trying to throw off the relentless targeting computer, but the pilot ran out of time; Marshall tapped a control, and his first missile raced off towards its target. Within less than a second, the enemy fighter stopped maneuvering, cutting its engines, and another object appeared on the display as the pilot ejected, rather than remaining with his doomed craft.

 All around, the two squadrons met, the enemy forces struggling to react in time. Half a dozen missiles were in the air, some of them lazily making the attempt to reach the scouts, but their tactical officers were more than up to the task of knocking them down, a series of brief flashes heralding their demise.

 He hunted around, spotting another fighter moving away, turning to perhaps have one last try at the shuttles after all, but he had a narrow window of opportunity that he used to the full, his second missile racing away towards the target. His armament exhausted, he looked around at the rapidly dwindling number of ships in the area, the enemy forces pulling away or surrendering, all but two of his own fighters still in the air. With a sigh of relief, he saw the last of them moving out of threat radius, and tapped a control on his panel.

 “Marshall here. Good work, everyone. Time to go home. Dragomirov, you hang around for a while and help vector in the search and rescue shuttles.”

 “Roger, skipper. Nice flying.”

 “Two more for the scorecard,” he said, sitting back in his couch as the computer began to spin the ship, taking him back to the tender. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. If he hadn’t seen what the enemy commander was planning, he’d have had a ringside seat to a massacre; the scouts would have been overwhelmed.

 “Esposito to Marshall,” a voice crackled over his speaker. “Thanks for the assist. We’re going in now for the party. Wish us luck.”

 “Give them hell, Gabi,” he replied. For the moment, his job was over. Hers was just beginning.

Chapter 22

 Cooper waited at the airlock, checking over his equipment for the hundredth time, looking around at the wary squad that surrounded him. He glanced at his watch, shaking his head. All of this was taking too long. His platoon was spread out across half a mile of tunnel and compartment, in a position that would be ideal for them to be surrounded and defeated in detail. The few snatches of communication from the other platoons that he had picked up weren’t filling him with confidence either; from what he could see, they were managing to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

 “Come on, come on,” he said to no-one in particular, his squad looking at each other, picking up his nervousness. He had to watch that; these people were going to take their cues from him, and he forced a smile. “Not that we need anyone’s help to win this battle, right?”

 “Hell no, sir,” Mason said. “Why don’t we go and start the party without them?”

 “We invited them, Corporal,” he replied. “It’d be rude to take all the fun for ourselves.”

 Finally, with a loud clang, one of the shuttles made contact with the airlock, and the doors slammed open, emergency overrides at work. Waiting at the threshold was Lieutenant Esposito, who snapped a quick salute at Cooper as she drifted past.

 “Report, Ensign, and make it quick.”

 Returning her salute, he replied, “We hold the airlock corridor, and there are guard points between here and the communications suite. The enemy has been holding back a little for the past quarter-hour, but I think they are building up for an assault.”

 “Numbers?”

 “Unknown, but heavy.”

 “Then we won’t wait.” Turning to the rear, she said, “Forrest, get the men moving right now. A fire team to anchor the end of the corridor until the reserves arrive, and the rest with me. We’re going to the communications station. Have the rest of the company follow up and start hitting anything that moves.”

 “Right, ma’am,” the sergeant said, flashing a smile at Cooper. “Having fun over here, boss?”

 “Don’t worry, we saved plenty of bad guys for you.”

 “You and your team still ready for some action, Ensign?” Esposito asked.

 “Always, ma’am.”

 “Then let’s get this done.”

 Cooper managed to push out in front, leading the way with his squad behind him; as he had expected, Forrest moved with them, shouting orders to his troops as he went, Esposito taking up the rear as the shuttle undocked, its passengers already on their way to the front. Cooper frowned as he saw it leave, and Forrest shook his head.

 “You don’t know what you started here,” he said. “They’re heading up to pick up First Platoon. Captain Marshall’s going to throw everything down here until they crack.”

 As if on silent cue, a fusillade of shots sounded from up the corridor, an attack on the fire team holding the shaft. Cooper pushed off the now-familiar walls, his hands finding points to push off as he moved out ahead of the rest of his squad, struggling to catch up. Only Forrest was able to keep pace, experience telling as he pulled his rifle out.

 “Just like old times, sir,” he said.

 “I hope not, Sergeant,” Cooper replied. “I’ve no desire to go through all of that again.”

 “You and me both!”

 Turning a corner, Forrest and Cooper saw one of his men tumbling in the air, clutching at his chest in obvious distress, blood seeping through his fingers into the air. Beyond him, a group of Cabal soldiers were moving in, and the two troopers fired as one to break them up, their shots carefully placed to send them scurrying for cover. A pair of shots flew towards them, ricocheting from the wall, but they pressed their attack, sending one of them spinning into the wall with a bone-breaking crack, the others rushing away.

 Moving in, Cooper saw the other member of the team he’d left behind, a glassy-eyed stare on her face, and he reached down to close her eyes with his hand, looking up at Forrest. A medic moved in to treat the survivor, and started to push him back down the corridor towards the shuttles, a grim look on his face.

 “Hold it together, son,” Forrest said as Esposito moved forward.

 “When all this is over…,” he replied, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

 “No guards,” Esposito said as she pushed down the corridor. “Leave that for the follow-up. Carstairs, take three men and head after those devils down there. Cooper, Forrest, with me. I hope you remember where you are going, Ensign.”

 “If we don’t hurry,” Cooper said, pushing down the shaft without waiting for orders, “we can follow the trail of corpses. Move it, people!”

 Forrest and Mason were hard on his heels as he swept towards the next team, hoping that they had fared better than the first. Instead of slowing himself as he reached the bottom, he increased his speed, swinging out into the corridor with his rifle ready and his finger on the trigger, right into a group of incoming Cabal soldiers. Instinct took over as he found himself on a collision course, taking advantage of their brief moment of hesitation to fire a pair of well-aimed rounds, before one of them took a shot back that brushed against his armor, sending him off to the side and into the wall.

 The resultant impact knocked the wind out of him, and his sweaty fingers failed to grab the handhold that would have kept him in cover, sending him tumbling out of control into the firing line. Before the enemy soldiers could take the shots that would have killed him, his squad swept in from the shaft, sending precisely-aimed covering fire towards the Cabal group, sending them scurrying into cover. Taking the opportunity, Cooper shot one in the side as he tried to move to another firing position, sending his body drifting away down the corridor.

 “Having fun, Ensign?” Forrest asked, reaching out with a strong arm to tug him back in.

 “Thanks for the assist,” he said. Pushing down past the arriving forces, he drifted back to the fire team he’d left behind, two wounded men hiding behind a tumbling collection of crates. “Don’t worry, the reinforcements are here. You’ll be in a sickbay in half an hour, just hang on.”

 “Cooper,” Esposito said, “Third Platoon just got in touch. They’re under heavy attack, worse than up here, and their forward defenses are crumbling. If we don’t go down there now we won’t have anyone left to link up with.” Gesturing back, she said, “The First and Third of the Ninth are on their way down here now. Take two squads, and go hit those bastards from the rear.”

 “Will do, Lieutenant,” he replied. “My squad, Forrest’s squad, with me!” He tried to recall the reports from his scouts as he dived down one of the side passages, heading for the linking shaft. He turned to his thrown-together command, and said, “Speed and silence, people. We don’t want to set up any chance of a counter-attack. We go in quick, and once we make contact, smash them to bits. Clear.”

 “Clear, sir,” Forrest said. 

 “Good.” Doctrine called for the senior NCO to take the rear, but that would leave his best shot as the last one into the firefight. “Sergeant, you’re with me at point. Mason, take the rear and watch for stragglers. No defensive positions, no fall back points, we push on to the objective. Move.”

 Without waiting for the rest, not even for Forrest, he pushed down the new shaft, cautiously building up speed, turning his helmet light down low. As he drifted, he swung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled out his knife, the veteran by his side nodding approvingly and doing the same. A smile crept across his face; out dozens of light-years from Sol, with plasma weapons all over the place, and he was about to get into a knife-fight that a Roman centurion would have been at home with.

 As he expected, there were a pair of guards at the bottom, both of which paid for their inattentiveness with their lives as he and Forrest pushed in with their daggers raised, quick slashes across their throats ending any chance of them raising the alarm. One of the troopers following him looked from the dead guard to Cooper, shock on his face.

 Shaking his head, Cooper placed his knife back in its sheath, and started off down the corridor, pausing for a second at the intersection to look left and right. Already he could hear the sounds of battle echoing through the walls, a very good thing if it served to help cover their advance. His rifle back in his hands, he pushed down towards where he hoped Third Platoon was, his men following.

 The gunfire increasing in volume as they approached, and Cooper slowed slightly to drift besides Forrest, whispering, “We’ll be in contact in a minute.”

 “Probably.”

 “We need some tactical coordination in all of this. You press home the attack and keep them pinned, I’ll go through and make contact with Third Platoon, draw them back in the other direction.”

 “Are you doing the damn stupid thing I think you are going to do?”

 “Probably.”

 “Let me…”

 “No,” he said, shaking his head. “This is my job. Yours is to get these people into combat. Make as much noise as you can, and with a little luck, I should drift right through.”

 With a sigh, Forrest replied, “It’s taken me a long time to break you in, Ensign. I’d hate to have to go through all of that again. Be careful.”

 “Aren’t I always?”

 Without a glance behind, he pushed off down the corridor, swooping around into the middle of a cluster of surprised Cabal soldiers, hanging just behind the lines. Before they could react, he’d pushed on, well past them before they even picked up their weapons, and was around another corner.

 Instantly, a bullet cracked past him, obviously fired by a Triplanetary trooper; four Cabal soldiers were in between Cooper and his goal, and he dived head-long into them, raising his rifle to shoot behind him as he pushed through, firing blind to scatter them. The trooper ahead lined up for a shot, his mouth wide in panic.

 “Don’t shoot, damn it, I’m on your side!” Cooper yelled. “What’s the situation back here?”

 As he turned himself around, pushing the two of them into cover, the trooper gabbled, “The Sergeant and the Ensign are dead, sir. I think Corporal Chester has a command post back there. I was left to hold the line while we regrouped.” A shot cracked over the heads, and Cooper said, “Right. Hold out here just a little longer, Private. Help is on the way.”

 Looking up like a trapped animal, he replied, “I’ll do my best, sir.”

 “Keep low, fire pinning shots, and watch your aim. I’ve got men moving up and the last thing we need right now is friendly fire. You read me?”

 “I do, sir.”

 Tapping the scared trooper on the shoulder, he pushed off down the corridor, listening to the strengthening sound of gunfire to the rear; evidently Forrest had begun his assault, hitting multiple positions at once. That would hold them for a few minutes, but what happened to this platoon would happen again if he couldn’t get them moving.

 He drifted into a large chamber, a dozen wounded troopers strapped to the wall with a medic moving between them, a pair of NCOs floating in the middle of the room arguing over a datapad.

 “Don’t you salute officers in Third Platoon?” Cooper snapped as he drifted in.

 The Corporal looked up with a sneer, and said, “Where the hell have you been?” 

 “Fighting my way through the lines to rescue you. How many effectives have you got left?”

 “Nine, I think.”

 “You think? Are they all spread out like that trooper back there?”

 Shaking his head, the Corporal said, “Back in the other room. We were planning to head for an airlock, try and get away on the outside of the asteroid. We’ve lost this ground.”

 “Not yet we haven’t,” Cooper replied. Peering in the indicated direction, he saw five men looking around, two of them with hastily-applied bandages on their arms, and said, “Anyone who wants to live through this nightmare comes with me. The rest of you can stay here and die.”

 “The fire’s too heavy,” the Corporal said, but Cooper turned to him.

 “Then you go for a walk outside. I’ll go back on my own if I have too.”

 With a sigh, the other NCO, a battered, old Lance-Corporal, said, “No, you won’t. Come on, lads, one more push.”

 As the disheartened troopers pulled themselves together, reaching for their equipment, Cooper managed to muster a smile on his face as he looked them over.

 “Just give me one more fight, and you and your wounded will be on your way back to one of the battlecruisers. Let’s break these bastards!”

 He pushed out again, pulling out his rifle, and moved back out into the corridor, the troopers a long snake behind him, the Corporal at the end of it, obviously choosing to stay with his men. With a loud scream, Cooper pushed forward into a thicket of Cabal soldiers, firing a salvo of shots into them.

 “Come on, men, who wants to live forever!”

 For a heartbreaking second, he thought that he was on his own, but supporting fire came, and built, and the enemy troopers fell as the shots hit home. Pushing into the long corridor ahead, he could see his own forces moving in from three directions, Forrest’s barking orders echoing around for all to hear.

 As the two platoons began to link up, the inevitable happened, and the Cabal forces broke, their troopers scattering in all directions like seeds from a flower, darting away faster than the Triplanetary forces could catch them up. Some of his men started to pursue, but he shook his head.

 “Hold position!” he yelled. “They know the nooks and crannies better than we do. Sergeant, set up a defensive cordon between here and the communications station. Presumably Esposito will have that secured by now. Make it tight, and start getting the wounded back up the chain to the shuttles.”

 “It’s not over, sir,” Forrest warned.

 “I know,” Cooper replied. “But at least we’ve got them on the run.” He glanced ahead at a figure moving towards him, one he vaguely recognized. “You up there, you First Platoon?”

 “Yes, sir,” the trooper replied. “First of the Seventh.”

 “First of the Seventh,” Forrest said, his eyes widening. “Then…”

 “We slammed into the attack on the airlocks ten minutes ago, Sergeant. Lieutenant-Major Brownworth sends her compliments, sir, and requests that you report to the communications station for an officer’s briefing right away.”

 Shaking his head in disbelief, Cooper said, “I never thought I’d be happy to go to a meeting. Lead the way, Private, and Sergeant, take over down here.”

 “Yes, sir,” the veteran beamed. “I guess we really have turned the tide.”

 “It ebbs and flows, Sergeant,” Cooper said. “Stay alert.”

Chapter 23

 Logan looked across at his sullen co-pilot and cracked a smile, asking, “Are you going to start talking to me again any time soon?”

 Duquesne returned his glance and said, “You’re my commanding officer. That means I have to listen to you, but it doesn’t mean I have to make small talk with you.”

 “Did you pick up this sparkling personality in medical school, or did you come by it naturally? Look, you’ve got a right to feel resentful, but I did what I did because it was necessary. She’ll be a hell of a lot safer on slow freight to Mars than she would have been locked up in that dodgy hotel room.”

 “She was my patient.”

 “She was my friend a hell of a lot longer than she was your patient, Doctor, and if you don’t think that I’m worried about her, then you aren’t a very good judge of character. I don’t know what we’re going to be doing for the next month or so, but I have a feeling that I’m going to have to throw us into harm’s way, and that means that Alamo needs a doctor on board, not randomly wandering around the Solar System.”

 Shaking her head, she replied, “Perhaps you could consider not taking us into harm’s way.”

 His face reddening, he said, “Why exactly did you join the Fleet in the first place, Doctor? What did you expect? We’re a military organization and that means that sometimes we’ve got to throw ourselves in front of a few bullets to stop them hitting the people we’re supposed to be protecting.” Looking back at his screen, he continued, “If a few people with more stars on their shoulder than brain cells in their head hadn’t forgotten that then we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

 “What are you planning to do?” she asked, her voice softening almost imperceptibly.

 “The President has ordered me to take Alamo out to Hades Station and stop the war, and that is what I intend to do.”

 “And if the war has already started?”

 “Then I will do everything in my power to stop it.” He smiled, and said, “I’m in the same business as you, really. My job is to save lives, though in my case that seems to mean putting my own in extreme hazard.”

 She looked at him for a moment, then said, “Why did you join the Fleet? Seriously?”

 Glancing down at his controls, he replied, “You really want to know?”

 “The least you can do after everything you’ve put me through is to satisfy my curiosity.”

 “When the war broke out, I was just a kid, a twenty-year-old idealist who wanted to save the world. I didn’t know then that they had me outnumbered. I’d been involved with the Freedom League, back before it began, so I was in at the ground floor. Unfortunately, I was stuck on Vesta during the Declaration.”

 “Behind enemy territory until the Fleet took it. The first big victory of the war.”

 He smiled, and replied, “That’s the story in the history books, anyway. My boss figured that we needed something for the military to cheer about; things were bad enough that first year.”

 Frowning, she said, “What actually happened?”

 “We took the place down from inside. Six of us – led by my old friend, the esteemed Fleet Captain Paine – sneaked into the old mine tunnels and started some creative acts of sabotage. By the time we’d finished, the place was wide open for an attack. They didn’t even seriously try to defend it.”

 “So you joined Triplanetary Intelligence.”

 He cracked a smile, and said, “Doctor, the four of us who got off that rock were Triplanetary Intelligence, at least back then. And despite periodic attempts to pension him off, old Paine keeps going back for another crack at the driving seat.”

 “But you left, after the war.”

 His smile faded, and he said, “I had my reasons, and I still think they were good ones.” He looked down at the uniform he was wearing, and said, “Wearing this uniform hurts, Doctor. I know exactly what it means, even if I don’t measure up.”

 “You got promoted to Lieutenant-Captain.”

 “Only because Paine wanted to force me back in after Spitfire.” Shaking his head, he replied, “That bastard could always lure me back in. This isn’t the first time, but I know damn well that it’ll be the last. I want this uniform off as soon as this mission is over. I’m getting a bad taste in my mouth.”

 “Want me to run an examination on you?”

 “That doctor-speak for a proposition?” he replied, smiling as her face erupted in a scowl. “Let me concentrate, I’ve got flying stuff to do for a while. Alamo beckons, and I have to get back into character again. Maybe I can at least convince the crew that I’m a starship captain.”

 He settled back at the controls, then flicked a switch on his panel, “This is Shuttle Two, requesting permission to dock.” A long pause followed, and he said, “This is Captain Winter. Reply at once.”

 “Captain, this is Acting Captain Watson. By direct Presidential order, I have assumed command of Alamo as of two hours ago. You will not be permitted to dock with this ship; all communications have been isolated. Report to Carter Station for reassignment.”

 Looking up at Duquesne, he said, “Reassignment to a holding cell, damn it.” Turning back to the panel, he said, “I want to see a copy of those orders, Watson.”

 “You can check out all the paperwork you want at Carter, Captain. I’ve got a lot of work to do getting this ship ready for action. Alamo out.”

 “Now what?” Duquesne said, as Logan corrected the shuttle’s course to bring it to station-keeping. “We’re stuck out here unless someone opens the docking ports.”

 Logan was already pulling out a communicator, saying, “Logan to Harper. Come in, please.” There was a pause, and he said, “Logan to Harper. Come in.” He looked up, and said, “Best guess that she’s in Alamo’s brig. Watson must have been smarter than I thought; I should have known better than to underestimate him.”

 “Do we head back to Carter? Try and make contact with your friends in the Lunar Republic again?”

 “We’ve had to tell them too much already about what’s going on around here for my liking. The last thing I want to give them is advice on how to steal one of our capital ships; we’re flirting close enough to treason already.”

 “Then get another ship. A freighter, something like that.”

 “Are you a millionaire? Doing all this for fun? I haven’t got the funds to hire a ship, and I don’t have access to any intelligence assets at the moment.” He gestured up at Alamo, floating serenely in space, and said, “There’s a perfectly good ship up there that I can use. I’ve just got to get on board.” Glancing at his panel, he said, “They’ve locked me out quite effectively, but I can take control of the ship from any command station.”

 “Like the one in sickbay?” Duquesne replied.

 “Yes,” Logan said, looking at her sideways. “What do you have in mind?”

 “I know a way on board, but you aren’t going to like it.”

 “I don’t like the situation much now. What is it?”

 “The casualty-chute from sickbay. It’s isolated from all the primary systems, and it runs all the way from the outer hull right into my examination room.”

 “Wait a minute,” Logan said. “There’s an access point to the ship that is independent of the security monitoring? How the hell did that happen?”

 “Technically it isn’t exactly an access point.”

 “What do you mean?” he replied, his face falling.

 “The chute is essentially a low-powered cannon using compressed air. The idea is to send bodies away from the ship, remember. In circumstances that do not permit a proper burial – death from plague, that sort of thing. I’m also not sure that you could get up it wearing a spacesuit.”

 “I don’t like where this is going one bit. You’re telling me that I have to climb up a, what, quarter-mile shaft…”

 “A little more than that.”

 “Wearing no suit, and knowing that someone could touch a button and send me out to meet my maker.”

 “Not so bad as that, Logan. I think we can fix it so that the rear hatch will be locked.”

 Nodding, he replied, “Being smeared against the outer hull will be a much faster way to die than exposure to vacuum. Speaking as the potential smearee, I approve.” Glancing up at the ship, he said, “I can float across in a rescue ball, turn the pressure down low enough to get in, while you lock down the hatch. One it’s sealed and pressurized, I get out of the ball and start to climb.”

 “I should go. I know the system.”

 “But I have the, er, special command codes that are going to be needed to make the plan work, and we certainly can’t both go.”

 “It was my idea.”

 Looking across at her with a smile, he said, “And if it all goes wrong, then I’m going to be in need of serious medical attention.”

 “You’ll need a priest.”

 “That’s what I like about you, Doctor. Your optimism.”

 “There’s just one problem,” she replied. “How are we going to get to the shaft without being seen? By now Watson will have every sensor on Alamo trained on this shuttle.”

 Nodding, Logan tapped a series of controls, and the shuttle spun on its thrusters, the engine firing to take it back towards Carter Station. “And as far as he is concerned, we’re going back there now to complain.”

 She frowned again, then said, “We are going back there.”

 “We’re not staying on this course.” He called up the sensor display and tapped the screen, his finger pressing against a large contact, “Watson said that he was getting the ship ready to move out. That’s excellent news, we can use that.”

 “That’s a tanker.”

 “A nice, big ship. Good Callistan design; they like to refuel a ship in one flight rather than lots of smaller trips with little rinky-dink shuttles. Plenty of space to hide.”

 “Won’t the tanker notice us sneak on board?”

 “Who said anything about sneaking on board?” he replied, setting up a course. The engine fired again, slewing them around towards the tanker, on a trajectory that would still take them to Carter Station, if a few moments longer than the optimum. Hopefully sufficient that no-one on the bridge would notice. If the right person was sitting in the Watch Officer’s station, he could almost guarantee that no-one would see what he was doing.

 Letting the ship fly itself for a moment, he pulled out a keyboard and started to type, a smile running over his face as he saw the last-generation security package on the tanker.

 “They really need to upgrade these systems. Remind me to send something to Security. Later.”

 “You’re hacking into the sensors,” she said, nodding.

  “I might not be at Harper’s level, at least, not any more, but you’d be surprised how essential this skill is in my line of work.”

 She smiled, then said, “Back on Vesta, what did you do before the war?”

 “Computer systems fraud. I was trading prospecting information to rival mining companies.” He shrugged, and said, “Everyone was doing it at the time. Most of the money went to the Underground.” Pausing for a moment, he looked up at the stars, and said, “Everything was a hell of a lot easier back then.”

 “Looks like you’re in,” she said, gesturing at the display.

 “Good,” he replied. “Now all I have to do is tell the tanker’s sensors that we’re on our way back to Carter Station, match courses, and wait for about six hours.” He leaned forward over his controls, then looked across, “You could transfer over to the tanker, you know.”

 “It’s automated.”

 “But there are facilities for a couple of passengers, personnel transfer. You’d be back on Carter Station in eighteen hours. By then everything will be long over on Alamo and you can tell the authorities any story you like.”

 “Don’t be stupid,” she replied. “All of my stuff is on Alamo.”

 “As long as you know you have the choice.”

 Shaking her head, she said, “No, I don’t. As you said, you’re going to need a doctor. Just promise me one thing.”

 “What?”

 “A boring trip.”

 “I’m not sure that I can do that, but I think I can manage an interesting one.”

Chapter 24

 The six monitors displayed six different news programs, and all of them were showing images of Orlova, various poses taken over the last few years – an old shot of her in her days as a freelance shuttle pilot, pictures taken by Fleet Public Relations after she returned from the Ragnarok mission, then from Jefferson, then the latest taken the morning before she reported from Staff College, standing proud in her uniform with fresh rank insignia.

 “I see you get all the publicity,” Nelyubov said as he walked into the room. “I guess they don’t have any decent shots of me.”

 “Want me to call one of the newscasters and tell them that you were my evil sidekick?”

 “I think I can do without that.” He sat down opposite her, and slid a datapad across the desk, “You need to see this.”

 She glanced down, nodded, and said, “He’d expected to be captured. I’m surprised they aren’t making more of it, though.”

 “Still confidential. I think we still have a few friends in low places; one of them passed it to me. It’s official, though.” He leaned back and said, “Your father’s on his way to maximum security on Deimos, presumably solitary confinement. They won’t do anything more to him.”

 “I know,” she replied. “No trial, nothing. They’ll stall until after the election.” With a thin smile, she said, “And then probably put him on the first transport back to Jefferson with a suggestion that he keeps his head down and leaves it there.”

 “He wanted to go back home anyway.”

 “Not in disgrace, Frank,” she said, standing up and waving at the monitors. “All of this…”

 “They’ve been fed a good story by some professional leakers.” Looking up at a gray-haired man silently mumbling, he said, “We’ve got a much better one, complete with documentary proof. One call and we’d bring the house down.”

 She shook her head, and said, “That’s the problem. We’d bring it all tumbling down, and probably end up at war to boot. With our civil and military administration fighting each other, how well do you think we’d hold off against the Cabal? I’d almost be willing to imagine that they wanted this to happen, that they engineered this, but that’s giving them a level of competence I can’t credit them with. We’re quite crazy enough to do this to ourselves.”

 “It’s fear, Maggie. I’ve been out there, looking at a few faces, and they don’t know what’s waiting out there in the dark. Hell, I don’t, but at least I can guess. Alamo comes back from its mission with news that a shadowy empire is out there plotting our doom, and with a string of military successes strong enough to convince the hawks that we could win a war.” He sighed, and said, “Scared people want to strike back, to persuade themselves that they are strong by fighting.”

 “Do you think we’re going to end up at war?”

 “Maybe,” he replied. “In which case I don’t want to spend the duration locked up in here.”

 “We won’t,” she said. “Everyone’s playing for time. If we lose, and we end up at war, then we’ll end up sent straight to the front on the next suicide mission they can find. So will everyone else involved.” She paused, and said, “With all respect to the good people of Ragnarok, I don’t want to be here.”

 “I understand,” he said. “You want to try and get to your father, but he’s as safe at the moment as he would be in the Embassy. They’re not going to do anything other than inconvenience him for a while. They’re playing by the book, remember. Sticking to the letter of the law. They’re just doing things with it that no-one ever would have wanted when the Constitution was written.”

 “No, that’s not what I mean,” she replied, pacing up and down. “I’m not doing any good sitting in here watching the protesters rally. That’s exactly what Tarrant and the others want us to do.” Pointing at the wall, she said, “I’m as much a prisoner in here as I would be if I was out at Deimos with my father, and doing as little to help.” 

 “We’re working on things. There’s going to be a bigger news story soon…”

 “Alamo leaving won’t even get reported. Fleet will release it as a routine flight, regardless of whatever anyone privately thinks. They’re not going to admit that anyone managed to borrow a capital ship.”

 “You’re assuming that Winter doesn’t get caught.”

 “I think that’s a reasonably safe assumption to make. I’ve seen him at work.”

 “Then the President…”

 “The President will go on the air and say something, but unless he’s going to say more than any of us can risk saying, there isn’t that much he can realistically do. Despite his press releases to the contrary, he isn’t God Almighty.”

 “So why do you want to go out there?”

 “We’ve lost the initiative, Frank. Right now we’re letting the bad guys make all of the key moves, and it’s really beginning to hurt us. The only way we’re going to change that is to go out and find the weapons we need to fight back.”

 “Weapons?”

 Pointing at the screen, she said, “We don’t even know who we’re fighting! We’ve got a list of names and guesses, and a few hints and suggestions. I wouldn’t go into a battle with this little intelligence, and that’s exactly what we’re fighting here. I can’t do anything sitting here, but I still have a few old friends from the good old days when I flew shuttles for a living, and a few favors I can call in.”

 “Or they could pick you up in five minutes and ship you off to a holding cell.”

 “In which case we would be no worse off than we are right now.”

 He shook his head, sighed, and said, “When exactly are you planning to launch this unorthodox excursion?”

 “Right now. This minute.”

 “Not even waiting until tonight? Who’s going to tell the Ambassador?”

 “You will. After I’m gone. Do you really think there aren’t leaks from this building, with more than a hundred people knowing where I am and what I am doing. That’s another problem, I need freedom of action that I just haven’t got here. Freedom to rattle a few cages and see what falls out.”

 “I don’t like this, Maggie. We’re treating Mars as if it is just another hostile colony to infiltrate.”

 “Maybe that’s exactly what it is, exactly what it has become, and that’s one more reason why we’ve got to do whatever it takes to stop all of this.”

 “How are you going to do it?”

 “You’re going to head out right now and tell them that I’m willing to speak to them at Airlock Five, that I will not leave the territory of the embassy but that I will answer any and all questions they want to put to me. That should draw at least most of them over to that side of the dome, and there’s enough transport out there that I can borrow one without attracting attention.”

 Nelyubov started to laugh, then said, “I’m going to arrange a diversion while you steal a car in order to drive to the nearest city. This doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”

 “Oh, it isn’t, but sometimes the simple plans are the best.”

 “What if you can’t break into the car?”

 “I was a smuggler, Frank. Do you believe that I never had cause to do a little breaking and entering?” Shaking her head, she said, “I’m just glad the statute of limitations has passed on all of that, or I’d be in real trouble.”

 “I’m coming with you.”

 “No, you aren’t,” she said. “And that’s an order, if it means anything to either of us any more. Someone has to stay here to hold the fort. If a few people are managing to sneak information to you, then you have something you can do right here.”

 “Then you stay, and I’ll go.”

 “You haven’t walked those streets in more than ten years.” Looking him up and down, she replied, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’d stick out like a sore thumb out there.”

 “At least my face isn’t plastered everywhere.”

 “Lieutenant Nelyubov, I said that I was giving an order.”

 He looked at her for a long minute, then nodded, replying, “Fine, Maggie. If that’s the way you want it. I still think that this is a mistake, but it is yours to make.” He cracked a smile, and said, “I’ll go and lie to some journalists. That ought to cheer me up. Move quickly, though. I don’t think they’ll wait around for long.”

 “Thanks, Frank. And don’t worry, I’m coming back.”

 “You’d better. I don’t want to be stuck with briefing the press about your demise.”

 “My last act of revenge,” she said with a smile. “Go.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a mock-salute, walking out of the room. She looked at the monitors again, waiting for the expected announcement of her imminent press briefing. It took less than a minute before the banners started to roll, the feeds switching to live coverage outside the Embassy; doubtless President Newton and would-be President Ackerman would both be giving it their full attention, wondering what exactly she was going to say.

 The last twenty-four hours of captivity had given her an excellent knowledge of the layout of the dome, and she was known enough to the staff that they waved her through without a second thought, some of them flashing her a puzzled look as the announcement of her impending meeting with the press broke.

 Quietly, she slipped into one of the emergency airlocks, disabled the alarms with a nine-digit access code, and slid into a surface suit, locking the seals and setting the visor to opaque, hoping that the camouflage would buy her a little time. The inner hatch slammed shut and the pressure rapidly equalized; a few seconds later she was stepping out onto the familiar Martian sands.

 She walked straight for the improvised vehicle pool, stepping over the ruts in the soil, and headed for the nearest car, giving it a quick visual inspection to determine whether it was in decent condition. Satisfied by what she saw, she pulled one of her reliable hacking rods out of her pocket and slid it into the vehicle interface, the door sliding open remarkably quickly. The hatch cycled in seconds, and she stepped into the driver’s cabin, pulling off her helmet and heading for the driver’s seat.

 “Where are we going?” a voice said from behind her, causing her to turn with a start.

 “Who are you?”

 “I’d ask you the same question if I wasn’t here to interview you.” Orlova turned to see a slight, blonde woman wearing a well-tailored suit, a wand microphone in her hand. “I’m Harriet Bryce, Triplanetary News Network. I had a feeling that you were leading my colleagues on a wild-goose chase.”

 “If I were you,” Orlova replied, “I’d leave. I’m a very dangerous person.”

 “Well this has been firmly established by my friends at the other networks, but I’m interested in finding out what is going on. And you are in my car.”

 “I might be armed.”

 “So might I.” She sat down, and said, “Look, I can help you get places you can’t. I’ve got a journalist’s ident, and that opens doors. Moreover, I’ve sorted out a cover story for you.”

 “Who are you working for again?”

 “My boss is always more interested in the long story than the quick fix. I figure that if I hang around with you, I’m more likely to get the whole picture than I am if I hang around with the jackals out there. Am I right?”

 “I’m not going to talk to any journalists,” she replied. “I can’t.”

 “Then let me watch and listen, and I won’t report anything until you personally give me clearance to do so.”

 Frowning, Orlova said, “What’s your cover story for me?”

 “You’re an actress named Claudia Dane, and you are impersonating Orlova to do a few live reconstructions for the network of Lieutenant Orlova’s seditious activities. It won’t stand up to serious inquiry, but I rather hope that you’ll be smart enough to keep us out of one.”

 Pausing for a moment, she said, “Give me that microphone.”

 “Here,” Bryce said, passing it across. “It isn’t even turned on.”

 “Good,” Orlova replied, breaking it across her knee. “No recordings, no interviews, nothing. When this is all over I will give you the whole story – you, personally – but whether or not you ever get clearance to do anything about it is out of my hands. Understood?”

 “Completely,” she said. “So, where are we going?”

 “The Valley. I know a few people down in the agri-domes, and it’s as good a place as any to get started. I need to contact them now from this terminal.”

 “By all means,” she replied. “As long as I get something out of this.”

 “I’m sure you will, even if it is just a nasty case of lead poisoning.” Orlova turned to the console and started to type, while the journalist pretended not to look over her shoulder. Despite herself, she began to smile. There was a faint chance that all of this might work out after all.

Chapter 25

 Marshall sat in the cramped office, looking at the monitor on the wall, set to display an image of the Cabal ships heading towards them. Less than twelve hours to go until contact, and right now, he had absolutely nothing to do. All the key decisions had been made, and all that remained was for the crews of the ships under his command to get ready, a job for technicians and junior officers. The only thing left for him was to wait.

 He looked around the room, shaking his head, wondering what had kept him from transferring his flag to the Gilgamesh or the Thermopylae. Hell, Frank Rogers was an old friend of his, and Gorski was at least tolerable. Something was holding him back, and he didn’t need anyone to tell him what it was. Neither of them was his ship. Nor was Wyvern, of course, but at least it didn’t look like Alamo, wasn’t littered with a thousand subtle reminders of what he’d had, and what he’d lost.

 There was a knock at the door, breaking him out of his reverie, and Cunningham stepped in, a datapad in his hand and a smile on his face.

 “Planning on taking one of the fighters out for another joyride?” he asked.

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “Not today, John. Last time I was just in the right place at the right time.”

 “That puts you up to twelve kills,” he said. “Getting close to my record, and I never managed two in a single dogfight.” 

 “I was as surprised as you were. I guess I still have some of the old skill left after all.”

 “Please don’t do it again. And don’t leave me in command next time; Gorski has more than two years’ seniority over me.”

 “You’re better than Gorski.”

 “Granted, but that doesn’t mean I want the job.” 

 “Something we have in common,” Marshall replied, gesturing up at the screen again. “If you look hard enough, you can almost see them moving in.”

 Cunningham reached up, flicked off the screen, and said, “Don’t dwell on it.”

 Looking up, he said, “In less than…”

 “And there is nothing you can do to stop them, and nothing else you can do here. Hell, I’m in about the same boat. Everything’s ready and I’ve sent the combat crew down to rest. You ought to think about it as well.”

 With a frown, Marshall said, “I’ll take a nap when you do.”

 “I’m different, I’ve…”

 “No you aren’t,” he said with a smile. “The waiting is always the worst part of this. Always.”

 “Eager anticipation…”

 “For it all to be over so we can go home.” Standing up, he said, “What the hell are we doing out here, John? I’ve been going over the strategic charts again, and do you know what the Fleet has in position to support anything we might do here?”

 “No.”

 “Nothing. Not a damn thing.” He gestured at the viewport, the asteroid slowly tumbling below, and said, “I pushed this because those were are orders, and because I presumed that there was more to it than that, but after two damn days I can’t find any evidence of that.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “I’ve got Caine going over everything again in case I’ve missed something.” With a deep sigh, he continued, “Maybe I’m just not cut out for all of this.”

 “You don’t really believe that.” 

 “No, I guess not, but I’m struggling to see what the purpose of all of this is.” Shaking his head, he said, “I’m probably looking in the wrong place. Just diplomatic crap, like I said before. We’re pawns to be sacrificed for the peace treaty.” An ugly thought flashed into his head, and he added, “You think they might be planning to trade this damn rock back to the Cabal?”

 “Anything is possible, Danny, but that’s way above our pay grade, isn’t it? Tramiel wouldn’t have ordered this on a whim. There’s more going on that we know. Maybe it is all just political and there isn’t an overriding strategic plan; that doesn’t necessarily mean that this isn’t important. Not if it helps buy us peace. Even if it is just for a while.”

 The door slid open, and Caine stalked in, tossing a datapad down onto the desk. She waited for the door to close, then walked over to Marshall, staring down at him.

 “Did you know?”

 “Know what?”

 “Our orders,” she said with a hollow laugh. “Our god-damned orders. Do you know what this mission is?”

 “To secure the asteroid,” Marshall replied.

 “Ah, but have you seen the original orders from the Combined Chiefs and from the President?”

 He looked across at Cunningham and said, “No. They weren’t in the briefing pack, just the orders from Counter-Admiral Tramiel. It isn’t really customary to see every order in the chain of command, Deadeye.”

 “Well, we damn well should have made an exception in this case.” She closed her eyes, counted under her breath, and said, “We are executing a reconnaissance in force.”

 “Where?”

 “Here, damn it! This mission was not ordered by your precious chain of command!”

 Marshall snatched the datapad from her hand and started to skim through it, flicking through the pages before looking up, “Are you sure about this? Where the hell did you get it from?”

 “Fleet Captain Hayes’ corpse. She had that datapad on her when they pulled her out of the escape pod. If she hadn’t been brought here, I’d never have seen it.”

 “Hold on a minute,” Cunningham said. “All of us have known Jack Tramiel for years. I don’t buy for a moment that he would suddenly go rogue and start a war. We’ve operated under sealed orders before.”

 “And all three of us have high security clearance. The same as Hayes, in fact; I checked. Anything she knew about, we should know about.” 

 “Alamo’s mission to the Cabal was a verbal order from the President,” Marshall replied. “Passed on through Counter-Admiral Remek. Perhaps this is the same idea.” Shaking his head, he continued, “I like that a lot less than the other, frankly. That would mean that someone wants to have plausible deniability if all of this goes wrong.”

 “If this threatens to brew up into a war, all of us can be thrown to the dogs in the interests of peace,” Cunningham said. “What about the other possibility?”

 “What possibility is that,” Marshall replied. “That Tramiel went mad one day and decided to start a war? I can’t believe that.”

 “You were second in command of the task force,” Caine said, “so why wouldn’t you be brought into the loop? There was always a risk that you would end up running the show.” Frowning, she continued, “And why the hell not tell us about the original order?”

 “What about Hydra?” Cunningham asked.

 “We’re supposed to be there right now. From the looks of things the plan was to send down a couple of scoutships, look over the lie of the land for future operations. Reconnaissance, not invasion.”

 “Rookie Espatiers,” Marshall said. “Those bastards.”

 “Danny?”

 Looking at Caine, he said, “They didn’t expect those kids to go to battle. If they’d just been wandering around on Driftwind and up on Hydra Station, that would just be a question of guard duty. We could have finished their training with only minimal risk.” He slammed a hand on the desk, and said, “Someone decided that they were expendable.”

 “What are you going to do about it?”

 With a bitter laugh, he said, “The damage is done, isn’t it? The dead are dead, and there’s nothing I can do to bring them back. Besides, John has a point – the lack of written orders doesn’t necessarily mean a damn thing. For all we know, there were fears of a security leak. Maybe they thought some of us might have been turned.”

 “That’s crazy.”

 “Not to the boys back home, perhaps.”

 “We can pull out,” Caine said. “Our troops are in a better position now to evacuate…”

 “And tell them what?” Marshall replied, almost shouting. “Sorry about all of this, but it looks like we’ve made a bit of a mistake and sent you to the wrong place. I know you had a ten percent fatality rate and a forty-one percent casualty rate, but shall we let bygones be bygones?”

 “If this was done against orders…”

 Looking back at Cunningham, Marshall said, “We don’t know that, not for sure, and we’ve paid a pretty damn high price to take that rock. The brass might not have any strategic plan for using it, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use it.”

 “So we’ve taken it and we’re going to keep it, no matter what anyone else might say?”

 “I don’t think we have a choice.”

 “Danny,” Caine said, “we have all the choice in the world. Contact the enemy fleet commander and request a ceasefire while we pull our people out of there. We both know that he’d agree.”

 “We probably could do that,” Marshall replied, “but that isn’t what we’re going to do.” 

 Nodding, Cunningham said, “Suppose this is some sort of secret assignment? Then what?”

 “So we’re just going to sit here and wait, then,” she replied, shaking her head. “We’re going to hang around and watch that fleet coming in, knowing that we’ll be fighting a battle that isn’t necessary, one that we aren’t under any obligation to fight. Just play the good soldier and obey orders, even when we don’t know where those orders come from.”

 “Technically, that doesn’t matter,” Cunningham said. “Our orders come from the Task Force Commander, who last time I checked was also running Deep Space Operations. Where he got those orders from is none of our business.”

 “Like hell it isn’t,” Caine shouted. 

 “Stop it! Both of you!” Marshall said, looking at each of them. With an effort, he lowered his voice, and said, “A hell of a lot of things about this mission stink, but we’re in too deep to just pull out now. Even if we did get some sort of assurance, I’m not sure I’d be willing to trust it, not with men deep in the asteroid.” 

 “Then…”

 “Just because I think there is something going on does not give me grounds to desert! This fleet is here to do a job, and that is exactly what we’re going to do. Period. After we’ve had the battle then, and only then, can we start to try and delve into why we are out here.”

 Nodding, Cunningham said, “First things first.”

 “We’ve got a battle to win tonight,” he said. “Don’t misunderstand me for a second. I will get an accounting of what we’re doing out here, if I have to launch a full-scale assault on the Admiralty to get it, but this is not the time nor the place for that to happen.”

 “And if we’re doing the wrong thing? If by our actions we have precipitated a war?”

 With a thin smile, Marshall said, “Hell, if this is as bad as you think, we just launched an unprovoked attack on an installation deep behind the lines in peacetime, killing dozens of Cabal military personnel. I’m about to double-down on that, yes, but I think the damage has been done already, don’t you?”

 “What about the damage to us, to our people? This isn’t what they signed up for.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “No. But this is what we signed up for when we took senior commissions. We have the luxury, and the burden, of knowing what is behind the orders we have to make others carry out. That’s part of the price we have the pay.”

 “And if they turn out to have been illegal orders?” Caine said.

 After a long pause, Marshall replied, “Then whoever was responsible will pay the price for what they have done. No matter who it is, no matter where they might be hiding. That’s a promise, to you and the people who are going to die today. On both sides.”

Chapter 26

 Logan drifted in the airlock, floating in the protective cocoon of the rescue ball, waiting for Duquesne to give him the signal that he was ready to go. He experimentally stretched his arms, trying to establish what agility he would have in the suit, and sent himself slamming up against a wall. Standing around in a floating bag didn’t give him much in the way of control; if the doctor up in the flight deck got this wrong, he’d end up drifting away, praying for anyone with a shuttle who decided that he was a loose end that needed tying off.

 “Almost there,” a voice echoed over the speaker. This would have been a lot easier if he had someone working things from the other side, from up on the bridge, but there was no sign of any help. Either they didn’t know that he was out here, or Ryder, Quinn and Harper had all been arrested, or worse. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thoughts, but struggled. He’d put them in jeopardy, and they didn’t even know why he was doing it. He wasn't even sure himself.

 With a loud clang, the shuttle knocked against the hull, and the airlock doors slammed open, firing him towards Alamo’s hull like a bullet from a gun. He slid into the casualty chute almost before he knew what had happened, slamming from one wall to another as he struggled to regain some sort of control, tumbling in the ball. Below, the hatch closed, and a series of green lights flashed on, the outside filling up with air once again.

 He wriggled out of the rescue ball, letting it drop away, and managed to catch hold of the ladder before he fell too far. Now it was just a question of climbing up to sickbay; he looked up the shaft and couldn’t see the top. The bottom was worryingly close, and he started to pull himself up a rail at a time, cursing the year he’d spent sapping his muscles on Spitfire Station once again. Onward he climbed, unwilling to risk taking a break for fear that someone would come and look at what had happened. The casualty chute wasn’t exactly a critical system, but that didn’t mean the malfunction wouldn’t be registered.

 Oddly, his nerves provided a distraction from the growing ache he felt in his arms as he continued to pull himself up, on and on. Anything could be happening outside; Duquesne’s shuttle was likely to be detected at any moment, and that would give the game away, though he was willing to bet that she wouldn’t talk willingly. If at all. With a little luck, her argumentative nature might buy him the time he needed to pull off this crazy stunt.

 He passed an inspection hatch, longing to enter, but that would take him down into the engineering levels, surrounded by technicians working on the ship. He needed to find a quiet place, and without her doctor on board, Alamo’s sickbay qualified. It wouldn’t be much further. Just another hundred rungs or so.

 When he finally reached the correct hatch, he tapped in his command access code and was slightly surprised to find it still working, sliding through and dropping onto the floor of the examination room panting and out of breath. No-one was around; the room was dark, and he gratefully helped himself to a long drink of water from one of the dispensers, wiping his brow with his civilian jacket. He looked down at himself and laughed; he didn’t look much like a ship’s commanding officer reporting back on board. He looked more like a pirate, though there was a certain degree of accuracy to that.

 After giving himself a few moments to recover, he made his way to a nearby terminal, and entered his access code again, going back over the recent entries to the Captain’s log. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for; Lieutenant Ryder was confined to quarters, Quinn restricted to his duty station, and Harper in close confinement down in the brig. He pondered for a moment, but Harper was the best qualified to help him take back the ship.

 It had always seemed incongruous to have an armory locker, no matter how small, in a sickbay, but Logan was grateful for it now, pulling out a gunbelt and strapping it around his waist, pulling his jacket down to cover it. He reached into one of the lockers and pulled out a box, carefully removing four hypodermic packages and placing them in a pocket; enough to knock out the guards he was expecting to find.

 “Now hear this,” Watson’s voice echoed. “We will be leaving Sol System in one hour. Anyone who is staying behind should clear the ship immediately.”

 No mention of prisoner transfer, and there was nothing in the log. He was taking his captive officers with him, no doubt concerned about what they might say. Nevertheless, that ruled out any chance that he was going to be allowed to sneak through the ship and rescue his people, complete his mission the sensible way.

 Instead, he stepped out into the corridor as though he owned the ship and walked into an elevator, stepping past a technician who did a double-take as he saw him, staring at his disheveled outfit.

 “Relax, kid,” he said. “Just a quick tour of inspection. Carry on with whatever it was you were doing.”

 “Yes, sir,” he replied, turning back to his work with a last glance at Logan. He stepped into the elevator, tapping in an override code to send it heading down to the brig without alerting anyone else about its destination. He smiled as the computer accepted the code, then pulled one of the syringes out of his pocket, breaking the seal and palming it. All of this was going far too easily for his liking, and assuming incompetence was usually a good way to get killed.

 He stood by the side of the door, waiting for it to open, and the guard fell for the trick, stepping into the elevator and giving him a short window to slam the hypodermic into his neck, clamping his hand over his mouth. Gently easing the guard to the floor, he stepped out into the corridor with his pistol in his hand, pointing it at the other remaining guard.

 “What the hell is going on?” the unfamiliar man said.

 “None of this is your fault, I know, but I need you to open the door right now,” Logan replied.

 “Or what? You’ll splatter my brains all over the deck?”

 “No, I’ll knock you out and leave you with your friend in a compromising position for the mockery of all of your fellow crewmen.” He sighed, and said, “This is a legal order, believe it or not, and I’m going to have that door open anyway. Do you really want the headache to beat them all when you wake up?”

 Looking at the gun, the guard nodded and tapped a code into the door. Harper stepped out, walking by his side, and looked at Logan with a smile spreading across your face.

 “It took you long enough to get here.”

 “Yeah, I must be getting old.” Gesturing to the guard, he said, “There’s an escape pod just up the corridor. Take your friend and bail out. Trust me, you’re only getting a head-start on the rest of the ship.”

 Moving the now-snoring guard out of the elevator, he ushered Harper in after him; she relieved the guard of his communicator on her way to him. He took it from her and set it to an internal frequency, another gimmick he had managed to set up in his short time in command.

 “Ryder, this is Logan. We’re on a secure line, reply at once.”

 “Logan, what the hell are you doing?” She sighed, then said, “He got an order from the Acting President to take command of the ship. There wasn’t anything I could do about it. I managed to stall him until yesterday.”

 “And your job right now?”

 “Awaiting transfer once Alamo has completed its mission. Whatever the hell that is, I haven’t been told. Most of the crew don’t know either.” She paused, then said, “I got all of our key people back, but we’ve filled up with newcomers.”

 “Right. Use this frequency and contact all the key people, and I mean all of them, and tell them that regardless of what happens in the next five minutes, they are to make for their duty stations. Then report to the bridge, you and Quinn. Got that.”

 “What are you going to do?”

 “You’ll find out in about sixty seconds. Move.”

 Harper smiled, then said, “We’re about to do something ridiculously crazy, aren’t we.”

 “I don’t have time to do this the easy way.” The door slid open one level down from the bridge, and they stepped out into an empty deck. Gesturing at a wall console, he said, “Sound a decompression alarm on the bridge, please.”

 She shrugged, and said, “No problem,” walking over to the panel. It took her suspiciously little time to activate the controls and log into the system, proof enough that she’d installed her own backdoors, and Logan could hear the faint signs of alarms coming from the ceiling. Not content with that warning, she flicked over to the life support system.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Show, don’t tell,” she replied, continuing to type. “I’m turning down the pressure by one-third in staged drops. Not enough to do anything other than give them trouble breathing, but it adds to the effect, I think.”

 “A perfectionist at work. Throw up a camera feed.”

 She tapped a button, and a viewscreen flickered into life; Watson did cut a dashing figure as he got his crew out of the bridge and into the elevator, taking a look around and shaking his head, the last man to leave.

 “Where do you want me to send them, boss?”

 He looked at Harper, and said, “Somewhere out of the way. You’re getting good at anticipating. Mark of a good officer.”

 “Maybe you’re beginning to get a little obvious,” she replied. “Shall we go?”

 Nodding, Logan pulled open a maintenance hatch and started to climb, easily moving the twenty-five rungs up to the bridge. At the top, the door was stuck; it took a barge with his shoulder to open it, and he tumbled in underneath the Flight Engineering station, gasping for breath.

 “Get the air turned back up,” he said to Harper, as he walked over to the command chair, tapping a control on the side to bring up a series of telltales. With a growing smile on his face, he entered a series of commands, and flashing warning lights began to run across the status boards, spreading across the ship like a virus.

 The elevator doors opened and Ryder ran out onto the bridge, panic on her face as she looked at the control systems. She looked across at Logan, baffled by his calm.

 “What the hell is happening?”

 “Looks like complete structural failure is imminent according to these readouts. You’d better get the crew to the escape pods right away.” He paused for a second, then continued, “Except, of course, for the ones we want to stay.”

 Shaking her head, she walked over to the communications station and tapped a control, saying, “This is the Executive Officer. All hands abandon ship. I repeat, abandon ship. This does not contravene my previous orders. I say again, this does not contravene my previous orders. All hands, abandon ship.”

 Turning to Harper, Logan asked, “Where exactly is Watson going at the moment?”

 “Nowhere in particular.”

 “Bring him out close to an escape pod and make it look as if all hell is breaking loose wherever he ends up. Steam coming out of the vents, pressure all over the place, that sort of thing. Have fun.”

 Nodding, she tapped a button, and then headed for the elevator with a datapad in her hand. Logan moved over to her, and she stopped at the threshold.

 “Where the hell are you going?” he asked.

 “I’m abandoning ship.”

 “Harper…”

 “Look, I know what’s coming next, and you don’t need me here for that. I can do everything necessary from one of the escape pods, and get myself across to Carter Station without anyone paying too much attention. From there I’m going to Mars.”

 “Why?” asked Ryder.

 Looking across at her with a smile, she said, “I can be a lot more help there with Maggie than I will be wandering across deep space with you. I have contacts and skills that she’s going to need more than you will.”

 “And you want to help your friend.”

 “That too.”

 “Get going. Good luck.” As she stepped into the elevator and it moved away from the bridge, Logan said to Ryder, “How about that. I think she’s growing up.”

 “It had to happen eventually.”

 “Always nice to see the chicks leaving the nest. Speaking of which, how’s the evacuation going?”

 “Quickly and without panic. Twenty-one escape pods in the sky, and station control is already scrambling shuttles to come and get them. You realize that they’ll work out pretty quickly that this was all a ruse, don’t you?”

 “I do indeed,” he replied. “Which is why you need to do two things. The first is to patch me through to the remaining crew, and the second is to put us on course for the hendecaspace point with a course for Spitfire Station.”

 “I just can’t get away from that hellhole, can I?” she replied, taking a pair of controls and tossing over a headset. “You’re on.”

 “That was quick.”

 “I’m getting better at this.” Looking across at the helm, she said, “I’ll get Race working on the course projections.”

 “This is Captain Winter,” Logan said into the microphone. “We’re in a hurry so I’ll keep this brief. I’m operating under orders that could be construed as illegal to take the Alamo out to Hades Station in the hope that we can stop a war with the Cabal. These orders come direct from President Newton, and I am aware that this makes their constitutionality somewhat suspect under the current circumstances. Nevertheless I intend to obey those orders.”

 “I’ve trimmed ship. Anyone that I don’t believe will be loyal to the crew and the mission is on their way home. That leaves you. All veterans who have shipped out on Alamo before, all people who know what the cost of an unnecessary war would be. I need each and every one of you, but I can’t promise anything other than a court-martial when we get back. Certainly there won’t be any parades or medals for this party.”

 He looked at Ryder, and said, “If anyone thinks that it isn’t worth it, get into one of the escape pods and go home. I won’t think any the less of anyone who thinks that his duty lies in following the orders we’re getting from the Combined Chiefs from the Acting President. I’m not going to try and sell you on this, convince you of anything, just to say that I think this is important enough to throw my career away for. I need you, but I won’t hold you back. That is all.”

 With a deep breath, he said, “That applies to you as well, Ryder.”

 She looked back at him, smiled, and said, “Course set for the hendecaspace point. We’re clear to proceed on your command.” She paused, then asked, “Shouldn’t this be harder to pull off? Stealing a spaceship?”

 “First of all, we’re not stealing it. I’m operating under a Presidential order.”

 “In a manner of speaking.”

 “Second, the fleet apparently assumes that its commanding officers are completely trustworthy people who won’t do things like set up secret backdoors in security systems and decide to head out into deep space without asking first.”

 “Perhaps this will teach them to trust a little less easily.”

 Stepping into the command chair, he nodded, and said, “Let’s get this over with.” The doors slid open, and two other members of the bridge crew – Spinelli and Steele – took their familiar positions, Ryder easing across to the tactical station.

 “No-one else is going, sir,” Steele said. “Looks like you’ve got a crew of twenty-nine.”

 “Twenty-nine,” Logan replied. “That enough, Ryder?”

 “It’ll have to be,” she said, tapping instructions into the computer. She turned, her eyes widening, and said, “We’ve got company.”

 “What?”

 “The Cronus. On an intercept course.”

 “A battleship?” Logan replied, his mouth agape. “Can she catch us in time?”

 Looking up at a panel, she said, “We’ll be at the hendecaspace point in thirty-nine minutes. She’ll be at the same point in forty-one minutes, but that will give her a short firing window.”

 “Is Doctor Duquesne on board?”

 “Her shuttle’s riding up into the bay now.”

 “Any chance of more speed?”

 “We’re already at maximum,” she replied.

 Weitzman stepped onto the bridge, looked around for a moment, and sat down at the communications station, next to Spinelli.

 “What kept you?” Spinelli asked.

 “Last-minute touches. Harper needed some help.”

 Logan shook his head, and said, “Why do I get the feeling that you’ve all been expecting this?”

 “Since Lieutenant Orlova got arrested, as well as Harper, Ryder and Quinn? We’d have been more surprised if you hadn’t pulled off something like this, sir,” the communications technician replied.

 The door opened again, and an unfamiliar woman in a flight jacket stepped out onto the bridge, looking around and dropping down into the vacant watch officer's station.

 “You must be Jack Quinn's wife,” Logan said.

 “Tabby Dixon, at your service,” she replied. “Quite literally, as we seem to be leaving the Fleet behind.” Gesturing at the floor, she said, “We've got four fighters on board, and four pilots – including me – who don't have that much to leave behind back home. You can trust them.”

 “Good to know we've got a little teeth,” Ryder said.

 Dixon looked across at her and said, “Gone up in the world a little, haven't you? Last time we met you were a Sub-Lieutenant.”

 “Blame him,” she replied, pointing towards Logan.

 “Everything's my fault today,” he replied with a smile.

 Weitzman looked up from his station and said, “We’re through to the Cronus now. Fleet Captain Malone.”

 “Never heard of him.”

 “He’s new,” Ryder said, looking through a hastily called-up database. “Formerly on the staff of Deep Space Operations. Personnel director.” Frowning, she continued, “No command experience.”

 “Good,” Logan replied. “Feel free to put him on. We might as well listen to whatever it is he has to say.”

 An image flashed onto the screen, a gray-haired man with bushy eyebrows glaring at him, his bridge a hive of activity behind him.

 “I’m not going to waste any time,” Malone said. “Turn over Alamo to me now, and I’ll only press charges against you, not your crew.”

 Shaking his head, he replied, “In a word, no. I’m not going to hand this ship to you, not unless I receive a direct order from the President.”

 “The lag time…”

 “What a pity. In that case I will consider myself to be following the orders I have already received, which are to proceed to Ragnarok at full speed.”

 “Don’t think I won’t fire on you.”

 “Oh, but I do. You see, right now we all have a nice measure of plausible deniability; everything can be explained away as maneuvers and accidents. Two Triplanetary ships firing on each other – for though I will not fire first, I will respond if attacked – is entirely another question.” Leaning forward, he said, “Feel free to continue the chase if you want to test that ship of yours. Until then, however, I suggest you consider that the media’s sword of Damocles can cut us both equally. Alamo out.”

 Ryder looked at him, and asked, “Do you think he bought it?”

 “I don’t know. We’re not in any danger here, but if he can guess where we’re going, then we’ll have problems when we get there. Let’s just hope that Ragnarok is about to get an unannounced visit from one of the Fleet’s newest capital ships, shall we.” Turning back to the screen, Logan tried to relax. It was going to be a long half-hour, but the five days to follow would be a hell of a lot worse.

 “At least we’re on our way, sir,” Steele said.

 “Yeah,” he replied. “Hold on, Danny boy, the Marines are coming.”

Chapter 27

 Orlova and Bryce tried to blend into the crowds as best they could, strolling through the crowded markets at the bottom of the Valley, occasionally glancing up at the terraces of vegetation growing along the walls underneath the immense dome that sealed it from the outside atmosphere. Tens of thousands of people lived and worked here, and as many would visit on a regular basis to take advantage of one of the few sources of truly fresh food on Mars, and one of the rarer places where one could imagine one was walking on Earth itself, out in the open air.

 Three times now, Orlova had attempted to lose Bryce in the crowd, but the journalist was nothing if not tenacious, and she finally decided to give up for the present, making her way over to a fruit stall, smiling at the bamboo frame carefully crafted to provide an ‘old-world’ feel to it. belied by the titanium struts it was sitting under.

 “Want something?” she asked.

 “Sure, I’ll take an apple,” she replied.

 “Make that two,” Orlova said. “Your expense account can cover the damages, I presume?”

 Shaking her head, Bryce swiped her card through the proffered reader, accepting the fruit in a thin paper bag, before the two of them walked on.

 “Where exactly are we going?” she asked.

 “Nowhere,” Orlova replied. “We’re just trying to keep a low profile.”

 Bryce stopped and said, “What the hell are we doing here, then?”

 Turning with a smile, she said, “As I said, we’re trying to throw off unwanted attention. Right now everyone’s looking at you instead of me, so I guess it’s working.”

 “Not quite,” another voice said, and she could feel an object pressing into her back that felt suspiciously like the barrel of a gun. “You two are coming with us, and you aren’t making any trouble.”

 “Tell me who or my dying scream will give you away.”

 “Cool customer, aren’t you. Triplanetary Intelligence. Now, come along.”

 She felt herself being guided to one of the carved out galleries by the side of the stalls, and the two of them walked along the sealed tunnels to a metal hatch on the floor, which slid open as they approached to reveal a ladder heading downwards. With a quick look at Bryce, Orlova stepped onto the ladder and began to descend, cautiously taking the rungs one at a time. The journalist followed her, but her assailant remained at the top as the hatch slammed shut.

 “Great,” Bryce said. “Now we’re trapped down here.”

 “I thought you wanted a story?”

 “Ideally I wanted to live long enough to report it.”

 “Relax. If they were going to kill us we’d be dead already. They had plenty of chances to dispose of us quietly on our way here.”

 “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

 Pausing on the ladder, Orlova asked, “Just out of interest, is this your first assignment?” 

 “Not exactly,” she replied.

 “What does that mean?”

 “That normally I’m on the gossip desk.”

 With a laugh, Orlova replied, “Your organization considers secret agents as sources of gossip?”

 “He doesn’t know I’m here. Look, I didn’t get into the business to report on drunken parties and naked actresses. I wanted to report the news, and this seemed like the story that could make my name.”

 “You’ve picked a hell of a first piece, you know that,” she said, once again climbing down the ladder.

 “I know, I know,” she replied. “Don’t worry, I’ll write a good story for you.”

 “Just as long as I’m the good guy, I don’t care what you write.”

 They reached the bottom of the shaft, and started to walk along the passage at the bottom, illuminated by an eerie green glow from old bioluminescent lights running across the ceiling. As they neared the end, a blinding flash erupted, and Orlova’s eyes began to water as she moved her hand to try and block out the glare.

 “Lieutenant Orlova?” a voice asked.

 “That’s me.”

 A different voice said, “Voiceprint matches, sir. And the DNA sample we got upstairs.”

 “Good,” the first voice said. “You can go. I don’t think I have anything to fear here, do I?”

 “Not from us,” Orlova replied. “Who are you?”

  A figure stepped forward, blocking out the light, hand outstretched. “My name is Fleet Captain Paine. Director of the Triplanetary Intelligence Service. I’m very pleased to meet you at last.” Looking past her, he said, “I’ve no intention of taking hallucinogenic drugs, and I’m not having an affair, so I’m not sure what you are doing here, Miss Bryce.”

 “She’s here to cover the story,” Orlova said.

 “Most people on infiltration missions don’t take embedded journalists with them.”

 “It wasn’t exactly my idea, sir.”

 “Ah, so we’re returning to the formalities. Cut out the sir, it isn’t necessary with me. My name is Tom, and you can settle for that.”

 “Now I understand.”

 “What?” he asked with a crooked smile.

 “Where Captain Winter gets it from.” Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Who’s side are you on?”

 With a smile, Paine replied, “The Triplanetary Confederation. Because I suppose someone must be. We’re not involved in short-term political disputes, nor the intrigues of the Combined Chiefs. We are and always have been an independent group.”

 “That sounds dangerous,” Bryce said. “Who watches the watchdogs?”

 “I do, and you are quite right; the situation is fraught with potential concerns, but I don’t think that we’re the problem at the moment. There is a threat to the stability of our Confederation, Lieutenant, and that is something we need to deal with. Do you not agree?”

 “That’s why I’m here.”

 “Yes, I got your message.”

 “You sent a message to him?” Bryce asked.

 Before she could reply, Paine said, “Not as such, but when she wrote to fifteen people in the Valley asking how the Loganberries were this Winter, I got the message instantly. You took quite a risk there, Lieutenant.”

 “Maggie,” she replied. “If we’re disposing with the formalities. And I gambled that you’d get to me before anyone else could.”

 “It was a surprisingly close-run thing, but some of my associates are dealing with that situation right now. You don’t need to worry about it; if you leave here then we will make sure that you get out without any trouble.”

 “If?” Orlova asked, raising an eyebrow.

 “You might choose to remain here under our protection…”

 “If I wanted that I’d have stayed in the Ragnarok Embassy.”

 “...or we might prefer that you remain here under our protection. So tell me, Maggie, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a dank hell-hole like this?”

 With a sigh, she said, “I’m trying to stop a war. And stop the Confederation collapsing into a pile of ruined hopes and shattered dreams. That enough for you? What are you doing about it?”

 “As much as we can,” he replied. “Understand that we’re in a hell of a position here. We’re politically neutral, and we might be at war any minute, which means that we can’t afford to become an enemy of whoever wins this little dispute. Ultimately, if the worst happens, we can deal with it long-term while we focus on the main enemy out in deep space.”

 “Which means you aren’t going to do a damn thing.”

 “I didn’t say that,” he said. “My personal preference is that we wait for the war to come to us rather than racing out and starting one; I haven’t spent the last decade putting out one fire after another to let us crash into war that easily.” He looked at her, up and down, and said, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Maggie. Enough that I’m willing to let you run on this one.”

 “And what else?”

 “I can’t afford to take a gamble on anything less than a sure thing. When you make your move – and I know you well enough to know that you will find a way to make it – then you let me know, and I’ll back your play any way I can.” He paused, then said, “I’ll trust that you’ll only make a run for it if you know you can win. Don’t use this card unless you need it.” Looking past her at Bryce, he said, “And I’ll guarantee you a good story if you keep your mouth shut until the time comes. Otherwise the only one you’ll get will be ‘Gossip Columnist Mysteriously Disappears’. Understand?”

 “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

 Orlova glanced back at her, then turned back to Paine, saying, “I understand, sir.”

 “We’re back to that again, are we. If it all goes to hell, I will promise you that I’ll find a way to use you. You won’t sit the war out if I have anything to say about it. Unless whatever it is you try lands us both in front of a firing squad.” He smiled, then added, “For the immediate future, we’ll get the two of you out to Port Lowell. That’s anonymous enough that you should be able to blend into the background. The rest is up to you. One of my people will be here in a few moments.”

 “Thank you.”

 “Don’t thank me,” he said while he was walking away. “I’m putting you in one hell of a spot, and I know it. No-one should be forced to deal with what you’ve been thrown into. That’s our job.”

 The light abruptly died, and Paine seemed to vanish into the gloom, Orlova blinking in an attempt to adjust her eyes to the darkness. She moved cautiously over to Bryce, placing a hand on her shoulder.

 “Still want to come along? We can go our separate ways, you know.”

 “You think journalists aren’t patriotic?” she replied. “I came here to help as well as get a story. You’d be surprised the low-life places I’ve trawled in the past, and I know how to hide when I have to. We’ll manage.”

 “Good,” she replied. “Just remember that what Paine said goes. You don’t print a word until I say.”

 “I know, I know,” Bryce said, shaking her head. “Do you think I’m stupid enough not to know a good thing when I see it? This is going to be the story of the decade – and even if I can’t break all of it, I’m damn sure I’ll get some sort of a scoop out of the deal. What are we going to do now?”

 “Well, I’d rather hoped that Intelligence would be willing to help, which leaves us back at the start again. We’ve got to find out who is involved in the conspiracy, and we’ve got to try and find some sort of a weapon we can use against them.”

 “Now I know that you’re going to need me.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “They’re winning the media war against you right now, aren’t they? You and the President both?”

 “I’m not really used to being mentioned in the same breath as the head of state, but I think you’ve got the gist of what’s going on.”

 “Then we’re on my territory. Drinking habits, mistresses, old skeletons in the closet. That’s the angle of attack we need to exploit.” She smiled, and said, “Where do you want to start?”

 “Fleet Captain Tarrant, Counter-Admiral Tramiel, Senator Norman. Those names we can guarantee are tied up in this. And the Vice-President, of course, though I’d guess that if there was anything substantial on him, someone would have exploited it by now.”

 “You never know what you’re going to find until you start digging.”

 With a smile, Orlova said, “You sound like an archaeologist I know.”

 “What? Look, I’m going to get some guaranteed stories out of this after all, and with a Fleet officer around to help me get access...it’s a dream come true.”

 A figure stepped out of the gloom, taking pains to remain in the shadows, and said, “We’re ready for you now. Anywhere in particular in Port Lowell you want to go?”

 “Definitely,” Bryce replied. “We’ll start on the Red Strip and work our way out. If you can wangle us a couple of VIP passes to the Hilton it’ll help; I’m not sure I can manage it on this little notice.”

 “The Hilton?”

 “Fanciest bar in town. We’ll need proper clothes as well, not these jumpsuits.” 

 “I’m not sure about this,” the man said.

 “You’re telling me that Intelligence doesn’t have access to a fabricator at all times?” Orlova said. “Have all of this waiting for us on arrival. Then we can make our own way from there.”

 “Great,” Bryce said, clapping her hands twice. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Chapter 28

 Marshall was grateful that space battles were fought under zero-gravity conditions, not because it reduced the potential for impact damage and increased maneuverability, but also because it was the only way that everyone could fit on the bridge of the Wyvern. He hovered behind Cunningham in the captain’s chair, looking at the tactical display on the viewscreen while Caine issued a constant stream of commands from her station, trying to keep all three scoutships coordinated.

 “Final reports from the others ships?” Marshall asked, turning to the communications station.

 “Gilgamesh is ready for action, sir, and reports at full battle readiness. Thermopylae is still having problems with her topside missile tubes, but her laser is calibrated and ready to fire.”

 Nodding, he said, “Battlecruisers are to pick an enemy capital ship and let them have it, one on one, as laid out in Plan Six. Each ship’s fighters to provide support for their targets.”

 “Plan Six, aye, sir.”

 Leaning back, Cunningham said, “You’re giving them their heads?”

 “If they’re shooting at the bad guys they’re probably doing something right, and that leaves us with one to go right down the middle with our fighter squadron to help.”

 “I hate to remind you about this, but according to the book throwing three scoutships against a battlecruiser results in three fewer ships in the Triplanetary Fleet.”

 “I know,” Marshall replied. “We’re taking a risk, but look on the bright side. If we pull this off, then we’ve managed to prove that scoutships have a place in the line of battle.”

 “Do you believe that?”

 “No, actually, I think that what we’re trying here today is an act of desperation.”

 Turning to face him, Cunningham said, “Then what the hell are we playing at?”

 With a shrug, Marshall said, “Look at it this way. Whatever happens today, we win in one manner or another. Victory’s going to mean months of trying to convince the Senate that we need to build larger ships after all.”

 “Two minutes to contact, sir,” Caine said. “I think we’re as ready as we’re going to be. Countermeasures are meshed, and missile firing systems locked in. I can give you a salvo as soon as you want.”

 “Contact Dragomirov,” Marshall said, “and tell him to get his birds in the air. I want a coordinated strike; with a little luck we might overwhelm their countermeasures. Once the fighters are up, the auxiliaries are to proceed to the hendecaspace point and prepare to leave the system if all of this goes wrong.”

 “Aye, sir,” she said, tapping a series of controls. As Marshall watched, he saw a cluster of ten small dots detach from the tender to their rear, course projections immediately leaping forward towards the central of the three battlecruisers heading for their formation. On either side, the Gilgamesh and Thermopylae began to drift slightly away, matching efforts from the enemy to flank them, charge for their retreating auxiliaries; Cunningham looked up, but Marshall shook his head.

 “Just a feint. The auxiliaries don’t matter to him now, he’s got to knock down our combat strength if he’s going to win the ground battle on the asteroid. He knows that if he doesn’t, his forces will have to surrender.” With a smile, he said, “This is a battle that neither of us can afford to lose.”

 “Ever seen a battle that wasn’t?” Cunningham replied.

 “Sixty seconds to contact,” Caine said. “Getting close now.”

 “Sir,” the communications technician said, “We’re getting a message from the lead battlecruiser.”

 Nodding, Marshall said, “Trying to distract us just before the battle. Put him on.”

 “Audio only, sir. Putting you through.”

 The voice from the speakers was gruff, stentorian, obviously belonging to a man used to being obeyed instantly. It came immediately to the point.

 “I’ll allow you to pull your troops out without interference if you leave the system immediately.”

 “My orders do not permit me that option.”

 “You are aware that this is an act of war?”

 “I’m well aware that the Cabal has undertaken numerous operations that could be classed along those lines in the recent past, up to and including the seizure of a battlecruiser and her crew.”

 The voice changed, softened, and said, “We’re soldiers, not politicians, Captain. My tactical assessments give me the win.”

 “Mine suggest otherwise.”

 “Do hundreds of people need to die today?”

 He paused, then said, “No. Stand off and maintain position.”

 “And allow your troops to continue securing the asteroid?”

 Looking down at Cunningham, Marshall replied, “I’d listen to a ceasefire offer.”

 “You can remain in the system, but that asteroid belongs to the Cabal, this system belongs to the Cabal, and I will stand in its defense until instructed otherwise.” There was a brief pause, then he continued, “I give you ten seconds to reply.”

 Marshall paused for a second, then said, “Lieutenant Caine. Fire when ready.” Looking back at the communications technician, he added, “Close the channel.”

 “Is this wise?” Cunningham said, quietly. “We’re on the verge of a peace treaty.” 

 “I’m not the one who decided to do this, John, but now that we’re here we’ve got a job to do. No matter how we personally feel about it.”

 “I just hope you know what you are doing.”

 “So do I.” 

 “Contact in fifteen seconds. First missile salvo will be away in twenty.” She looked across, and said, “If this doesn’t work we’re back to short salvos, Danny.”

 “Better make it work, then.”

 “Begin random walk, Mr. Kelso,” Cunningham said. “Make sure to lock in tactical co-ordination with Dragon and Griffon.”

 “Aye, sir.”

 “Energy spikes ahead!” Caine said. “Gilgamesh is exchanging fire with its target.” Glancing up at a display, she continued, “Three missiles heading right for us.”

 “Specifically?” Cunningham said. “Get that salvo up and start riding the countermeasures.”

 Marshall pushed back a little, finding himself in a strange situation, trying to look over the whole battle whilst being swept up in events on the ship he was riding. Gilgamesh was closing on its target, her fighters sweeping in for a second wave of shots, and Thermopylae opened up with its laser, ripping holes in the hull of its foe; different ships, different command styles.

 It would be so easy for him to push forward and take command of Wyvern; Cunningham probably wouldn’t even object, but that wasn’t his job right now. He moved over to the communications station, looking down at the technician. Reaching over, he pulled up a tactical display on one of the small monitors, focusing his attention on the readouts as they came in. A strike on Gilgamesh, near her engines, but she’d already got some good blows in.

 “Fighters launching, sir. Four of them, heading for the Gilgamesh,” Caine said. “Or us, impossible to tell at this point.” She paused, then said, “Two missiles still incoming.”

 “This is going to be fun,” Cunningham said. “Damage control teams prepare for impact.”

 Thermopylae was getting some good strikes in, lashing out again with its laser, radiators furiously glaring as heat dispersed out into the endless cold of space, a trio of missiles ranging out in the follow up. Dozens of missiles were in the air now from both sides, dancing around each others as his tactical officers worked their magic, trying to push their warheads home while knocking down those of the enemy.

 “One missile coming. Hang on, everyone!” Caine yelled.

 “Turning ship, sir,” Kelso said, an instant before the world shook, the sound of furious tearing metal ripping through the hull, brief screams of escaping air before the automatic cut-offs locked down the damaged section. The view on the screen was tumbling, Kelso desperately trying to regain attitude control, frantically stabbing controls. The formation was breaking up; Dragon had launched a second salvo by itself, two more lone missiles reaching for a target.

 “Damage report!” he yelled, pushing over to the engineer.

 “Secondary power relays, long-range communications and most of our lateral thrusters, sir. Best guess four dead, two others on their way to medical bay with serious injuries.”

 “Kelso, get us stable!”

 “Three impacts on enemy battlecruiser,” Caine reported, “Non-critical areas. We’re not having enough of an impact.”

 Marshall looked up at the screen; Gilgamesh was doing better than Thermopylae, the former’s target pulling away. He tapped the communications technician on the shoulder.

 “Get Captain Gorski, tell him to move up in support. We’ll just have to let one of the battlecruisers get away. Deadeye, any idea where it’s going?” 

 “Far hendecaspace point.”

 “If he’s running, let him run,” Cunningham said. “We’ve got bigger problems.”

 “I have regained attitude control, sir,” Kelso said. “Trying to get us back into formation.”

 Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Get us in closer to the enemy. Dragon and Griffon to continue salvo fire from range.”

 “We’re going to take the hits?” Cunningham asked. “This isn’t a battlecruiser, Danny. We can’t take much more of this.”

 Pointing up at the screen, Marshall replied, “Gilgamesh is on the way, John. We’ve got to buy some time for them to get here, and there’s no point having three wrecked ships instead of just one.”

 Nodding, he said, “Kelso, take us in to point-blank range. Deadeye, get some more missiles up, but keep them close. We’ll use them was point-defense.”

 “Fighter cover, Deadeye,” Marshall added.

 “They’re fired their missiles, Danny,” she said. “Six of which are still running. They’re getting a handle on our systems, only one in four is getting through.”

 “They can still use their countermeasures to give us some cover,” he replied. “Have them try for a close pass when we get to closest approach.”

 “Next salvo up,” Caine said. “Another in the tubes.”

 “Full power on the engines,” Kelso said, the ship tilting to the side. “Damn it, we’re still venting.”

 The engineer turned back from his station, frowning, and said, “We’re in trouble. That was one of the spacetight doors going.”

 “Damn,” Cunningham said, turning to Marshall. “These ships are too new. We never had a chance to finish the stress testing in actual flight.”

 “The simulations…,” Kelso said.

 “To hell with simulations,” Cunningham snapped back. “We’re stuck with bitter reality. Continue the dive, Sub-Lieutenant, and let her run.” Tapping a control on his console, he said, “This is the Captain. All personnel not on list alpha, get to the escape pods on the double.”

 “I’ll get Hadfield’s SAR shuttles on the way,” Caine said. “Coming up on our next salvo. Just scored two impacts on the enemy battlecruiser.”

 Through all the chaos, Marshall looked at their target, now battered and bruised, tears in the hull armor and the brief jets of leaking air that illustrated its damage. Her helmsman was obviously having trouble keeping a steady course, but the three lights rising from her missile tubes were evidence that it still had plenty of teeth.

 “Where are they going?” Marshall asked.

 “Right for us,” Caine replied. “Fighters moving in to provide cover, and I’m getting our two birds into interception position.”

 “Which still leaves one heading for us.”

 Marshall tapped the communications technician on the shoulder again, saying, “Get to an escape pod. I’ll take it.”

 “Sir…”

 “Go.”

 He settled down at the console, relieved to have something to do at last. Thermopylae was well clear of the rest of the action now, engaged in personal combat with its foe, and by the looks of it was coming out a little ahead; Gilgamesh was turning in, closing on the battlecruiser that was Wyvern’s nemesis. The battle had quickly devolved into a series of independent engagements, and all that mattered for the next three and a half minutes was the Wyvern, their target, and the fighters providing cover.

 “Wyvern to Dragomirov. Status, please.”

 “My God, they’ve got the big man himself talking to us today.”

 “I gave the communications technician the afternoon off. How are you doing?”

 The buoyant pilot’s voice dropped, “Six still flight-worthy, two on their way to their final landing, two bailed out. What about Wyvern?”

 “Not making any long-term plans, let’s put it that way.”

 “Enemy fighters have turned,” Caine yelled. “They’re smelling blood.”

 “We’re on it,” Dragomirov said. “I heard her. I’ll send four of my boys in to mess them up a little, try and panic them.”

 “You don’t have any missiles left.”

 “No, but we do have that undetectable superweapon that they don’t know about. Besides, our countermeasures packages are working just fine. Dragomirov out.”

 Nodding, Marshall turned his attention back to the monitor. Another two salvos in the air, one from each side, about to cross each other’s paths, adding to the devastation. Wyvern’s course plot was taking them awfully close to the enemy, but unless they could do something about the incoming missiles, that wasn’t going to matter very much.

“Good God!” Caine yelled. “Thermopylae target just exploded!”

 “One down, one running, one damaged,” Cunningham said. “We’ve had worse days. As long as we live to see tomorrow I’m willing to call this one a win.”

 “Closing on target,” Kelso said. The ship rocked, and he continued, “Ten escape pods away, all on safe trajectories.”

 Four missiles were still tracking towards the scoutship, Caine frantically attempting to block them with the countermeasures systems, her hands almost a blur over the controls. It didn’t seem to be having any affect at all as they dove for Wyvern, Marshall involuntarily gulping as they approached.

 “Energy spike,” Caine said, and Marshall closed his eyes, but she continued, “Gilgamesh now in firing range, full salvo heading for the incoming missiles. Enemy battlecruiser is turning away.”

 “Breathe again, people,” Cunningham replied. “Kelso, get us out of dodge. We can leave this one to the big beasts.” Sitting back in his chair, he said, “Well, Danny, we tore the guts out of the ship, but I think we won this one.”

 Looking up at the display, Marshall saw the two remaining ships heading out, deeper into the system, and nodded. “This battle, anyway. Contact the rest of the fleet, start getting damage and casualty reports. Time to lick our wounds.”

Chapter 29

 One of the luxuries that winning the Battle of the Lower Corridors had brought was the presence of fresh supplies from the battlecruisers orbiting the asteroid; Cooper was wolfing down something that at least tasted like chicken, a welcome change from the ration packs that were still building up in the captured storage rooms, Brownworth insisting that they prepare for the possibility of an extended siege and build up their supplies.

 He heard a crack in the distance and looked up, before heading back to his meal. The fighting in this area was over, the breakthrough from the airlocks giving them control of more than a third of the asteroid, and most of the key installations that the original plan had hoped to capture, but even in these supposedly safe areas he was keeping his pistol in his holster and watching for any signs of trouble.

 Forrest drifted up behind him, a flask of coffee in his hand, and said, “Interested?”

 “Always,” Cooper said, waving the sergeant to his side. “Feels good to be back here for good this time.”

 “You think we’ve got this one?”

 Nodding, Cooper replied, “If it’s just down to us ground-pounders, then yes. They’re broken, Sergeant. You could see it when they scattered. We’ve got most of their supplies and the capital ships can stop anything else getting to them.” Another crack echoed, and he continued, “That doesn’t mean we don’t have to be careful.”

 “Pacifying this place won’t take days or weeks, Ensign. It’s going to take months, and we’re still going to be taking casualties for most of that time. I don’t think most of the men are appreciating that. They think this battle’s won.”

 “Give them a break,” he replied. “This was their first time, for almost all of them.”

 “They performed well in battle,” the sergeant conceded. “Not that I liked the casualty rate.”

 “We got the numbers?”

 “Twelve percent dead, forty-one percent wounded. Most of them will be back on the line in a few days.” Shaking his head, he replied, “That’s not counting the ones we lost on the carrier, of course.”

 “Yeah,” Cooper said. He smiled, and continued, “Are we getting too used to this?”

 “Turning into a real veteran now,” Forrest said. “One-year wonder.”

 “Come on, Sergeant…”

 “Relax, I’m kidding. Sir. It wasn’t this bad in the big damn war. Not really. We had a lot of big actions, but it was always two months of prep for two hours of fighting. Now we’re doing hit and run stuff, ground assaults, none of which was in any of the manuals I read.” Gesturing at a snoring trooper at the far end of the corridor, he said, “That’s the future of this outfit. We’re going to need the numbers.”

 “I don’t like that idea.”

 “Nor do I. We’re going to be throwing undertrained people at battles for a while. It’ll get worse if we go to war, you know that. They’re already expanding at three times the maximum projected rate, and kids like that are falling through the cracks in the training program.”

 “Then we’re just going to have to make sure we stop them when they get to us,” Cooper replied. “If the brass can’t train them up properly, we need to make the difference. Got a list of recommended promotions?”

 Nodding, Forrest said, “For the whole damn company; I was working on that list most of yesterday. Kept me distracted while those big battlewagons outside decided whether we lived or died. Going to be a ceremony in half an hour, that’s why I came up here. Brownworth and Esposito want you there.”

 “Any mustangs?”

 Shaking his head, the veteran replied, “We’re three officers down, but only one permanently, and we’ve got a spare. The platoon sergeants do most of the work anyway.”

 “Yeah, but we’ve got to make it look good. That's what the officers do, isn't it?”

 “See, you’re learning.” Another crack made them both pause, Forrest looking up the shaft, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

 “That’s one of Third Platoon’s guard posts. No-one’s called a general alarm, so let’s not go mad. Just round up a squad and get it up there; I’m going to take a look.”

 “Right.” Forrest pushed away, turned, and said, “Be careful, sir. I heard that we won this battle.”

 “Yeah, so did I. I wonder if the enemy got that memo,” Cooper replied, pushing off a wall to send himself flying towards the nearest access shaft, nimbly swinging up and leaving the old veteran behind to try and find some troopers who were ready for battle. He cursed under his breath as he pulled out his pistol, checking that the cartridge was fresh and longing for his rifle, still under the armorer’s care.

 Ducking out into the upper level, he saw a pair of troopers looking out into the darkness, both of them with weapons raised; he recognized them from Third Platoon, both of them understandably jumpy. Had he been in charge, he’d never have authorized them for sentry duty in their current state.

 “What’s going on up here,” he asked.

 “There’s something out there, sir,” one of them said. “Don’t know what.”

 Another crack sent Cooper diving into cover, his pistol pointing into the gloom, and he said, “And you didn’t think anyone else needed to know about this? Sound a General Alarm, do it now!”

 “Our Sergeant said…”

 “I don’t give a damn what he said. Do what I say, or you’ll spend the next week cleaning the walls of this rock with toothbrushes. Move!”

 The trooper started to enter a code into his communicator, and a siren echoed up and down the corridor. For a second, Cooper hoped that simply knowing that they had been spotted would deter the enemy, but a long cylinder began to tumble down the passage towards them.

 “Grenade!” he yelled, hugging the wall. It didn’t explode; smoke started to pour out of it, and he struggled to lower his night-vision goggles as it began to full the corridor. He could see one of the guards tumbling out of cover, and reached up to grab him, just a little too late to stop the enemy bullet finding its mark. The figure went limp as he pulled him down, placing him carefully into position.

 “Get him to a medic,” he told the surviving guard, “And tell Forrest to move. I’ll hold the fort.”

 He turned back to the corridor up ahead, firing a couple of blind shots that didn’t seem to intimidate the enemy at all; four shapes kept moving forward, drifting in towards his position. Two more alarms sounded, warnings from other perimeters, a strike designed to hit them when they had been lulled into a false sense of security.

 More shots rang out over him, keeping him pinned down; they couldn’t hit him in his current position, but they could stop him doing anything about their approach. The smoke was gradually dispersing, and he could just about make out the features of the incoming soldiers, unmistakably Neander. He lined up to try and take a shot at the leader, but before he could pull the trigger, the figure tumbled back to the deck.

 Looking back, he saw Forrest moving forward, half a dozen troopers in his wake, a spare rifle in his arms which he tossed to Cooper. The corridor echoed with the noise of a quick exchange of fire, and one of the reinforcements crashed to the wall, clutching his arm, but two of the enemy wouldn’t be a problem any more.

 “Come on,” Cooper yelled. “Let’s go get ‘em!” He pushed out of cover, firing a round as a distraction, and hurtled down the corridor past the dead and dying Cabal soldiers. If this was a major attack, they had to try and turn it around, show that they were ready to respond. The last of the attack group surrendered, the wounded Espatier dropping back to cover him.

 “Which way?” Forrest asked

 “Over to the left,” Cooper said. “Last man hangs back to hold the junction, the rest take down whatever is waiting for us.”

  The end of the corridor turned out to have another six figures, all moving up, and Cooper’s unit managed to catch them in the open, killing one of them with a clean shot before they could take cover. Quickly, the Espatiers found hiding places of their own, Forrest providing a few seconds of rapid covering fire to buy them time to get to safety. 

 “We can’t hold this ground,” Forrest said. “No way to reinforce safely.”

 “They’ve got the same problem,” Cooper said over a pair of enemy gunshots.

 “So what, then? We’re going to wait until one side runs out of bullets?”

 “No, Sergeant, I’ve got plans for this evening.” He flicked a switch on his belt, turning his compensation thrusters off, then spun around, firing six shots in quick succession to send him flying down the corridor before anyone could stop him. His squad started to give covering fire, picking off one of the Cabal soldiers who was foolish enough to stick his head up to get a better shot, and Cooper fired again to throw off the aim of the enemy.

 He was traveling with more than enough speed to quickly send him flying past the enemy cover, and he couldn’t have had a better opportunity to take his shots, shooting three in three rounds, taking the time to disable them instead of killing them. That simply increased his speed, and after a few seconds more, the inevitable happened as he slammed into the wall, knocking all of the wind from him and leaving him tumbling in the air, gasping for breath.

 Forrest and the others were on the case quickly enough that the two survivors didn’t have a chance to do anything about his temporary weakness; the one who foolishly decided to make the attempt paid for it with a bullet through the hand, Forrest’s gun leveled on his head.

 “This is the end of the road,” Cooper gasped. “Time to call it a day.”

 “Take them back down, sir?” one of the troopers asked.

 “We are aware of what you will do to us,” the lead Neander said. “We will not submit to your torturers, and we will never yield, so you might as well kill us now.”

 “That’s a very interesting interpretation of the Geneva Convention, but fortunately I’m in command here, not you,” Cooper replied. “What about the others back there?”

 “One dead, two wounded,” Forrest said. “Both of them can be moved without any trouble; Winchester is sorting out some first aid right now.”

 “Good.” He turned to the Neander, and said, “We’re going to be taking your weapons and all of your equipment, with the exception of any medical supplies. The Sergeant and I have enough experience with your kit that we’ll know if you try and sneak anything past us.”

 “Then what?”

 “Then you can go back to your lines, with a message to your commanding officer that we’ve got the upper hand and that he should consider surrender.” Waving Forrest over, he said, “Search them, Sergeant.”

 “Can I have a word with you, sir?” Forrest said in a tone that made it clear that he was giving an order rather than a request.”

 “Certainly, Sergeant,” Cooper replied with a smile, and the two of them pushed back, just out of earshot. “What’s the problem?”

 “I’m not sure that sending them back to their people is the best approach here.”

 “All of them have wounds that are going to keep them out of combat and consume their medical supplies, not to mention their rations. If we take them back, then we have to feed and look after them, which will divert our people from the front lines.”

 With a smile, Forrest said, “This is why you’re an officer. I’ll see its done.”

 “Good,” Cooper replied, looking back at the battle scene. “This isn’t over. We’ve only barely won the battle, and we still haven’t won the war. Maybe it’ll sink in now.”

 “Relax, reinforcements are on the way.”

 “Yeah,” he said. “The only question is which side’s reinforcements will arrive first.”

Thank you for reading 'Take and Hold'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.

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Look out for Battlecruiser Alamo: Traitor's Duty, coming in May 2015...

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29